#sorry i have been so fucking absent for weeks

[larrysballetslippers]

.

[orcelito]

me gearing up to hate my Fucking life as i work to finish this damned texting bitch of a program due tomorrow, logging into the school website to get the lab info page... only to see the due date's been pushed back a week. probably bc many people, like me, are really... not close to done with it lol

i wouldve known this if id gone to class today probs lol, but i was too busy being gay. so uh. yay? this is a genuine relief lol i was feeling Particularly destructive about it all.

[lovelivision]

GHOSTLY ROMANCE ♡

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: fushiguro toji/reader

𝐖𝐂: 8k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: when it becomes blatantly obvious your house is being haunted, the only thing there is for you to do is coexist but what do you do when that ghostly presence haunting your house begins haunting your heart ??

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, swearing, making out, obsessive! toji, ghost! toji, slight perv! toji, toji has a big dick, dirty talk, fingering, voyeurism (?), p in v sex, squirting, creampie, f!reader, reader referred to as 'woman', i think that's all ♡

As of late, you’re beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that your house is haunted, and you aren’t really sure how to react. Often times, you’ll find things aren’t where you left them, some objects are moved just slightly of where they were, and other things are found in completely different rooms.

Sometimes when you go to lock your doors and windows for the night, you find it’s already been done. Innocuous and for the most part these are things you could brush off as you being absent minded, the kicker comes when you start seeing a figure out the corner of your eye or in a passing reflection.

Ignoring it all has been your go to, deciding it’s best to just pretend it’s not happening, and you would continue to keep doing so but your sleep is getting interrupted now and if there is anything you don’t get in between, it’s you and your sleep.

The dreams you’ve been having have started to wander into the obscure territory of some man you don’t recognise living in your house. He walks around like he owns the place, locking doors, closing curtains. It’s not particularly scary but it is unsettling and leaves you feeling unrested, like you didn’t sleep much at all.

Now, as you’re trying to get some well-deserved rest, something goes bump in the night, and you just know it’s that stupid man haunting your house. Frustratedly, you kick the covers off your body and stomp down the hall to where you think the sound originated from.

Arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently, you wait for something, anything, but of course nothing comes. This ghost, entity, or whatever, that’s haunting you started off as easy to ignore and now it’s pissing you off greatly, you just want some damn sleep.

“You got me here, you got me out of bed so you must want something,” your foot continues to tap, increasing pace with your bad mood.

The room continues to be blanketed by the quiet you so badly wanted while you were drifting to sleep, “You’re so rude, haunting me with stupid dreams and moving my shit…” you’re grumbling to yourself, “…haven’t slept well in over a week and now I can’t even get to sleep!”

Still, the room is filled by the deafening silence that usually lingers in your house at this hour, “Great… and now I’m talking to myself, I’m going fucking crazy.”

As you turn to leave the room, you bump into something that feels as stiff as a board. You take a few steps back at it and you’re met with someone’s chest. The person in front of you leans down until they meet your face, his tone deep and monotone when he lets out a low, “Boo.”

It almost feels like the blood drains out of your body at the sight of him and before you have time to really process, your hand is reaching back and up to give him a hard slap right across the face. A small yelp leaving you at it, the smack resounding throughout the otherwise quiet house.

When you draw your hand back, it’s to cover your mouth as you gasp at just how hard you seemed to have slapped him, apology tumbling from your lips and you can only really say it’s because of how shocked you are by the force you used, “I’m so sorry, oh my God, that sounded really bad… did that hurt?”

He’s stoic for a moment before cracking a smile and chuckling at your shocked apology, “Not quite the reaction I was looking for.”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you…” you trail off, suddenly regretting all your apologies, “Hey! You’re the one who should be apologising to me.”

He’s still far too amused for your liking, “What for? You’re the one who hit me.”

“You quite frankly deserved it,” your brows furrow as you eye him over, you expected something more… ghoulish but he appears to just be some man.

“I don’t think so, I’ve done nothing to you…” he’s talking but you’re not really paying attention, confused by his appearance and, honestly, existence.

Your finger moves towards him, poking at his chest, something you think you shouldn’t be able to do. He’s firm, obviously corporeal, it’d surprise you more if you hadn’t just slapped him as hard as you did.

You’re lost in your thoughts as you continue to poke at him. He cuts himself off to grab your wrist, “–What are you doing?”

“Are you just some guy? Are you just some man in my house right now?” You’re beginning to freak out, much more amenable to the idea of a ghost in your house over some stranger, “I have to call the cops…” you try tugging away, quickly growing more fearful.

He’s rolling his eyes at you like you’re overreacting, “Calm down.”

Your eyes are big and round as you look up at him, scared out of your mind as the idea of some man in your house settles in your bones, “No, I think I’m going to keep being scared.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not human…” he squints at you, “Anymore.”

Rightly sceptical when you utter back, “I don’t know if I believe you…”

He seems annoyed at your unwillingness to take him at his word, sighing as he turns and walks out of the room… through the wall. You wait a moment for him to come back but he doesn’t, you’re left in the room alone, wondering if that little interaction actually happened or if you’ve finally lost it.

Another moment passes, waiting, just in case he appears again before you resign yourself to the fact that you’re beginning to hallucinate from lack of sleep. Taking a deep breath, you steady yourself and walk back to your room, only to be met with the sight of him laying leisurely on your bed.

“I’ve gone insane,” you mumble to yourself, “I’m losing my fucking mind in this house alone.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re sane, from what I’ve seen anyways,” He shrugs, “A little spacey but otherwise.”

His words have you glaring at him, “You ever been told you’re annoying?”

“Not for a long time, no,” his smirk is lopsided.

You approach the foot of your bed, looking at him with your arms crossed, “Right… okay, well, you’re annoying.”

His own arms are supporting his head, clearly very comfortable in your bed, “You’ve only spoken to me for a few minutes, I might grow on you.”

A scowl overtakes your face, “I really doubt it.”

His smile feels condescending, “I think it’s your only option, either you get used to me or you move out because this was my house first, sorry doll.”

“I’m still not fully convinced you’re not just some guy in my house,” how are you meant to tell if you’ve gone insane? Maybe you should book a doctor’s appointment.

“I technically am…” he tilts his head at you, “I’m just not alive.”

There are so many questions you have, and you aren’t even sure if you’d believe any of his answers, “If you’re a ghost why can I touch you?”

Stretching out slightly, he groans before answering, “Because I let you, how else would I be moving your shit around?”

“So, you are moving my things around!” You’re pointing at him like some huge mystery has been solved.

He looks at you like it should be obvious at this point that it was him, taking the wind out of your sails with a single look.

Coughing slightly, you cross your arms again, trying to recover from the slight embarrassment you’re currently feeling, “Why are you touching my things and why show yourself now?”

“You yelled at me to show myself,” he rolls his neck, “Thought I’d be polite and give an introduction.”

“Some introduction… you didn’t even give me your name,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on, “You only answered one of my questions.”

A soft sigh leaves him, like this whole conversation is becoming tedious, “I get bored.”

“Really? That’s your answer? I’ve been wondering if I’m crazy or if my house is haunted and even losing sleep over stupid dreams of your stupid face and you’re telling me it’s because you’re bored.”

He purses his lips, like he’s trying to hide a smile, “Pretty much.”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” your hands are on your hips, prominent frown plastered on your face, “Get out.”

“I can’t technically leave,” he tries to reason with you.

“I don’t care, I know you can disappear and leave me alone so do that,” you’re so tired and cranky, you just want to go to sleep and pretend this never happened, “I want to sleep, and I want it to be peaceful so leave me alone and get out!”

“So bossy,” he grumbles as he gets up, leaning down into your space as he walks past you, “I like that in a woman.”

You fight the involuntary shiver that wants to run down your spine, beyond pissed off at Casper the annoying ghost. Why did your house have to be haunted? Why couldn’t you live a peaceful and normal life? These are all things you wonder as you crawl into bed, determined to get some sleep tonight.

ִֶָ𓂃 ༘࣪࿐

In the morning, you think what had happened last night was some obscure dream, and you’d probably go on thinking that way if your ghostly house guest didn’t appear in front of you while you’re in the middle of breakfast.

Your spoon clatters to your bowl with a gasp, “Don’t!” You sigh loudly, “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” He leans back into the chair across from you.

“Don’t just appear,” you grumble to yourself, “Almost thought I had made up all of last night.” So close to having a normal life, you can see it now floating out of your grasp.

“Sorry, doll, I’m very real and I very much live here.”

That earns him a scoff, “You’re a freeloader.”

“Excuse me?” He leans forward, elbows resting on the table.

You repeat it for him slower, “You. Are. A. Freeloader.”

“I heard you,” his eye almost twitches.

Leaning back in your chair, you cross your arms, looking away from him and out the window, “Then don’t act like you didn’t.”

“I could kill you,” he threatens.

You don’t feel inclined to take him seriously, “So could my neighbour, you’re not special.” Your gaze is fixed out the window, watching said neighbour walking to collect his mail. When you turn back to your unwanted companion his glare is pointed and very clearly unhappy which only has you rolling your eyes at him, “You’d really kill me because I called you a freeloader?”

A quiet hum leaves him, “I’m considering it.”

“Drama queen,” it’s murmured but you know he heard it, especially if his growing scowl is anything to go off.

“Shouldn’t you be more scared or something?”

Your eyes squint at him, leaning over the table slightly as you provoke, “Oh, I bet you’d love that.”

“I would actually,” he almost sounds exasperated which only has you growing amused.

You decide to try bargaining with him, “Listen, if you’re gonna freeload here the least you can do is stay out of my way.”

“I liked you better last night when you were scared.”

You take a mouthful of your breakfast, pointing at him with your spoon when you reply, “Well, I liked you better a few months ago when it was significantly easier to ignore your presence.”

It’s quiet, no reply coming from him, leaving it up to you to continue the conversation if you want answers, “What do you even want? Because if you really do plan on killing me I’ll tell you now that the next person who lives here will not be as cute as I am.”

He deadpans at your joke, “You’re hilarious.”

“I know,” you flick your head like you’re flipping luxurious hair.

Already seemingly sick of you when he grumbles, “I already regret showing myself to you.”

“Good, this is much more of an ordeal for me you know? Not only do I know ghosts exist now but there is some guy in my house all the time, how am I meant to go on with my daily life?”

“Not really my problem,” he brushes off your concern.

Being honest, you say, “I don’t like you.”

To which he returns with a big grin, “I’ll grow on you.”

ִֶָ𓂃 ༘࣪࿐

You wish so badly that he didn’t, but he does, he grows on you. It’s nice coming home to someone, having someone to talk to while you eat or do mundane chores. It’s been a few months now and you thought he would be more of a bother, but you think you might be the one bothering him.

It’s funny how you didn’t realise how lonely you were until you finally had someone to spend time with. Early on he told you his name, Toji, he told you he used to live here, and that he died in the house. He still hasn’t disclosed to you how he died, and you don’t want to intrude by asking so you don’t. He’s still quite young so you imagine it wasn’t by natural causes which only deters you from wanting to probe for any more information from him.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’d recognise that you’re beginning to crush on a ghost but since that seems like something so far out of the realm of ever possibly happening, you squash down the feelings. And when that doesn’t work, you try avoiding him, which is not exactly a fool proof plan when he’s the ghost haunting your house who doesn’t need to sleep.

For the third weekend in a row, you’re sneaking into your own house late, having been out all night with friends just to avoid spending the whole day with Toji. It’s his fault though! He’s hot and also a huge flirt and he makes your heart race, and none of these thoughts are holy so you decided to just avoid him altogether.

Kicking your shoes off at the door, you sneak through the house and into your room, thinking you’ve successfully changed and gotten into bed without him noticing. Victory short lived when he appears next to you on your bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip suddenly.

You scrabble for a second, not expecting the shift, body falling into his. Sheepishly, you look up at him, hand pressed to his chest trying to give yourself some space to think, not used to this proximity. You purposefully keep your distance from him, and it feels like he purposefully gets in yours.

He’s quick to get to the point, “Where were you?”

“Out with some friends…” Hesitance clear in your answer.

“Again,” It’s a question but it doesn’t really sound like one.

“…Yeah.”

His eyes scan your face intently and it has you shying away from him, “You’re being odd,” he states abruptly.

Immediate response being defensiveness, “Because I’m going out with my friends?”

“No, that’s not it, it’s the frequency, you used to spend most weekends home alone.”

Still, you can’t get used to how he knows these things about you, “Okay we’re just gonna ignore that you know that about me.”

Again, he doesn’t beat around the bush, “Don’t change the topic, you’ve been avoiding me.”

Gaze averting his as you stumble out a small, “That’s not true.”

His eyes meet yours with a pointed look, clearly not believing your half assed lie, “Come on, doll, if I’ve done something to upset you I’d prefer you just say it.”

“You’ve not done anything,” you jump to assure him, not wanting him to feel bad for no reason. “You’re the best ghost anyone could ask to haunt their house.”

Ignoring your attempt at humour he pushes for more, “Then what is it?”

An awkward pause shared between you as you try to think of an excuse, “Uhm… My friends… have just been wanting to see me more is all, it has nothing to do with you…”

“Mhm…” you can tell he doesn’t believe you, but he can’t go much further than this, he was as blunt as he could be and hit a brick wall. “Well, I want to see you more too.”

You roll your eyes gently at that, ignoring the excitement his words illicit, “Toji, we live together.”

Expression sour when he retorts, “It doesn’t feel like it lately.”

It’s cute how he’s almost pouting, it’d be cuter if you didn’t feel completely awful for ghosting him. You still get to see each other throughout the day but you work during the week, and you haven’t been spending much free time with him lately, often opting for going out instead. If avoiding him like this is going to keep making him feel bad you don’t want to keep doing it.

Taking the safe option, you choose to make the time spent together productive, “I’ll be home this weekend… I have a bunch of laundry to do though so it might not be fun.”

His smile is crooked, “Alright… got my eyes on you though, doll,” he means it in a light-hearted way, but you think you’ve actually hurt him.

“Okay…” you wait a moment for him to leave but he doesn’t, you’re still too close to him and he’s not moving. The silence in the room deafening as you can only look at him and wait for his next move.

When he doesn’t say anything, you prompt, “Toji… are you gonna leave?”

“Do you want me to?” His gaze is on your lips, hand reaching to cradle your face and just when you think he might lean in to kiss you, he pecks the top of your head, “Night.” It’s the last thing he says before he disappears into thin air.

Your heart feels like it might explode, beating a mile a minute at how he seemed to almost kiss you. The disappointment that settled in you when he didn’t uncomfortable, were you just reading into things or did he actually want to kiss you.

The covers get pulled up over your head as you grumble to yourself, how the hell are you meant to sleep now… he’s confusing you and it’s so unfair. You’d probably get over your feelings for him if he didn’t also show interest in you like this, he’s giving you hope, and it doesn’t feel good.

ִֶָ𓂃 ༘࣪࿐

Ever since the night Toji almost kissed you, it’s all you’ve been able to think about, almost operating like a zombie as you go through the motions at home and at work. Every time you saw him it felt like your skin was on fire, like you might spontaneously burst into flames.

This week has been especially trying because it seems like he actually has been watching you closer than usual. Normally he would give you some more space, but it was almost like every time you were in one of the main areas of the house, he was also there. He’s not the type you’d peg for being clingy but then again, you didn’t take your house to be the haunted kind so what do you know.

Getting lost in your thoughts while fiddling with your poor-quality sink isn’t the best course of action, but it doesn’t seem like you’re making any good choices in life right now. While trying to tighten the faucet by hand, it decides to punish you for being absent minded and sprays water all down your front.

Quickly, you rush to stop the water, all kinds of expletives leave you as your hands slip over the metal. When the water finally stops your hands grab the edge of the counter, slumping against it.

A shiver runs down your spine before you hear him speak, “You really should pay more attention to what you’re doing.”

“It’s not my fault, this sink sucks!” If you had slightly less emotional regulation you might stomp your feet about it all.

He laughs at your frowny face, “I always meant to get it replaced.”

Turning to face him, you huff, “This sink is the bane of my existence.”

“It’s not all bad,” his eyes track down your front, “I did get to see you in a wet shirt because of it.”

“You’re unbearable,” you groan.

“And yet you’ve never tried to exorcise me.”

“You know what, that’s a good option to keep in mind, thanks,” you smile sarcastically at him before wandering down the hall, muttering to yourself, “Well… at least it’s laundry day today I guess…”

Toji is hot on your trail, not speaking, just following you around the house as you collect all your laundry. If you had to describe it, you’d probably say he was hovering, like he’s waiting for you to crack and tell him why you’ve been avoiding him.

You would love to talk to him about what’s bothering you but how exactly does one go about telling the hot ghost that you coexist with that you want to jump his bones, there must be a wiki how page for that online somewhere. The absurdity of the situation is almost enough to make you laugh, almost.

“You in there, doll?” Toji’s voice shocks you back down to Earth.

Dropping the shirt you’d been holding for too long into the washer as you reply, “Hmm? Yeah… I’m here, what’s up?”

“You know you’ve always been a little spacey, but it’s been worse lately.” His head tilts at you, like he’s observing your behaviours.

Throwing a glance his way as you refute, “I am not spacey.”

He looks away from you like he’s avoiding engaging with you on that topic any further, “I’m just asking if you’re okay, Something on your mind?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” dragging out the word as you squint at him.

The exasperated tone he uses is not lost on you, “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“Didn’t we establish last week that I haven’t been?” Ignoring his stare as you continue to load the washing machine.

“No, we established that you’re lying about not avoiding me.”

The persistence he displays is almost admirable, “You’re annoying.”

“So are you but less so lately,” response quick on his tongue.

“Maybe I’ve reflected on my previous ways and decided to be a better person.” He scoffs at that, and you turn to face him, looking him in the eyes, “What do you want from me?”

“I just wanna know why you don’t spend time with me anymore,” he leans into your space, grin wide and taunting, “You get scared or something?”

“Of you?” brow quirking at him, “Please,” eye roll following your words.

He sighs at you, backing out of your space, “You’re unbearable.”

“That’s my line,” you shoot back, focusing on your laundry again.

A quick hand snatches the garment you’re holding out of your grasp, his attempt at getting your attention back on him. It works because you’re facing him fully now, “You’re childish.”

“Woah,” he looks at what he’s holding like he’s only just noticed what he had grabbed, “These are cute.”

If the ground could swallow you whole, you wish it would happen now because why is your unwanted roommate holding a pair of your panties while smiling at you like the cat that got the canary.

“Toji,” you warn.

He hums back at you, almost indulgent, “Yes, doll?”

“Give them back.”

Dangling your underwear in between the two of you by a single digit, he considers, “I don’t know… I think I like these; I might keep them.”

The expression on your face incredulous, “And what? Wear them?”

“I’m sure I’ll find some use for them,” suggestion written all over his face in a way you wish you weren’t attracted to.

“Toji.” A second warning.

Again, his reply is the same, “Yes, doll?”

“They’re dirty.”

“Really?” He looks to them, “Want me to check?” Hand bringing them close to his face before you snatch them away.

“Don’t be gross!” You chastise him, chucking the panties into the machine with more force than necessary.

Your skin feels hot from embarrassment, how can he be so shameless? It’s uncomfortably quiet in the laundry room as you silently stew while looking down into the washer.

Toji sounds tentative when he speaks, “Are you mad?”

He’s met with an immediate glare at his stupid question, “Well I’m not happy!” Brows pinched and feeling like your head is about to explode when you struggle to get out, “How– how can you be so… so? So shameless.”

“Being dead doesn’t hurt,” he says casually.

You can’t tell if that’s an attempt at humour or if he’s being serious but if you had to guess you’d say it’s a little of both, “I can’t believe I’ve been crushing on you, you’re so embarrassing. What does that say about me? attracted to a shameless ghost who does nothing but embarrass me.”

Your foot has started tapping against the floor with your frustrations, not even registering the blunder you made about outing your crush on him… you know, the thing you’ve been actively avoiding him over just to keep secret.

It’s not until he’s leaning into your space and asking, “You been crushing on me, doll?” That you realise the mistake you’d made.

“What?” You heard him perfectly fine. Only feigning ignorance in an attempt to think of a convincing cover.

There’s pride oozing from him, his grin growing by the second, “You just said–”

“–No, I didn’t,” there is no way to save this and so you fall back on blatantly lying.

He’s revelling in how flustered you are and it’s making it worse, “No, no, I heard you loud and clear. You’ve been crushing on me.”

Your hands move to either side your head, covering your ears as you try to block out what he’s saying, “I can’t hear you; I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Despite your actions, you can hear him perfectly. So, you hear him crystal clear when he borderline taunts, “You have a crush on the ghost haunting your house!”

You don’t say anything back, only staring at him as you wear all your embarrassment on your face.

His smile lessens, replaced by a kinder one, “Is that why you been avoiding me?”

Slowly turning to face him, you drop your hands and give a small nod, feeling all kinds of uncomfortable right now. The fact his immediate reaction was to be amused and prideful has you confused on just what he’s thinking about, does he only find your feelings funny? Does he not take them seriously? Or maybe you’d been overthinking it… it is just a crush after all.

You feel a little guilty over how your feelings have been making you act. He’s literally stuck with you and you’re making it awkward all because you find him attractive, “I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable… but it’s just a crush, I’ll get over it.”

You meant to offer him some kind of relief in saying that, but it doesn’t seem to give him any. A low hum coming from him as he moves in closer. Bending at the waist so he can eye you carefully, getting so close that you avoid his gaze, face hot at his proximity.

“What are you–”

“–You’d just get over me?” He asks. You can’t decipher his intent.

Not able to help the way you fumble over yourself when answering honestly, “I– well… I mean… eventually? Right?”

Almost doubtful when he counters, “And you think I’m just gonna let that happen?”

The way in which he says it takes you aback, eyes meeting his when you utter a succinct, “Stop.”

A singular brow raises at you, “Stop what?”

“Stop flirting with me,” it’s unfair and only serving to confuse you further.

“Why?”

Expression somewhere between a pout and scowl when you grumble, “You are the most exasperating man I have ever had the displeasure of trying to have a conversation with.”

“And yet you have a crush on me,” his eyebrows raise.

Swapping back to denial is your solution, “I just changed my mind; I don’t have a crush on you anymore.”

Still, he flirts, “And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“Nope,” you pop the word at him, “All my feelings vanished just like that.”

“That’s a damn shame,” he’s smirking as he looks at your lips before flicking back to your eyes. One of his hands reach to cradle the side of your face, mouth hovering overs yours, so close to kissing you but ultimately not moving any more than that.

Your eyes had closed at the way he leaned in but when you don’t feel his lips on yours you open them to see the way he’s looking down his nose at you, smug smile ever present on his stupid face.

“You’re being cruel,” and he his, he knows it too, it’s entirely purposeful on his behalf and you can only take so much.

His thumb brushes your lower lip gently, still so unbearably close when he asks, “How so?”

“Let me go.” You huff at him, “You’re so distracting, go haunt a different part of the house. I need to finish my laundry.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” His words are accompanied by an eyeroll.

“Why are you so–”

You’re cut off abruptly by his lips colliding with yours, clearly uninterested in further back and forth. Especially since it seems like you’re not willing to give up and just tell him you want him to kiss you. When you’re not immediately pulling away, he’s moving his body closer to yours, other hand large on your back as he pulls you towards him.

Lips so much more careful than you would’ve expected of him. Searching and relentless but not rough, not yet anyways. Your hands move to his shoulders and grip him, giving into him completely, his kiss taking your breath away.

The hand on the side of your face is manoeuvring you how he likes, wanting to deepen the kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth, it sends shivers down your spine, involuntary moan leaving you.

You aren’t really registering it but he’s walking you back, sandwiching you between the washing machine and his large body. Hand previously on the small of your back now on your hip, pulling at your flesh. Then slipping it under your shirt and resting against your skin, his touch eliciting goose bumps.

He tilts your head back and trails his lips down your neck, nipping at you as he goes. Your pants filling the room, small and quiet moans mixed in with your breaths. You can hardly think, too focused on how it feels to have him touching you.

Suddenly gasping a moan when he bites at your neck a little harder than you were expecting, your thighs rubbing together at it. His movements grow more frenzied, lips back on yours in full force, tongue in your mouth depriving you of your air.

So much so that you have to push him back by his shoulders, chest moving rapidly as you catch your breath. Eyes wet and glassy when you look up at him, brows pulled up as you struggle to focus in on his face.

“Sorry, I got a bit carried away,” he’s staring at you, awestruck by the stupid look on your face.

You ignore his apology, “Kiss me again? Please?”

“How can I refuse when you ask like that?” The answer is he couldn’t, not when your eyes are all glassy from his lips.

The kiss is messy and despite the coolness of him, hot. Your arms are wrapped around his neck now, pulling him down into you. Both his hands on your hips, playing with the waistband of your pants, fingers tickling against your skin.

Parting to speak against your ear, “You gonna let me touch you, doll?”

Nodding at him, “Yeah…”

He hums at you thoughtfully, “You crushing on me again or am I imagining the hearts in your eyes right now?”

“You ruin everything– ah–” words interrupted by his hand slipping into the front of your pants and underwear.

His fingers slip through your folds, tracing your clit softly,  “Am I still ruining everything?”

“Oh!– noo, no you’re not,” your words are breathless as you shake your head, not wanting him to stop.

“You know…” his grin is sly as he speaks to you lowly, “You’re awfully wet for someone you don’t have a crush on.”

Wanting him to stop talking, you turn your head and kiss him. Your tongue sliding into his mouth, the kiss desperate and chaotic. Lips connected by a string of saliva when you pull back.

Your words are saturated in sarcasm but completely true, “I have a big fat crush on you, Toji, are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he smiles brightly, finger probing at your entrance, “In fact, I might just reward you.” As he finishes his sentence, his digit is pushing into you, biting his lip at how you gasp against him. “You know, you’re really cute like this, all breathless and struggling to take a finger.”

“Such a mean ghost,” you sulk.

“You’re meaner, avoiding me all because of a stupid crush,” his finger crooks inside you, almost knocking you over, “If you’d just told me about it we could’ve had fun so much sooner, you been depriving me of this sweet cunt.”

Your legs are feeling shaky under you, “How was I supposed to– hah– know?”

“I flirt with you relentlessly and follow you around all day like a damn puppy and you think I don’t wanna fuck you?” He chuckles humourlessly, “Shit, doll, if you needed it to be more obvious all you had to do was tell me.” A second finger joins his first, scissoring them to open you up, “I’d drop to my knees just to please you.”

His words make you dizzy, the idea of him on his knees and lapping at your pussy damn near capable of killing you. Your stomach flutters with butterflies at how willing he is to make you feel good.

He can feel the way your cunt clenches down on his fingers, his chest squeezing with how reactive you are to him, “Oh? You liked that, doll? Like the idea of me licking your pussy?”

“I need you, please,” your lip quivers, shudders running through your body at how his thumb rubs over your clit.

A single peck is pressed to your wobbly lower lip, “You already got me.”

“Noo– oh God–” You’re trying so hard to get your words out but he’s touching you so insistently, his fingers reaching all the perfect spots so effortlessly you might go blind. Your head rolls back as you gasp out, nails clawing down the front of his chest.

Slurred words and jumbled moans leaving you as his hand speeds up. It’s an active effort to get out, “Wan– want your– ah! dick, please.”

He laughs like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, “Only ever need to ask.” His hand is drawing back from your core, a pathetic whimper leaving you at the loss. “Turn around for me, doll.”

You do as he says, turning around to face the washing machine, one of his hands reaching forward to shut the lid. His body moves in close behind you, his front pressing into your back, firm erection against your ass.

His lips brush against your ear, “Hold on and bend over.”

“You’re so demanding,” you mutter as you do what he says.

He counters, “And you’re so obeying.” You can feel the air of his smugness radiating from behind you.

Both his hands tug at your pants, slowly pulling them down your body until they drop onto the floor. You can’t help but feel exposed and impatient, your panties stuck to your core with the arousal that drips from you. Toji’s finger creeps into the gusset, pulling them back before letting go, teasing you for his own enjoyment.

Straightening up, you try to turn to face him and tell him off for being a massive tease but he’s too close to you. An arm is wrapping around your front as his head tucks into your neck, “You going somewhere?”

“I thought since you seem to be indecisive I’d leave while you think about your next move,” you bite back.

He’s pushing your front back down, “You always this impatient?”

“You always this big a tease?” Your hands reach out to hold the machine again.

“Always got something to say don’t you?”

“Toji, I’m so wet and needy and if you don’t do something soon I’m going to finish without you and I’ll make you watch.”

Quietly and under his breath, he utters, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Before you get a chance to spin around and question him on that further, he’s pulled his pants down and your panties to the side. His cock head stretching you open, your fist slams down into the washer as you struggle to accommodate his size. Stuttered gasps and whines leaving you as he presses forward inch by inch. One of your hands has to reach back and rest on his pelvis, stopping him, needing a moment to catch your breath and get used to taking his size.

You pant out to him, “Wh– what did you mean?”

“Fffuck–” he’s struggling to maintain focus when you’re gripping him that tightly, “What?”

You’re trying to control your breathing as you ask again, “What did you mean by ‘wouldn’t be the first time’?”

“Doll, I’ve been in this house since long before you moved in,” he leans down to you, his lips brushing against your ear, “I’ve seen you fucking yourself with your toys.”

Involuntary whimper leaving you, your hips rutting back into him, “You’re such a perv.”

“Oh yeah, the fuckin biggest,” he groans at how your pussy flutters around him, “Loved when you would come home high and dry from a date, your cunt drenching your dildo with just how needy you were, squirming in your bed while fucking yourself.”

You hate how turned on you are at the thought of him watching you masturbate, “Move, please.” Hand moving away, giving him room.

He’s drawing back only to fuck his hips forwards, “Hnnn– and now I get to see how you coat my cock, such a messy fucking thing.”

Toji’s hips falter at how your cunt sucks him in, so greedy and sopping wet that it’s making his head spin. He can’t tell if it’s been too long or if you’ve got the best pussy he’s ever fucked but it’s probably somewhere in between and he can’t be bothered to think too hard about it right now.

“Is it– hah– is it nearly in?” You whine back at him, not sure how much more of him you can fit.

He’s steadily rocking his cock into you, filling you more each time he thrusts forward, “Not– not quite.”

Maybe you should let him take the lead with this but you’re impatient and horny and he’s taking too long and you just want him so deep inside you that you feel him in your guts. So, in your fuzzy brain, you decide it’s a good idea to fuck your hips back as he moves forward. He bottoms out, his pelvis slapping into your ass but you’re left breathless, squirming as you grapple with how full of him you are.

“Oh my God– what– why are you so– hng– why are you big?” Tears spring to the corners of your eyes, feeling so completely overwhelmed. Pussy twitching around him as your legs shake.

He can’t believe you’d done that, letting out a long-drawn-out groan like he’d been gut punched, “Fuck– greedy fucking thing, you couldn’t– hnn– couldn’t wait for it? Was trying to take it easy on you and your tight little hole.”

His cock is jerking violently inside you, so unbelievably turned on. Your cunt snug around his dick nearly has him believing this is his heaven and you’re his own personal angel. He’d take it for truth if the sight of your hole stretched around him weren’t so sinful, your panties tugged to the side and soaked.

His voice is strained when he checks in, “You good, doll?”

“Mhm, yeah I– mmph– I’m good,” you’re giving him the go ahead, punctuating your words with your hips wiggling back into him. It almost knocks him out, seeing the way your ass jiggles.

His hands are gripping your hips tight, holding you still as he draws back. His first thrust ruthless, forcing you forward, brain taking a second to realise that the loud moan reverberating in the room was you.

“You’re gonna be the second death of me,” he says through stifled grunts.

You are completely lacking in any kind of retort to throw back at him, only able to dumbly hum at him so he knows you heard him. The way he’s driving his dick into you has you twitching and scratching at the lid of the washer, almost embarrassed by how drunk on his cock you are.

There are so many thoughts in your head and also none at all, “Toji, it feels so– oh!– feels so good– I can’t–”

“You’re doing so good, taking it all so well,” he sounds wrecked, words breaking off at the end. “Pussy so fucking– ffuck– so creamy– ohhh–”

Toji’s eyes stay locked on how you take him, chest fluttering at how he’s fucked you open. Cock drenched in your slick, dripping down your legs. So relentless in his pursuit that he just knows your ass is gonna hurt tomorrow from the consistent smack! smack! Of his pelvis slapping into you. Not even a question of if his finger marks will be imprinted onto your hips, the memory of him fucking you so well something he’s not going to let you forget.

He finally has you full and squirming under him, he’s not going to let it be a forgettable experience. Determined to fuck you so good that you’re begging him to do it all over again. He already wasn’t going to let you go but especially not now, not when having you feels this fucking divine. The borderline obsession he feels for you growing by the second, fuelled by how pliant you are for him.

All his thoughts are coming a million miles a second, all of them about you and how bad he’s wanted you, how ecstatic he is that he’s finally balls deep inside you. “You’re so perfect, feel so– hnng– feel so perfect–”

“Careful Toji– hah– I might think you like me,” you joke at him.

The smirk he’s wearing can be felt even though you can’t see him, his laugh short, “Oh I fucking looove you, pretty thing. You’re never getting rid of me.”

You don’t know if that confession is one you can take seriously or if he’s just severely pussy drunk but its effect on you doesn’t change, your cunt clamping down around him as your chest stutters. The tears you had been holding back finally slipping down your cheeks, so overwhelmed you’re seeing stars, hell, you might be hearing things.

His hand reaches to your face and squishes your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling you back to him, your back arching lewdly for him. His tongue licking at the tears tracking down your face, “Crying over my dick, doll?” His words are laced with a sickening kind of affection for you, “So sweet for me.”

His other hand grabs at the bend of your knee, pulling it up. Despite your shaky hands still resting on the washer, all your weight is basically being supported by him. Your head falls back onto his chest  He uses the access to kiss you messily, tongue licking at yours, swallowing down the moans you let out.

Still, his hips drill into you, never letting up for even a second. Obscene squelching sounds of him fucking your gooey cunt filling the room, followed by the sharp slaps of skin hitting skin. Your stomach is pulling taut, getting so fucking close to finishing, vision blurred by all the tears in your waterline.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs into your skin, encouraging you, “Let it– fuck!– let it happen.”

“Feels– feels too– ah!– it feels different,” it feels too good, too much, “You need to­– need to stop, it doesn’t feel right.”

It sounds like he gets excited, not even a little concerned, “You’re doing so good, doll.”

“It’s not right–”

“–It’s fine,” he tries to offer comfort, “Trust me.”

Your legs shake violently, the build-up of your orgasm foreign and like it might have you passing out. As different as it feels, you trust him and let it happen, let yourself get fucked over the edge and into bliss. Your orgasm rips through you, moans tumbling freely and loudly, your body shaking from the force of it. Temporarily it feels like you lose sight, unseeing but feeling your cold tears against your hot cheeks.

Cunt clenching down, hard, on his dick, coating him completely in your cum. Body twitching with the shocks of your orgasm, head full and spinning. With the amount of blood rushing in your ears, you can’t hear what he’s saying. Only after a few moments have passed are you able to begin barley making out what he’s saying.

“Fffuck– that’s it, look at that,” Toji can’t hide the absolute pleasure in his voice even if he tried to, completely ecstatic at the sight before him.

You’re breathless and limp, letting him hold your lower half up, head lolling against his chest. Able to feel the vibrations of his moans against you, in a way it’s soothing to you.

“Doll, look down,” he prompts, hand guiding you down.

You whine in protest but look down anyways, an absolute mess everywhere. Lower halves drenched after your orgasm. “Oh my–” when he lets go of your cheeks, your head flops back onto his chest, head spinning.

“Hah– squirted everywhere,” he smiles into your skin, “All for me– hnn–”

He’s in love with the fact he’s managed to get you to cum like that without even really trying, his ego getting a boost he surely didn’t need. His own orgasm so close it bites at his skin, his hand gripping your thigh tight, pulling at your flesh. Free hand sliding under your shirt and grabbing at your breast, shamelessly groping you.

Shudders wracking his body as he cums suddenly, almost taken off guard by how quickly it happens. Cock twitching as he dumps his seed deep inside you, taking a moment to breathe before pulling back slowly, watching as his dick leaves you covered in both your orgasms.

Carefully, he places your leg back down on the ground, leaving you to stand on your own only for your legs to wobble and almost give out under you. If Toji hadn’t been right behind you, you would’ve fallen to the floor. He pulls your panties back into place before hoisting you up onto the washing machine, letting you sit while he puts his dick back into his pants.

You watch him move, all dazed and fucked out, pleasantly placated. His eyes meeting yours when he’s fully clothed, a big smile spreading across his face when he sees the mess he’s made of you.

Leaning in towards you, he asks, “Still got that big fat crush on me?”

“Uhm… I don’t know…” you pretend to think about it, like you don’t know if you like him or not.

He gives you a quick and soft kiss, “How about now?”

“I think… maybe,” you smile lazily at him.

His brow raises, “Maybe?”

“Yeah… definitely maybe still have a big fat crush on you,” you nod once, sure.

He’s grinning when he sighs, “You’re unbearable.”

“That’s my line,” you retort.

You’re both playing dumb but you both know you got it bad for each other and Toji is not going to let you get away with avoiding him again. Not after he’s gotten a taste of you.

𝐀/𝐍: this took longer than what i said it would and i'm sorry for that but i also was only planning for this to be a drabble... i have issues ToT anyways !! i hope you enjoyed !! happy almost halloween !!

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

★ ⁝ my works are not to be used for AI under any circumstances

[s-brant]

Three’s Company

When Patrick visits his best friend at Stanford University, Art’s new fling finds herself stuck between two very attractive men.

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected p in v, double penetration, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, they’re all pervs, and strong language.

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The room is stiflingly hot.

There is no air conditioning in her study/fuck buddy's dorm to keep up with the late April heat that has descended upon Stanford's campus so quickly. Three different fans are plugged into outlets around the cramped living space, yet it does little to keep her body cool enough to feel comfortable.

Sleeping with Art was an impulsive decision. The first time was merely weeks ago after he politely asked if she would share her notes from a class he was absent from. They exchanged numbers to organize the meeting, and she ended up talking to him for the better part of an hour in the dining hall. Although she did not recognize it as flirting—the oblivious little thing she is—he shyly commented on seeing her at one of her gymnastics competitions and refused to let her get dinner with her meal credits. Looking back, his intentions should have been obvious to her, yet she does not think badly of him over it. If anything, she likes how wanted he made her feel. He knew what he wanted and ensured that he got it.

They came back to his room to study—only to study, he claimed with his hands held up to proclaim his innocence—for their approaching final exams.

"Good," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and turning to walk in the direction of his dorm building. "Cause it's way too hot to be doing anything else."

They were both laughing as he set down his racquet bag to unlock the door. It was muffled through the wall, but Patrick heard it just fine from where he was perched on the foot of Art's bed with Tears for Fears playing on the unlabeled CD he dug through desk drawers to find. The sound of a distinctly feminine giggle made his mouth turn up at the corners in a smirk. This will be fun to tease his closest friend over until his cheeks flush pink and he has to hide his face in his shirt.

When the door swung open, the laughter died out as soon as they realized they weren't alone, but it was quickly replaced with wide smiles and warm greetings.

Patrick tried not to look her up and down so blatantly. Instead, he chuckled and said, "Art, you conveniently left out that you had a girlfriend on our last call."

To this, Art set down his bag and tackled him onto the bed, starting a minute-long wrestling match that only ended when they began to sweat from the heat and physical activity. It was then that Art remembered to have manners and introduced her. He scrambled to sit upright on the mattress and met her curious gaze.

"Y/N, this is Patrick. I'm sorry, I forgot what day he was coming."

She smiled.

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." A pause, and then she turned her attention to Art. "Do you wanna study another time? I don't wanna intrude or anything."

Before Art could open his mouth to tell her to stay, Patrick aimed one of his charming grins at her, then said, "No, please intrude. I'll just hang out. You won't even know I'm here."

The last sentence caused a disbelieving scoff to leave Art’s lips.

As of right now, as she sits on the chair in front of the desk and the boys share the bed, they have gotten halfway through the study guide they meticulously constructed after one of the two classes they share, but it grew boring once an hour and a half passed. They typically end up getting distracted and make out by now, but with Patrick here, neither of them considers that an option. So, she suggests they take a half-hour break to sit, drink, and talk to allow their brains to decompress from the constant stimulation.

He already had a few beers inside the mini fridge beneath his desk, along with a hard seltzer for her seeing that she finds the taste of beer disgusting but quite enjoys being drunk with him. Also kept in the freezer section of the fridge is a pack of ice pops she bought a few days ago when the heat wave began. They prove to be very useful right now as the midday sun bakes the building alive despite the closed curtains and blowing fans.

The CD has moved onto Nine Inch Nails, and she remains quiet to hear it over the sound of the fans as she holds a red ice pop to the side of her neck to cool herself off. Sometime along the way, both of them had stripped down to their underwear after asking her if it was alright because it was so hot. Patrick joked that he was alright with her taking her clothes off too, which she laughed at while Art playfully shoved him over it. Yet now she isn't laughing. Her small exercise shorts are as forgiving as any item of clothing could be in these circumstances, but the long-sleeve shirt she wore because it was the only clean one left is sticking to her skin.

"So, how did you and Art meet?"

Her eyes open to find Patrick glancing back and forth between them.

"It's a boring story, actually," she says. "He asked if I took notes for a class he missed, and now he's stuck with me all the time."

"No, no, okay, maybe it was boring from her perspective, but I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to her for at least a week before then. I went to one of her competitions and recognized her from class," Art explains. "She won, which wasn't surprising at all."

Although she already knew this, this is the first time he has admitted to it out loud, and her stomach flutters at the idea of him becoming so enamored with her from one glance. The popsicle is sweet on her tastebuds when she raises it to her lips and sucks with her eyes looking between them both. As she expected, Patrick shifts a little in place and looks away for reasons not at all related to how she was looking at them while sucking her popsicle.

She chuckles.

"So, you were just interested in befriending me 'cause I win a lot?"

Her tone of voice is taunting, but they know it's all in good fun. Art is quick to play along, shrugging his shoulders to feign aloofness and taking a quick swig of his beer before responding. Their eye contact grows intense in the seconds before he speaks.

"Well, there were some other contributing factors."

"Mm," Patrick hums in agreement. "I've never seen you compete, but you are really hot, so Art's right about that."

This makes her pause for a second, her gaze shifting to find Art's to see if his friend crossed any lines, but he appears strangely calm about it. What she doesn't know is that he has never had any problem sharing, at least, not with Patrick. They shared a room in boarding school, jerked off together to the same girl, and shared the court together—what was his would always be Patrick's, and what was Patrick's would always be his.

"You're flirting with me right in front of him?"

Art interjects, "I'd be shocked if he didn't."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he's standing up from the bed to get another beer. The dorm room is small, so it only takes a few strides for him to meet her where she sits before the desk and kneels down to open the mini fridge. His left hand braces itself on one of her thighs while the right swings open the fridge door only to find there is no beer left. Rather than complain, he simply grabs one of her least favorite hard seltzer flavors and gives her thigh a firm squeeze before standing up.

The bed creaks beneath his weight when he sits back down on it.

He settles into a comfortable position with his back against the wall and legs spread, balancing the seltzer can on his bent knee. Patrick sits close to him, and she finds it difficult to peel her eyes off the pair of them in their current state of undress. Her gaze mostly lingers on Patrick seeing that she has already explored every inch of Art's lean body in the plentiful amount of times they've hooked up over the past few weeks. But, that being said, she cannot resist looking at Art either. Having two beautiful men laid out before her in their underwear is a treat she never expected to indulge in today. They each have the strong, masculine figures of athletes—showing mostly in their shoulders, biceps, abdomen, and thighs.

When Patrick notices her staring, she turns her gaze to the floor to avoid the embarrassment of being caught. If he did catch her, though, he doesn't call her out for it. Not yet, at least.

With one last bite of her popsicle, she stands from the desk chair to toss it into the small trash can beside his nightstand. It isn't until she lets it go that she realizes how close she now stands to the two of them. Only a foot or so from the bed, her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the proximity.

The way she sees it, she has two options. The first would be to retreat to the desk to let her long-sleeved shirt give her heatstroke while the men get to sit in front of the oscillating fans with their shirts off, or she can strip down to her undergarments and join them on the bed. Needless to say, she opts for the latter of the two.

Y/N lets out an exaggerated groan at the heat and fans herself with her hands for the sake of appearing somewhat innocent in what she's about to do, then reaches down for the hem of her shirt with a huff.

Art and Patrick can do nothing but watch with rapt attention side by side as she pulls the fabric up her torso and over her head. The shirt ends up falling to the floor beside her feet alongside their discarded t-shirts and pants. This leaves her in her most comfortable bra—which is Art's favorite since her nipples can be seen through the mesh material—and a pair of tiny spandex shorts.

Patrick's tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight of her—almost angelic in her beauty—and tries to burn the image into his mind to hold onto forever. Definitely going in the spank bank, he thinks to himself as his cock begins to harden in his boxers. Beside him, Art has been stunned to silence. Even though they've fucked like rabbits since the first time, he isn't sure if he'll ever get used to seeing her like this. Those shorts hug the delicate curve of her hips, as well as that lovely ass that has been sculpted from years of training as a gymnast, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to take them off.

They sit there, dumbfounded, with their mouths hanging open just enough for her to notice and suppress an arrogant smirk. But to allow herself to smirk would be to reveal her cards, and she doesn't want them to see this as anything other than her innocently trying to cool down. Truth be told, she hasn't thought this through. It's not as though she planned this as she was sitting at the desk. It's more of an impulsive, irresistible urge. And if they will tease her so blatantly with their half-naked bodies, she is entitled to do the same.

"You," she says, jutting her chin in Patrick's direction. "Scoot. I wanna sit in front of the fans too."

Underneath it all, she's thankful that she took the time to do her hair the way that makes her feel the most confident and put a little makeup on. Not that either of them is focused on her damned makeup. No, they're far too busy ogling her figure to notice anything north of her collarbones.

After a delayed second of staring, what she said seems to register within him and spark him into action. He's quick to scoot closer to the end of the bed if it means she'll be inhabiting the small space between them. 

She offers a quiet, "Thank you," and crawls onto the bed, turning around and settling into place with her back against the wall. The cool air generated by the fans blows faintly against the front of her sweat-slick chest, and she can't help but shut her eyes and hum in appreciation of it.

With her eyes shut, Art and Patrick are both scrambling to quietly conceal their growing erections. If they don't, it'll be glaringly obvious when she opens her eyes and sees a tent in their underwear on either side of her. Although the life-long friends don't speak, there's an understanding formed between the two of them. Whatever she allows them to have of her tonight, if she allows anything, they'll share nicely. Patrick knows that if anything happens, he is to assume it is a one-time thing unless she or Art expresses a desire for an arrangement of some sort to be made.

Her eyes open again a few seconds later to find them staring at her.

Breaking the silence, she asks, turning her head left to right to address each of them, "Did your mothers never tell you it's rude to stare?"

Patrick doesn't miss a beat.

"Did you know it's rude to be a tease?"

The sound of Art sucking in a deep breath meets her ears, but she doesn't look away from Patrick. Their eyes are locked, and she can see the mischief present in his. It's almost as if he dares her to do something...like he knows that she wants him just as badly as he wants her. Part of her feels guilty, feeling like she should remain loyal to Art even though they aren't exclusive, but a much more dominant part of her desires it too much to resist the temptation.

"Patrick, don't pressure her. If she doesn't want to—"

Her head turning to look at him halts him in his tracks. The look she's giving him...

Much to his shock, she was a virgin when they met a few weeks ago. He questioned her relentlessly, claiming there was no way someone as beautiful, smart, and talented as her could've gone so long without doing it, but she held firm. It was the truth, he realized after she sheepishly relayed the story of how she made out with a basketball player on Halloween and wimped out before it could go further. That first night, she was a bashful, blushing little thing. He treated her with the tenderness and reverence she deserved, first making her come with his tongue and fingers before fucking her. It was so...intimate. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he made that first, breathtaking thrust into her. Just the thought of it was enough to get him hard the next day, but he knew not to expect anything after how shy she was the previous night. Little did he know, he awakened something within her, and from then on, she would be insatiable.

He almost got whiplash from how quickly she changed from a nervous, flushed-faced girl asking him, "Am I doing this right?" when she got on top to a cock-hungry temptress ready to jump onto him at any moment. Truth be told, he found it so fucking hot. To think that he was the catalyst for this behavior was beyond comprehension. Though Art did well enough in his dating life, Patrick was the one that the girls they liked gravitated toward when they were in school together. But she was his, and he thinks, even now, that he'll always have the satisfaction of having gotten to her first no matter what happens tonight.

Y/N shifts around on the mattress so that she's sitting on the side of the bed opposite the wall, facing them with her hands on her knees and legs tucked beneath her ass. Both boys perk up a little at this, and they watch every minute movement she makes and listen to every breath she breathes with unwavering focus.

She meets Art's gaze first before doing anything. Her brows raise in question, and, in answer, he gives her a slight nod. Those pretty, cherry-stained lips of hers curve into a smirk she doesn't even bother to hide in response to this.

"Have you ever fucked the same girl before?" she asks out of pure curiosity, her tone calm and even. Her hands leave her knees to grab one of their thighs each, slowly rubbing up and down to allow her fingertips to brush the edge of their boxers. "Two guys at the same time is a first for me..."

To say that they are in a state of shock would be a gross understatement. Surprisingly, their mouths are not hanging open, and they aren't drooling at the mere thought of what she's proposing.

Somehow, Patrick finds his voice and says, "No." A second of pause, then—"Is this for real? Like you're not just fucking with us?"

The silence that follows is ripe with tension. All that can be heard is the sound of voices passing in the hallway outside of the dorm room and fans blowing on their highest setting. The hands on their thighs come to a halt at the edge of their boxers, and the softened expression on her face shifts into one of unabashed lust as she looks at Patrick.

In answer to his question, she starts to crawl over to him. Seeing that the mattress is a twin, it doesn't take too long for her to reach him and settle into place on top of him. Her hands slide up to cup his face, forcing him to only look at her when she lowers herself onto his lap. The spandex shorts hugging every inch of her figure do little to keep him from feeling the warmth of her cunt against the bulge that formed the second she took her top off.

That first brush of her lips against his is gentle, as though she has him under a trance, but it doesn't take longer than a few seconds for him to snap out of it. Patrick's hands grasp her hips first to keep her from moving away, then they slide down to knead the soft, supple flesh of her ass as he begins to kiss her back hungrily. The kiss quickly begins to descend from her lips to her jaw until he reaches the soft skin of her neck.

While he nips and sucks at the sensitive spot along the side of her neck, Y/N opens her eyes to find Art staring, unblinking, at the pornographic display before him. The sight of him alone—between his messy blonde hair, piercing eyes, and masterfully structured face—is enough to pull a breathy moan from the back of her throat. One would think that she would get used to the way he makes her feel when he looks at her like that, but she never does.

One of the arms wrapped around Patrick's neck uncurls itself to reach for Art, fingers wiggling to beckon him to her. 

He's already invading her space by the time she whispers, "C'mere, baby."

Art practically melts into the two writhing bodies he kneels beside at the casual use of a pet name from her. The word echoes in the farthest reaches of his brain until it is all he can hear on a loop. Even as she grips the back of his neck and pulls him until their mouths collide, his cock twitches from the memory of her calling him baby.

Patrick continues to suck, lick, nip, and kiss his way down her neck as she slips her tongue into Art's mouth with a groan. He leaves marks behind everywhere he goes with the thought of his friend finding them on her for the next week and a half in mind. It only makes it more thrilling for him to imagine the strange mixture of frustration and arousal that will arise within Art when he rediscovers them the next time they hook up.

Slowly, she is guided onto her back by his mouth slipping down to take one of her nipples into it and his callused hands peeling her shorts, along with her soaked cotton thong, down over the swell of her ass. The freshly washed sheets are soft against her bare back as she lays back and watches Patrick worship her breasts with both his mouth and hands. In the midst of their repositioning, Art took it upon himself to squeeze into the cramped space next to Patrick, slotting himself between him and the wall the bed is pressed against. Without a word of warning, he dips his face down to kiss the breast Patrick is cupping in his hand.

She feels hands everywhere, unsure of which belongs to who. Hands grapple for purchase on her hips, her waist, her breasts, her thighs, and her ass—always moving in search of new territory to claim. Although they have no way of coordinating their actions, they seem to move in sync with one another. The second Art's mouth lowers to kiss down her stomach, which flinches inward at the feeling, Patrick follows. If she weren't so overwhelmed with everything right now, she'd likely laugh at how eager they are to race each other down the length of her body.

Their heads bump every few seconds by the time they reach her parted thighs, but they are too focused on getting a taste of her to care at first. They work with the same synchronized harmony they once had as doubles partners, Art tugging her left leg over his shoulder while Patrick shoves her right up and out until her thigh is flush with her chest. She can't help but silently thank her parents for enrolling her in gymnastics lessons years ago. If they hadn't, this would be a tad uncomfortable.

Finally, Patrick tries to shove Art to the side a little, complaining, "Come on, man, you're with her all the time."

To her surprise, it works for the first moment or so. Art places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thigh as Patrick's tongue makes a broad stroke through her, but it isn't long before he grows dissatisfied with his current role in this impromptu threesome and decides to fight back. He doesn't shove or push like Patrick had, instead, he gently nudges his head against Patrick's until they can share her.

Having Art go down on her alone always feels pleasurable, but having both of their mouths on her at the same time is another sensation entirely. It's indescribable. Spit drools from their lips as they kiss her sodden cunt, taking turns flicking the tips of their tongues against her clit for the sake of hearing her moan over and over. From where she looks down at them, they're nearly kissing each other as they eat her out, and she has to tip her head back onto her shoulders to keep them from seeing her smirk.

When she looks back down, she makes a breathy, gasping sound at the sight of them. Patrick is looking up at her with an intensity no man has ever had when looking at her, not even Art, and there is no ignoring the feeling it stirs in the pit of her abdomen.

"Fuck," she whines and pushes herself harder against their faces, but it's never enough. "More—I need more. Please."

Neither one hesitates. In fact, they seem to form a plan without speaking it aloud. As Art's free hand raises from where it palmed his cock through his boxers, Patrick's lips close around her sensitive, puffy clit and start to suck. The tips of Art's middle and ring fingers brush tentatively against her hole, then, teasingly slow, push inside until they're buried knuckle deep.

The contrast of the men as lovers—Patrick being unforgiving and passionate, Art being tender and desperate—threatens to dizzy her. But Art cannot control himself for too long. He often starts slow and gentle, his eyes flooded with genuine affection for whoever is pinned under his body, then loses his composure the farther things go. By the time he's inside of her, he's almost brutal in how hard he fucks her, and it isn't out of malice, it's out of animalistic lust.

So, as per usual, the pace Art sets to begin with shifts into something harder and faster.

Over the sounds of the fans and music playing on the CD player across the room, a symphony of panting breaths, whines, and wet noises can be heard. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the people who were talking in the hallway could hear it, but it's not like they care right now. 

When she closes her eyes and tries to fall back against the mattress, Patrick stops for a second to murmur, "Don't look away," before getting back to work. Something about the way his voice sounds forces her to submit to his demand without hesitation. There's an edge to it. An underlying promise that he will stop and leave her here to suffer if she doesn't listen, so she does. She watches with a slack-jawed expression at how they work diligently to get her off.

The combined sensations of the fingers pumping into her at a steady, rushed pace and the lips enclosed around her sensitive bud push her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Art slips a third finger in and licks between her sticky folds as Patrick sucks her clit relentlessly. Everything they do is motivated by a dire need to take as much of her as they can, as though they can't quite believe what's happening and want to savor it before they wake from the dream. Seeing their desperation only fuels the fire roaring to life inside of her.

They feast on her the way starving men would if presented with food—humming and groaning in satisfaction at the taste of her on their tongues. Through the haze she's fallen under as a result of the present situation, her gaze lifts from where both of their faces are smushed together between her parted thighs to find that they're both humping the mattress. It seems like they don't even realize they're doing it, which, of course, only makes it hotter for her. To think that she wields enough power over them, that she renders them so useless and needy...

Her brows pinch together at the feeling of Art's fingertips finding the sweet spot inside of her.

"Right there," she breathes out in a shaky voice, hand shooting down to grasp anything she can find for support.

It ends up being Patrick's dark hair that is weaved between her fingers and used as her lifeline, tugging nearly every time Art's fingertips find the spot inside of her that makes her throw her head back on the bed and cry out for them. If they didn't have her pinned down, her hips would be lifting to meet every thrust, but she cannot do anything other than take it. Every breath she takes turns rapid, her chest rising and falling dramatically, as the familiar feeling of her impending release grows nearer by the second.

She says, half warning and half pleading with them, "I'm"—The sentence is cut off before it can be said by a high-pitched moan that makes Patrick moan and Art whimper into her—"Please"—What she's pleading for, none of them know, herself included, but she continues to babble nonsensically anyway—"Ah!"

The hand that isn't pulling on Patrick's hair reaches down instinctively for the hand Art grips her thigh with, and she doesn't even need to ask him for it. He entwines their fingers and allows her to squeeze his hand until circulation is lost as she finally feels the wave that was building within her begin to crest.

It hits her harder than she ever knew it could. 

Everything explodes into a sensation of bliss so strong, she loses herself in it. The only thing tying her body down to the earth is the feeling of the hands on her—touching her, fingering her, caressing her, and holding her hand—yet even that is not enough to keep her from floating away into another world entirely for the first few seconds of her orgasm. The muscles in her legs, so exhausted from being forced into a position like this, shake violently with every wave of pleasure rushing through her, and her walls clamp down around the fingers thrusting into her.

If she could live forever in these fifteen seconds, she would, but it soon becomes obvious to her that there's no chance of that happening. Gradually, the intense sensation starts to recede like the tides, and they are both there to help her ride it out to the very end. But once it fully fades, she wriggles beneath them in sensitivity.

Using the hand wrapped up in his hair, Y/N pulls Patrick's mouth away from her clit with a strength he didn't know to expect despite her obvious athletic background, and when Art notices this, he too slows the rhythmic pumping of his fingers inside of her throbbing heat to a stop. Wary of hurting her, he waits another five seconds before slowly pulling them out.

She has gone boneless where she lays on her back with her eyes shut and chest heaving for air.

Knowing she cannot see them, Patrick cuts his best friend a look and jerks his chin in her direction in a silent urging to check on her. Both men start to move at the same time, crawling over her until they reach her face. While Patrick lies beside her and trails his hand up and down her naked, sweat-soaked torso to occupy himself in the time it takes her to recover, Art licks her arousal from his fingers before grabbing her by the chin.

He asks with a teasing inflection, "You still with us?"

Her eyes slowly open to find them both staring at her, and she cannot help the slight smile that comes to her face at this.

"You guys almost killed me," she murmurs. "I think my vision got spotty for a second there."

They allow her another moment to catch her breath and recuperate in the aftermath of what she endured. She takes turns looking at them as she pants for air, laying with her arms above her head and thighs squeezed together due to her current state of sensitivity.

Patrick is the first to break the silence.

"We're not done with you," he says softly, the hand on her chest climbing up until it cradles the side of her neck. "But you know that, don't you?"

"I'd be a little bummed if you were," she replies.

Her head is whipping around at the sound of Art's voice.

"Only a little?"

She pushes herself up from where she's lying supine on the bed, which is now a mess of tangled sheets and sweat, to smack him on the arm. It's all in good fun, of course, and Art is hardly hurt by the playful blow she landed on him. Giggles escape her mouth as they begin to play fight, swatting and trying to pin one another down with Patrick there to spectate. He encourages Y/N to fight dirty, telling her where to strike, which causes Art to curse under his breath and declare him a traitor.

It ultimately ends with her on top, her legs straddling his hips and hands pinning his wrists to the bed. Based on the faraway, longing gleam in his eyes as he looks up at her, Patrick can tell immediately that she only won because Art allowed her to. Because there is something about being pinned to the bed underneath her that turns him on. And she knows it. It's easy to tell by how his erection presses up against her naked center through the fabric of his boxers.

Suddenly, she comes up onto her knees and moves back until she's hovering over his thighs. Her next words are a soft-spoked explanation for why she's reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

"Too much clothes."

But, to her surprise, another pair of hands comes to her aid in shimmying Art's underwear down his hips and legs. The way Patrick sees it, the sooner he helps her get them off, the sooner she'll take his off. And he isn't wrong. As soon as they get the boxers free from Art's body, the garment is tossed to the side without a care in the world. Neither of them looks to see where they landed, they're far too busy leaning in to kiss each other than keep track of their discarded clothing.

Her left hand is wrapped around Art's cock, pumping at a torturously slow pace, as she pulls away from Patrick with a string of saliva connecting their lips.

"Take those off," she says with a pointed look at his crotch.

To say he is sent scrambling to take off his underwear at her command would be an understatement. If this scenario itself wasn't hot enough to make her cunt throb with a desperate need to be fucked, she'd be giggling at his eagerness. But it's hard to find anything funny when she's faced with Patrick standing, one foot on the floor and his other leg braced against the bed at the knee, with nothing to conceal him from her anymore.

It must inflate his ego to heights it has never reached before to see her tongue dart out to wet her lips at the sight of him. The hand stroking Art falters as she admires Patrick's cock. It's about an inch longer than Art's yet equal in girth, curving up a little toward his hair-speckled, defined abdomen. A drop of precome has dripped from his tip, and she has to dip her head forward to get a quick taste. Those pretty lips wrap around him, not pushing down to take the rest of his shaft into her mouth but remaining where she is, flicking her tongue against the slit where the drops of sticky, pearlescent fluid secrete.

A taste is all she allows herself, though.

Her lips pull off of him with a soft popping sound, and she makes sure to maintain eye contact with him as she licks a drop of pre-come off of her top lip.

She turns to look at Art, then Patrick, then back at Art, asking, "How do you want me?"

Seeing that she was a virgin before she started seeing Art, she figures she isn't qualified to direct this in a way that'll be comfortable for everyone involved. No, if she had to bet, Patrick has the most experience between the three of them—with Art following closely behind—and he will have no problem taking control from here based on how he has acted thus far.

To their surprise, it's Art who answers first. 

Patrick was still in a faraway daze from having her mouth around his cock only to be kicked when he was down by the question she asked. How do you want me? God, it's like she's trying to kill them.

"On my lap."

Art pushes himself up from the mattress and repositions so he sits on his knees in front of them, reaching for her hips to pull her closer without a second of hesitation. Her arms instantly reach for his shoulders to steady herself as she maneuvers into the exact position he had in mind. Buried beneath the music that has become white noise to them and the fans running on their highest setting, he thinks he hears her breath hitch in her throat once she's straddling his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against her clit.

Absentmindedly, she starts to grind against him, coating him in the slick arousal that seeps from her, but it's slow. A tease compared to what's coming next.

"Patrick," he says, his voice unwavering despite the excitement that makes his stomach churn. His hand slides down from her neck, caressing her breast as it passes by at a lazy speed, until he takes hold of himself and pumps a few times—as if he isn't hard as a fucking rock already. Over her shoulder, he meets his friend's intense stare. "If you wanna fuck her, you should probably get on the bed."

And while he would usually fire back something equally witty or taunting, Patrick cannot manage to do anything but nod. There's something about seeing Art this way that subdues him. He would like to think that the sole reason he's standing naked in front of his best friend is because there's a girl involved, but that isn't true. Not completely. Although Art would never admit to himself that he feels the same way, there's something familiar about this. Comfortable. Right.

The mattress dips with Patrick's shifting weight, squeaking a little beneath his knees until he settles into place behind her. His chest presses against her back, and his hand reaches up to grab her jaw, guiding her head to tilt so he can kiss her neck while Art lines himself up with her. She feels Patrick's cock pressing against her ass as the broad tip of Art's sinks inside of her.

Having Patrick's face buried in her neck, her shoulder, and back to her neck again provided her and Art a rare second of private intimacy. Her eyes, glazed over with lust, lock into his and refuse to look away. The intensity present in his gaze does not frighten her. If anything, it sends a rush of adrenaline through her body, and she takes a second to admire his soft, wide eyes. She's never mentioned it aloud before, but she has always been fascinated with making eye contact with him due to his right eye. Half of the iris is a striking, clear shade of blue while the other is a warm brown hue.

"Fuck," he says under his breath at the feeling of her squeezing down around him, her tight cunt resisting a little until she relaxes and sinks down until there's nothing left to take.

There's nothing that compares to the feeling of the first thrust he makes.

Every time, it makes her bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. To feel him so deep is almost undoing in itself. Then she feels another hand slide between her legs, and her mind goes utterly blank. Everything outside of this room falls away the second Patrick starts to rub her clit in gentle, languid circles to help her adjust to the stretch of Art inside of her. Patrick's lips lavish every accessible inch of her bare skin with kisses as his friend, with a hand on each of her hips, starts to lift her up and down at an unhurried pace.

Their noses and lips brush without completely touching. When she pushes her face closer to Art's, hoping to lock lips with him, he pulls away for the sake of seeing her grow hot in the face from embarrassment. The mouth worshipping the back of her neck curves up into a smirk in reaction to the games Art plays with her. Who knew he's just as fun in bed as he is out of it? Certainly not Patrick.

She mutters, voice breathy and weak, "Feels so good..."

"Yeah?" Patrick murmurs into her skin and presses his fingers hard against her clit. "Tell me how he feels."

If he could see her the way Art can right now, he'd have to suppress a chuckle at how her brows pinch together at the command. Regardless of her sudden shyness, the words he says only make her ride Art harder. Over her shoulder, Patrick searches for those pale blue eyes only to find them staring through him already. Every smooth rocking motion of her hips pushes her ass against his neglected erection, providing him with a brushing touch before pivoting away again.

"He feels"—she says, chest rising and falling faster—"He's so hard." Her sentences are hardly coherent. "Perfect��mmm—fucking me so deep." One of her hands reaches to tug his down to press it against the southernmost part of her abdomen. "Feel."

With her palm molded over the back of his hand and forcing him to push down on her belly, Patrick can hardly keep from groaning at the subtle bulge of Art's cock moving in and out of her. It's strangely intimate for the three of them to share this experience, but for him to feel every thrust through her is more than he anticipated.

Unable to fight what instinct drives him to, Patrick shifts his hips until the angle of her grinding against him allows his tip to brush up against the hole she and Art have yet to touch. He doesn't do anything more, not without her asking for it, but it's clear to both Art and Y/N that he desperately wants to. All of this physical affection shared between the two of them has made Patrick needy and jealous, so she decides to grant him mercy.

She reaches behind herself blindly to guide him elsewhere, nudging him against the hole Art is already filling. It takes them a couple of seconds to understand what she means in doing this, but, once it clicks, they start to go a little crazy. For the moment, she has stopped bouncing on Art's cock for the sake of allowing Patrick to push in beside him, and he has to surge forward to kiss her. If he doesn't distract himself with a kiss, he'll be too tempted to move.

As Art kisses her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and caressing her own, Patrick's hand wraps around her throat for leverage with his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His hand wraps around where hers grips his cock to guide it to her entrance, and with his help, they manage to squeeze the tip in.

Her jaw drops at the overwhelming sensation, and the sloppy kiss is interrupted when her head rolls back onto Patrick's shoulder. Art doesn't seem to care, though. Now that her head is tipped back, her neck is exposed for him to mark, and he takes advantage of the opportunity as soon as it presents itself. His lips brush against Patrick's fingers a few times as he kisses her fervently, sucking hard on the delicate skin that has already been bruised by his dear friend.

"You're beautiful," Art whispers into her neck between kisses. "So, so beautiful."

Taking it slow for her sake, Patrick has to force himself into her inch by inch, stretching her little cunt to take far more than she's accustomed to. But, as hard as it is, it works. After another few moments of him pushing in and pausing to let her adjust, he finally bottoms out with his cock flush against Art's. Her walls clamp down around them tightly. They both share a nervous look at this, wondering if they'll manage to last longer than thirty seconds if it already feels this good.

Slowly, she raises her head from where it slumped against Patrick's shoulder and meets Art's intense stare with one of her own. His hand raises to cup the side of her face, his fingers grazing against Patrick's, and he brushes his thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip. Every breath taken between the three of them is labored.

Pulling her lip down with his thumb, he asks, "Feeling okay?"

A half-second later, Patrick chimes in.

"If it's too much, you have to tell us."

Not a question, not a request, but a demand. The way he said it left no room for debate, so she nods in compliance and responds with an eagerness that neither man can miss, "M'fine, please, just fuck me..."

Patrick does not need to be told twice.

Having been sidelined for too long and forced to watch them fuck without him, he pulls out slowly, then cants his hips back against her ass with a force that takes her breath away. Amidst this, Art cannot do anything but let his face fall forward into her chest and whine in ecstasy. Just the movement of Patrick's cock rubbing against his with every thrust renders him useless. He knew it would feel better than any sex he'd had before, but this...He'll likely spend the rest of his life chasing the hedonism they are experiencing tonight.

One of her arms reaches behind her to grab Patrick's hip and dig her nails in hard while the other closes around Art's neck to pull both of them as close as can be. And now that he has forced himself back from the edge of a premature release, Art begins to move too, searching for a rhythm that feels right. Soon enough, he manages to find it. Both of their heads lift to look at each other, faces inches apart with their chins pressing on her shoulder, and they work with the same synchronicity they had while eating her out not even fifteen minutes ago.

She turns her head to the side to watch their stare-down as they rut into her like feral animals—utterly insatiable and overcome by their baser instincts. And it's only now that it occurs to her that, underneath it all, they want each other as desperately and pathetically as they want her. Patrick's gaze relentlessly bounces back and forth between Art's eyes and lips, and it makes her smirk to herself. The pleasure of fucking her as one, their pulsing cocks rubbing together in the warm walls of her cunt, has lowered their inhibitions, and the idea of being intimate with one another isn't as daunting as it would be if they were fully aware.

Leaning in to brush her cherry-flavored lips against Art's ear, she whispers, "I want you to kiss him."

The arm looped around the back of his neck pulls tighter in encouragement, bringing his body so close to hers that she can feel his ribs expanding with every breath. His only reaction to her request is a quick glance at her face once she pulls away from his ear with a sensuous lick as a parting gift. It's almost as though he doesn't believe what she's saying, but the reassuring expression she wears tells him that it is real. She truly wants him to see him kiss his best friend, not only for their enjoyment but hers as well.

One second, he's looking at her, and the next, he's slotting his lips against Patrick's with a passion previously only reserved for her. Their hands both grapple for purchase on her sweat-slick body, Art aggressively kneading her breasts and Patrick squeezing her hips for dear life, as they moan into each other's mouths.

As they kiss each other hungrily, Y/N has nothing left to do but bask in the tension swelling inside of her. There's something about how wrong this situation feels to her that makes it so much more arousing. Girls are always raised with the idea that promiscuity lessens their value, and she was not an exception. Having been raised in a family of devout believers, she hadn't kissed a boy until she was seventeen years old. The next person she kissed was Art, and in the time since their first kiss, he has thoroughly corrupted her.

And even as distracted as he is by the all-consuming, wet kiss he's engaged in, Art feels her cunt start to squeeze around their cocks and immediately drops one of the hands on her breasts between her splayed thighs. His finger rubs in tight circles on her clit in hopes that she will reach her end before he and Patrick come pathetically soon.

Her body jerks where it's trapped between them when his fingers make contact, pulling their focus away from each other for the first time since their lips touched. Patrick reaches up to hold her neck in one hand and forces her face to the side so both of them can look at every subtle expression she makes. 

"Don't stop," she pleads, eyes glazed over. "M'so close, Art"—Every merciless thrust elicits a high-pitched whine from her—"Patrick, please!"

The body trapped between them has gone boneless and twitchy, utterly useless at holding herself up or aiding them in any way. But they wear it like a badge of honor. With her face falling forward into Art's neck, she loses her grasp on all that is around her and lets them prop her up to fuck her like a toy existing solely for their gratification.

With one hand cradling the back of her head and the other between her thighs, still dutifully rubbing her clit, Art asks under his breath, "Isn't she fucking perfect?"

Although it was a question meant for Patrick, she can't help how she moans and clenches her walls around them when she hears it. Panting breaths from the three of them flood the sweltering dorm room, but they are too far gone to notice or care how much sweat drips off of their bodies onto one another. It's almost hard to get a firm grip on her as a result of it, but they manage to keep her in place by smushing their bodies as close as physically possible on both sides of her.

Patrick bucks his hips up into her with a recklessness that gives away how close he is to his climax.

He says, "Oh, God, yeah." The hand still collaring her delicate neck squeezes just enough to take her breath away for a second. However, once he released his hold on her, that hand moved to wrap itself up the roots of her hair. "Best pussy I've ever had. So fucking tight, it's like she wants us to come inside her." A pause, then, "Is that what you want?"

A second passes of silence from her, and he sharply tugs back on her hair until her face is no longer hidden in Art's neck. This allows them to drink in the sight of her—face twisted up in pleasure and mouth gaping open.

He asks again, "Is that what you want?"

Her response is immediate.

"Yes, yes, yes," she murmurs incoherently and takes quick turns to look between their faces. If the expressions they wear are any indication, it won't be long before her wish is fulfilled. "I'm—mmm-gonna come! I need you to fill me up, please, please!"

To this, Art rubs her clit faster while maintaining eye contact with her and finally lets go of whatever remaining scraps of self-control he has left. Knowing how close she is pushes them closer themselves, and they start to pound her hard. Hard enough that even they, as soon-to-be professional athletes, have difficulty sustaining this intense degree of exertion.

The arm that she looped around his shoulders is still there, but now her hand is sliding down from the back of Art's neck to explore the toned musculature of his upper back. Under her searching palm, she can feel his muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his pale skin.

To both her and Art's surprise, the world begins to shift in their peripheral vision until he falls flat against the mattress on his back with his length still sheathed inside of her. It takes a second for their brains to catch up with what happened and deem Patrick responsible for the position change. He laid his hands flat on her back and pushed with just the right amount of force to pin Art to the mattress beneath them.

Art says, breathless, "I can feel you squeezing us, baby, just let go."

Hearing those words sets fire to her blood, and that, paired with the toe-curling sensation of them pressing deep inside of her, hitting that spot over and over and over, is what tips her over the edge.

Patrick keeps pulling on her hair to force her head up so that they can feel and watch her come, and what a beautiful sight it is. Art, the lucky bastard, is face to face with her as she tenses up with the onslaught of her climax. But he can see the side of her pretty, flushed face and drink up every little sound she makes, so he doesn't feel left out in any way. No, he is experiencing this right beside Art. They're both trapped inside of her, pumping into her throbbing heat and letting themselves be swept away into oblivion by the feeling of her coming undone.

She digs her nails into Art's skin hard enough to hurt as she whines and writhes between them with each pulse of pleasure that runs through her, and it isn't until she's starting to come down, riding out the high, that she feels them spill into her at the same time. Every sensation attached to it prolongs her orgasm—the throbbing, the spreading warmth, and the dying undulations of their hips that grind their cocks together within her. And beyond the physicality of the act, just knowing that they're filling her to the brim with their come makes her head spin from how fucking hot she finds it.

It isn't long before their thrusts slow into a sensuous grinding as they come down from it together, then come to a full stop to keep from overstimulating themselves. They both are starting to go soft, panting and leaning against her limp body in exhaustion, and know they wouldn't be able to continue even if they wanted to.

Her head is laid on Art’s shoulder with Patrick’s nose nuzzling her neck. There's nothing they can do except remain still and try to recover from the euphoria that has rendered them useless, so that is precisely what they do. With their bodies nearly melting together from the heat, the three of them hold onto each other for support until they manage to return to full consciousness after what they went through.

It isn't until another couple of moments have elapsed that Patrick and Art start murmuring to one another while she remains slumped between them. A second later, both pairs of hands are squeezing her hips; lifting her off of their softening cocks, slowly, gently, and minding her sensitivity.

The three of them collapse side by side on the twin bed, bodies squeezed together like sardines, and she finally comes back down from the clouds her head floated into at the feeling of them touching her. It isn't sexual. No, they wouldn't dream of putting her through anything more than she could handle right now. Both touches are tender and featherlight—Art's hand molds over her breast simply to cup it as they cuddle while Patrick brings her hand up from her side to brush a kiss over her knuckles.

The silence continues to stretch on, then—

"We're definitely gonna have to do that again," she says, turning her head to look at each of them before laying her cheek against Art's shoulder. "That is, if you don't mind sharing me."

His gaze softens, the hand cupping her breast ghosting up over her skin until it finds her and Patrick's entwined hands.

"I don't mind one bit."

-

Thank you for reading this! I probably won’t write any more Challengers fics but I saw the movie like five times in theaters and needed to crank this out to satisfy the part of me that is obsessed with the hotel scene. I would really appreciate a comment to let me know what you thought if you’re open to that 🫶🏻 The oral part of this fic was inspired by these two (1) (2) I read, so def give them a read cause they're great!

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning

AN: Annnd we're back! Buckle up guys, because if you thought Nancy was fucking up before you have no idea lolololol

Transcript under the cut

Nancy Narrates: [Three weeks had gone by since the holidays. I was starting to see less of Vanessa, who was constantly busy with her work]

Nancy Narrates: [I tried my to hide how much I missed her around but I was certain my yearning was written all over my face]

Queenie: [hums absently] The holiday issue of the foundation’s newsletter is late. No surprise, it was late last year as well.

Queenie: Did you fire your stylist, Nancy? You’re not even coordinated with your husband and sons, it’s as if they’ve plucked a stranger off the street and had you pose together.

Geoffrey: With all due respect, Nancy looks amazing. She always does. She puts a great deal of effort into how she presents herself in front of the press.

Queenie: Looking the part is the point, Geoffrey. Regardless if she is standing CEO, she is a wife and mother first. I've mentioned this to her countless times, it’s as though she's still a little girl.

Geoffrey: [whispers] Hey. You looked amazing, Nancy. You always do.

Jonathan: Can we play in the courtyard, Grandma?

Queenie: Of course you can, my darling. I was just looking over your holiday photos, and you looked so very handsome, Jonathan.

Malcolm: And me? What about me!

Queenie: [frowns] Where on Earth did you get this...this girlish necklace from?

Malcolm: Mommy’s best friend got it for me for Christmas.

Queenie: [rolls eyes] Ah. Right. The movie star.

Malcolm: Auntie V isn’t a movie star.

Queenie: And who exactly is Auntie V?

Jonathan: Mommy’s friend from school, Auntie Vanessa.

Queenie: Villareal?

Nancy: I- D-didn’t you boys want to play in the um, in the courtyard?

Queenie: Geoffrey. I trust that you are doing your part by keeping your wife aligned with the values of our faith, yes? I’d hate to see her fall into old habits.

[phone rings]

Vanessa: Hello?

Nancy: Hi.

Vanessa: Hi Nancy. How are you, love?

Nancy: Miserable. I’m having breakfast at my mother’s. [chuckles softly]

Vanessa: Oh fuck. [laughs] That sucks, I’m sorry babes.

Nancy: [sighs] I miss you.

Vanessa: I miss you too.

Nancy: When can I see you again?

Vanessa: Soon. I have a business trip in DSV. I’ll be gone a few days.

Nancy: A few days? You’ll miss my birthday..

Vanessa: Trust me, that’s the last thing I want. But you know how it is with work.

Nancy: [hesitates] You don’t suppose- I don’t want to impose but...maybe I could come with you?

Vanessa: Come with me on my work trip?

Nancy: I know how to keep myself busy. I won’t interfere with your work- whatever it is. But I’d like to spend my birthday together. It’s the only thing I want. Please.

Vanessa: Well, when you sound so sweet like that, how could I ever refuse?

-

Geoffrey: So, you’ll be gone a week.

Nancy: Right. You know Judy. Every day is an event.

Geoffrey: Vanessa too, right?

Nancy: Well...yes, of course. Just my two best friends celebrating my birthday with me.

Geoffrey: Right. Yeah.

Nancy: Oh, and I’ve already told the boys we can all celebrate together when I’m back. I told them not to fuss about it, I promise I won’t be too partied out.

Geoffrey: Nancy?

Geoffrey: Are you having an affair?

Nancy: W-what did you just say to me?

Geoffrey: I said, are you having an affair?

Nancy: [voice tremors] W-why? Why are you asking me that?

Geoffrey: I saw the marks, Nance. I wasn’t sure, at first, but I saw them. On the inside of your thigh on our anniversary. They look like hickies. And I kept thinking about when you came home late from work in tears...but you never said why. Is there someone else? Another man? Another...

Nancy: Oh my god- no! No, Geoffrey! I’d never- I’ve always bruised easily, you know that. I could have bruised myself at work, on site. And that night.. I know that I’m not a good wife. I know I’ve been away from home. I’m trying to do better. I am. You know that. But I am not having an affair of all things.

Geoffrey: But I saw them, Nance...

Nancy: [whimpers] You are the only man I’ve ever loved. Please...please believe that. I need you to believe it.

Geoffrey: Nancy..

Nancy: I love you so much. I do.

Geoffrey: [exhales] Nancy-

[car horn beeps]

Nancy: That’s Vanessa. Should I send her away? I could stay home, if you want.

Geoffrey: [frowns] If I want?

Nancy: I don’t have to go. I can stay.

Geoffrey: You should go.

Nancy: Are you sure, Geoffrey?

Geoffrey: if that’s what you want.

Nancy: [gently] I love you.

Vanessa: Ready?

Nancy: Yes. I’m ready.

[puck-luck]

give him six | trevor zegras

warnings: extreme domination. EXTREME domination. daddy kink because i do what i want. edging. spanking. cockwarming. at the same time. don’t worry about it. i do what i want. HINTS of anal play but they don’t actually do it. derogatory language (name calling…). crying during sex. sorry! spit kink. had to be done. subspace! ugh need a man to put me in that BAD bad pairing: trevor zegras x fem!reader summary/request: “thinking about trevor zegras needing to fuck his gf roughly after a tough game to let out his frustration bc i can sooooo see him being into that. but he’d always be looking out for u too, saying to tell him if it hurts and checking in to ask if she’s ok, but as soon as she assures him she is he’s just going absolutely nuts not holding back 🫠” wc: 4109

You don’t have to look at Trevor to see how angry he is. He lost a few weeks of hockey due to his broken ankle and now he was back– but he couldn’t make a fucking goal in a shootout to get the win for his team? The worst part was that his shot was denied not by the goalie, but by the post. By the fucking post. 

Trevor loves to flaunt his accuracy in the backyard, in the practice rink, even when tossing trash into the garbage bin, but the one time he doesn’t mean to hit the post, the puck does? It’s idiocracy. It’s humiliating. He’s better than this. He knows it, you know it, the whole world knows it. But St. Louis got to celebrate tonight, and maybe if he hadn’t hit the damn post, then he’d be celebrating with his teammates instead of stewing in your bed. 

His arms are crossed over his chest and the TV isn’t even on– you join him and want to laugh at the image of your pouty boyfriend wallowing in silence. You climb under the covers with Trevor. 

“You did really well, Trev,” you compliment, settling into the mattress.

“We should’ve won,” he replies.

You sigh. “You can’t win them all.”

Trevor scoffs. “Yeah, well, we could’ve won this one,” he snaps.

You stare at him for a moment while his tone really sets in. “You don’t have to talk to me like that,” you say, your voice growing cold. “I wasn’t out on the ice with you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He, at least, sounds the part. He covers his face with his hands, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. “I just– I’m so mad.”

You take a deep breath. You don’t have to be at work until 9 and it’s about five minutes away if you leave on time. You have to do the laundry tomorrow afternoon anyway. Trevor would feel better if you did this. You really wanted to sleep after the game tonight, but it would be a lie if you said you didn’t want to make him feel better. Another deep breath.

“Why don’t you take it out on me?” You ask.

Trevor looks over at you, surprise written all over his features. “Really?” He asks, like a child who was just told that he could have another candy before bed. “Like last time?”

Last time. You practically start salivating, thinking about how Trevor brought you to the edge and ripped you away from the cliff time after time, until you were sobbing and screaming and begging for a release. 

“Yeah, like last time,” you agree, already a little absent. Trevor notices, of course he does, he’s more in tune with your body than you are at this rate.

A smile tugs on the corner of Trevor’s lips, but he ignores it.

“Hands and knees,” Trevor says. “Right in front of me.”

You position yourself accordingly.

Trevor smooths a hand over your behind, your shirt riding up and exposing your skin due to the position you’re in. You hadn’t worn anything else to bed– why would you? You and Trevor had been together for ages and you weren’t exactly new to his… post-loss coping mechanisms. 

“Elbows,” Trevor corrects. His cock twitches when you immediately drop to your elbows, no hesitation in your movements. You’re silent, like he wants when you play like this, and you’ll do anything he says. You’re gorgeous like this, all spread out and listening to him with your head forward like a good girl, waiting for your next instruction.

You hear his voice over the thumping of your heart, although you’re not sure how. You’re always finding Trevor in the mess of everything. 

“Bite the sheets,” Trevor commands, shimmying out of his boxers. You can hear him moving and you take the bedsheets in your mouth, the fabric almost immediately saturating with your saliva. “Close your eyes.” You slide your eyes shut and wait, your shaky breath filling the room and heating your face.

Something warm probes at your entrance and for a moment, you can’t tell if it’s Trevor’s fingers or his cock. The answer comes to you via a sharp spank on your left cheek, with Trevor’s left hand. He always fingers you with his left hand so that he can keep his right around your neck– the hand that’s currently kneading your other cheek. 

He pushes his cock into you slowly, the movement more like he’s pulling you back than pushing you forward. 

“Six shots,” Trevor muses, watching his cock disappear into you. “Six shots, and I didn’t make one.”

You bite back the reassurance, swallowing it. Trevor doesn’t want to hear it.

“Do you know how that feels?”

You don’t answer. He still doesn’t want to hear it.

“I’ll show you,” Trevor promises, his voice deceptively soft. His hand rests against your skin, heavy and present. 

You get lost in the feeling easily, your mouth full of the comforter and your fingers twisted in the top sheet. Your eyes stay closed, the red-tinged darkness grounding you. 

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” he repeats, his voice darker this time. “You’re going to understand exactly what it feels like to come so close six times, just for all of that to be taken away from you.”

Your eyes open at his words and you pale. You spit the covers out and break your silence. “Six times?” You ask, incredulous. “Trev.”

“Daddy,” Trevor corrects with a spank. “Unless that’s… not what we’re doing tonight?”

You clench down on his length at the contact and the name, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sound of his voice. Trevor is playing with you, teasing you. His fingers are walking all over you– the small of your back, your cheeks, down your crack all the way to where he’s buried inside of you… and it’s distracting.

You find yourself nodding. “It is.”

“Good,” Trevor says. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make the second and third ones quick, okay?”

His voice is full of condescension, like he knows you’re going to lose track of everything as soon as he starts hitting you. He’s right, but that’s neither here nor there.

For as long as you’d been dating Trevor, you’d never seen him tap into the mindset that he has on the ice off the ice. However, when he’s bringing his hand down on your ass, he gets pretty damn close.

His spanks are precise and powerful. He’s leaving pink handprints all over your skin, from the fleshy parts of your ass to the top of your thighs, even a few falls over the hole that he’s not occupying. Each flash of his hand leaves your skin burning and your hips inching upwards, begging for more. All of this, and he’s still inside you– the torture of the spanking is that he isn’t moving, and you’re not supposed to.

You lose track of the count, feeling your stomach flip with each slap. What starts as stinging pain turns into aching pleasure, and the sensations aren’t lost on Trevor.

He feels you jolt each time he brings his hand down on your skin, the clench of your pussy around his cock, the pounding of your pulse from inside of you. Trevor smirks and shifts his hips forward as he brings his hand down, his hand making contact with your asshole just as his tip nudges against your g-spot.

You wail, lurching under Trevor’s watchful eye. You fuck back on his cock once, only managing the movement one measly time, before Trevor stills you with a hand and slides out of you.

“No,” you breathe out, voice muffled by your makeshift gag. 

“Yes,” Trevor replies, smug. “Isn’t it frustrating?”

You glare at him, turning so he can see the look on your face.

All it does is make him laugh. “Well, now I have to really punish you, don’t I?” He asks. “I can’t have my baby making angry faces at me.”

Trevor taps your hip, wordlessly telling you to move. You resume your original position next to him, expecting Trevor to tell you to put your “pretty little hand” on his cock and jerk him until he comes all over your freshly manicured fingers. 

You don’t expect him to slide under the covers and hike up your shirt until your breasts are exposed. Trevor hooks a leg around yours, his mouth exhaling warm air onto your nipple. His fingers tap at your skin, one hand on your side and the other on your mound, making its way south. 

“We’re going to do four like this,” Trevor tells you. His voice is merely a whisper, crawling over in your skin and raising goosebumps in its wake. “Just like this. I’m gonna take one,” he breathes, catching your nipple between his teeth for a split second before continuing. “Right here. Gimme one, baby, just from me licking your tits. I know you can.”

He dives in, tongue first. Your jaw drops as Trevor’s eyes close, the same way you know they do when you kiss him. It’s surreal, seeing him kiss and lick over your skin the way he normally does over your lips. His eyelashes flutter, the long, dark pieces of hair stealing your train of thought. 

Trevor surprises you with how quickly he brings you to the edge again. He promised that the second and third would be quick, but you didn’t know just how quick he meant.

You let out a strangled gasp and your hand flies to Trevor’s hair when he opens his eyes and lets his adoring gaze fix on your face. You pull him off your chest, heaving breaths filling your lungs. 

Trevor smirks, but it never quite reaches his eyes. The same look burns you, makes you shy under his gaze. You blush and look away, one of your hands covering the redness on your cheeks.

“Good,” Trevor remarks, a mere observation. “You got close, didn’t you, baby?”

You nod, still breathing heavily.

Trevor waits, expectant. He tilts his head down and blinks.

“Yes, Daddy,” you concede. “I was close.”

“Honest girl,” Trevor praises. His fingers dance over your slit. “Love you.”

“Love you,” you parrot back to him. 

Trevor rewards you by pushing one finger into your heat, pumping it in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. 

Your breath stays shaky, your eyes never leaving Trevor’s. His finger drags along your walls, petting the inside of you with its pad, and you swear you can feel the ridges of his fingerprint inside of you if you focus enough. 

It’s hard to focus on that when Trevor’s got his scrutinizing eyes on yours, though.

“What finger is it?” Trevor asks.

“What?” You stammer, finally blinking and breaking the trance. 

Trevor’s other hand flies up to steady your chin before you can look down and ruin his game. “Which finger–” Trevor asks, curling it inside you. “–am I fucking you with?”

Your brain stalls. It’s a no-brainer, really, you should know each of Trevor’s fingers by feel alone with how often they make their way inside of you. However, you’ve been denied two orgasms already and Trevor is close to taking a third from you with just his smug stare.

“Come on,” Trevor goads. “You know which finger this is, baby. The faster you tell me, the faster I get you to your orgasm.”

“Yeah, the faster you take it away,” you reply. 

Trevor’s eyes cloud over and he jams his finger inside you, increasing his pace. “Don’t be a bitch.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Trevor twists his finger inside of you.

“Unless you want me to fuck you like one,” he teases. 

You clench down on Trevor’s finger, his middle finger you realize, when he utters those words.

“You like that?” Trevor asks, unnecessarily. He can feel how you feel about it. “You like the idea of me getting my cock in you and fucking you like a damn animal? What is it, baby? Is it the primal instinct of it all or just the fact that I’m disciplining you like you’re worth less than I am?”

You moan at his words, logical responses and formed sentences too far from you to grasp.

“Tell me.” Trevor nudges your g-spot and you arch your back, your hips grinding against his finger… just for him to draw it out of you. “Not so fast. We’ve still got three more to go.”

“I was close,” you complain.

“So was I,” Trevor counters. “Hurts, doesn’t it? When things don’t work out the way you want them to?” 

“Trevor!” You frown, put off by his game.

“Well, now you’ve really done it,” Trevor growls, shoving two fingers inside of you and resting his thumb on your clit. “You know better than to call me by my name.”

You’re drenched in sweat and slick, so Trevor’s movements aren’t hindered in the slightest, not even when you squeeze your thighs shut. All Trevor does is push them open, trap your thigh under his bony knee. Somehow, even though you just had your legs spread, Trevor seems to push in further and rub your clit faster, hitting every right spot in alternating movements: clit, then g-spot, clit, then g-spot again. And over and over.

You don’t warn him this time, you don’t pull away. You try not to clench down, you try not to rock your hips, you try anything that might get you real relief from a real orgasm without Trevor noticing.

But it’s also a futile effort because your boyfriend knows you that well.

He withdraws his fingers just as your legs, the traitors, begin to tremble.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t think you’d get away with that, did you?” Trevor teases.

“Please,” you beg. “Please, Daddy.”

Trevor’s eyes flash with approval and he teases your entrance again, this time with a third finger. “Don’t worry,” he coos. “We’ve only got two more. Then I’ll let you come.”

You choke on your own spit when Trevor buries his three fingers inside of you, all in one motion. He doesn’t dawdle or stall for time. He doesn’t take advantage of the situation at hand– that you were already shaking for him and a pump of his fingers would give you away to the pleasure just on the other side of your approaching peak.

No, he doesn’t pump his fingers. He just wiggles them as deep as he can get them and smirks before dropping a kiss on your lips. He lowers himself then and blows cool air on your clit, spreading your folds with his other hand so the full bundle of nerves is revealed to him. He leans in and captures it with his tongue, lightly sucking on the bundle. It’s not the most friction he’s ever given you, but it’s consistent. He builds you up on his tongue, slowly, so slowly. 

And when your thighs close around his head, he stops. You’re aching for a release, tears building along your waterline. Your refractory period is shrinking with each near-orgasm, your babbles begging for Trevor to do something.

“I need it,” you beg, but the words feel more like a scream with how heavy they sit on your chest. 

“Oh, I know you need it,” Trevor replies, tone mocking. “You need it so bad, you’re acting up. Talking back, not using my name, not answering my questions, trying to trick me so that you can get an orgasm. I ought to leave you like this, really show you what it’s like to be left frustrated after a disappointing performance.”

“No,” you whimper. “No, Trevor, that’s too much.”

It’s not your word, it’s not a cry of pain, but it still gives Trevor pause. 

“Need me to be sweet to you?” Trevor asks, his eyes genuine and his hair wild from your wandering grasp.

You whine, arching your back. Trevor smiles fondly, but bats you away. When your back makes contact with the mattress again, Trevor’s deft fingers pinch your nipple and cause you to arch up a second time. He pushes you back down.

“Slut,” Trevor chastises. “Think you can distract me with your tits? This isn’t amateur hour, baby. I’ve still got to steal one orgasm from you.”

You blanch at that, your eyes wide. You take in every detail of his face, panting. There isn’t anything you could say that could stop him, except your word, but you’d rather curl into a ball and die than stop this right now. The words don’t come to you to tell him to continue, though.

“I’m going to get you so close,” Trevor whispers, his face close to yours. He leans down and kisses your neck. You arch into him, your once-useless hands finding his sides. You feel over the muscle there, his lean waist and strong chest. “You’re going to be right there, baby, and then I’m going to take it all away.”

“Please,” you repeat, but it’s indecipherable whether you’re begging Trevor to let you come or begging Trevor to leave you wanting more.

“Yeah,” Trevor agrees, sliding his three fingers back into your wet cunt. 

You moan sharply at the intrusion, pumping deep into you this time and dragging along your walls in a torturous way. It feels so good, it has you seeing white specks when you manage to open your eyes and look at Trevor. His eyes are trained on your cunt, watching your wetness seep all over his fingers. When you push his hair out of his face, his eyes lift to meet yours. 

His pupils are blown wide with lust and he’s got a snarl rumbling from deep in his chest. It is primal, you realize, the way he’s bullying his fingers into your cunt without a thought about what you can or can’t handle. He’s taking you, the way that you’ll only ever allow him to do.

“Gonna come?” Trevor asks, the evil smirk overtaking his face again.

“Please,” you beg again.

“‘Please,’” Trevor mocks. “Is that the only word you know?”

He pulses his hand, his fingers bouncing off your walls and causing you to jolt and scramble to find something to hold onto. That something ends up being Trevor’s hair and the pillow to your side. Your chest is heaving again, your nipples taut and pointed and begging to be touched. 

As Trevor’s eyes trail down your body at a snail’s pace, you can feel your orgasm approaching. You yank his hair and he winces, bringing his hand to your neck and squeezing in retaliation.

“Daddy,” you wheeze, the edge of your vision growing fuzzy and dark. It’s the only warning you can give Trevor as the cliff starts to crumble below you, as you start to fall away into the orgasm that was denied from you for so long.

And when Trevor pulls his fingers out of you, he yanks you back onto solid ground.

And, unsurprisingly, you start to cry.

It’s not pretty, either. It’s not a tear here and there when you’re deepthroating your boyfriend, or the beautiful running of mascara as he fucks your face at some hockey event. No, this is full-on sobbing, gut-wrenching cries that have Trevor taking inventory of all the things he did to you, wondering if he pushed you too far. He rubs your thighs with both of his hands in a soothing motion, ignoring the glistening precum that he’s inadvertently rubbing into your skin. 

“Baby,” Trevor murmurs. 

You sob and raise your arms, needing him to hold you. Trevor’s face softens immediately and he pulls you into his chest, turning so he’s sitting with his back against the headboard and you’re awkwardly dangling half on his lap, half off. You keen into his neck, burying your face in his soft, tan skin.

“My girl,” Trevor whispers, rubbing your arms now and pulling you closer to him, comforting you with his warmth. “You’re perfect.”

“Daddy,” you whisper into his neck. “Please.”

Trevor tilts your head back and looks into your eyes. His gaze looks sad, meeting your own, red and puffy. “Please what, baby?”

“I need your cock,” You plead, petting over his stomach with a hand that feels like its made of static. “I need you to make me come, Daddy.”

Trevor groans, sounding pained. He twitches beneath you. “Like this?” He asks.

You nod, losing your words again. It’s a timid but vehement nod, needing Trevor to press inside you more than anything, but not knowing if you could handle another ruined orgasm.

“Please, let me come this time,” you say, trying to look as pathetic and needy as you can. With big doe eyes like this, Trevor has always been bad at denying you the things you want. 

“Yeah, I think I’ve tortured you enough,” Trevor agrees, reaching under you and pressing his cockhead against your entrance. “Give me a bounce, baby. Wanna see your tits jump in front of my face, yeah?”

Trevor snakes his hands around to grab your bottom, his fingers tight against the skin. He uses his leverage to bounce you for him, knowing that you don’t have control over your movements as fucked out as you are, and he’d hate to see you cry more because you’re mad at yourself for not moving the way he wanted you to.

He lifts you up and down, snapping his hips up to meet yours when they fall. His eyes flicker between your boobs and your face, the teartracks drying over your cheeks as you allow yourself to be consumed by ecstasy. One of Trevor’s hands flies upward, tracing over your skin until he threads it between the strands of your hair. Once his whole hand is enveloped in your roots, he tugs and your mouth falls open.

Trevor leans forward and directs a glob of spit down your throat, his forceful hawk causing his spit to find the back of your throat. 

You convulse on top of him, trembling under his watchful gaze and his warm cock. “Daddy,” you pant, feeling like you’re burning and drowning in your desire for him. Trevor slips his thumb into your mouth as you come and you suck on it like a child, grinding against him through your aftershocks.

You’re floating on air by the time your aftershocks cease and Trevor pulls out of you gently, grasping his cock in his fist. He’s watching you and you’re watching him. Never breaking eye contact, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out.

Trevor presses his tip to your tongue and strokes his cock, squeezing on the downstroke and groaning curses with each turn of his hand. He comes just seconds later, his white ropes of come gracing your tastebuds. He pulls away after only a few drops intersect with your tongue, continuing to come in spurts over your cheeks, lips, and nose. A bit of come drips down the tip of your nose and you poke your tongue out again to try and catch it, which makes Trevor laugh.

Still lost in your post-orgasm haze, you barely notice when Trevor leaves the bed and comes back with a moist towel. He wipes your face, then your thighs and pussy, dropping a kiss on your lower belly after he’s finished. You let out a breath at that, not knowing that you were holding it, astounded by the fragility and intimacy of the moment.

“Daddy,” you say out loud, mostly just to yourself. Mostly just to feel the word on your tongue, feel it take its shape in your mouth. It sounds like awe.

Trevor deposits the towel in the hamper across the room with a toss, proving yet again that his precision and accuracy are off the charts most of the time. He crowds your space, tracing your features with his delicate pinky. “Did Daddy make you feel good, baby?” Trevor asks. “You made Daddy feel good.”

You whine at that and almost want to cry again at the praise. All the time you spent wondering if you were good enough, if you’d ever get a boyfriend who loved you and stayed with you was worth it when you found Trevor. He always said the right things, made you feel things you’d never felt before. 

“I love you,” you say.

Trevor slips his thumb into your mouth, watching your eyes close in bliss as he presses it against your tongue. You can still taste where he was rubbing your pussy with this digit.

“I love you,” he replies, voice soft. His voice sounds like awe, too.

note: small town girl chapter 1 next! (hopefully)

[banquetwriter]

CAN YOU DO some johnnie smut with morning sex PLEASE

that would be so hot

୨୧ glory filled mornings ୨୧

pairing: Johnnie Guilbert ♡︎ fem!Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ SMUT, unedited, wrote this when i had a fever so it doesn’t make sense lol

summary: ʚ johnnie wakes up with an embarrassing situation ɞ

Words: idk lol

SUPPORT ME

An: i’m so sorry u have been absent i’ve genuinely been going through the ringer and i promise i’m making my way through these requests!! also i will rewrite this at some point haha

It wasn't often that Johnnie indulged in hookups. Sure every so once in a while a pretty girl and him would leave a bar together. Nothing was ever that serious with him. He has been on a few dates but nothing ever went anywhere.

This was different. He had to admit you had piqued his interest since he met you at a party. Then again the next week he saw you again. You were one of Corry and Jake’s friends from their traphouse days.

You were so fucking pretty. The way you laughed at almost all of his jokes, even if they weren't funny. When you would lean in to make sure you heard everything he wanted to say. The way you would trace his tattoos whenever he would show you one of them. That's what led the two of you to cuddle in an Uber home.

The two of you drunkenly cuddled on your couch before you kicked him to your bed. Refusing to let a guest sleep on the couch. That's how he woke up to his head pounding and an unfortunate boner.

He felt the familiar feeling and looked down, revealing a small tent in his boxers. Probably from sleeping in a pretty girl's bed all night. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself.

He rubs his face with his hands as you suddenly enter the room. He quickly covers his body back up with your duvet. “Heyy good morning sleepy head,” you said smiling. You had a medicine bottle and a glass of water in your hands. “H-hey,” he said, feeling his heart beating out of his chest.

“Ugh god my head hurts so bad, I took some Tylenol and I hope that helps.” you absentmindedly said setting the bottle and water down on your bedside table. The pressure of the blanket pressing on his core was definitely not helping his boner, the sight of your short Beetlejuice sleep shorts was also not helping.

Your skin looked so damn soft, the pudge of your thighs spilling out as you sat down on the bed next to him. You were on your phone not even looking at him. It was truly embarrassing just how much his damn brain was fixated on you.

You hugged your knees to your chest scrolling around on your phone. Softly chewing on your nails, you notice that Johnnie has been staring at you for a prolonged amount of time. You lifted your head from your Doordash app to look at him.

He looked flushed, he had ripped his shirt off in the middle of the night so you could see how red his chest was. You quirked your head at him “Dude Johnnie you ok?” you ask, trying not to laugh a little.

“Um yeah I'm fine-” he muttered, scratching his head, his rings and necklaces clinking together. “Dude, tell me what's going on. You didn't blow chunks in my room did you?” you say with a disgusted face.

“No! No- I swear I didn't-” he said sitting up more. Unfortunately, he was cut off by your eyes dropping to his waist. When he sat up the blanket got just a little too low. Johnnie’s raging boner peeking through his skinny jeans was now in full view.

His eyes shoot up back at your face. He couldn't discern your facial expression at all. Your eyes were slightly wide but you didn't look disgusted or horrified or even mildly embarrassed.

Johnnie sure did. He felt like he was gonna die. Right there, right then, with a fat boner in a pretty girl's bedroom. His brain was slowly shutting down from anxiety. Unable to form an apology. Or any thoughts for that matter.

You felt a rush of confidence surge through your body as you stared at the raven-haired boy. “Oh?” you asked, turning your phone off, leaning forward getting closer to Johnnie.

He was surely having an aneurysm. Or maybe he was still drunk and this was just a bad dream. He could almost feel the heat radiating off of your skin. It was going to set him on fire. His head was pounding and he was tired, but at the same time, he hadn't ever felt more awake than he does now.

“I-I'm so sorry. I'm not trying to be some fucking creep. It just happens sometimes I promise it has nothing to do with you.” he stuttered putting his hand in between you and himself.

That was half true. Sometimes morning wood just happens for no reason, the untrue half was that it had NOTHING to do with you. Maybe Johnnie dreamt of you last night, maybe he didn't. All he knows is the scent of you was enough to drive him up the fucking walls.

“Awww really?” you asked in a fiend sad voice. You placed your right hand on one side of his body moving you closer to him. He felt like squealing or squirming or maybe both. This was a horrible situation to be in.

“Yes, I'm so sorry I will leave.” he prefaced trying to pin his body down onto the mattress as you moved closer to him. “There's no need for that, you said it yourself it's perfectly natural. You don't need to be embarrassed.” you purred out. Johnnie's skin was on fire, he could have cried from how hard he was in his jeans.

“I promise it's not about you,” he whispers, trying to save face. “It's not? You don't think I'm pretty Johnnie?” you ask with a pout. You continued to climb up the bed. Your body was so close to his now. Your arms were on either side of his head.

“No! It's not that I think you are beautiful-” he almost shouted at you. “Oh, you think I'm beautiful?” you whispered as you hovered over his neck. He let out a shaky breath as he watched your head dip down to his neck.

He felt like could explode as you slowly started to kiss up his neck. “This ok?” you murmured against his skin, your voice tickling his flesh. “Mhm!” he borderline whimpered out feeling your tongue and teeth grazing his hot skin.

You moved your legs to mimic your arms moving on either side of his body. Your body was on top of his, feeling his boner through his pants. It sends waves of heat to your core. Pressing your clothes clit on his hard-on slowly starting to rub up and down.

It was painful how hard he was. “Fuck please, let me take my pants off.” he moaned out his hands slinking up to your waist and under his shirt. You were quick to take his hands off of you and hold them above next to his head.

He whined out as your display of dominance, bucked his hips up into you. “Keep your hands there,” you whispered while sitting up. All of your weight was now on his crotch. The pressure sent him spinning. You slowly slid your hands on your body taking your shirt off.

He gasped looking at you. He never went after looks always personality but fuck you were so perfect for him. It was hard listening to your instructions. He wanted to grip your sides as you bounced up and down on him.

But he stayed put. You slowly pulled your shorts off as well, it's not like they left much to the imagination. Your dark panties found their way to his body again grinding down on him. His mound pressing into you. “Let me take my fucking pants off,” he whined, lifting his head a little bit.

“God, you are so impatient,” you murmur moving your head down, he sucked in with clenched teeth as you slowly started to pepper kisses along his chest. “Ah fuck.” he whined bucking his hips against you.

“Shush,” you whispered, you continued to suck and pull at his chest skin adorning his body with hickies that matched the ones on his neck. He threw his head back trying to feel any sort of release or pressure.

“Mm, fuck.” He whimpered again he squirmed more under you, his slim waist flexing beautifully. “Johnnie?” you asked moving up above him leaving his marked chest alone for now.

“Yeah?” He panted out, his head still feeling like a jackhammer was bouncing around his brain. “Take your pants off,” you whispered. Your voice was so quiet he didn't hear you at first. A pause between the two of you capturing desperation.

Once the words finally filled his brain he scooted away from you and off the bed hastily ripping the belt he had been wearing off. You flipped on your back, head hitting the pillow.

You hooked your fingers around your panties to pull them down. “No! Don't, I want to.” Johnnie said, holding his hand out. You smirked at him feeling your panties sticking to your body.

He fiddled with his jean button before finally being able to undo it. He yanked his pants and boxers down, his cock springing up and hitting his chest. He crawled up the bed, staring down at you.

You were breathing deeply, gazing into his eyes. Johnnie grabs the blanket, dropping it over himself. His hands find their way to your sides slowly caressing up and down. His head ducked down to your neck.

He returns the favor of the hickies nipping at your skin. Your nails find their way to his hair, scraping his scalp and encouraging him to continue. You moaned out slightly at the contact.

His arms moved to either side of your head, his back flexing to reach every part of you. This time your hips moved up to meet him. “Who is the impatient one now? Huh?” he asked, you could feel the smirk on his lips.

“It's still you.” you teased him, slowly grabbing a fistful of his hair. He whined slightly as you pulled him away from your neck. His dick was resting on top of your stomach. “Johnnie, I need you,” you stated slowly. “I need you to fuck me,” you said, your voice dripping dominance.

Johnnie couldn't help but obey. “Fuck yeah, ok,” he muttered sitting on his knees and moving his hands towards your sides. Finally pulling your panties from your dripping cunt. You spread your legs open for him, his hands pressing against your thigh to stabilize himself.

Hu pumped his cock a few times before lining himself in your entrance. He slowly pushed into you, whimpering feeling your tight walls around him. He leaned down, capturing your lips. He slowly pulled out of you and snapped his hips back in. You whimpered against him.

Your nails found his back, he slowly started to pump faster and faster inside you. You moaned against his mouth scratching down his back. Your long acrylic nails surely leave him bleeding.

He moans into your mouth as he starts to approach his climax. “Fuck fuck I can't hold on for much longer,” he whines. “Keep going, I'm so close,” you whine back to him. He grips the pillows behind your head as his hips snap against yours.

The coil snaps as your walls flutter around his member. Your eyes roll back as you mewl out for him. Your orgasm washes over you like a powerful wave, you squeezed him so tight you pulled his orgasm out of him.

His hips stuttered for a second before continuing to pump in and out of you as white ropes shot to your core. After a few seconds, he stood still before removing himself from you.

You feel him drop to your chest bringing the blanket up over himself and holding you. He snuggled his head into your chest not wanting this moment to be over.

Eventually, it had to be. So to Johnnie’s dismay, he rolled over on the other side of your bed. You giggle as he lets out a dramatic huff. “Mmm fuck.” he mumbles his headache returning. You rolled over as well smiling down at him.

“We should go shower now,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. “Mm later,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you.

The two of you sat with one another for a while. Just resting, tracing his tattoos. Eventually you moved to the bathroom, turning the warm water on. You stepped in letting the water heat your body.

The shower door opened and you turned around to see Johnnie stepping in after you.

[buttercupblu]

Studying with Choso🌱🫧🌷

Student!Choso x Reader|One-Shot

the deets: Poor Cho - he's been best friends with books and binders for weeks on end with little to no time for his favorite subject; You 🥺. With his finals just around the corner, his cram sessions are in full swing... and affections absent. So, being the angel that you are, you decide to give him a helping hand. w.c: 3.8k tags: fem!reader, fem!top/switch (kinda), teasing, nipple play, breath play, choking, handjob, praise, pet names, Ph.D student Choso|mention of: rough penetration, bruising, throat fucking, 18+ MDNI angel's note: what began as a daydream turned into my 1st (completed) JJK fanfic - go crazy, go stupid|don't talk to me about the latest spoilers ... pls 🥲

Sigh.

He’s been at it for hours now. 

The clock ticking against the silence in the room made that obnoxiously apparent. 

Hums of Lofi coming from the living room is your only saving grace. The peace and tranquility he needs to concentrate starkly contrasts the infectious heat growing in your lower body. 

Nibbling on your nails proves meek, as your thighs, acting as hand warmers, begin to ache. You couldn’t help but palm your pussy while trying to resist the urge to interrupt Choso’s study session.

Again.

Your cunny kept speaking to you with a raging heartbeat. Begging you to march in there and demand attention as he’d been home for hours with little to no sprinkles of affection. 

You groan, burying your face into your pillow. 

“Baaabe,” you call out, a pout forming on your lips. 

As much as you wanted to quell your growing pains, you knew this was a really important exam for Choso - one of his last hurdles before wrapping up his Ph.D program. Knowing how much it meant to Choso, you feel a twinge of guilt. 

Your little man was on his way to wearing white lab coats and curing diseases, saving lives one cure at a time. A faint smile finds your face thinking about it. You could see him clearly, donning goggles and blue gloves; his signature spiky buns (adding to the charm) are truly adorable. His little face is a picture of concentration, completely absorbed in his work while taking measurements and recording data; you could almost hear the sound of his pen scratching on the notepad. 

The image of him so absorbed in his work is both charming and impressive; it always makes your heart flutter.

You just knew that those bitches he’s going to be working with better watch themselves. 

Choso in that element alone was enough to make you fold; you could only imagine working so closely with him for multiple hours and taking more than your fair share of quick glances—clenching your thighs to steady your desires to have him bend you over the metal table just to feel the coolness against your nipples. 

“I’m sorry, babe,” Choso whines back. It breaks you out of your jealousy-filled fantasy. Yet, you find your fingertips damp from the arousal between your legs. “I just need a bit more time.” You hear the fatigue in his voice. Knowing your love is so tired and hard at work breaks your heart. 

But that’s all he’s been doing as of late, and you felt as if you hadn’t seen each other in ages. Between his hours-long sessions at the lab and catching up on sleep, you barely had time to cuddle at bedtime. You missed his warmth, his strong arms instinctively bringing you closer to him as he slept. The way your bodies formed a perfect C as he kissed into your neck.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. And you are surely suffering at the moment. 

The multiple attempts to dissuade his attention from his books were fruitless. 

Casual walk-bys in his favorite silky shorts of yours, the ones that hug above your plump undercuff, went unnoticed. You were sure he could feel the wind against his face as you swished by, making sure your cheeks lingered in his air for a second or two. 

He paid it no mind.. 

It wasn't until you stopped dead in front of him that he finally turned his attention to you, pausing to follow his wandering eyes around the wavy rim of your shorts. The design stretched around your plush thighs creating an imprint on your body, marking your velvety skin. Your arms crossed firmly on your chest push your tits into full view; the accompanying pout on your face made his dick jump.

He sighs, trailing his hands up your thighs to the small of your back, and pulls you in between his legs. A deep breath follows as he inhales your rosy scent, savoring the fragrance he wishes he could bottle and horde.

His chin rests on your lower belly as he looks up at you with puppy dog eyes. “An hour. I promise.”

He peers over the rim of his reading glasses, looking on with a furrowed brow and pouty lip, squeezing at your hips.

You couldn’t resist melting when he’s like this.

His eyes beg for patience, but his hands, wavering under the cuffs of your cheeks, say otherwise. A gentle squeeze on your inner thigh confirms it; you bite your lip at his firm grasp, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Fawk me. 

"Hmph.” you lower into his lap, perfectly molding your body against his. Resting your head on his shoulder, your hands find solace at the nape of his neck. He's so warm. His arms find home around your waist, a sensation that always makes you feel so secure, so small. So needy.

You rock into him, the smell of his hair drugging you as you try to be as close as possible, barely able to control the need to dry-hump him for relief. 

Oh, how his heavenly thighs would be a perfect candidate. 

“One hour? You promise, Cho?” your whine, coupled with the dampness of your shorts, incites a bulge between your thighs. The friction of which alone could get you off if you kept up the pace.

This doesn't go unnoticed of course, and it took all of Choso’s restraint to keep him from dragging your hips back and forth himself, letting you use him like a fucktoy against your clit.

Or better yet, take you like this. It would be so easy for him to snake his arms under your legs and prop you up to bounce on his dick. He was sure the chair was sturdy enough to handle him abusing you.

The thought was mind-numbingly irresistible. 

He tugs at his bottom lip, swallowing a moan and holding you a bit tighter.

“I promise.” pressing a kiss on your ear, his fingers float down your spine. You could stay like this for the rest of the night if it were up to you, but you knew his studies were critical. Besides, maybe your patience would come with a reward—a nice fat one. The one sitting neatly in his shorts, threatening to poke out from under you at the present moment. 

But that was almost an hour ago.

The hour he promised he would be done by. 

And lying in bed with your head hanging off of the side, picturing Choso ramming his dick down your throat, certainly wasn’t helping the throbbing in your core. You pull your hand from your shorts, marveling at the webs between your fingers. Frowning immediately after.

Fine. If he wouldn’t come to you…

You huff, sitting up to head to the living room only to be met with Choso’s back turned to you—his head buried in papers and woe. A mischievous grin plays on your face as you tiptoe behind him.

Your arms wrap lovingly around his neck and drift down his chest. He jumps a little, feeling a tug on the bottom of his shirt. Your icy hands slip underneath and palm his chest before he can argue. 

“You keep it so cold in here, Cho,” you nuzzle into his neck, “How am I supposed to stay warm?” 

Your hands snake around his torso until they brush his pink nips. The rhythmic beat of his heart picks up against your fingers. A slight tug elicits a groan from his lips. “Babe,” he winces, “What are you doing?”

You giggle, twirling them between your fingers before pulling out to caress his scalp—a certified soft spot of his and your favorite place to play.

To help him concentrate, of course. 

You tumble through his brunette locks like gentle waves. It’s almost comical how easily his head falls back against your breasts. The sensation mixed with exhaustion turns him into putty in your hands. You gaze lovingly at his bliss-ridden face and softly closed eyes. Slow, shallow breaths escape his rosy lips as if he’s lost in a peaceful dream.

His naturally dark under-eyes show signs of how busy he’s been. anyone else would assume the purple hue came from sleep deprivation (partially true), but you loved how the blush features coveted his face. To you, they only enhance his already striking features, making him all the more breathtakingly beautiful.

Even without an impossible schedule on top of it.

You were enamored with his unwavering commitment to his ambitions, aspirations, and most importantly, you. It was impressive seeing how he seamlessly balanced his pursuit of success and his affection for you, always making time for meaningful moments together. On top of caring for his younger brother Yuji, the cutest little manic dumpling in existence, you couldn’t help but awe at his ability to juggle everything and still find a way to make you feel cherished.

The thought of it all sends butterflies from your tummy to your toes.

His exposed neck begs for attention. You lean, brushing your soft lips against the skin. Careful to ghost over his collarbone, sending trimmers to his ears. The temptation to swipe his earlobe with your tongue flashes through your mind, a feat you know would send his dick through his pants. 

Instead, you slowly wrap your hand around his jaw, pulling his head back further. His eyes lock on your playful smile; his stunned face makes you nuzzle your thighs together. 

“Y/N-” he starts but your lips silence the protest. He melts into your hand feeling your tongue dip into his mouth. His feeble attempt to object fleets like seconds on a clock. 

Mint chocolate fills your mouth tasting the sweet treats he nibbles on to get him through the night. You couldn't stand the taste of chocolate-flavored toothpaste, but you would swallow a barrel full just to sample it from the lips that always took your breath away.

Quelled by your touch, Choso softens in his seat. How could he resist? Your tongue was nectar on any given day, and he was your hummingbird. 

Your hands travel down his chest, lingering on his waist and treasured v-section. Something he worked on sculpting 2 to 3 times a week, though you swore it came naturally. A waist this slutty simply could not be built in a gym. It was your favorite playground on nights when you could not resist the urge to sink your teeth into flesh.

Followed by whines from Choso.

And your knees shaking and shoved against your chest for tempting him.

You pause before his delectable thighs, capturing an involuntary mew when you glide over them. Fuck, he thinks, I’m such a slut—battling between needing to study and needing your touch. 

What began as mischief morphs into something brilliant, feeling your boyfriend writhe in his chair.

Pulling away from his pillowy lips, a smile forms on yours. He looks on, dazed, almost upset that you stole away.

“Cho..,” you breathe, “What is the central dogma of molecular biology?” His eyes pop open. Your fingers on his thigh slow. You hold a lustful stare, watching his mind search for the answers. 

“Um, the flow of genetic information within a biological system?”

You nod happily, resuming your strokes. His lips twitch in response. 

“What isss… the role of CRISPR-Cas9 in genome editing?” You inch closer to his inner thigh. His eyes flash to your hand.

“Aht aht,” tilting his chin, “Look at me when you answer.” Your fingers press deeper into his jaw, the result of which makes his dick strain against his shorts and stretch the fabric. Pulsing thumps vibrate through your other hand when you cup his length to still him. 

Heat finds your face as you palm the growing tent. The boy had been blessed with a toe-curling gift that shot stars into your eyes every time it sank into your core. Your dainty little hands paled in comparison to the massive limb - it was a wonder how he ever managed to fit inside you - let alone between your fingers. 

Yet, you still managed to take him so well, he thought. Stretching around him with ease, bringing curses to his mouth every time he bottomed out. Always so wet and ready for him at the simplest touch. It was more like your pussy always craved the challenge, sucking and swallowing him like a pure essence. 

“Cho.”

The words catch in his throat. “It-it’s a genome editing tool that comes from bacterial immune systems,” he wets his lips, clenching his fingers, “It uses a.. guide RNA to target specific DNA sequences and Cas9 enzyme to introduce precise changes, like a um, gene knockout or uh….insertion, in various organisms.” 

“Good boy,” you coo, pressing a plush kiss onto his lips again. He blushes red at the sound of praise. The words stimulating a part of his brain that makes him docile and dumb.

Raking nails and plump lips battle for his attention. He feels breathless at your touch. You barely had time to kiss each other before starting your mornings. And now, here you were, toying with him like a trinket.

The questions come with ease, a result of genuine curiosity and random peeks over his shoulder during long nights of cramming.

Difficulty increases as you rattle them off. The look of astonishment on Choso’s face says he didn’t know that you had been paying such close attention. You were no stranger to flashcards and practice quizzes yourself, having become accustomed to them during your undergrad studies. And though those four years may have driven you close to insanity, the habits proved permanent. And were being put to good use on your overworked boyfriend.

“Mmmm,” a thumb dances along the rim of his shorts, “What kind of stem cell research uses Patient-derived iPSCs?”

His brows furrow feeling the elastic stretch around his waist, “Umm, regenerative medicine, no, disease modeling and drug discovery.” skimming his hips sets his nerves on fire. A quick pop of the waistband sends him into outer space. The look of defeat is adorable, his glasses fogging a little. 

He was so cute, so easily coaxed into trembles from the slightest touch. 

You chuckle, nodding, “And if they can model human diseases, then?”

Searching for the solution sends him into a panic. His mouth gapes, but your fingers do not waver, pressing between his thighs, patiently awaiting his answer.

You can tell he’s overthinking it, second-guessing even. My poor baby, you think. Your eyes soften watching him. A gentle expression that reminds him why he tries at all.

With a soft tug of your thumb on his bottom lip, the answer is clear. 

 “...They can be used to help researchers save lives”.

The simplest answer is most often the best.

You smile, “Correct.” In one swoop, his shorts fall just enough to allow his dick to spring out. It slaps against his stomach, thumping against the cool air. A slick of arousal glistens from the head down to the shaft. You fixate on the lip-licking sight, hungry for a taste.

Choso’s hazy eyes are a close second; his struggle to keep them open is noticeably appetizing. The devil may be the most beautiful fallen angel, but it’d be a run for his money if Choso had wings.  

Your hands are careful to tease his length, lightly drawing long lines and circles. Pressing your fingertips into him on correct answers, slowing when he hesitates. Pure agony wouldn’t come close to describing the restraint Choso is using to keep himself grounded. 

Oh, how easy it would be for him to take you into his lap and fuck you senseless for being such a tease. To wrap his arms around your waist and bully you down onto his cock until you both gushed and mewed.

Truthfully, he was spurred on by your newfound dominance—each thump of his dick attesting to the ache and self-control he’s sustained over days of rigorous scheduling.

Tension had been building for weeks. Every encounter was filled with stolen glances and lingering touches. Brushing fingertips as you left in the morning. Sleepy hugs, that could’ve lasted longer, at the end of the day. The air was thick with a mix of desire and frustration as repressed affection hung heavy in the space between you. Every moment was a delicate balance of longing and limits.

You never considered taking matters into your own hands, literally. 

Choso was so lost in the sauce that you thought it would be cruel. 

But the way he folded under you like origami awakened something inside of you. Like fire to a flame, this newfound desire to take what you wanted was exhilarating. “Are you still with me, Cho-baby?”. 

Choso has always been known for his exceptional memory. Whether it was recalling a complex molecular chain in the lab or remembering your favorite order at all the eateries in town, he never had any issues with recollection.

But now, he was sure he would forget his own name if you asked him. His short-circuiting brain grew increasingly useless against your skilled hands. “Hmph,” pulling your bottom lip with your teeth, “No?”

Grazing his mushroom tip turns his words to mush. His stringy pre-cum is a delicious lubricant for the circles you draw. "Mmm," you moan, imagining sucking it down your throat.

With a gentle press, it spills over your thumbs, soaking your hand and eliciting another stifled moan from Choso. You grin. It’s music to your ears and hell on your soaked panties, fueling a primal hunger that intensifies with every gasp and tremble. 

Your throbbing cunt is an undeniable testament. Cursed with an insatiable need to be sopping and full.

It’s impossible for Choso not to arch into your hand, betraying his own body for more of your cunning touch—seeking more of the intoxicating pleasure only you can provide. Resisting was foolish—if you were a drug, Choso was an addict.

“Oh?” transfixing on his soft grind, “Does that feel good, Cho?” he blushes beet red, this time looking away, but you’re quick to bring him back, steadying his jaw between your fingers and instructing him not to move.

Fuck. He could cum just from the look on your pretty face towering over him, stern and seductive. “Answer me baby, use your words.”  

His lungs feel cloudy as you wrap your hand around his length, his mouth falling open in tandem as you stroke up and down his length with ease, increasing pressure from the base to the tip as if trying to coax the words out of him. How you wish you could straddle him and do the same with your pussy—use the desk for leverage and ride him into oblivion until you milked him dry.

His breath matches the rhythm of your strokes in a needy way, sending waves of electricity from your chest to your toes. You can't help but press your breasts closer, cradling his head between your pillows like a second home. “Does. This. Feel. Good?”

He swallows, “s-so good… so. fucking. good,” it drags out of him.

It was a sultry vice grip, swallowing him with your stroke, stealing his breath. His last cling to sanity was his grasp on the seat of the chair, almost turning his knuckles pale white.

Despite being the giver and not the receiver, your own arousal equally intensifies with each desperate moan, shudder, and gasp that escapes his lips—the wetness between your thighs becomes almost unbearable. Every sound consumes rational thought, only leaving a craving for more.

Forgetting your impromptu questionnaire, you decide you’d like to see how long he can go like this, having been days since your last quickie in the kitchen, hips roughly pushed into the counter as he fucked into you. The sight of you reaching into the fridge, exposing your pretty panties, brought on the occasion. And suddenly you were very familiar with the cabinets as he spread you open for a taste. You wore the bruises for days like a badge of honor for taking him as long as you did.

But now, as you rolled your thumb over his supple slit, you were sure he could come undone in a matter of seconds.

He groans feeling you suddenly lick and nip at his earlobe, your devilish thoughts from earlier coming true. You kiss heat into him, twisting your hand up and down; he twitches with every pump, ears growing hot. "Aww baby," you purr, listening to the wet sloshes of your hand. 

You bite the inside of your lip feeling your throbbing clit match the raging heartbeat in his dick. You'd slip your fingers into your soppy pussy and curl them until you came if they weren't so occupied with holding Choso's eyes on you. "You've been working so hard," you whine, "Are you gonna cum for me, Cho?" dipping down now and then to caress his balls, the squelching sounds battle for dominance over the serene Lofi beat. His only response being whimpers and a slight head nod lets you know that he’s close.

Your other hand slides down from his jaw to his throat, locking with a light squeeze. “Mmmph,” the restriction drives him closer, beginning to mindlessly pump himself into your hand. You squeeze at the base as if to milk him of all his worries. “I’m gonna…” 

“You’re gonna what?” your pressure increases on his neck, matching the growing knot in his stomach. His face flushes, but you wait for his tell. He fucks into your hand, following a string of silent curses, when you see it, that familiar thigh twitch.

His mouth falls wide open, sucking in air, “F-fuck i-i'm cu-” you shove your tongue down his throat making sure he tastes you completely, stealing the air from his lungs as he cums. His hand entangles in your hair, the orgasm cracking like lightning through him as his seed spills over your fingers, shuddering from his hips down. 

But you don't stop—continuing to pump, making sure to milk out every last drop. His pulsing dick provides a steady stream of hot spurts until his thrusts turn sloppy and his abs begin to ache. Your sloppy kiss silences his guttural moans until his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Finally, you pull away, a string of slick connecting your tongues, letting him breathe. The cool air soothes his heavy pants and heaving chest. You watch his spent face, his eyes following your fingers to your mouth as you lick them clean. The act stimulates his softening dick, adding a final spurt to the mess you’ve created on his lap.

You giggle, removing his glasses and setting them aside to plant a kiss on his forehead and blushing scar. A familiar ring chimes through the air. The sound you had become accustomed to on early mornings that started your day.

Hmm, he really was keeping up with the time, you think. 

You lean down, smiling against his cheek, “Looks like your hour is up, babe.” You rub his surely sore neck and peck it.

His hand, still grasping your hair, catches you before you can pull away. Your eyes widened at the sudden shift. You gasp when he pulls you back, meeting his gaze as his lips curl into a sinful smile—watching his dick slowly thump back to life from the corner of your eye. He leans closer and whispers in your ear, his voice raspy and dry but very, very clear.

“Yours is just starting.”

art credit: mu_kmijj on twitter

[axelsagewrites]

Aegon Targaryen*Daughter

Pairing: aegon x mum!reader

Word count: 1904

Warnings: unexpected pregnancy, aegon having a bad reaction, absent father, mentions of alcholism and drug abuse, mentions of birth/morning sickness, aegon coming back

Part one here or read alone

Masterlist Here

“Pregnant? You can’t be- you’re not- how?” you sat back as Aegon shot up from your bed, instantly pacing the bedroom as he tried to come to terms with it. you couldn’t blame him you suppose. After all you’d spent a whole week trying to convince yourself it was a lie and your roommate had to literally slap some sense into you. “But we were so safe?”

“Condoms aren’t perfect I guess,”

“But you were on the pill,”

“Its only like 90 something percent effective, look I don’t know,” you let out an exasperated sigh as Aegon looked at you with eyes bulging out his skull.

He walked over and picked up the test, “Maybe you did it wrong,”

“I didn’t do it wrong Aegon I did 20 of them!” you snapped, instantly regretting it as he sunk down on the bed next to you.

You went to speak but he finally broke the silence but broke your heart at the same time, “You’re getting rid of it right?” ‘it’. the words hit like a brick colliding with glass.

“I hadn’t decided yet,” you admitted in a quite voice but loud enough for Aegon to rub his hands over his eyes before dropping his head between his knees, “But we’ll figure it out Aegon. We’ll make it work,” you told him, trying to rub his back but he snapped back up.

“Maybe you can,” he said, his voice cracking, “Not me. I can’t be a dad. Look at me!” he said, standing up and pointing to himself like he was an exhibition, “I am a fucking mess I can’t raise a kid! Ill break it!” he said as he started to pace again.

“They’re not it!” you yelled back standing up too.

“Don’t yell at me!” he screamed as he turned around, his eyes instantly softening when he saw you stepping back, “I’m so- “

“Get out,” you managed to grit out through clenched teeth, “You don’t get to talk to me like that. Leave. Now,”

Aegon paused, his hand half reached out to try comfort you before he sighed and turned around. He headed to the door with his head hung low, “If you need me to go to the doctors- “he started to mumble as he reached for the door handle.

“I won’t need you. ever. You’ve made that clear enough,” you forced the words out your mouth even though they burned you to even saw them. You saw his heart shatter, but you didn’t care as you laid a hand on your stomach.

-

Telling your parents was defiantly not something you looked forward to. You told your best friend Heleana first who offered to fly out the next weekend to see you, but you insisted you were fine. She however insisted on being there to tell your parents to make sure you were okay. the whole time you refused to tell her who the father was.

“Who’s the dad?” your mother asked after a very long and teary-eyed conversation.

Your eyes wandered to Heleana. She reached for your hand and tried to say something, but you cut her off, “I’m so sorry Hel,” you whispered making her tilt her head. You cleared your throat and spoke up so they could all hear, “Its Aegon,”

Heleana’s grip on your hand loosened as her eyes fell to the floor. For a moment you thought you’d lost her too btu then you felt her hand squeeze yours again, “What did he say?” she asked but she could tell from the look on your face, “I will fucking kill him,”

-

It was the first time you’d heard her swear but not the last time it was brought up when discussing Aegon. You ended up telling her the full story later that night and she was ready to fly out and kill him. the only issue was no one knew where he was. Alicent was used to that by now though you could see it begin to weigh on her know he’d been gone for 3 months.

You however were now 4 months pregnant, postponing school, and unable to hide it any longer. “Alicent?” you asked as you awkwardly shuffled into the room with Aemond and Heleana behind you as backup. Aemond had sussed it out pretty quickly though was equally shocked by the father when you told him.

Alicent smiled at you from where she sat on the sofa reading her novel, “Is everything alright dear?”

“I need to tell you something,”

-

Alicent was silent as she processed it all before suddenly taking your hands with a teary smile but a happy one still, “Thank you for telling me sweetheart. Its going to be okay,” And for a while it was. Well, if you didn’t mind the morning sickness and ballooning to the size of a small house. That and still no one had heard from Aegon.

Heleana had helped pick out the decorations for the nursery in your new flat. Yes, a new flat paid for by Alicent. Well technically it was one of her rentals she had inherited when her father died but she decided to let you live there free of charge as well as telling you she’d help out when you decided to go back to school.

Aemond helped you get a job in the restaurant he’d been at for years and even though working as a waitress could be draining at the best of times you knew it would be worth it. especially now you were holding your daughter in your arms.

She was adorable with tuffs of blonde, white hair covering her perfect head. She was such a giggly baby, always gurgling away with a smile. Heleana had to go back to university, but Alicent made sure to adjust her schedule to have the baby when you were at work. Everything was finally feeling good again.

“Hush little baby doesn’t say a word,” you whisper sang to your baby as your nighttime routine with her, but she was already out from a long day at the park with her gran. As you laid her in her crib you heard the doorbell ring.

You froze, watching your daughter who initially stirred but luckily didn’t wake. You quickly padded to the front door, shutting the room to the nursery as you did. when you looked through the peep hole you felt your stomach tighten but still you reached for the door handle.

“Aegon?” you asked as he began to turn and walk away, probably assuming you weren’t in.

He spans back around, “Hey. I- “he began to stutter, “My brother said I could find you here,” you mentally cursed Aemond but stayed standing in the doorway, “I needed to talk to you,”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,”

You saw the hurt in his eyes, but you didn’t care. well at least you tried not to. “I should go,” he muttered, turning to leave once more.

You sighed. Even if you hated him for what he said he was still your daughter’s father, “Wait!” you called out, wincing at the noise you made. Aegon turned back, “Come in,” you sighed.

He walked in in silence, sitting down on the couch you pointed him to as you sat in your armchair. You turned to the table beside you and flicked the baby monitor on. “How is she?” Aegon broke the silence with his head hanging low.

“She’s okay,” you paused but decided to go on, “She’s got your hair but my eyes and all she ever does is laugh,”

“Just like you then?” Aegon smiled softly, looking up as for the first time in a year you shared a smile with him, “I’m sorry. For what I said, for even thinking it,” he began, the smile fading, “I fucked up. Nothing I can say will fix it and I don’t think ill ever make it up to you,” he took a deep breath before continuing, “But I won’t be my father. I don’t want to only see her at Christmas and sign some cheque to pretend I care. I want to be there for her, and you. if you’ll let me,”

He said it so sincerely, but you couldn’t help the pit in your stomach, “What if you leave again?” you whispered. “I didn’t even know where you went,”

“I won’t,” he said firmly, “I know I fucked up. That night I left, and I ended up back at square one. Maybe less than one. All I remember is me leaving then waking up in a field surrounded by broken bottles. I couldn’t face you after. Not after how hard you worked to help me,”

“I kept it up for a bit, the drinking. Bounced around some houses sleeping on couches. Drank myself to sleep every night,” he continued his ramble, all while his eyes stared at the empty ground, “Then one night I was drunk again at a party and some guy offered me something. I almost took it. but something just snapped,”

“I checked myself into rehab the next day. Aemond’s been helping me, but he refused to tell me anything about you or well her. I couldn’t blame him. I was there for about four months. Got sober. Got better. Got another therapist. Ended up getting some jobs here and there. I work down at the Carstark Warehouses. Pays not much but enough to get by,”

Aegon paused again and finally looked up, “I really am sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me or feel bad, but I am sorry,” he said as he pulled an envelope out his pocket, “Take it,”

“I don’t need your money,”

Aegon sighed as he leaned forward and held it out to you. hesitantly you took it. inside was letters though. You pulled them out. At least thirteen of them, you weren’t too sure as your eyes began to well up. Some were to you, but most was to your daughter. “I brought this too,” he said making you look up.

He was holding a white plush bunny, your favourite animal, with a bow on its neck. “I got it when I saw my mums post on Facebook with the baby. I thought she should have it,” he said as he reached out to give it to you.

You shook your head this time, “No. you should give it to her. not me,” you said as you stood up, “You want to see her?”

Aegon shot out his seat, rubbing the sweat of his palms on his jeans, “Yeah course,”

You nodded as you led him to her nursery, “She’s asleep so you need to be quiet. I don’t want to wake her,” Aegon nodded as you creeped the door open.

Together you both walked in and for a moment before you turned around you thought he might run away again. However, when you turned and saw his awestricken face staring at your daughter you somehow knew he wouldn’t. he tenderly walked over to the crib, a tear trickling down his cheek as he held the crib by its rails. “I can’t believe I missed her being here,” he whispered so softly you barely heard him.

“You’re here now,” you whispered back, rubbing a hand on one of his shoulders while leaning on the others. “Just please don’t leave again,”

“I won’t. I’m never going anywhere again,”

General taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate @justtilly @jjkjbhj @clairacassidy @valeskafics @meg-ro

HOTD taglist @jmii722 @hypocritic-trash-baby @starkleila @jacesvelaryons @sashadevil766

Part One Tags: @heavenly1927 @aemonds-holy-milk

[catfern]

─ restless dreams.

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader (?)

music: a world of madness - akira yamaoka

word count: 2.3k

summary: you're dead. with how ellie's been coping, she might as well be. that is, until she sees you, or rather, a woman with your face.

WARNINGS: heavy discussions of grief, illness, death. implied hallucinatory sequences, general themes associated with silent hill 2. smut, oral (r!receiving).

cat says ⎯ were ya'll waiting for pyramid head to show up?

if i could be … her.

but i’m not her

and she’s not me.

and you’re somewhere different.

on a different planet.

cold.

the merciless descent of winter had done nothing but bury ellie in a fog. a blur of forgetfulness, of numb reaction.

everyone had told her it would become easier. the festering pain in her joints would fade, the endless congestion in her head, like a dragnet of her slowed thoughts, would release.

“grief is just one of those things that you have to learn to live with.”

ellie wasn’t sure if she was learning. if she knew what that even felt like. what was it, to learn to love an absence? a gaping chasm, in one’s soul?

plagued. the sweetness of your voice lingered like stubborn molasses in her ears, a ghosting touch, nails scratching at her scalp, she could feel it. at least, for a few fleeting moments. in the sticky dark of her bedroom, memories of you clung to her back.

the pavement, slick with thin ice and dirty snow, echoed the song of her footsteps in the empty streets. she needed milk. a sick darkness had descended on the small space of her apartment, and her fridge stunk of something sour.

the hairs on the back of her neck prickled in the bitter wind. she hadn’t been sleeping.

she had thought, maybe, the chill in the air would help her. that the light would snap her from this daze, bring her to see this delusional miasma for what it was. but the wet sun, shrouded in grey, granted no such reprieve. she still saw you everywhere.

the shine of the linoleum tile seemed blinding in artificial light. ellie squinted in the change, her skin dry, pale and discoloured from weeks inside. 

she can feel the clerk’s gaze burning her through her clothes. she shakes the dusting of snowfall off her shoulders, and sees the tracks of mud she’s pulled in from outside. oh.

she scrapes the soles of her sneakers along the peeling grout of the tile, and shuffles her way along the aisles. the rows of fridge doors buzz in the dim silence of the store, there’s something metallic in the air.  

it was a dying habit, beelining for the skim milk. something you had put her on to, with your endless buzzing about dairy. it was comforting, following a path well-trodden through the small grocer, one she had so often taken when she had a softness to return to. her footsteps fell, heavy and loud and ringing her ears, empty.

ellie grunts a hoarse ‘excuse me’ to the woman standing in front of the milk fridge. she wasn’t grabbing anything, just standing … watching the milk as if waiting for it to move. so, ellie figured it was okay to push past. the woman moved back without a word.

the jug felt cool, and almost anchored, beneath ellie’s fingertips. something to latch on to, tangible in this maze of wretched passing time.

“sorry! i didn’t see you there.”

ellie bit so hard into her cheek it drew blood. warm, foreign in her mouth, an iron taste.

your voice was not an uncommon ringing in her ears, in these hellish pastimes. the open world teased her, so often she heard you in a gentle ripple of water, the humming engine of a passing car. but this …

it was you. ripped from fresh fucking dirt.

well, ellie wasn’t sure. a ghost in the corner store was not something she was eager to find, if that’s what this woman was. what you were. she could feel her hand twitching in her jacket pocket, an obsessive itch to reach out, to feel the tangible, the absent real.

your name slips past her lips like a familiar groove in her tongue, and the woman laughs. it’s deeper than yours, jilted, not sweet.

“are you confusing me with someone else?” she asks. no, no, she can’t be. it’s your face, every mapped detail from the haze of her dreams, ripped from your coffin and supplanted here. on this body, obscure.

it could be a mask. ellie could dig her fingernails under your pretty, unblemished skin and tear it off this creature, this … offence. would you bleed the same?

“i-“ the milk jug suddenly felt too cold, burning into the skin of her palm. she hesitated, joints locked, body aching. whatever frantic obscenities ellie had wanted to hurl at her, at you, for the affront of your very existence, dripped back down her throat, made her choke.

the woman tilts her head in anticipation. you don’t do that, you didn’t do that.

it’s not you.

“ellie? you told me you weren’t coming today.”

she can still hear the wheezing undercurrent in your voice, a haunting possession of the brilliance in your body. you weren’t meant to exist somewhere so … clinical.

“i .. wanted to see you.”

your hand ghosts her cheek, the prickling of neglected texture along the bone. she refused to touch you. not like this.

ellie’s breath comes heavy in the heady air of her apartment. she can smell the stale rot in the walls, consuming her with every struggling heave of her lungs.

she had left the fridge door open when she left, the flickering cold light leaving a staggering crack along the darkness. she slumps against the wall of her kitchenette, pressing her hands into her muddy hair, as if trying to hold herself together at the seams.

she was going crazy, wasn’t she?

you’re haunting her. ellie supposes that she knew you would. a spectre, a shadow tethered to her feet. she had hoped, she could push past it, cradle your tenderness close to her heart, lock away the rest. naive.

she had become too complacent with the shell of you that malady had created. she’d forgotten how angry you could get. even from beyond the veil of death.

but it wasn’t you. no, no, ellie reminds herself. that … woman, was a coincidence. a trick of the flickering, sickening lights. her grief had muddled her mind, made her see things that weren’t there.

maybe she so desperately wanted to see you. deep within the dairy aisle. maybe, she no longer had the strength to turn away from you, like she once had. maybe, she just craves something you can no longer provide.

three raps knock the wood of her door, and ellie shakes. visceral.

she doesn’t remember answering, but the threshold was there, her hand warming the cool bronze of her doorknob.

this was just cruel.

“oh! it’s you again!” her smile is a wicked caricature, something hollow. snow sits in her hair, and ellie is blighted with your warmth, ghostly in this empty winter. “sorry, my phone’s dead. i’ve been asking around, is everyone on vacation? you’re the only one that answered the door.”

“wh - what?” ellie couldn’t listen. 

you had broken your nose, as a child, a detail never lost on her in the intimacy of your nights together. she would trace her fingers over the bump the accident left, the irreverent flaws that endeared her, magnetised ellie to your person.

she studied this woman, her … perfections. the faultless slope of the bridge of her nose.

so … she was different? this wasn’t you. ellie wasn’t sure if the constant reminder was her anchor or her chain.

“can i use your landline?”

the question was simple, and ellie ached to oblige. invite her in.

“uh, sure.” it was a hoarse, quiet agreement. she shuffles to the side, carves a path for the stranger, who smiles at her sweetly, tight-lipped, in thanks.

her perfume was different. heavier, something darker. red fruit and earth. it caught in ellie’s nose, unwelcome. your name is a phantom on the dry ridges of her lips, and the woman snickers, the fur collar of her snow-dusted coat ruffling as she turns to meet ellie’s foggy gaze. the glory of what was once your gaze, now shared, was lost on this cheap copy.

“you keep calling me that. what, do i look like your girlfriend?”

ellie chokes on something that is not there.

“n-no, my late wife.” ellie could feel her gravity changing, re-centring. she crosses the floor slowly, listening to every creak of the old floorboards. reverent steps. “you … you could be her twin.”

she laughs, distant and deep, like a joke. like she couldn’t see the lines of desperation, of reaching hope that haunt the withering skin of ellie’s face. couldn’t she see? was she not aware of her own part she played in ellie’s torment?

or was she seperate from it all? was she simply passing through, a tourist in this purgatory?

the woman hangs up the receiver of the phone, having never called anyone. her eyes splay pity on this platter between them.

“i don’t look like a .. ghost, do i?” the teasing lilt in her voice was familiar. it was yours. she purses her lips. “maybe i shouldn’t have come. you’re clearly going through something.”

ellie’s hand darts out to ground itself on her skin, pressing into the bone of her wrist, the base of her body.

“ellie.”

she shook the molasses of your voice from her ears, pressed her eyes shut in beseeching of something free.

“please.” her voice was barely there, small in her throat, but enough to hear in the absence of wherever this was. wherever she has ended up. “you have to tell me who you are, if you’re real.”

the woman pouts, the way you did when you wanted something. her touch is soft, leading, like yours was, as it slips from ellie’s rusting grip and falls back, unceremoniously, onto the leather armchair in the living room. plumes of dust greeted her, only added to the stench in the air, the musk of unforgiving.

“it doesn’t matter who i am.” she says, and ellie almost stumbles after her, her knees aching as she falls, devout, ready to worship, if only this spectre gave her answers. “i know what grief’s like. and … i’m here for you.”

ellie breathes unsteadily, her hands shaking, cool sweat dripping down her back. the woman reaches out in the growing silence between them. her nails were bumpy, bitten down to the quick, covered poorly in thin, pink nail polish, as they scratch gently along ellie’s cheek.

“see? i’m real.”

an illness lined ellie’s stomach. wanton belief … this was real. there was a simplicity in this, in the dream that you had come back to her, after all. flesh warm and alive beneath her fingers, untainted.

“don’t you want to touch me?”

the image of you, of her, bleeds in ellie’s brain. you were asking with a sweetness you knew she could never ignore. temptation rots the soul, but hers had died with you. in your final breath, you had clawed it out of her.

there’s a certain cruelty to her touch, the way ellie splays her decay of passion upon this blank body. control is lost to her here, although a mirage of it echoes in her grip on your thigh, her nails ripping into the stranger’s skin, hoping to study whatever is beneath.

“please, please…” ellie’s voice is soft, chasing a dead docility up the woman’s inner thigh, her tongue pulling a cotton trail into familiar warmth. “i’m sorry…”

your head falls back against the edge of the armchair, soft, sweet whines dripping from the woman’s lips like honey, ellie’s nose pressing into the silk of your cunt, her tongue dazed and ever desperate to taste you. to feel you like you once were, broken, made whole again in the creeping twilight of an oncoming snowstorm.

a low rumble pulls through both of you, her lips a current on your clit, a tremor in the key of her voice. she has to pull herself up on her knees, push herself into your presence, to keep herself there, within this second chance. her body shakes beneath yours, in wait, for something that had long since disappeared.

she groans, something deep and distant below her throat. her tongue dances along the warmth inside you, painting her apologies, her dying grievances along the soft expanse of whatever lay inside, forever unheard. her fingers grip bruises into your stolen skin, a rough yank pulling you towards her.

you had hated when she was rough with you, but were you really here to complain?

“please, i…” her voice is something dark, muffled against your skin. “i need you, i.. you shouldn’t have left me. i’m sorry.”

“that doesn’t matter now.” firm and bitter, dry, calloused hands pull ellie up from her home between your legs. she could nearly whine at the absence of warmth, if the vitriol freeze wasn’t something she had so long deserved, so duly needed. ellie’s touch softens.

“nothing matters now.”

your gaze, her gaze, is scrutinising, painful to hold in her eye. but she needn’t look away, she shouldn’t. otherwise, she was sure you’d disappear. she couldn’t let you, never again. she could keep you alive, deep within the ire of her eye, she could, she was so sure.

something stings within her. feeling, it prickles back into ellie’s body like she’d been long asleep.

“i miss you,” ellie’s voice breaks against the cool, unwavering hand of the strange woman, the absence of mercy she so desperately sought. a sob shakes, sore in the column of her neck. the pain was welcome. “so, so much.”

tears run hot, her spine crooked as she falls back, looking up at you with a newly discovered vulnerability. you look at her, your eyes cold with pity and hate.

“i love you.” she chokes, begging like you’ll listen. “come back to me, i love you still.”

you shake your head. you won’t. ellie doesn’t deserve that kindness. no longer, anyway.

your wife slumps forward, pressing her face into the softness of your thigh like that would mean forgiveness, like that would bring back the innocence she had sorely stolen from you. your hand, with jagged nails, runs through ellie’s hair. brick wall comfort.

when you speak, your voice lingers in her ears like a bad hangover. it’s not yours, not anymore. whatever was left of you was rotten, spiteful.

“are you afraid?”

ellie sobs, loud in the impending silence.

there was something here. it’s gone now.

tag list: @r3starttt

[fear-is-truth]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋. — colin zabel

𝜗𝜚 tags ; nsfw﹒mdni﹒fem!reader﹒ masturbation

kinktober day 13 — masturbation

“yeah? is that so?” your husband rasped in his morning voice, the deep timbre sending a delicious shiver from your chest straight to your toes. colin had only woken up a few minutes ago, and your phone call had been the reason. not that he minded—he loved waking up to the sound of your voice. in fact, it was his second favourite way to wake up, right after having you nestled warm and close beside him.

you, on the other hand, had already been up for hours, going about your routine, and couldn’t wait to tell him about your day so far. even as you babbled on, telling him about the little things that happened, his mind was fixated on something else entirely—on you. the way your voice flowed, sweet and familiar, soothed him, helping him ease into the morning.

it didn’t matter what you were saying, not really.

“so, then i went to the store, and you wouldn’t believe what i found,” you continued excitedly, oblivious to how sleepy he still was. “they had this beautiful teapot set, you know, the kind i was telling you about last week? the blue one with the red goldfish…”

“mhm…” he murmured in response, eyes still closed as he lay on his back, his cellphone pressed to his ear. his hand absently smoothed over the pillow beside him, wishing you were there instead. the corners of his lips tugged upward slightly as he pictured the way your face must’ve lit up when you found that teapot.

colin zabel lives for your smiles.

he loved seeing you get excited; it always made him smile like a fool and all the blood would go rushing to his groin, and he felt like a fucking pervert for it. but in the end, it wasn’t his fault that his wife was just so adorable. there were times when he had to excuse himself to the bathroom, needing a moment jerk off—because your honeyed voice was just too sweet, your smile so bright and infectious.

“…but i didn’t buy it yet. i thought maybe we could go together when you come home?”

his heart softened at the sentiment, and his cock hardened. “sounds nice, love. i’ll go with you.” as you babbled on about stopping by the bakery on the corner, and how they were almost out when you got there—something about a new flavour that everyone had apparently been talking about. “i didn’t even get to try the matcha croissant because they sold out,” you complained, “but i got you a chocolate one for when you’re back.”

he was trying his best to listen to your words, but his hand was already in his pyjama bottoms, cupping his bulge through his boxers.

“colin. you’re still sleepy, aren’t you?”

he let out a soft sigh, lips curving into a smirk you couldn’t see. “a little… but keep talking,” he urged, “i want to hear more about your day.” hips were already bucking into his hand. he tried his best to stay silent. soft grunts managed to escape his lips, barely audible, but you were too busy chattering away to notice. eventually, his hand slipped under the waistband of his boxers, pulling it down alongside his pants.

“and then i told her–”

colin hummed in agreement before starting to tease the tip of his cock, a pearly bead of precum already decorating it. putting all his concentration on your voice, he started to carefully stroke himself—while picturing the way your small fingers wrapped around his length, trying to replicate the soft strokes you’d always administer when you jerked him off.

hand squeezing his shaft, as his the pad of thumb rubbed over the pink tip. beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he was trying to suppress the whimper that was bubbling in the back of his throat. if only you knew what was happening on the other side of the phone.

“colin?”

“y-yeah?”

“are you even listening?”

“sorry, got a bit distracted there... can you please, ah… repeat what you said?” and you did. not that he picked up anything you said, he was too occupied with chasing his high, and to be honest, processing your words wasn’t a part of that—he’d make it up to you another time. copious amounts of sticky white cum splattered over his hand, just as your laughter from the other end sounded in his ear. the white pyjama bottoms were now ruined, but colin couldn’t bring himself to care.

[luveline]

Can I request Eddie and R tending to each other’s wounds (given they both survive the demobats in the UD)?

ty <3 fem!reader, 1.4k 

cw canon typical violence

“You’re sweating like crazy.” 

“Eddie, that’s the sort of thing you don’t say to a girl,” you say, hands shaking hard as you ruffle through the duffle bag at your side. Your knees burn like they’re on fire, your arms raked with claw marks, but Eddie’s been minced. If you hadn’t climbed your way back to him with the makeshift flamethrower at his feet, Eddie would probably be dead. Scorched demobat is a gross smell. 

“What are you so scared of? It’s like, running down your cheek,” he says. 

“Shut up,” you say, glancing back, hoping Dustin will be right behind you. You hadn’t stopped to make sure he was alright. What if he’s hurt too? “Seriously, just don’t talk. You’re gonna bleed to death and die and your last words are gonna be about how sweaty I am.” 

You peel back a soaked square of gauze from his waist and smash a clean one overtop to soak up the pooling blood. Eddie gasps in agony, writhing away from your touch, but to his credit, his voice is strong as he says, “Shit, true. I can make them better. How about, um… oh. You’re smoking. Like, seriously gorgeous. That better?” 

Your eyes sting as you turn your face to your shoulder, cupping his cheek, his blood wet on your fingers and staining his skin red. “How would you know? It’s dark out.” 

“I’ve seen your face in the light hundreds of times. I know what I’m talking about.” 

He would’ve been turned to mulch without your rescuing. There are split cuts all over him, it’s awful, and you won’t be able to fix him yourself here, but you don’t have to. You just need to stop his bleeding and help him deal with the pain until Dustin makes it through. The two of you can drag him to safety. 

Maybe the best way to do that is to let him tease you. “You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, pressing another piece of gauze over this second one, wincing when he lets out a pained gasp. 

“Are you kidding?” 

“I thought you liked, you know, the really pretty girls, like–”

“You are a really pretty girl, are you kidding? Don’t fish for compliments.” 

You shake your head, laughing, half-terrified. The blood isn’t slowing. “Eddie, I have to press down harder, okay? I’m sorry.” 

“Just do it,” he says. You dig the heel of your palm into his side. “Fuck!” 

“You’re really not gonna like this next part,” you warn, pushing his legs flat to the floor. 

You climb over his thighs and sit on his lap, hand twisted to cover his wound and the other peeling the paper covering off of another sterile square of gauze. Eddie swears like a sailor as you squeeze down, the majority of your upper weight being pressed to his open wounds. It would be an uncomfortable sensation without the cuts. You know it’s torture. 

“Oh, god,” he says, “I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

“That’s a great reaction,” you say, lifting the edge of the leftmost gauze. The blood pools but doesn’t gush down his side. You sigh in relief. “Oh, thank god.” 

“Maybe don’t say stuff like that sitting on my crotch.” 

“Are you for real?” You meet his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You’re really thinking about your dick right now?” 

“Of course not, I’m a gentleman, but you’re kind of on top of me and it’s been a really hard week.” 

You burst out laughing. He gags in pain and turns away. 

The cavalry arrives not long after that, though it feels like hours. Together, somehow, you drag Eddie back to the gate, and things get a little blurry after that. 

—

You’ve never been so tired in your life as you are right now, but you’re so relieved that the world has taken on a golden quality, and Eddie looks golden too. 

His hair is wet. You think Wayne might’ve washed it for him over the bath; it’s been greasy for a week while his stitches started to heal up, and he spent it in Steve’s bed. The only good thing about having absent parents apparently is being able to harbour a fugitive without being noticed, and anybody else who couldn’t go home without explaining their injuries. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks. 

“Mm.” You scrunch up into yourself on the couch, cradling your arm where it aches to your chest. 

“You’ve been sleeping all day. Figured I’d make sure you weren’t in a coma.” You think about poor Max. He must see your wavering expression, sitting on the couch by your legs with an apologetic smile. “She’s doing even better today. Sinclair thinks she was squeezing his finger, so that’s something.” 

“Can’t believe all that stuff really happened,” you mumble, the blanket pulled over your chin muffling your voice. It’s a wonder he can hear you. 

“Feels fake, right? I keep forgetting about it when I wake up, and then I have to stand and feel my stomach try to split open and remember I was bat chow.” He nods to your arm. “Still hurting?” 

It’s nothing compared to his. Your cuts didn’t need stitching, but the were deep still. You’ve only had the butterfly bandages taken off yesterday. The skin aches where the scar tissue is forming. “Sort of itchy,” you say.

“Yeah?” He pulls a little white tube from his pyjama pants hesitantly. “Maybe I can help?” 

“What’s that?” 

“Non disclosed ointment. Pretty sure it’s the good stuff from Mike’s girl’s government friends.” 

They’re gonna clear Eddie’s name, apparently. So far they’ve done a whole lot of nothing while Hawkins falls apart around you. Well, besides the drugs. They’ve given out plenty of painkillers. 

Eddie shuffles closer to you and takes your arm into his hand. “Her name is Eleven,” you say. 

“I know.” He pushes your sleeve up over the bump of your elbow to expose the worst of your scarring. 

You think he’s aware of what you did that day to save him. He’s been achingly nice to you since he woke up. Even when he couldn’t walk, he’d been shouting down the stairs from Steve’s room to check if you were alright on the couch. Usually met with a chorus of Shut the fuck ups, it had been sweet, if a little embarrassing to have to call back. I’m okay. Thanks! 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he says. 

You watch him uncap the ointment and squeeze a ball of it onto his finger. It’s semi-translucent, smelling of arnica with a bit of kick to it. He turns your wrist gently in one hand and begins to trace the lines of your scars one by one, as gentle as anyone’s ever touched you, his pinky finger suspended and shaky as he draws toward the crook of your elbow.

“Well, don’t leave me waiting,” you say eventually. 

“Right, just. I’m trying to be braver. It’s not working in my favour yet.” 

You laugh. “No, really?” 

“But you saved my life. Everybody knows it. You and Henderson saved me, and I can’t make it up to you. This,” —he smooths ointment over the ridge of your cruellest scar— “is permanent. And scaring you like that, I mean. I shouldn’t have gone back in, and I should have kept running, it was selfish, trying to do a good thing and…” He holds your arm in his hands and meets your eyes. You don’t see a trace of the shrill, loud boy you’d spent the last two weeks with. “Getting you hurt.” 

“I got hurt trying to save the world,” you say. “‘Cos, you know, not everything’s about you…” 

His smile is slow as molasses and doubly sweet as he wraps his arm behind your shoulders. He’s careful, you’re both fragile right now, but he squeezes you and laughs warmly against your ear and he’s back to the Eddie you remember. “Everything is about me. It’s totally about me, babe, and you’re just jealous.”

He rubs your back. 

“You know,” he adds, hand trialling lazily to the small of your back, where it stays, “I wouldn’t be here without you. So if you need anything, just let me know.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back. He kisses your cheek as he does, his hands falling on top of yours. “Alright. You’re still smoking hot, you know that? The scars are sick. You’re cool now.” 

Your fingers twitch against his palm. “Thanks, Eddie.” 

[hiyashortking]

You Catch Lucifer Masturbating

Disclaimers and credit: read this post before reading any of my content, please.

Premise: Inspired by @venomhound's prompt list found here for the prompt: you catch them masturbating. My tenses are all fucked up in this one and I've chosen not to edit it to make sure it all matches ✌️.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He’d forgotten that he asked you to stop by when you had a moment this week to drop off some bullshit he didn’t actually care about. He was just looking for an excuse to see you again, especially against the backdrop of his room. But depression and trauma do some fucked up shit to one’s brain because he forgot this scheme and left his door unlocked, and you came wandering in when he had his cock in his hand and your panties on his face.

How did he get your panties? A story for another time …

On the bright side, he temporarily cured himself of his desperate want to be around you. If someone had told him last month that he’d be actively avoiding you and would actually go back to his old place to get away from you, he would have put money on it. Unless it was Husk, of course. He was bordering on being obsessed with you, so desperate for just a glance at your face most days. And now? Hiding in shame.

The King of Hell, hiding from a simple little undead. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so pathetic.

You knocked on his door.

Like the true diva he was, he was in his bed eating ice cream and chocolates, surrounded by the fluffiest of his duckies. The only thing he’d managed to get out of bed for every day was his long, hot as fuck shower, during which he would not allow himself to stroke his cock. Punishment was something Lucifer had been taught well, and now he was enacting it on himself.

You knocked again.

He cleared his throat. A “who is it” came out with a squeak, which made him clear his throat and ask again in a tone with more authority.

“Hey, it’s me. I will never not knock again, I promise.”

How could you even joke about this?

W-wait, it was YOU at the door?

He jumped out of bed and fumbled around, trying to make his room look cleaner. He opened the window for fresh air, but the air of hell wasn’t fresh at all so he’d closed it again.

“I hope it’s okay, Charlie let me into the palace."

“Y-yes, of course. I’ll be right there. Is-is Charlie with you?” Where were his clothes? He wore the same fucking outfit every day for millennia, one would think it would be easy to get quickly dressed. The closet! Of course, that’s where clothes would be!

“She and Vaggie are downstairs. I didn’t tell her what happened but she got worried when she called you and you didn’t pick up. She said you’d done that in the past but that you’d been really attentive to her lately so she wanted to make sure you were okay …”

Running a hand through his hair, he opened the door and leaned with the other hand on the doorframe, trying to obscure your vision of his bedroom. He looked as gorgeous as always. Since you hadn’t seen him in a while, his smile seemed even prettier today. His hair looked so soft, you wanted to reach out and run your own fingers through it. He smelled amazing. Why hadn’t you ever realized how form-fitting his clothes were? You felt as if you were seeing him for the first time.

“Hey, bitch,” he says, and immediately regrets it. But his smile only falters for a second.

You chuckle. He always makes you smile and laugh like a fool. “Well, you seem to be doing just fine! I don’t know why Charlie and I were so worried!”

He imitates your chuckle and tries to push away memories of why he is avoiding you. But wait- shouldn’t he be apologizing? His smile disappears when his thoughts race of what you must have thought and how he probably made you feel and-

“Y/N, I am so, so, so, sososososo sorry,” he lets out, almost as if his body deflates with each sound. His tail is out and literally between his legs.

“It’s o-”

He steps toward you abruptly and closes his door behind him. “Let’s sit down,” he takes your hand absent-mindedly as he focuses on which room to bring you into. Not his office. Not the librar- maybe the library? Didn’t you love reading? Maybe he could distract you with all the books!

He only realizes he is holding your hand when you’re at the center of one of his smallest, coziest libraries. “Oh fuck, oh shit, I’m so sorry I didn’t realize-”

“Lucifer, stop!” You plead.

He takes a deep, sharp inhale, his face awake with surprise, holds the breath, and releases it slowly, tilting his head up and relaxing his shoulders as he does.

“Thank you,” you say in unison, and then grin like the fools you both are.

“Please sit down,” he says as he does the same on the sofa across from yours. “May I get you something to drink?”

You noticed there were servants downstairs who were catering to the princess and her partner but who did not follow you up to the second floor.

“I’m just happy to see you, I’ve been struggling to think about anything else since you left.”

You’d been thinking about him since he left? He’d been gone for weeks!

“I’m so sorry to have worried you. As you can see, I am fine and dandy. Well- not entirely dandy, I’m obviously very much attracted to all the genders- I mean-”

Fuck, you missed him. One second the picture of elegance, and the next tripping over his words. When you caught him stroking his cock, with your used underwear on his face, you let yourself lean into all of the thoughts you hadn’t allowed when you assumed it would be impossible to be on his radar. And then he had the audacity to disappear, leaving you alone with just your fantasies.

Though you called him several times, you did doubt the situation you had seen. He was the King of Hell! Why would he be interested in you, all of being in hell? Maybe he just had a panty fetish and it didn’t mean anything that they were yours. Did this feel personal because it was, or because you desperately wanted it to be?

Wait, what was he saying?

“I’m so sorry to have worried you. As you can see, I am fine and dandy. Well- not entirely dandy, I’m obviously very much attracted to all the genders- I mean- wait- is dandy still an insinuation of being gay? Was it ever? Anyway, I’m not fully gay! Obviously! I mean-”

He was so fucking cute. You could listen to him ramble all day. “I honestly didn’t think you were going to see me, so I didn’t think about what I would say if you did. I’m just really happy to see you. I’m sorry I didn’t think this through more. I just want to be in the same room as you again.”

It wasn’t difficult to stun this man into a moment of silence, but the silence rarely lasted. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I wanted to give you some space. I am obviously deeply apologetic for my behavior.” 

Was he struggling to look at you? Is the most powerful man in all of hell blushing and avoiding your eyes? Fuck, why was this turning you on?

“Please tell me if there is anything, anything in all of Hell I can do to gain your forgiveness. I will, of course, entirely understand if it would be impossible for you to forgive me, but I would be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t at least ask.”

“Luci, may we be blunt?”

He nodded.

“What exactly do you want me to forgive you for?”

What? What exactly? For being a creepy, rude, disrespectful, vile, impish-

“I think I want some clarity about why you think I’m upset with you,” you added.

“Well, you- … I- ... wasn’t what I did bad?”

“Bad?”

He hated how the thoughts I’ve been a bad boy intruded into his mind, but here he fucking was again, with his fucking trauma getting in the way of a new relationship, not to mention how fucking cliche. Wait- a possible relationship? You were here, seeking him out, confessing to thinking about him, not being mad at him for crossing boundaries, maybe not even wanting those boundaries to begin with? Was he letting some fucked up negative core belief about being "bad", whatever the fuck that meant, ruin something he could have with you?

“Oh, Luci,” you rose from your spot and kneeled in front of him as you would if you wanted to help a child feel less intimidated. “Can we just forget this happened? Maybe not all of it, because it led me to assuming I might have a chance with you. So, I guess, let’s maybe just keep the part where you might be attracted to me, and forget any other misconceptions?”

“A chance with me?”

You nodded and waited patiently for him to process.

“You would want a chance with me?”

You nod again, smiling. Waiting.

How had he only then realized you were on your knees in front of him?

He slid from the couch to join you on the floor, and scooped you up with ease to settle you sideways in his lap. He couldn’t think of you on your knees just then.

He felt welcomed by you, but realized that wasn’t consent. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes, Luci, you can touch me anytime you like and you can touch any part of me you’d like to touch. I love, love, love being touched,” you emphasized. "Is it okay if I touch you, too?" you asked him.

Baffled, he nodded. "Yes. My word! Yes, enthusiastically! Yes, please!"

Did this grown ass man just quiver?

Oh shit, were you feeling him getting hard?

You seemed to share a brain cell in that moment because he apologized again, his arms loosely around you. “I haven’t- … done what you’d seen me doing- … since that day, so my body is-”

Whenever he got shy and apologetic, you wanted to respond with nurturing, but this time a second feeling won over and you laughed and hid your face in his neck.

“Lucifer Morningstar, you were so upset that I might think the King of Hell is immoral that you haven’t come in weeks?” The ridiculousness was too much to bear. Fuck, and he smelled amazing. You let yourself nuzzle into him, enjoying the feeling of his flesh. Did he have flesh? What were y’all made of down here? You rubbed your nose gently against his neck, enjoying how even the slightest touch connected you.

“That is correct,” was almost the truth, as he did not take responsibility for the things his body did while he was sleeping.

He let himself lean against the sofa a bit, enjoying you snuggling against him. He closed his eyes and tried his best to relax. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Breathe in-

“You amusing, wonderful little fool,” you whispered, and when you did your lips brushed against his neck, and you were certain then that he had shivered.

You were not making it easy for him to settle down. You often wondered how he managed to go from tense to relaxed and then back to tense so easily. And these were his reactions when you were on your best behavior. How would he respond if you intentionally teased him? Shhh, brain, not now, you pleaded with yourself.

“Not everything about me is little,” he said back with some confidence.

“I know, remember?” You move your head to see his face. Fuck, you weren’t supposed to bully him! The man was vulnerable! Could you just chill for today?!

“Ugh!” he groaned. Had he been blushing before that remark, or was it only just now?

Seeing your smile helped ease him again and he wondered aloud, “maybe I need to walk in on you touching yourself thinking about me, so we can be even?”

“That would be challenging since I don’t really masturbate.”

“You don’t mas- what?”

“I prefer fucking.”

“You prefer fucking?”

“Yes, or being pleasured by someone else. I must just not be good at it or something, I’m not a big fan of solo play.”

“You’re not-”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” You chuckle, realizing you’d been obliviously playing with his hair. You had the fingers of one hand at the back of his head, tugging gently and releasing, while the other battled with his hair's softness in the front, refusing to stay put where you'd wanted it to be.

“I might just, until something you say doesn’t wildly surprise me.”

You take pride in being able to surprise someone who came into existence at the beginning of time.

You’re also glad he positioned you this way in his lap, so you could more easily hide how wet this exchange was making you. What the fuck was your kink, powerful men being vulnerable? You couldn’t have just been into feet or something? Great, now there was an image of Lucifer kissing your feet in your brain. In boots. That he bought for you. With his endless hell currency. Fuck.

“I guess I’ll have to abstain a little longer," he mused. "Because now all I want is to turn you on so much that you can’t stop touching yourself.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

[lilliumrorum]

What does he have that I don’t? (Part One)

<<Previous | Masterlist | Next>> Synopsis: After discovering your lover's affair with his best friend, you found yourself in emotional turmoil. Seeking comfort, you end up in your captains office for the second time that night.

WC: 2k

Content/Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Verbal abuse, Smut, Cheating, Unrequited love, Threesome is mentioned.

Notes: Sorry this took so long to post, I've been in school, at work or stoned so I didn't have the time. I do now and I'm back!

Betrayal, heartbreak, shock, and confusion are common reactions in such situations. However, this was definitely not just some situation. The head that was once thrown back in pleasure was now gawking at you, awaiting your reaction.

"[Name]..." Simon sighed.

How could he have expected you to respond? He shared intimacy with someone who understood him better than you ever did—the person he introduced you to just two weeks into your relationship. Johnny was his closest confidant, his right-hand man, the one he would willingly take a bullet for. You're not even sure he would even identify you on the battlefield.

"Sorry I barged in, I'll leave you to yourselves."

"Wait-"

Without granting him the opportunity to finish, you swiftly closed the door and slung the robust duffle bag over your shoulder.

You always had a feeling that he was attracted to Johnny, but didn't think he was aware. Simon wasn't one to express admiration openly, but he consistently praised Johnny as the best sergeant he had ever witnessed in action. You wished Simon would speak about you the way he talked about Johnny, but you never felt jealous. Now, you felt numb, the only sensation you feel is that of your knuckles turning white as you tightly grip your bag.

Wandering aimlessly, you had no idea where to go without a single friend nearby. Sure you had teammates, but you weren't close to any of them. You were genuinely alone, and it seemed even Simon didn't want you around (not that you were planning on going back tonight anyway). You couldn't comprehend how something so right could turn so wrong. Maybe it started when those morning kisses shifted to him leaving under the guise of going for a "run." The movie nights together evolved into you being isolated, reading a book in your dimly lit bedroom, with him conspicuously absent. Your bed was usually always empty, due to Simon's "workload", but there was going to be one less body tonight. It was no longer your bed.

"Really? Are you actually going to leave me when you've just come home?!"

Simon seemed unbothered by your tear soaked face.

"I don't always want to walk in and deal with your naggin'. Fuckin' Christ, I can't even go for a lap around the base with out your crazy ass losing your shit!" He lashed out.

A whimper left your lips.

"I just missed you, Si! I love you! It's not nagging if I tell you that I want to see you! Where is the man I fell for? Where did his love go? This is not you Simon! It's not fucking you!"

"I never fell. 'Si' does not exist. Simon doesn't fucking exist."

"So you never felt any of it? You've just been faking your way through this entire fucking relationship? Do you even want to try anymore? You don't even fucking care!"

He paused.

"How can I try to feel remorse for a love that was a lie? The only thing I even remotely enjoy about you is that after we fuck you leave me the hell alone and go to sleep." He spat at you coldly.

"Okay... well if Simon doesn't exist then whos been sleeping in my bed?! Who used to kiss my tears away? I want him back. All you ever do now is cause them."

"A ghost." his words dripping with malice as he slammed your door.

You were too caught up in the sadness of your relationship to realize you were crying or understand what was going on around you. The sadness caused something to decay in your heart. The thought of what you witnessed made you feel nauseous, so you tried to get your conscience off of the present matter. Your thoughts drifted to your captain, the only person you felt you could trust now. He had repeatedly mentioned his availability in his office, even beyond regular hours.

Captain Price was consistently kind. Despite the necessity of sternness in his role as a captain, his gaze was always gentle when directed towards you. As you started to notice the features of the building, a sense of lightness washed over you, as if all your problems faded away upon its sight. You observed a light flicker in response to the loud steps you took across the terrain. The door cracked open, and you saw his eyes start to crinkle when he noticed you.

"Things aren't goin' very well I reckon?" He smiled sympathetically.

"Not at all. I think things wont be going anywhere now. I have nowhere to go."

He cocked an eyebrow at your words, then turned to hold the door. John Price was a genuine gentleman, not someone pretending to be what they weren't, but the authentic, real deal. At times, you wished Simon could be more like him—kind yet firm, resembling an actual person.

"You can tell me about it once we get to my room." He shot you a soft, closed lip smile.

After reaching the stairs in the hall, both of you climbed them wearily. You could sense his gaze on you; he was studying your face. He could see that the whites of your eyes were visibly red from crying, and there was a faint trace of a tear on your cheek. He stopped examining your face as you reached his door. Once more, he held the door open for you as you entered.

"You can place your bag in the closet {name}, I know you've had a hard night."

You followed through, placing the oversized bag on his closet floor. He entered his bedroom with you, staying close in case you needed any assistance. Your face became heated for some reason as you found yourself in the bedroom with your captain. You hurriedly left his bedroom, while he followed slowly with fatigued movements. Upon reaching the living room, he sat down on the couch with a grunt, and you followed suit.

"Tell me all that happened after you left my office." He commanded.

Price was always very protective of you, intervening with Simon when he observed your distressing situation. When he witnessed Simon screaming at you for reaching for his hand, he nearly lost his mind. He couldn't bear the way his lieutenant treated you. Some part of you had always been drawn to your captain. His soft smile and sweet demeanor made you ponder what it would be like to be in a relationship with him. The only obstacle in your path was the age difference, and you were aware that if he ever found out, it would complicate things between you.

"I found him. I found him with someone..."

Your face told him it wasn't just someone.

"Do you know who?"

You nodded slowly, a tear rolling down your cheek. His eyes widened. Just as he was about to ask, you answered.

"Johnny."

His jaw dropped almost comically. He would never suspect Simon to be interested in men, and hearing that he was involved with Johnny just made the news ten times more shocking.

"How can I compare to his best friend? The one who understands him more than I ever will?" You sniffled.

"Sometimes a man does foolish things.."

You turned your gaze to John, anticipating the completion of his sentence. He looked lost in thought.

"But?"

"But nothing. What Lieutenant did was beyond foolish. I've seen the way he's treated you, dear. For the last several months, to be exact."

You stared at him with a questioning expression. If he had noticed, why hadn't he said anything?

"You have?"

A smile tugged at his lips.

"Everyone has, Sergeant. Why else would I be comfortable with you staying here?"

You huffed out a breath,

"If you knew then why didn't you tell me?"

John found himself at a loss for how to respond to your question. On one hand, his lieutenant demonstrated exceptional skills and garnered respect among comrades. On the other hand, you were hardworking, determined, and notably stealthy, often taking the lead in infiltrating enemy bases. Both of you held immense value to the 141, and he was reluctant to risk losing either of you.

"I'm caught in a position where I can't say anything, love."

Your heart fluttered at the nickname.

"Ah. I'm sorry John. I don't want to get you caught in this mess."

Another droplet fell onto your combat pants.

"You weren't the one who made it." He said as he placed his hand on your shoulder.

The pain of witnessing your partner with someone else lingered in your mind, and tears continued to stream down from your reddened eyes. Your cheeks noticeably swelled as you fought to contain your emotions. Did Simon ever truly exist?

Maybe he was right. Maybe the whole time he really did just want a reliable source of pleasure.

"Stop thinkin', love. How about you take a nice shower and change out of that uniform. There's no way in hell that that's comfortable."

With a sniffle and a nod of your head, you made your way to his front door and proceeded to undo your bulky military boots.

"John..."

"Yes Love?"

"Where is your bathroom?"

He huffed out a laugh and tilted his head, signaling for you to follow him. The sound of his laughter enveloped you in a warm, appreciated feeling. As he walked you down the hall, you found yourself imagining what it would be like to truly be loved. The thought crossed your mind that if only John were younger, maybe you could have felt that. You sighed at your thoughts, and he looked at you with a puzzled expression. He opened the door and held it for you once more.

"Make sure not to use all the hot water." He teased.

As you walked in, he left you to yourself. The room had a certain charm to it, although it was evident that a man lived there. It featured dim lighting, a burgundy rug, and a stylish shower that housed some kind of sauna tub beneath it. You couldn't help but doubt whether he had even had the chance to use it. Everything about it appeared brand new.

As you stripped yourself from your clothing, your mind began to wonder. What would've happened if you didn't leave. What would they have done? What would Simon have done?

For some reason, you found yourself fantasizing about them. You were still mad of course, but Imagining Simon feasting on your core as Soap sucked him off was so arousing. It was almost repulsive how vividly your fantasies stirred up that sensation within you. Running the tips of your fingers through Simon's messy blonde hair as his tongue conquered your cunt, looking up at you with those blown out brown eyes. God, Just the thought of it was making you clench.

You started the shower, feeling a sense of self-disgust. Here you were heart broken and now all you can think about is having a threesome.

You took a deep breath and increased the temperature, attempting to divert your attention from the unsettling thoughts in your mind.

He didn't know what to do with himself. You hadn't stomped back to the room like you usually do. You didn't have any friends nearby to stay with, and you couldn't have gone far.

He glanced at the clock in your living room. It had been almost four hours since you walked in on them.

Where the fuck could you be?

"What're yae so bloody mad about mate? It's not like it's the lass' fault." John said sarcastically.

Simon slammed his hands on the cheap coffee table in front of him as he stood.

"I fuckin' know that."

Johnny searched his eyes, attempting to discern any trace of emotion and understand what thoughts were running through his mind.

"I was kind've hopin' she would join in."

That piqued Simon's interest.

"Yae think it's a proper idea too, huh? I told yae I'm secretly a genius!" The Scot comically jumped as he spoke, adding a touch of humor to the situation.

Maybe Johnny was right. Maybe it was a good idea.

[holidayinhell]

CWs: vampire whumper, human whumpee, blood, dubcon smut, noncon

It was dark when Whumper slipped into Whumpee’s room. Even the light of the moon was absent that night.

Shadows danced across the walls, but Whumper’s eyes pierced through the darkness, his footsteps inaudible as he crossed the threshold, making his way towards the resting figure laying in bed, lost in sleep. 

He couldn’t resist drinking in every detail of the man’s slumbering face: the gentle curve of his soft, slightly parted lips, the dark lashes fanned delicately against his cheeks. Whumper liked him best like this—sprawled helplessly across the sheets, stripped of that usual, insufferable bravado.

Whumper’s eyes flickered. A shiver of desire crept in, sparked by the sight of Whumpee’s utter defenselessness. He wanted to take him then and there.

So much had changed since they’d last seen each other...

At least this was a familiar urge.

Whumper crawled on top of the sleeping man, the mattress sinking under him as he settled his weight over Whumpee’s slender hips.

He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should have stayed the fuck away. 

But it was getting increasingly harder to fight the bloodlust.

Whumpee shot awake with a terrified jolt.

“Hey. Easy there.”

“WHO THE FUCK?!” Whumpee’s heart pounded as he scrambled to make sense of the shadow looming over him.

“It’s me. Sorry to scare you.”

“Whumper? Jesus fuck!” Whumpee yelled, breathless as he gave Whumper a shaky shove to the chest. “Goddamn it. What the hell are you doing?!”

“Quiet,” Whumper murmured as he pressed a finger to Whumpee’s lips. “Shhhhh.”

Whumpee instinctively took a bite at the finger resting on his mouth.

“Hey.” Whumper snapped.

“Hey yourself, fucko! What did I tell you?!” Whumpee clutched his racing heart, terror still coursing through him. “You’re gonna fucking kill me some day. You’ve gotta stop doing this shit!”

"Sorry. Yeah. I know. But please, calm down," Whumper whispered softly. He gently caught Whumpee's wrists, pressing them back against the pillow. "Easy. Relax."

Whumpee let out a long, exhausted sigh as his frantic heartbeat settled. “Gah. I really thought you were some kind of fucking rapist burglar or something. You scared the shit of me.”

“I know. Sorry.”

There was a long pause as the two sat in the silence of their unspoken thoughts. 

Whumpee stared into the black of the room, his eyes straining to make out anything through the edgeless darkness. On top of him, Whumper watched the other quietly, taking in the lingering fear coursing through Whumpee’s veins, drinking in the thrill of his quickened heartbeat.

Impatient as ever, Whumpee broke the silence first. “Where have you even been?” He piped up.

Whumper couldn’t answer that truthfully. “Why? Did you miss me, Whumpee?”

“No. I didn’t,” Whumpee spat. “But thanks for popping by and scaring the shit out of me anyways.”

Whumpee quickly turned over to reach for the bedside lamp. But just as his fingers grazed the switch, he was interrupted by Whumper’s mouth locking to his lips.

Whumpee jerked away from the sudden, uninvited kiss.

“Fuck you.”

Whumper chuckled. “We can, if you want.”

Whumpee gritted his teeth, trying to squirm free. Whumper hadn’t bothered to call in weeks, and now he showed up in the middle of the night, literally breaking into his house, sneaking into his bedroom, and he what, expected to bone?

“I don’t think so. Get off of me.”

“Don’t be like that.” Whumper chuckled, his hands tracing Whumpee’s collarbone, traversing his touch to the man’s shoulders. His grip slowly tightened around the bony knobs. “I wanted to see you. Sorry I scared you.”

“Dude.” Whumpee tried to shimmy out of his grasp, thrashing to free himself from under Whumper’s weight. “Stop pissing me off.”

“Stop being so fucking dramatic.”

“Then stop scaring the shit out of me at 3 am! Get off!!”

Whumper didn’t move. Instead, he pressed his mouth against Whumpee’s neck, diving into the exposed, soft skin. He planted delicate kisses along the exquisite curve of the other’s throat, each glide of his tongue igniting a trail of goosebumps that danced across Whumpee’s flesh.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Whumper hummed in a low, sultry voice. “I just wanna make you feel good.”

The heat of his breath sent immediate shivers down Whumpee’s spine. Fuck, it felt good—too good. But fuck him, too.

The strong man continued to suckle at the tender area, the warmth of his lips coaxing a soft sigh from the defenseless plaything pinned beneath him. 

Enthralled by the mounting pleasure, Whumpee let his head roll back deeper into the downy pillow, instinctively granting Whumper better access to his neck. Whumpee was a mess of feelings, torn between frustration and the undeniable tightening in his boxers.

“I—nnf. I fucking hate you,” he managed to rasp.

“That’s fine,” Whumper replied with a teasing lilt. "Hate me if you want.”

Whumper’s tongue swirled around Whumpee’s earlobe. Hot, heavy breaths pervaded his senses.

“I know you like this.”

Yes. He loved it.

And he fucking missed it. 

Whumpee’s breath stuttered. Whumper seemed different somehow. Quiet. Intense. Feral. 

There was electricity in the air, a curious energy drew him into the man. As intoxicating as it was, it filled Whumpee with apprehension. As much as he craved the exhilarating pull of Whumper’s touch, a gnawing feeling in his head warned him to keep his distance.

He tried to put an end to it. “It’s nice, but. No. Not tonight.” 

“Shh…” Whumper’s hand dove into the elastic of Whumpee’s waistband. He’d forgotten how persistent Whumper could be.

“I don’t think I can—ah,” The strong hand in his underwear grasped his member, pumping him until his eyes rolled back. God damn it felt good. “Ah—I’ve got stuff to do, ah-!”

“Fuck you smell good.”

Whumpee quivered under the heavy shadow, fists clenching. “Whumper. No. I’ve got stuff to do. In the. In the morning.” 

“Just a little longer,” Whumper hummed. “Come on. It’s been a while…”

Whumpee wanted to hate it—he wanted to lash out, cuss at him, and kick Whumper’s ass right out the door. But fuck, he needed this. Touch-starved from more than a month of no contact, Whumpee yearned for him; he ached to surrender to Whumper, to be held down and pounded into the ground.

Whumper didn’t deserve this from him, though. He knew he shouldn’t give in. He needed to set better boundaries. And yet, he could feel his resolve crumble with every passing second.

Whumpee’s hips buckled as Whumper’s hand continued stroking his cock. He’d chew Whumper out about this later, he decided, drinking in the weight of the muscular thighs pressing him into the mattress. For now he’d enjoy this.

“You smell so good...” Whumper leaned in, planting a firm kiss on Whumpee’s lips as he pulled the slender man’s body off the bed and into his arms, rocking his hips against the other as he gathered him close.

“Mmm. Thanks. You smell…” Whumpee murmured, his voice low and playful as he caught a whiff of Whumper’s scent. “Uh. Kinda like dirt.”

He hadn’t noticed initially, but the smell of rain clung to Whumper’s shirt, filling Whumpee’s nose with its damp, earthen aroma. It smelled especially sharp, mineral-rich, like a mixture of wet soil and stone.

“Wait. Are you muddy? Your shirt is wet. And like, dripping all over m--,” 

Whumper silenced him with another kiss, his hands sliding Whumpee’s underwear down his thighs. Now that he was naked he was more keenly aware of Whumper’s almost… stickiness?

“Seriously, if you got mud in my bed, I swear…” Whumpee muttered. 

“Okay. Stop talking now.”

Whumper roughly pushed Whumpee backwards onto his pillow. He clutched his sharp hips, flipping the man over onto his belly.

“Woah woah woah. Wait!”

“Don’t worry.”

“Wait!” Whumpee repeated, scrambling to lift his chest away from the bed. “I don’t think--”

“Stop moving.”

“Wait. No really, Whumper. I don’t think we should. It’s late.”

“It’s alright.” Whumper purred, tracing a line down Whumpee’s spine with his index finger, delivering a crisp smack to Whumpee’s ass. “I’ll be fast.”

“Dude.” Whumpee shook his head with a weary sigh. “I’m not your personal fuck toy, you know.”

“Sure you are.”

Whumper grabbed the back of Whumpee’s head, shoving his face into the plush pillow and holding it there.

Whumpee’s chest tightened as he tried to catch a breath through the fabric. He thrashed beneath the man pinning him to the bed, refusing to give Whumper the satisfaction of giving in.

“Mmph! MMF MFF!”

“Lay still,” Whumper murmured, ignoring the muffled protests beneath him. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Whumpee twisted his head back once more, only to have it slammed back into the pillow again.

“Don’t look at me.” Whumper commanded, his tone edging on desperation. “Sorry. Please just.”

A hot, wet finger entered Whumpee, and then another. Globs of saliva fell onto his rim, and busy fingers immediately kneaded the moisture inside him. Whumpee kicked his legs out in protest. 

Owwwww. Whumpee moaned into the pillow. It hurt. It fucking burned in his ass, boiled in his stomach. It was all happening entirely too fast.

“Sorry-- for a second. Don’t move.”

Then, without warning, Whumper pressed his enormous cock against Whumpee’s hole. He rammed it against the entrance, eagerly cramming his way inside.

Whumpee lifted his head, letting out a blood-curdling scream.

A strong hand cupped his mouth, silencing his wails. Whumper’s full weight bore down on him as he mercilessly pounded his cock into Whumpee, hand covering his mouth and nose.

The pain was excruciating, devoid of anything remotely close to pleasure.

Next to that, Whumpee could barely breathe.

Whumpee’s tongue jabbed at the palm keeping his mouth closed, wiggling it between Whumper’s fingers.

Holy shit. Holy shit. His ass was on fire and he could barely breathe. 

Scrambling for oxygen, he dug his fingernails into Whumper’s arms, clawing at the flesh with all the strength he could muster. The man on top of him paid no mind. He continued plowing Whumpee into the sheets, merciless and unyielding, refusing to remove his suffocating hand until the man’s thrashing faded into weak, sporadic kicks. 

When Whumpee finally went limp, the hand released its grip. Whumpee gasped for air, taking a deep, ragged breath, and then he screamed. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Fueled by adrenaline, he twisted his body and lunged toward the lamp on his bedside table.

When the light flicked on, it revealed a horrifying scene. 

All he saw was red.

Red staining his sheets, seeping through the fabric like thick, viscous ink. Red handprints were stamped onto his white pillowcase, smears of red streaked across the white walls and carpet. Whumpee glanced down, and his breath caught; his naked body was coated in it too, like a sticky second skin.

It wasn’t mud that he’d smelled on Whumper.

Frozen in place, Whumpee stared blankly at the man sitting on his bed. 

He must’ve been drenched in gallons of blood. The thick, sticky red stained Whumper’s hands, dripped from his chin, and splattered across his face. The sight was torn straight from a nightmare.

Whumper shook his head slowly, an unsettling calmness in his demeanor.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

His gaze locked on Whumpee, intense and unblinking. A feral, predatory glint in his eye gave a promise of what was to come next.

“Wha-wh-what is…” Whumpee stammered. His pulse hammered in his ears and drowned out all rational thought. His mind screamed at him to run, but his body refused to obey. “Why are you-- i-is that--?!”

“I need more, Whumpee,” the blood-soaked monster pleaded, desperation ringing his voice. “Just a taste.”

“Why are you…?.” Panic kicked into overdrive and Whumpee smacked the man away.

“Just give it to me” Whumpee went in for another hit, but Whumper caught his wrist mid-air, pulling the other into him.

“Please. I don’t want to have to make you.” The hunger pressed against the edges of Whumper’s mind. One quick taste was worth any price.

“FUCK OFF!” Whumpee yelled. “HELP! Somebody, hel--!”

He kicked at Whumper, flailing until his body was thrown from the bed. He could do this. He could make it out of here. He scrambled across the floor, desperately crawling to the doorknob, eager arm outstretched.

Just as Whumpee reached the exit, a brutal grip seized his wrist, wrenching his arm behind his back, sending his cheek crashing into the hardwood floor. 

Whumper climbed on top of Whumpee for the final time. 

“H-help me. Oh my god, oh fucking god…”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

The world around him blurred and spun around Whumpee, every sound distant as pain pulsed from his head and radiated through his body.

“Whumper—W-Whumper please—!”

“I tried.”

“Whumper!” he shrieked. “Don’t!”

“I’m sorry, Whumpee.”

“I-I don’t know what you did.” Whumpee cried. “I won’t tell anyone. I won’t. Don’t...!”

“Doesn’t matter…” he leaned in closer, his breath warm and heavy against Whumpee’s skin. “Sorry. I can’t control it anymore.”

“Don’t d-do this!” 

Whumper pressed his fangs against the soft curve of Whumpee’s neck. 

“Sorry, Whumpee,” he whispered. “I’m just so fucking hungry.”

((more Whump oneshots))

[bandgie]

During the Party

virgin!hueningkai x fem!reader

a/n: second part to this post

synopsis: Seeing you get hit on by Yeonjun during a frat party makes Kai do things he knows he'll regret. You take this opportunity to test to see how far Kai is willing to go to please you, at the expense of his dignity.

warnings: MDNI 18+, semi-public oral (f receiving),, Yeonjun is more involved, cum eating (sorry it's my speciality), jerkin off, forced!voyeurism, alcohol/weed mentions, reader is mean mean mean!, kai is just a wee lad, hair pulling, kai is referred to as a dog, idk that's it

3.9k words

Sucking Kai's cock became a way to pass time. In the library, the back of the abandoned buildings, the nearby park deep into the night. It really didn't matter where, your throat just craved to be stuffed with him. Kai was still hesitant, but after a few more times of cumming in your mouth, he let up his protests.

You couldn't do that forever though, and you were getting rather bored of your activities with him. It's how you ended up at the party Yeonjun's fraternity was hosting. The music was loud, the living room was packed with sweaty bodies, and your head was spinning from the smoke clogging the air. 

Your eyes were scanning the sea of bodies for your next fuck. There were a few potential candidates, but you couldn't find the energy to talk to them. It would be much better if they were like Kai. Easy, but not in the sense that they've been around. More like they couldn't say no, that they couldn't manage to stand up for themselves.

Pathetic. You've gotten used to Kai's pathetic self that putting energy into sleeping with anyone else turned you off.

A sudden pair of slender fingers grabbed your waist, and you opened your mouth to tell them to fuck off before you saw the familiar face. Yeonjun had sunglasses on, his hair slicked back, and a simple black tank top that screamed I'm here to get fucked tonight. You've messed with Yeonjun more than once, and his easy going personality made it easier for you to sit back and let him do all the talking.

He’d do for now.

"Funny seeing you here," a lazy smile sits on his face. You turn to face him fully, matching his smirk. "Funny? Why’s that?" You fold your arms across your chest as you regard him. He lifts his shades to rest them on his forehead, "You've been gone a lot. Ignoring my calls, ghosting me. I think this is the first party you've turned up to in weeks. That's not like you."

As tempting as it is to roll your eyes, he's right. You have been absent from your usual tendencies. His observations irk you, "Why do you care? Not getting enough pussy?" Yeonjun is quick to notice your clipped tone, but he ignores it. "Me? Not getting enough pussy? I don't think that's possible. You should see the chicks that throw themselves at me. Not that I can blame them, I'd fuck me too."

Now you're done with the conversation. His cockiness is something you thought you've grown accustomed to, but 'hanging out' with Kai so much made you favor the opposite. You turn on your heel to escape Yeonjun, but he follows suit behind you. "Come ooonn I was joking! Well...kinda. Honestly my dick has been lonely. I heard some horndogs going at it in a bathroom a while ago and I haven't been able to get it out of my mind."

You stop walking abruptly and whirl to him. "In the bathroom? The one in the library?"

Yeonjun's eyes light up, "Yeah! You heard it too?" You smile and laugh, "Well yeah I heard it. I was the one in the stall." Yeonjun's eyebrows go up in surprise, and he chuckles in disbelief. "Bullshit. Who was the lucky guy?" Rather than answering, you lift your hands to trail your fingers over his broad shoulders. He tenses for a second, then relaxes as your hands travel down to his navel. 

"How about I show you what I did huh? Wouldn't that be more fun?" Yeonjun smiles widely at your request and reciprocates your touches. He grabs two handfuls of your ass, pushing your body to be chest to chest with him. You can feel the heat that radiates off his body, the lust in eyes. This is what you need. Not some wimpy boy who eats his own cum on command. But a man who-

Another pair of hands yank you away from Yeonjun rather harshly. This person is bigger, thicker, but the way he's shaking is what catches your attention the most. Yeonjun reaches for you immediately, looking both confused and concerned. 

"Holy shit Kai? Is that you?" 

You freeze at Yeonjun's words. Then the body behind you begins to feel familiar, too familiar. You whip your head to see Kai's nervous expression. He doesn't even regard Yeonjun, instead locking eyes with you. There's no doubt in your mind that Kai is beyond terrified. Back in middle school, you and Yeonjun used to torment him. It wasn't until halfway through highschool that Yeonjun moved past bullying. 

"God damn it is. You look good man! I didn't even know you were going here, haha." For the first time in your life, you're thankful for Yeonjun's obliviousness. Kai's eyes shift to his for a brief second, "You too." There's no maliciousness in his voice, not even fear like you thought. He sounds worried, nervous, upset.

Oh.

The grip on your waist, the eye contact Kai maintains, his pained expression. It doesn't take a scientist to figure out why he's here embarrassing himself. Kai's jealous. He's jealous that you're here to fuck another man, that you've started ignoring him a few days ago. Though his hands are shaking, he's content with not letting you go. He’s so desperate you can't help but find it cute. 

It would be better to tell him to buzz off. You came here with the intention of putting no effort into your pleasure, but Kai's presence makes you ache for him. Like you miss him. It's a thought you shove far, far away into the depths of your mind. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to keep Kai for the night; he looks like he'd do anything to stay with you.

"Aw shit. Sorry Yeonjun. Me and Hyuka had something to do and I totally forgot. Bye." You don't stay to hear his complaints, instead grasping Kai's wrist and taking him to the other side of the house. Kai is silent as you both weave through the bodies of people. He doesn't say a peep when you open the door to the basement, closing it behind you two. 

Yeonjun and his frat brothers had a man-cave that was off limits to everybody. But being Yeonjun's 'special' friend gave you some perks. You made your way down the stairs to plop yourself on the couch. Kai stood awkwardly beside you, unsure of where to place himself.

When he does decide to sit next to you, you shake your head. "Nope. Here." You snap your fingers and point to the floor between your legs. Kai hesitantly approaches, getting on his knees in front of you. He looks perfect, like he belongs down there. 

You spread your legs open, hiking your dress above your waist to show yourself. Kai's eyes widen and he gulps, "I-this wasn't what I-" 

"You embarrassed me tonight Hyuka. Do you know that?" His expression turns guilty, a frown on his face as he nods. "You got in the way of me having fun. Acting like you're some boyfriend to me. Don't you think you owe me for ruining my night?" 

Kai glances at your clothed cunt then to your eyes. "I'm sorry," he speaks softly. His smooth voice makes you shiver with arousal. "Well," you look at him unimpressed. "Go ahead and show me how sorry you are." Kai's mouth opens to protest but you cut him off. "And don't give me that shit that you've never eaten pussy before. There has to be something you've learned from all that porn you watch."

He snaps his mouth shut and blushes. That's exactly what he was going to say, but it wasn't because he didn't want to. You've given Kai head countless times, and he's never had the opportunity to reciprocate. It wouldn't be unreasonable to say that he thinks about it, even dreams about it when he's away from you. There's nothing Kai wishes more than to taste your sweetness, he's just worried about his lack of experience. 

Still, you're laying yourself on a platter so nicely for him. He can see the outline of your clit through your thin underwear. Carefully, he uses his finger to trail your crevices. Kai's digit lightly drags up and down your pussy. You can’t help but twitch, your hips slightly jumping from the ghostly sensation. 

It's not necessarily confidence, but curiosity that makes him eager. Kai wants to know what makes you wet, what pulls the pretty moans from your throat, how your cream would taste on his tongue. He can feel the plushness of your lower lips. The wetness of your pussy sounds like music to his ears. 

His teasing touches get you restless. There's a part of you that tells you to wait, that Kai might get overwhelmed from his first time seeing a cunt. But the need in your gut and the way your hips keep thrusting upwards to hump his hand wins out in the end. 

You use one hand to pull your underwear to the side, shivering at the cold air. Kai's breath gets caught in his throat and his tongue pokes out to lick his lips. Your other hand reaches for your folds to spread them open. You softly hum at the intensity of Kai's stare, pulling at your pussy a little harsher. 

"You like it Hyuka? You ever seen a pussy this close before?" You sound a little breathless, but Kai finds that insanely attractive. "Never...it's beautiful." The warmth of his breath on your cunt makes you whimper. 

The compliment doesn't fail to give you little butterflies in your stomach. "Oh yeah? I think it tastes better than it looks." To prove your point, you use the hand that was stretching you open to collect your juices. Kai's eyes never leave your hand even as you place your fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around them. 

His Adam's apple bobs and his eyes twinkle like a kid seeing their favorite ice cream. You exaggeratedly moan as you taste yourself, "Your turn." Without waiting for Kai's response, you grip the back of his head and force him into your cunt.

There's no protesting or hesitation once his lips are on your aroused ones. He buries his face between your legs and his arms wrap around the underside on your thighs. Kai's a little too enthusiastic with his aggressive licks, but his little grunts make up for his lack of experience. 

He's never tasted anything so good. Kai was thinking that it might taste like his own cum but he could not be more wrong. Your flavor is a natural musk that has him straining in his pants already. If this is how you tasted all the time, Kai thinks there couldn't be a day where he wouldn't eat you out. 

His tongue flicks at your nub on occasion, but he seems to be focusing on your entrance instead. You keep a firm grip on the top of his head and guide him back up to your clitoris. "Here Hyuka. Don't make me tell you again." Kai nods at your order and centers at your sweet spot. 

You don't bother looking away from Kai. It might be a little too intimate to keep eye contact while he laps at your cunt, but you love seeing him so pliant. It's a huge power trip you've accepted when giving him head. It didn't matter who was on their knees, you both knew who was in control.

Kai was a quick learner. He figures out you really like when his nose brushes against your bud while his tongue lapps deeper into you. Your hips start grinding on his face, and his heart swells with pride. It feels good knowing Kai could do this to you. Even if you were mean to him, he still felt like he owed you this pleasure.

There's no way Kai's face is still dry after dragging it up and down your pussy. He doesn’t seem to care about how dirty he gets, only that you chased the high you've been neglecting yourself from. You don't care about how loud you're being either. Not that it matters anyway, the hollering from upstairs is enough to cover up your sounds. 

The first signs of your orgasm course through your body. Your legs tense around him and you throw your head back. "Ah~Hyuka, don't stop. Feels so good." Kai doubles down, knowing there’s no way he could get tired of your taste no matter how many times you came on his tongue.

Your cunt starts contracting around nothing, longing to be stuffed. You close your eyes and imagine how Kai's cock would fill you up so nicely. He might be pretty sloppy with his thrusts, but it would get the job done in making you cream around him. As much as you want him inside you, you know that you both would reach the point of no return if that happens. 

Your obsession would turn into something you don't think you're ready for. 

Instead, you'll have to settle for asking for his finger. He might struggle in the beginning, but he'll get the hang of it.

"Hyuka," you try and steady your voice. "Finger m-" You're cut short by footsteps descending the steps. Kai tries to rip himself from you, but you slam your thighs shut to keep him in place. He struggles for a second, but the feeling of your soft skin surrounding him pacifies him. 

Familiar orange hair peeps from the stairs as Yeonjun makes his way down. He looks at you surprised for a moment, then his eyes travel to the hostage between your legs. Being the dramatic person he is, Yeonjun jumps at the sight. "What's going on here?"

Kai stiffens at Yeonjun's voice, and he looks at you pleadingly. As if saying get him out of here please. You turn your attention back to Yeonjun and shrug, "Nothin'. I'm kinda busy right now." Rather than taking the cue and leaving, he goes down the remaining stairs and slowly walks over to you. He lifts his sunglasses to rest on his head, "Doesn't look like nothing. Who ya suffocating down there?"

Once something grabs Yeonjun's interest, it's practically impossible to get rid of him. There's nothing you can do other than watch Yeonjun plop himself on the couch beside you. He shows no shame in staring at Huening Kai between your legs. Yeonjun lets out a little chuckle, "So is this what you and Kai had to do?"

You nod, pushing the hair from Kai's face. His eyes have welled up with tears and his cheeks a bright pink. From oxygen deprivation or embarrassment, you aren't sure. 

Yeonjun's eyes never leave Kai's face, darting from your pussy and his wet face. "Well don't let me stop you, carry on," it's only amusement in Yeonjun's voice. 

You can feel your heart drumming in your chest, and the little trembles in Kai's hands. You've never tried to explore having sex in front of someone, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't intrigue you. The thought of Yeonjun's eyes and Kai's mouth on you is exhilarating, and you can feel your cunt throb in excitement. 

"You heard the man Hyuka. Go ahead." You spread your legs and allow Kai to take in a deep breath. He takes a few gulps of air before he shakes his head. "I can't." He speaks so softly, as if he would break if he said it any louder. 

One of your eyebrows raise from his refusal. It's been a while since Kai has denied you, and you don't really have the time to play into it right now. You were torn from your orgasm minutes ago, your high was still nestling in your stomach waiting to be released. 

"You can't?" You question. "What do you mean you can't?"

Kai doesn't answer you, insistent on shaking his head as his response. You groan and roll your eyes, I don't have time for this bullshit.

"Yeonjun," you call to the man beside you. "You'll eat my pussy won't you?" Before Yeonjun has the opportunity to respond, Kai immediately begins to protest. "Wait! I can do it. I can, I'm sorry." His eyes lock with yours, pleading. His quick obedience makes you shiver, and you involuntarily open your legs a little wider. 

"You keep saying you're sorry, but I dunno if you mean it," you tsk. "We have a guest Hyuka, it's rude to keep him waiting."

"I am sorry! I didn't mean it." His words are mumbled as Kai places his lips back on your core. You hum at the warmth of his mouth, lifting your hips up to chase the heat. 

Kai isn't as aggressive, most likely nervous from having a one-man audience. But his slower licks make that heat in your belly begin to gently rise once again. His tongue travels into your hole to collect your wetness and bring it back up to your clit. You moan at the flick of his tongue against your nub.

Yeonjun lifts your dress higher and spills your tits from your bra. Your hazy eyes look into his and he licks his lips hungrily. The tension in his jeans gets the better of him, and he unbuckles his belt to relieve himself. 

The jingling sound makes Kai peek over at Yeonjun, and there's a slight panic in his eyes. You notice this quickly, and cradle his face in your palm. Kai's gaze turns to yours, and you can see the ease quickly return back. The obvious effect you have on him makes your chest tighten, and you pray it's just because you're turned on.

Yeonjun grips himself and starts pumping his cock. Curses and groans leave his lips as he pleasures himself. The sight of Kai burying his face deep into you leaves Yeonjun yearning to not only spectate, but somehow get a taste of you too.

With one hand steady on Kai, you use your other to play with your exposed breasts. You tug and twist your nipples, jolting in Kai's mouth. Though it's getting difficult to keep your pussy in his hold, Kai finds his confidence to harshly suck on your cunt.

You cry out and try to escape his hot tongue, but his grip on you is firm. The stimulation is borderline painful, but the way you're flooding in his mouth is anything but. 

"Oh fuck" Yeonjun's voice startles you for a second, forgetting his presence. His cock is completely hard, his tip swollen red. "That's a good little fuck toy you got there. Listens to every word you say. A good boy huh?"

A lazy smile finds your face as you nod. "Yeah, he is a good~oh shit... good boy. The best boy...isn't that right Hyuka?"

Your praise makes Kai's heart swell, and he happily nods and moans at your words. The movement of his head makes his nose brush against your clit, and you flinch. 

Chillsbegin to spread throughout your body. Your moans are getting more frequent, the thrusting in your hips more erratic. Kai's head has begun to hurt from how hard you're gripping his hair, but he's still determined to make you finish. 

"Don't stop. Hyuka I'm gonna cum–," you whine. 

Stopping was the last thing Kai wanted to do, and he started wondering why he even hesitated when Yeonjun walked in. He was nervous at first, feeling like he couldn't compare to someone who has obviously slept around a lot more. But seeing your reaction and Yeonjun’s enjoyment builds up his self-assurance. 

"Shit, I'mma cum too," Yeonjun's slick hands play with his tip. You bite your lower lip and harshly grab the back of Kai's head. 

"Stick your tongue out." Kai obeys you immediately, letting you ride his face like a dildo as you reach the beginnings of your orgasm. Your hips stutter and your moans are choked when you cum. You squeeze your tit as your body tightens. Yeonjun's nearby moans coax your orgasm longer, making your legs tremble. 

Kai's face is completely soiled in your juices, making it easier for your pussy to grind on his face. His head follows your movements easily, not wanting to miss a second of tasting your cum. 

His imagination is nothing compared to what you taste like. 

He keeps licking you even when your hips have collapsed back on the couch. Kai shows no signs of stopping even as your moans turn into gasps. 

Yeonjun doesn't think he can take much longer, and he stands so his cock hovers over your pussy and Kai's head. The change in movement makes you focus your attention on the very close Yeonjun, and you yank Kai's head back. 

A loud smack sound echos in the room when Kai is pulled away from your sensitive cunt. He looks at you as if he's going to complain, but the loud groaning of Yeonjun makes him shut up. 

"Go ahead and come on me Yeonjun. Right here." The hand that was playing with your boobs comes down to spread your lower lips open. You avoid your nub while you rub yourself, still too delicate to be touched.

"On my favorite pussy." It's the last coherent sentence Yeonjun says when he cums. His hot spurts land on your lower stomach, your pussy, and the inner parts of your thighs. His thighs shake and he throws his head back as he continues pumping himself. You smear his arousal over your pelvis, bringing a finger to your tongue for a taste. 

You moaned around your digit, "Mmm, so much for me."

Kai does nothing but watch as another man defiles you. The jealousy is strong in his body, he can feel the heaviness in his chest. Still, you keep your eyes on Kai. He can see the mischievousness and teasing behind them, and for some reason he feels like you enjoy his envy. 

Once Yeonjun comes down from his high, he finally notices the mess on your cunt. "Hold on, lemme get you a towel." 

"That won't be necessary. You know what to do Hyuka." There's no resistance in his eyes when Kai sticks his tongue out to clean you up. You can practically feel Yeonjun's jaw drop, disbelief in his features. 

"No shit."

Kai's hot tongue promptly licks you up, collecting Yeonjun's cum. You can see Kai scrunch his nose up at the taste, making you giggle. His mouth travels to your stomach, your thighs, and your pussy as he wipes any trace of arousal from you.

"I've trained him well huh? Little puppy just for me," you hum when Kai rolls your bud gently over his tongue. 

"This is my favorite part," you say giddily once Kai has collected all the cum in his mouth. 

Kai opens his mouth to reveal the white release he's gathered. His eyes sting from the unfamiliar saltiness, but he keeps his tongue out to show you and Yeonjun his hard work. You purr at the sight, sitting up to grab a hold on Kai's face.

You squeeze his cheeks together and force his head to face Yeonjun who's gaping at the sight. 

"Swallow."

Unable to keep his eyes open, Kai swallows thickly. You can hear Yeonjun groan at the sight, his soft dick twitching. 

You give a few gentle slaps to Kai's face and peck his cheek. "That's my good boy~"

a/n: here's the 2nd part to the huening kai series! I hope ya'll like it! no idea what I'd do for the 3rd part, lmao proofreader/editor: @then-make-me (thank you!!)

update: third part here