#why does he need a mold of his teeth

[thriftedtchotchkes]

how do you sleep?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

word count: 3.3k

“Whas’wrong?”

You didn't mean to end up here again. It's the third night this week you swiped Joel's key from under the doormat and found yourself standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Can't sleep," you reply, barely above a whisper. Exhaustion seeps into your voice, permeating your limbs the longer you remain standing.

He already knows why you're here. Ever since you, Joel, and Ellie arrived in Jackson and were offered homes of your own, rest evades you more than it ever did on the road. It's too quiet here, and your racing mind fills the silence with the horrors of a life lived in constant fear.

You know you're safe now. You know that, but it's not enough to convince your body or quell the ever-present tightness in your chest telling you to run, to hide. Your fears are more potent in the dark, and the shadows creeping from wall to wall have sharper edges. Teeth that threaten to tear you apart and rip away everything and everyone you've fought so hard to protect.

The walls and floorboards creak with life that shouldn't be present in an empty, two-story home—too big for a single person, and yet still yours—and quickly begin to sound like impending death.

Nowadays, more often than not, you seek out a different kind of shelter. The familiar, comforting embrace of the man who kept you warm and protected through harsh winters and from monsters prowling in the night. That's where you belong.

Crisp bedsheets rustle in the dark and then you hear Joel pat the mattress twice—an invitation to occupy the space beside him, the one he always leaves empty just in case.

"Well, c'mon then. Hurry up," he grumbles, still half-asleep. But he isn’t frustrated. He's tired, just like you, and he'll probably sleep a lot better knowing both of his girls are resting soundly under his roof.

You trudge over and waste no time burying your face in his bare chest, breathing in pine and cedar wood shavings before exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. Throwing a leg over his thighs, you mold into him, rubbing your cheek into coarse curls and marveling at the calm, steady rhythm beneath you.

It feels good to be home. You're not sure why you let Maria give you an entire house to yourself when everything you could ever want or need was right across the street. Every time you end up back here, you wonder. And every time you leave, you wish you'd stayed.

He wraps you up in his arms and tugs you into his side, murmuring your name with soft lips that tenderly caress your forehead. They're so warm, just like the rest of him, and you find yourself aching to feel them on yours. It's a line neither of you have ever crossed, but tonight's been rough.

For what felt like days, you were forced to watch as your worst nightmares came to bloody fruition. You were dragged through the most brutal outcomes of events you already survived and could do nothing more than pray you'd wake up soon. When you finally came to and checked the clock, it had only been an hour and a half since you'd passed out. The moon was still high in the sky, taunting you with the promise of more. More dread, endless brutality.

Joel can make all of that go away, if only for a few hours. He always does, but tonight...you don't want to talk about it tonight. You don't want to think about it, about anything at all. You just want him.

You'd feel selfish asking for more if there wasn't already something between you. Something nurtured and gradual that's been building for months, beginning on your travels across the country and coming to an unignorable head here in Jackson.

Back then, it was stolen glances while you bathed together in streams and fleeting touches in your shared sleeping bag under star-filled skies. It's more intimate these days. He holds your hand when you're anxious, and you kiss away the frown lines and frustrated wrinkles that mar his skin.

Every day, you skirt the line between platonic companionship and whatever's starting to simmer below the surface. You're scared to hope he feels it too, but the thought of remaining in this undefined middle ground scares you even more.

The furnace drifting in and out of consciousness next to you radiates with an addictive heat you've told yourself to ignore for a long time, but it's quickly becoming an impossible feat. Pressed into his side, you're trying and failing not to writhe against him. But he's starting to notice.

His hips jerk every time your core drags against his bare thigh, a slow, repetitive grind you really shouldn't continue, but feels so fucking good combined with the slick pooling between your legs. You should stop—really, you should—but his breathing's changing and hitching, catching in his throat every time the growing tent in his boxers meets the friction of your inner thigh.

Then, he gasps something cognizant and urgent, and you know you've been caught. His hand snakes down to your ass and traps you against his side with a grip so firm, plush skin spills between his fingers.

“Woah, hold on there," he breathes out heavily, and his gaze drops to yours curiously. His eyes are wide open and alert, shining with the faint reflection of moonlight streaming through an adjacent window. Bright and yet pitch black as his sleep-addled brain struggles to catch up with his body. "What's goin' on with you tonight?"

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, debating whether or not to ask for his help. His expression is gentle but otherwise unreadable, and there's a chance this could go very, very badly. Maybe you'd be better off apologizing, but you don't want to. You're not sorry for needing him.

And the longer he waits for an answer, the more his body convinces you that he wants the same things you do. His hand is still on your ass, kneading as he urges you to rock into him, but he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. Then, his thigh flexes and a rush of wetness coats your already soaked underwear. His expression falters, and you know he can feel it.

His voice is tighter when he speaks again, but that tinge of concern is still there. He wants to make it all better, but he can't unless you tell him how. Your hand tenses where it lies on his chest, and he covers it with his own.

"What can I do? Just tell me how to help you—whatever it is, I'll do it," he murmurs, brushing his thumb reassuringly across your skin. You tilt your chin up and suddenly you're close enough to breathe his air. Closer than you've ever been and yet still not close enough.

"I need you to...," Fuck me. But it sounds too crude. A quick fuck isn't what you need right now. You need to be full of him, to hold him deep inside you and keep him there for as long as this night will allow. "...make me feel safe again."

"Tell me how," he repeats as you struggle to bite back a moan. He's working you against him intentionally now, encouraging you up and down his leg, and it's making your brain go a little haywire. "What do you need, baby?"

"Joel," you whine at the endearment, an intense heat building at the apex of your thighs. That's new. You want to hear him say it again, to devour every word as he buries himself inside you over and over. You will him to understand. "I need you."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, steeling himself before nosing into the hairs at your temple. The gesture is so tender and affectionate even as he bucks into your thigh, and it's painfully obvious how hard you're making him. He nods slowly and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.

"Okay, baby. I got you," he murmurs, his lips trailing down to your eyelids, then the apple of your cheek. "I'll make it all go away, alright? M'gonna take care of you."

And you believe him. He rolls you onto your back and you gasp as his entire weight presses you into the mattress. It's more than just comforting. You feel protected. He's shielding you from this horrible, broken world, somehow managing to prove that there's still goodness to be found. And it's on top of you, broad and strong, and wanting you just as badly as you want him.

Big hands cup your cheeks and his lips meet yours, so much different than the familiar press against your forehead or the top of your head. You're in unknown territory, but he guides you carefully and moves slowly, taking the time to explore and savor. The taste of spearmint begins to overwhelm your senses as the kiss deepens, and you lick into his mouth impatiently, already craving more.

But after years of quiet observation, Joel knows better than anyone how to temper you. Ducking down to bury his face in your neck, he kisses along the underside of your jaw, regaining control of the pace with a sharp, halting suck. And while he refuses to let your urgency rush him, he still allows your hands to roam his skin and tug at his boxers, letting you take what you want—like his only goal is to make sure this lasts long enough for him to fulfill his promise.

A disgruntled groan bubbles in your throat, and you feel him chuckle. "Y'know, patience is supposed to be a virtue," he mumbles, amused, his beard scratchy and grounding against your skin. You huff in response.

Tonight doesn't feel like a night for virtues. Not when things are finally changing in your favor. After so much time, so much running, you actually have somewhere to go—and stay. You're not running away anymore. You're moving towards something that feels real, and dependable, and safe, and you're doing it together. And now that you're so close you can taste it, you're done waiting.

"You're really gonna start caring about virtues now?" you ask skeptically, slipping your hands past the waistband of his boxers to grab his ass.

He hesitates, then huffs out a quiet laugh. "Fair enough."

And with that, you both know the time for talking is over. Something shifts and you're on the same page, ready to take as much as the other is willing to give.

Joel begins to drag your shirt up to reveal more, but suddenly feeling stifled, you take over and remove it completely. The look on his face makes it more than worth it. It's not the first time he's seen you naked, but as his eyes rake over your bare curves, it feels like it could be. Reverently, he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply before charting a path lower.

His mouth feels hot as he laves and nips across your collarbone, and he shimmies further down the bed until he's just barely ghosting the swell of your breasts. You gasp, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a bruise below your nipple and soothes the sting with his tongue. Licking a wide stripe past the darkening mark, he captures the bud between his teeth, another hand sliding up your stomach to cup your other breast while he alternates between swirling and sucking.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire. The ache between your thighs worsens the longer he continues, but instead of squeezing them together for relief, you wrap your legs around his waist and tug him onto you. By now, you're so wet, there's no way you're not soaking right through your underwear and into his boxers, and you hope he can feel it. If your increasing volume isn't enough of an indication that you need him inside you, then maybe this will be.

He lets out a pained groan into your chest, and you clench in satisfaction. He immediately grinds down, thrusting into you like he's forgotten about the layers of clothing still separating you. You don't bother to remind him.

Bucking him off, you quickly wrench down your underwear then reach for his, yanking them off while he sheds his t-shirt. Your fingers close around his cock before his shirt hits the floor and he startles before melting into your grip, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting around a cross between a sigh and the neediest whine you've ever heard.

You feel that telltale whoosh between your legs again, and after pumping him a few times, you guide him toward your entrance. In the back of your mind, you know you're taking a risk without a condom. You should be safer, more responsible. But it's Joel. It's always been Joel.

His eyes shoot open once he realizes where you're leading him, but you only bite your lip and nod, your expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. An unspoken agreement passes between you, a quiet understanding cultivated through years of friendship and now something more. Then, he presses inside and your mind goes blissfully blank.

No more horrors, no more fear. Just Joel keeping his promise and doing exactly what you trusted him to do. He encompasses you entirely, pressing the length of his body flush against yours as he works himself into you. The stretch was nothing you ever could've anticipated, but it grounds you in the present moment. It's everything you told yourself not to hope for when you showed up on his doorstep tonight.

His movements are slow but powerful, and he rests his forehead on yours, eyes alert and acutely aware of every change in expression. The intensity of his gaze and the slick sound of him burying himself to the hilt should make you self-conscious—it's all you can see and hear, but that's the point, isn't it? To get lost in the way he drags so perfectly against your walls and grinds his hips into yours on every thrust, slow and steady.

He's attentive, cataloging whenever he makes you moan a little louder or your eyes roll, and repeats it again and again until you're writhing underneath him. Your nails rake down his back and scratch at his scalp, and he jerks forward whenever you're a little too rough, hitting so deep, it feels like he's grazing your cervix. But the longer he continues to give you everything you want, the more his body trembles with the effort of holding himself back.

You know Joel, and you can tell when he's resisting an urge. His biceps tense where he's propped on his forearms, bracketing your head, and there's so little space between you, you can feel his abs flexing every time he plunges back inside you. He needs more and you want to give it to him.

Lifting your head, you bridge the tiny gap to meet his lips. "Joel, c'mon. You can fuck me harder than that, I'm not gonna break," you mumble between open-mouthed kisses. That catches him off guard.

He accidentally lets himself go for a thrust or two, and you're cut off by a moan, your walls squeezing him so hard, it's painful. Somehow, you manage to recover just long enough to gasp out the rest. "It's okay if you need something from me, too. Just take it. I trust you."

For an agonizing moment, Joel pauses to observe you, waiting for something in your eyes to contradict the permission you just gave him. But when he doesn't find it, he shakily exhales the breath he'd been holding and his head drops to your shoulder. The groan that follows rumbles so deeply in his chest, it makes your stomach drop. Then, without warning, his hands are gripping your thighs and he's rutting into you like a caged animal finally set free.

There he is. The man who never hesitated to gun down anyone who threatened the safety of his loved ones and did whatever it took to bring his girls home.

Recognition washes over you and fills you with a familiar feeling of security. It's something only Joel has ever been able to give you. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his hair, hoping to return even a fraction of that feeling.

As he gives into his body, he starts to ramble, his words muffled and lost to your delicate skin. But you don't need to hear him to know what he's saying. With every thrust, the bed frame rattles and gets the message across loud and clear. Your heels dig into his back, encouraging him forward, begging him to keep going, and he obliges, quickly reduced to helpless grunts and curses.

The room gets increasingly hotter and more humid, and the cool air flowing through the window isn't nearly enough to provide relief, but neither of you seems to care. You're a little in love with the way your bodies slip together, sweat and slick intermingling seamlessly.

Everything is so wet, and it feels incredible—your skin against his, your walls pulsing around his cock. He's molding into you, so close that you can't do much more than swivel your hips into his, and it's sending you hurtling toward the edge faster than you can fully process. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs your clit just right, and when he adjusts the angle to fuck you deeper than before, you hit your peak.

You dissolve into a whimpering mess beneath him, desperately riding out your orgasm as he groans and abruptly bites down on your shoulder. Releasing your legs to grab your waist, he forces himself impossibly further inside you and grinds into your spasming walls until he's coming with you. He gasps his way through it, stilling while he lets you milk him dry, then collapses on top of you and gathers you in his arms.

For a while, you both struggle to catch your breath. The mattress is bare save for the fitted sheet, your clothes, pillows, and blankets having been kicked or tossed onto the floor. It feels nice like this—to savor the winter air cooling your bodies and to just be held. Without letting you go, Joel lifts his head to kiss the teeth marks he left on your shoulder apologetically and then shifts higher to press his lips against the underside of your jaw.

"You alright?" he asks gently, his voice a little gruffer than usual from the exertion.

"Mhm," you hum, nosing into his temple. "More than." He sighs and almost sounds relieved.

The thought makes your heart ache. If he's worried he crossed a line, well. He did. You both did, but it was a long time coming and you don't regret a thing. You squeeze him a little tighter as if to tell him, and he allows himself to melt into you briefly. Then, he draws back to cup your cheek and guide your lips to his.

He kisses you slowly, taking the time to appreciate the sensation of your mouth against his without any urgency. "Feel better?" he murmurs after reluctantly parting from you. You keep him close.

"I don't think we have to worry about any more nightmares tonight," you reply with a small smile. He returns it, eyes crinkling fondly, then rolls you onto your sides to settle in for a good night's sleep.

As you start to drift off, you hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath that you don't quite catch. But it sounds a lot like, "Might be time for you to finally move in."

thanks for reading!

[gloriouslyunlucky]

Folie à Un

Sylus x afab!reader, pre-relationship

Summary: Sylus thinks of you a little too hard and has to face the consequences. And so does his chair.

Warnings: smut, mdni, sylus finds pleasure all on his own, afab reader, lingerie, no beta bc i have no one i can safely throw this at

Word count: 928; Read time: around 8 minutes

It’s rare for Sylus to lose himself to lust as he has now. He isn’t pure, or prude, or adverse to his own perversion by any means. However, he likes to think he has control over his lust.

Afterall, you haven’t even kissed yet and you’ve been seeing each other since… Well, it’s been months since this seduction dance started between you. Lingering touches here and there, cunning jabs, gifts, confessions, and a million other ways he has shown his interest. Days upon weeks upon months. And he has kept his head cool.

But Sylus is anything but cool, seated in his office, his chin prompted on his hand, his eyes unfocused. The business deal he was looking over is abandoned on the other side of his desk. His attention, feeble treacherous thing, is on the playback of Mephisto’s feed. He’s replayed the recording five times already.

It’s an innocent clip. One that shouldn’t have such an effect on him. You leaned forward towards the bird, to pet it or something of the sort, and your shirt slipped low enough to show the hint of a familiar lace bra. All that’s visible in the clip is the top petals of the flowery design which spans the whole length of the cup, cradling your breast. Sylus knows it well enough. He bought it for you after all. It was nothing more than a coincidence, of course.—it’s too early for this type of gifts. You ogled it in one of the shop displays when you were walking down a busy street in Linkon and he insisted he pay for it. Why wouldn’t he? You deserve far more than the set you got, for far more money than the price you haggled for it. He already gifted you countless jewelry, weapons, dresses, bags, all molded to fit you. And yet, it’s this flimsy cheap piece of polyester that has him in a frenzy.

Frenzy is an understatement. Sylus is almost panting like a dog as he strains against his suit’s pants. Any movement brings friction and friction brings tension and tension brings back memories of you. You, leaning down, not even an inch of bra peaking, and he goes mad. He lets out a frustrated grunt and pushes his chair back enough to give him access to his belt. The buckle falls limp against his hip, his zipper is undone and his boxer is bunched up underneath his length. He pulls his shirt up to his mouth, biting down on it in hopes of muffling any sounds that might escape him. Then, he leans as far back as he can.

He barely has to work himself until he is rock hard. His fingers find the most sensitive spots with ease—he imagines you would to. He doesn’t need to replay the clip anymore. It’s engraved into his mind, into his heart, into his very being. He only needs to conjure the thought of you before his mind is invaded by the sight of your figure straddling him, your hands prompted against his desk, your top hiked up to reveal that torturous bra of yours. You smile at him—he lets out a strained breath. You move your panties out of the way, just enough to grant him access—he bites down harder. You lower yourself down until his tip is inside of you—something between a moan and a grown escapes him.

He’s no better than an animal. Raw, vulnerable, and driven by some primal instinct to keep going. To imagine you bobbing up and down his tights to the rhythm of his own hand. Painfully slow at first—the way your hip dips down, meeting the base of his cock, staying there before shooting back up. His hand is not on himself but on you, digging into your skin, seeking purchase into your hip bone, helping you sustain the rhythm.

More.

It’s a mutter let out between clenched teeth—a thought more than anything—but it leaves him nonetheless and your smile widens. He imagines his other hand cupping that bra, pulling your breast out of it, teasing your nipple as your smile shatters into an expression of deep pleasure. In reality, his fingers are squeezing the arm of his chair until the leather creeks and gives in under his grip—not that he notices.

He’s close. Oh, so close. The rhythm picks up, becomes erratic, forceful, and yet not fast enough. You’re panting—he’s panting. You’re moaning in his ear—he’s moaning into his shirt. Your lips find his neck—his collar rubs against his jugular. You bite down. He comes undone. His hand keeps pumping erratically, his head lolls back, and for a few seconds—maybe 10, maybe 15, maybe an eternity—he is only pleasure, and euphoria, and yours in ways you can’t even imagine.

The fog lifts slowly. Sylus is a little dizzy at first, still lost in the intensity of this, of you. When he comes back to reality, to his empty office, to his business deals, and to the frozen feed of your smile, a brief moment of shame washes over him. His abdomen is dripping white, his pants are stained in key spots, and his shirt is soaked with saliva where his teeth managed to break through the cotton. Not to mention, the arm of his chair broke completely off, now it’s nothing but plastic shards flimsily stuck together by the leather and filling.

He will need a cold shower. Maybe several cold showers. Maybe an ice bath.

And a new chair.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's note:

I've decided to create a new writing blog to get back into writing and who to better start with than Sylus! And what a delight it is to have him so whipped and so needy omg. I strongly believe that he is so down bad that he doesn't need anything but a smile from the reader before he gets all hot and bothered--or a bra for that matter jhdfkd I wanted to show more of that vulnerable rare side of him bc he's always so in control all the time, I wanted to depict him losing himself in pleasure so much that the world disappears for a second and he gets to let go. At least for a little bit. And the chair pays the price lmao

Anyway! Thank you so much for reading this! Let me know if you have specific suggestions or requests!

XOXO,

Physically just a girl, mentally a chair

[mochinomnoms]

Can i ask for some NSFW scenes in the PTM universe?

If your not comfortable with that please ignore this ask

sure! honestly im surprised more people haven't asked yet lol

this is a scene that i am debating will go into the main story or be a side story since i'm not sure where i'd place it. it's not the most explicit but i still consider it nsfw

tag list: @ghousus

How you got even got to an empty classroom was a miracle, seeing as the festival was in full-blown swing.

But you weren't complaining, in fact you greatly appreciated that Jade at least had gotten you somewhere private.

“Aah!”

Especially since you were having trouble keeping quiet.

Pretty sounds! Pretty sounds! Make more my pearl, you're so enticing, I don't think I could control myself if I tried~

Jade ground your hips harder into his own, shuddering as you two dry humped against each other.

Your skin felt like it was on fire, like you were burning up from the inside, like you could feel everything twofold.

Maybe you were.

“Jade! Please, we can't—shit—not here, please—mmph!” He crashed his lips against your own, groaning as you tightened your arms around his neck and tugged him closer, pressing yourself as close to him as possible.

You could practically feel his heart beating through all the layers of clothes, right against your chest, rhythmic pounding the same as your own.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

But it wasn't enough.

Why am I so hot? Why do I feel so, so, so much? Why can't I pull away? I don't want to pull away! But I do—no—yes!

Why was the thought of pulling away from Jade so distressing? Like you could never live the thought of molding your skin with his.

I need—please!

Jade's groans were making you hot and bothered, whining as he pulled away to admire you. At this point, you two were quickly building up a dampness in the fabric between your legs.

“P-please, Jade, I'm—” You threw your head back as Jade pressed open mouth kisses against your neck, freeing a hand to pull at your tie and yanked down your shirt to expose your neck and chest.

Mine. Mine. All mine, mine to hold, mine to take!

Jade continued giving you wet kisses down your chest and navel, bringing his gloved hand to your lips, pressing the tip of his middle finger against the plush skin.

“Bite.”

A scrape of sharp teeth at the skin above your heart, a shudder rumbling through your body, a soft, breathless whine leaving your mouth as you did as told.

Feeling you take the tip between your teeth, Jade tugged his hand out of his glove. Moving up, Jade started kissing the pulse in the curve of your neck, suckling as he dragged his now bare hand into your shirt and down your exposed skin.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

“Mmh, Jaaade—” The curve of your back melted into his touch as he caressed your skin, dragging his fingers against every single bump and blemish he could find.

You felt Jade shiver, moving back up to hover his mouth over yours.

“Say—” You think he almost melted as you almost smashed your mouth against him, hands tugging at his tie in annoyance.

Say my name again, pleasepleasepleaseplease—

“Jaaaaaaade!”

Jade let out a soft, breathless chuckle as you groaned into his mouth and finally yanked off his tie and threw it behind him.

“Mm~” You taste so… “Eager, aren't we?”

You huffed, leaning back to glare at him, freeing one of your hands from around his neck to gesture at your open shirt, falling over your shoulders like a lead in a bad porno.

“You did this,”

And I'm not finished with you.

“You let me.” Taking a deep inhale, Jade's gaze drew over your exposed body. It made you feel hot, the need to swallow the drool growing in your mouth as you watched his tongue wet his lips. Slow and sensual, like he was savoring the flavor on the skin.

Savoring your flavor.

As he continued speaking, Jade gently guided you to lay down on the desk, melting along with you and grinding into you hard, making you gasp.

“That says more about you than myself, does it not?”

[avelera]

Thinking about how one of Mel's flaws as a character, as I see it, is that she's fixated on being the power behind the throne, rather than the power itself, despite already having all the ability she needs to be an effective and incisive ruler.

We first see this characteristic of Mel's when she's a child, picturing the sort of hand-picked regent she would select to be her family's puppet.

But Ambessa points out even back then that there's no reason Mel couldn't rule directly. This I imagine is part of the whole fox vs. wolf theme that is a source of tension between them.

In Mel's defense, there's plenty of good reasons to be the power behind the throne. It gives you a lot more deniability and an easy escape-hatch if something goes wrong. You can always throw the puppet to the wolves and start fresh. But it demonstrates a lack of commitment to always be hedging like that and it also lose you a certain amount of direct control. After all, the puppet can always grow teeth.

I think about this in relation to Jayce's Man of Progress image and how he needed to be the face of Hextech (and eventually a Councilor). Because why did he need to be the face of Hextech? Why couldn't Mel do it?

Mel was one of their first believers. She enabled their creation on the night of its inception. Why couldn't she be a partner in Hextech from the beginning, handling the public-facing side from the start? Or taken over from Jayce once it went from prototype to proven quantity?

I'd argue that if she had, a lot of the tragedies that befall Mel later would have been averted.

First of all, it's not as if there's an air-gap between the State and Hextech. There'd be no appearance of impropriety if Mel championed Hextech from the point where the Hexgates open. The Hexgates and Piltover had become synonymous by that point, there's no reason she couldn't continue to advocate and get funding for Hextech even as a Councilor. She had a skill for it, and the knowledge, and connections.

She could have allowed Jayce to remain in the lab, working on new innovations, occasionally coming out to offer the more scientific explanations as needed. But she didn't, why? (Doylist, obviously because we wouldn't have a story, etc. etc.)

I would argue it's part of the flaw or challenge she's facing in the story: she always wants to be the power behind the throne. So she helps elevate Jayce and supports his public persona. This persists until she sees an opportunity for an even bigger play by making Jayce a Councilor. Again, she sees a bright, charismatic, well-intentioned and easily-moldable person that she can work through to enact her own goals in Piltover and, because she is actually a good person, theirs too. She's not entirely self-serving and that's where she's different from Ambessa.

But this is where the problem of setting up a puppet sets in. Because Jayce has agency and he grows teeth and he pushes back on things Mel wouldn't want and does things she wouldn't advise with her superior political experience. Had she been the one in power instead of the power behind the throne, she could have avoided this, she could have molded the situation more specifically to her preferences, based on her superior knowledge. Jayce didn't want to be out in front of the crowd. He wanted to stay in the lab. Mel being the public face would have worked just fine for about 90% of the public appearances a representative of Hextech would need to make to the world. (I say this as someone who works as a public face in tech and has been a startup founder myself, such a role for Mel totally exists and often goes to someone who is a bigger name when the founders themselves are not charismatic or would simply prefer not to do all the wheeling and dealing.)

And this flaw loses her the relationship she could have had with Jayce, I'd argue. If she'd more directly worked alongside Jayce and Viktor, and taken over being the public face, she wouldn't have needed to manipulate Jayce or raise him to the Council, which were the dealbreakers that made him break up with her later.

Of course, they may not have had any reason to date in such a world but then, maybe they would have anyway as partners, now with a stronger foundation beneath them of working together, with both Jayce and Viktor relieved that the public, political side is being handled by a pro with a ton of resources (not that there wouldn't have been tension at all but certainly, this is a world in which I could see some flavor of MelJayVik happening harmoniously).

There's a Silicon Valley AU buried in all of this, free to a good home, but a world where Mel came on as a full partner early on would certainly be fascinating.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: You convince your best friend to take you to Prom—only as friends, of course.

Prompt: friends to lovers - "don't bite your lip, bite mine."

DAVE LIZEWSKI MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

"Damn Davey, you look so dapper," Todd jokes almost meanly as soon as he walks into the gym and sees his best friend. Poor Dave instantly tightens his grip on your hand and narrows his eyes. 

"Shut up," he hisses, his cheeks a bright pink.

Your hand is still in Dave's and when you hear Todd, you turn to glare at him. "Jealous you don't have a date, Haynes?" you quip and turn to adjust the little rose in Dave's suit pocket that matches the colors in the corsage on your wrist.

You smile up at him, which only makes his cheeks turn even pinker. 

"Whatever, Y/l/n," Todd adds, laughing, "At least I didn't need a pity date."

You hate the way Todd is with Dave sometimes—although Dave always insists it's banter, sometimes it just feels mean.

You glare at Todd and say with a hiss, "You're an ass," and then you're pulling Dave away and towards where the center of the gym where your classmates are dancing.

It's upbeat music for the moment and Dave is clumsy in his movement as you dance around him. His eyes are stuck on yours.

"Loosen up will you?"

"You look very pretty tonight."

You and Dave say at the same time, your eyes widening and you both laugh a little. You wrap your arm around Dave's shoulder, still dancing to the music.

"Thanks, Davey," you whisper, your eyes sparkling. "You look very handsome," you echo his compliment, meaning every word. He does look handsome—but then again, he always looks handsome. 

He hums and his cheeks turn pink again. The song turns from dancey to slow and you lock gazes. Dave's hands wander to your waist as you lean into the dance. This feels so natural, as if your bodies are made to be molded into one soul. Dave presses himself closer, his head near your hair as he inhales your scent.

You smell heavenly. 

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," you say, "I really didn't want to go alone."

"Of course," Dave answers instantly, his breath by your ear, "anything for you," he adds in a whisper. 

Your chest feels warm and you look up at him, your hands sliding down to lay on his chest. Your smile widens and something in the air shifts because your eyes downcast to his lips. They've never looked prettier. He senses your gaze and his heart leaps. Instinctively, his teeth sink into his bottom lip. 

"Don't bite your lip, Lizewski, bite mine," you tell him boldly, unable to keep the thought inside you any longer.

Dave's eyes widen but you sense him leaning in closer and he hums as a question. Your eyes flutter shut and almost automatically, your lips meet.

It's short and sweet, his warm hands moving up to your cup cheeks as his lips linger on yours until he suddenly remembers you're in the middle of the school gym, surrounded by all your classmates.

He pulls away. "Sorry," he mumbles, embarrassed, "I didn't mean to kiss you like that—in front of everyone. I- this really wasn't how I had planned this moment," he admits, his cheeks a flaming red now and your eyes soften. You can feel his nervousness. 

"You had a plan?" you tease.

Dave nods instantly. "A stupid plan."

"Why don't you let me judge that," you say with a grin and wrap your arms around him again, holding him closer as you kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear, "because this is exactly how I planned this, baby."

tags: @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

toji's thighs are so sensitive. the second your lips touch the skin of his inner thigh, he's throwing his head back against the pillow and hiding his face behind his hand; his cheeks are burning and his body is twitching – you're being so gentle with him and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

as you keep pressing the lightest kisses to his skin, your fingertips trail along the side of his thighs and as a result you get to watch his muscles contract at the ticklish feeling. your lips pull into a smile and he can feel it – you're grinning right into him, you're weaving yourself into his skin, kiss by kiss.

an unfamiliar warmth spread all over him, it blooms from where you're connected and grows further and further until it reaches his oh, so vulnerable heart. he feels completely bare before you – it's different. nudity is nothing new to toji, but this? this is.

you graze your teeth over his skin and it sends shivers down his back. he's grumbling something, his words muffled by his own hand but you refuse to push him. he's doing so much for you already, and you're grateful – you know how hard it is for him to let go, to let you take care of him. but you're determined to show him that you want to. he doesn't always need to be the tough guy and he doesn't always need to be the one in charge; he deserves to relax and sink into the mattres while you worship his body and let him feel your ardor.

you give him a hum as you lean to the other side, now focusing on his other thigh. kiss, kiss, kiss. it's all tender, there's no rush. the hunger is there but you're happy to let it grow bigger. today it'll be just a mere taste that you'll get and it is more than enough.

patience is another thing you're teaching him – it goes both way; you don't rush him and he doesn't rush you. it's slow and he's not used to it. the soft love you're giving him alongside the kind words and the loving eyes feels overwhelming, it's all so much but that's why you're taking your time. you want him to enjoy it all, you want him to love it.

of course, you can see the way his cock is twitching at just about every move you make. of course, you can see the precum leaking from his aching tip. it coates his lower tummy and his happy trail and your mouth salivates at the sight. patience.

toji's breath hitches when you sink your teeth into him, his hand falling from in front of his pretty face. he looks extra handsome like this – hair all disheveled and cheeks adorned with the most beautiful shade of dark pink. his lips are parted as he finds your eyes; pupils dark and filled with pure adoration. you press another kiss to his inner thigh, dangerously close to where he needs you the most and something akin to a whimper escapes his throat.

he watches your expression change into a sly one as he prepares for the tease that'll offically burn him for good. but it never comes. all he gets back is a hum.

"does it feel good?"

toji fists the bedsheet below him, his head dizzy and his heart racing; your voice is silken and honeyed, perfectly molded into a trap just for him. but for the first time in his life – he willing to take the risk. he wants to do it. he wants you to be the one to catch him and to have him.

he wants to be yours.

[yuna542]

Unwanted Bodyguards

Pairing: WooJin + GunWoo x Reader

Word Count: 14.4k

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Bodyguards x Reader

Warnings: Smut!, Under 18 DNI!, Swearing, Pet names, voyeurism, cum play, overstimulation, threesome, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, , masturbation, swearing, motions of violence and wounds

Note: FINALLY! I made it! Worked on this quiet a while. I could hardly choose between them, so why not both? Hope you like it and I could meet your expectations. Let me now what you think.

Summary: After a failed assassination attempt is made on you to harm your grandfather Mr Choi, he locks you up against your will for your safety. Even the incredible luxury villa with pool does not lift your spirits as you can no longer join forces with your sister against your grandfather's enemies. And to make matters worse, he also forces two ridiculously hot boxers on you who are supposed to keep an eye on you all the time and protect you. Soon the forced quarantine with the two young men turns out to be more exciting than you expected.

"Shit, I'm gonna kill you! Let me go! God damn it!"

"Yeah yeah. Sure.”

All the tugging and kicking did nothing against Yang-Jun's firm grip. The knife fighter dragged you out of the car you had refused to get out of by yourself only minutes before. Doo-Young stood in front of the car, waiting as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"Please don't make this harder than it is," he sighed, and you glared angrily at him as the older one tried to hold your hands.

"Why are you going along with this? I can help! You know I can!"

"Orders from the boss," Yang-Jun growled, then grumbled:

"Arms up!"

"What are you doing?" you snapped at him, giving the mansion behind him a disparaging look.

This was going to be your dungeon for the next few weeks. The white walls with black shingle roofs stood out elegantly against the trimmed lawn and box trees in the front yard.

Without hesitation, he yanked your arms up and scanned your body. First your torso, then your hips, down your sides, and finally your legs, where he looked carefully in every pocket of your cargo pants.

"We need to take any weapons from you so you don't do anything stupid," Doo-Young explained, and you leaned against the car they had used to drag you here. When your grandfather's two hit men showed up at the bar you had been secretly observing for days, you knew something was wrong.

Three days ago, you had snuck out of the hospital because Choi would never have let you go off on your own.

"This is ridiculous! Are you into groping young girls Oppa? Let Doo-Young do it, then at least I'll get something out of it!" you said with a typical evil glint in your eyes.

Both of them just snorted and Doo-Young quickly averted his eyes. He'd never been able to handle your flirting, and that made it all the funnier for you.

„Don't worry, you're not my type. I'm not into ungrateful brats", the older one mumbled grumpy as always. You chuckled and looked at him with those devilish eyes.

„I'm everybody's type, right Doo-Young?"

He just sighed overwhelmed, because you were not wrong. In fact you had that thing about you, that let every guy crumble in front of you and beg for even the tiniest bit of attention.

The two of them had not only become your mentors after all these years, but something like friends. They had watched you grow up, rescued you from the orphanage with Mr. Choi, and molded you. That's why they weren't surprised when he pulled out a pistol from your belt, three throwing knives and a baton from the hidden holster on your back.

Yang-jun threw everything into a box on the back seat and looked at you inquiringly.

"Was that all?"

You jutted your chin defiantly and crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"Yes. That was all."

But Doo-Young interfered and turned back to you, arms crossed.

"Back pocket," he said simply, and by then Yang-jun was already whirling you around again and pressing you hard against the car.

Cursing, you bared your teeth as he pulled the folding knife from your pocket and looked at it, shaking his head. Then he tossed it to the rest of your weapons.

"Now she's your problem," he said, turning to his colleague and patting his hands on his pants.

As Doo-Young approached you, you raised your hands defensively.

"Don't you dare put me in that golden cage!" you growled dangerously, but he unceremoniously grabbed you by the hips and threw you over his shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, little one, but the order came from the very top."

Cursing, you slammed your fists on his back, but his grip was so tight that you couldn't do anything. Not only was he one of the best fighters you knew, unfortunately he was also your friend and you didn't want to hurt him.

So he carried you to the entrance, unlocked the door with a key card and an extra code, and didn't let you down until you were in the living room.

Offended, you threw yourself on the big red velvet sofa and pouted.

"Hey, there are worse places to be safe," he said carefully, looking around the luxury mansion. The pool in the backyard glistened through the large windows, and the huge kitchen made quite a impressive impact as well. A spiral staircase led up to the second floor, where your room, a guest room and a dressing room was. As well as another bathroom with a whirlpool and walk-in shower. A fitness area on the patio, huge bookshelves crammed with stuff for years. The house had everything you could want, and yet you just wanted to get as far away as possible.

"Just get out!" you hissed without looking at him, pressing your face deeper into the pillow.

„Traitor..."

"Y/N... You have to understand Mr. Choi. He's worried about you. You got busted and killed three of Myeong-Gil's men. Just a few days ago, you woke up in the hospital. If he gets hold of you, he will not only torture you to get information, but also kill you to harm your grandfather."

Silently, you tried to ignore him. Everything he said was true and yet you hated him for saying it out loud.

"I'm going to leave now. If anything happens, call me! Please!"

You groaned in annoyance and sat up before he could just leave.

"I'll have to. You took away my weapons, after all," you replied, and he was clearly relieved when you stopped looking at him with such hostility.

Then he spread his arms and grinned in amusement.

"Come on. It's going to be okay."

Sighing, you scrambled to your feet and hugged him. Satisfied, he smiled and stroked your back. It was inconceivable to him how such a slender girl had cut down three armed men in cold blood with only a knife. Maybe they had trained you too well.

"Take care of yourselves and let me know if there's anything new" you murmured against his chest, looking up at him pleadingly.

"I promise," he replied, then let go of you again.

As soon as he disappeared through the door and the alarm was turned on, such a loneliness seized you that you trembled. Sighing, you wrapped your arms around your knees and lay on the couch in the huge house. Like a lonely kitten, abandoned in a huge forest.

The very next morning, you heard someone at the door and with a glance at the camera, you scrunched your face. Mr. Choi, Hyun-Ju and two young men were standing in front of it.

Astonished, you let them in and greeted your grandfather briefly before wrapping your sister in your arms.

"Shit, when you disappeared from the hospital, I thought something bad had happened to you," she said, hugging you a little tighter than necessary.

As soon as you got your breath back, you went ahead into the living room, where you took your seats. Except for the two young guys. They seemed to be a little older than you and both of their eyes almost fell out of their heads as they looked at the mansion from the inside. They elbowed each other excitedly in the sides like little kids, yet they remained silent.

"Is your shoulder better?" asked Choi worriedly, eyeing you intently.

You were wearing sweatpants and a cropped top under which the white bandage peeked out.

"It's not that bad. Who's that?" you asked directly, pointing at the two men.

Hyun-Ju raised her eyebrows meaningfully and stared at the ground, as if she knew what was coming next.

"Those are two young men I trust very much," the old man began, and you frowned.

"I'm Gunwoo," said the one who had shoulders so broad you could hide behind him. He had warm eyes and a really adorable face. Then the other one bowed as well:

"My name is Woojin, nice to meet you."

He too was unnaturally attractive. Curly hair, a sharper face, higher cheekbones and mischievousness in his eyes. They seemed completely different and yet they harmonized without saying a word.

"What's all this about?" you asked without answering them, looking to your grandfather. Both of them eyed you inconspicuously and looked at each other in surprise. Neither of them had expected such a young and attractive lady when they agreed to the job.

"I am worried about you. This mansion has not yet been discovered by Myeong-gil. But if he finds you here, I want you protected. These two men will do that job. They will be your bodyguards."

Stunned, you jumped up and stared back and forth between him and the boys, as if waiting for someone to break up this bad joke.

"What, no! I don't need bodyguards. No way! Those two aren't going to follow me all day!" you shouted a little louder than you meant to and looked to Hyun-Ju. You searched for any kind of help in her gaze, but she just shrugged apologetically.

"This is not negotiable. They will move into the guest room until this is all over!"

Mr. Choi's tone brooked no argument, and you pressed your lips together, seething with anger.

"They are for your protection. You almost got killed! It's not a bad thing!" your sister said and you slowly shook your head.

"You mean they are here to prevent me from leaving and to keep an eye on me?"

You didn't get an answer to that. Stunned, you snorted and looked at them again. Yes they were damn good-looking, trained, and if you ran into them in a club or bar, you would have had your fun with them for sure.

"We're boxers and used to fighting. We can protect you if it's necessary," Gunwoo said then, almost seeming to wince under your piercing gaze.

The way they looked at you, wide-eyed and trying to hide their staring wandering up and down your body, gave you naughty ideas. Maybe this whole thing could get pretty interesting after all.

"All right... I don't have a choice anyway," you muttered, and that's when your grandfather exhaled in relief.

He said goodbye shortly after and at the door your sister said a little louder than necessary:

"Don't devour them both at once."

You grinned knowingly and she just smirked. Hyun-Ju knew very well that they both suited your taste and she also knew that hardly any man would last longer than 24 hours near you without weakening.

You were self-confident, a flirt and loved attention. You also knew how to use your advantages and how to wrap men around your finger.

As soon as the old man and Hyun-Ju disappeared, you turned to the boys and put your hands on your hips. That's when you also spotted the suitcases they had smuggled in with them.

"What are your orders?"

"Orders?" asked Gunwoo meekly, and you rolled your eyes.

"What did grandfather tell you to do? Are you here to watch me? Report to him on my daily routine?"

Gunwoo looked like a scared bunny by now and you doubted his ability as a fighter a little. At least if his biceps weren't twice the size of your head. Woojin stepped in and smiled charmingly.

"He just asked us to watch over you and keep an eye on you so nothing would happen to you of course."

"So you're supposed to spy on me all the time?" you asked, walking past them into the living room. They followed you up to the second floor with their bags.

"Uh no. We're supposed to stay close to you, but we don't have to watch you... like… All the time", Gunwoo mumbled a bit overwhelmed.

"We're not stalkers or perverts or anything," Woojin quickly added.

"We didn't even know you were so young and.... and looking like...", Gunwoo stammered, obviously lacking the right words.

That's when you glanced over your shoulder and when your eyes met, no sound at all passed his lips anymore. Woojin jumped in and put a hand on his shoulder:

"We didn't know you were a young pretty lady. Hyun-Ju told us you were hot-tempered and dangerous to men..."

Gunwoo elbowed him in the side and gave him a warning look but you smiled knowingly with your back to them. This was going to be fun.

Hyun-Ju was not your biological sister. Like you, she was from the same orphanage, and the two of you had been inseparable since the day you saved her from an older bully by stabbing a fork through his hand.

Through her, you eventually came to the attention of Mr. Choi. He was quickly taken with your courage and emotionality, which is why he adopted you as his own flesh and blood, just like Hyun-Ju.

But unlike her, he could not keep you under control. You learned how to use weapons from his best assassins and as soon as Myeong-Gil reappeared, you were the first to spy on him. Your sister soon joined in and one thing led to another until you stupidly ended up in the hospital.

You opened the door to the guest room and stretched out your arm invitingly.

"This is for you. We only have a kingsize bed, but I think that will be enough."

The two looked around the room in amazement, Woojin directly pawing at the decoration in the form of scrolled sculptures and both of them seemed unaccustomed to such luxury. If they worked for Choi they were probably poor wretches from the street in his debt.

You leaned against the doorframe and looked at the two of them.

Gunwoo's smile was really cute and Woojin had that attractive charisma of a daredevil. They both made a nice sight and so at least you wouldn't get bored anytime soon.

"My room is right next door.... If you want to stop by," you said and they both froze and looked at you questioningly. As you grinned in amusement, you could see that they were both breaking out in a sweat.

You were making them nervous.

After all, they already agreed without words that they had never seen a prettier girl. Your long lashes framed your mysterious eyes and your body stood out softly under the fabric of your loose clothes. Likewise your features were engaging and the beckoning smile on your red lips was beguiling.

"I'm going to order some food. Do you like pizza?" you asked and they both nodded quickly.

Then you left them alone to get settled.

As soon as they heard you on the stairs, Woojin whirled around to Gunwoo and stared at him meaningfully.

"Dude!"

"She's hot..."

Gunwoo swallowed emphatically.

"Yeah, but she scares me."

"Hell yes. She's scary!"

The next morning, you had almost forgotten that the two boxers were still here, but when you saw Woojin already sitting on the patio with a coffee in his hand and Gunwoo standing by the punching bag, you sighed softly.

"I see you found the punching bag..." you said and both heads flew in your direction.

You were wearing a sports bra and tight leggings that showed your round curves underneath. You put down the yoga mat you were carrying rolled up under your arm and tied your hair in a high ponytail.

"Good morning," Gunwoo greeted you and you eyed him not exactly inconspicuously.

He was shirtless and sweat glistened on his remarkably defined muscles. He looked really really sexy with the bandaged fists, the focused expression on his face. So now you got a much better picture of the boxer.

Woojin was waving air at himself and had probably exerted himself on the punching bag just before.

At your glance to Gunwoo, he also pulled his shirt over his head and you grinned slightly as he stretched emphatically and also presented his muscles.

"Did you sleep well boss?" he asked, propping his elbows on his knees as you stretched.

"Yes. It's nice not to have to sleep in the hospital bed anymore. How about you guys? Do you like it here?" you asked, and as you stretched to loosen your muscles and tendons, Gunwoo flopped down next to Woojin on the cream-colored couch and they both watched your elegant movements.

"It's incredible. I've never been in a mansion like this," Gunwoo said in awe and Woojin nodded in agreement. How cute.

"You can make yourself some breakfast in the kitchen," you said and started your work-out.

They both looked at each other silently and then disappeared inside. There, Woojin leaned against the counter and looked at Gunwoo:

"This is insane..."

Gunwoo nodded and prepared sandwiches with ingredients he found in the refrigerator.

"There's a huge tub with jets in the bathroom!"

"I think it's called a whirlpool," Gunwoo smirked ironically, as Woojin mimicked his know-it-all manner mockingly and stuck his head into the fridge. However, he found only healthy vegetables, fruits and little meat. Astonished, he glanced at Woojin, whose gaze was transfixed on something behind the window.

"She seems to be eating very healthy. Takes care of her body, I guess."

"I can tell..." his buddy replied, and that's when Gunwoo got curious. He placed the toasts on the sideboard and stood next to him to also get a look at what had him so enthralled.

"Look at this... Would you have expected that?" asked Woojin, and Gunwoo's eyes nearly fell out.

You sprawled elegantly on the mat, stretching until you landed loosely in the splits. With your back to them, they had a perfect view of your body and especially your ass. Sensual curves paired with toned muscles without losing your femininity.

You were steaming hot and under those tight gym clothes, they could easily imagine what you would look like without them.

"No... Not in a thousand years. With that view, I'll never complain about getting up early again."

They watched you for a while through the big window doing different yoga exercises and both of them automatically imagined how you would feel under them. All flexible, with the slim waist and round breasts.

The next few days did not get any easier for them.

Often you caught their eyes wandering longer along your curves, holding their breath as you pushed past them in the kitchen, your butt grazing their crotch, your fingers touching their arms, or you accidentally brushing along their shoulders while passing by.

It was fun to tease them and with each passing day they became more restless. By the third day at the villa, your head was nearly bursting.

No call, no message from Hyun-Ju or Choi. There was complete silence and that was important, but it drove you crazy to be without knowledge of what was happening in the outside world right now. Myeong-Gil was dangerous and the thought of something happening to your family and you not noticing anything because you were stuck in that luxury hell was horrible.

Besides, your wound was almost completely healed, you were more flexible again and you got bored and that was even more dangerous.

One evening you were sitting on the couch, stretching and trying to loosen the bandage that was wrapped around your shoulder, but no matter how much you twisted around, you couldn't get it off. Woojin watched this for quite a while and then poked Gunwoo hard in the side, who looked up from his cell phone, startled. Woojin pointed his chin in your direction and pushed him toward you meaningfully.

"Do you need help?" he asked then, and you glanced at him briefly before exhaustedly blowing a strand of hair out of your forehead.

"That would be nice," you murmured, even if it scratched your pride.

He moved closer while Woojin watched you curiously.

"Can you just loosen the bandage and take it off?" you asked, turning your back to him. He nodded, taking in your flowery scent that surrounded them the whole time and played with the guys senses. You pulled your shirt over your head and held it in front of your bare breasts. Woojin, who was sitting across from you, quickly turned his gaze to the floor. That you had no sense of shame was something he would probably never get used to. You always ripped your clothes of before going in the shower, without a second thought about him being also in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. He would also never get used to your body, which he wanted to look at all the time and trace every line with his fingers.

You smirked and Gunwoo exhaled loudly before tampering with the clamps with shaky fingers, carefully loosening them and beginning to roll the bandage off your arm, shoulder and torso.

"How did this happen?" he asked into the silence, trying to drown out the nervous tingling in his fingers stroking your soft skin and Woojin's nervous foot tapping. "Myeong-gil somehow found out that I was a spy.... I had snuck into his place, been a spy among his people, but before I knew it, I was exposed. His goon and three men ambushed me in my apartment."

"Shit," Woojin gasped, looking at you now after all, full of enthusiasm.

"Three of them I was able to take out with my knives.... Kang In-Beom I didn't manage. He plunged my own knife into my back from behind and left me to die. If it hadn't been for Hyun-Ju, I would have bled to death there," you recounted, and both of you could see how you shuddered at the memory of the pain, the adrenaline of the fight, and the fear for your life.

Gunwoo had removed the bandage and was looking at the stab wound on your shoulder blade, which by now gave off a red scar, too fine for the act of cruelty with which it was forced on you.

They were equally surprised and awed that the girl before him was so different from what she seemed after all.

"You have also had experience with the gorilla and his master?" you asked, pointing to Gunwoo's scar that ran across his jaw and was not unlike the one on your back. Then you pulled your shirt back over your head.

Gunwoo nodded slowly:

"Myeong-gil trashed my mother's cafe and gave me the scar. He brought ruin to my family and Mr. Choi saved us. For that, I am eternally grateful to him."

The loyal expression in his eyes and the strength, the indomitable courage they both exuded was refreshing. Attractive.

"Yes, he is always like that..." you murmured, tilting your head slightly as you raised your hand. You expected him to flinch, but he just looked you serenely in the eye as you ran gentle fingertips over his scar.

"It suits you. Our scars remind us about what's really important."

The boys were always amazed by you anew. Behind the tough, intelligent facade was a deep, emphatically girl who made an impression on both of them.

They admired you, were soon crazy about you. You also liked to be around them, to be looked at, to glare at them when they weren't looking.

Just playing with the boxers, like with small dogs, embarrassing them or making them nervous was not enough anymore.

So you decided to leave. You had already escaped from the hospital, so the ivy-covered wall around the estate was not a problem, was it?

Without thinking much about it, at noon you headed for a place in front of large stones that served as decoration around the pool.

You swallowed hard as you looked up. It was at least twenty feet you had to climb.

You had told the boys that you wanted to take a bath and therefore needed your privacy. They hadn't questioned it and Gunwoo had just rushed out of the bathroom with a red head when you just started to undress in front of him.

You had snuck past Woojin, who was doing push-ups and lifting weights in the living room, just like every morning. The guys were working out so much that you feared an apocalypse was coming. However, you didn't complain about the sight. Quite the opposite.

Confidently, you grabbed an ivy vine and pulled yourself up until you found a foothold with one foot. Just as you were about to pull yourself higher, you lost contact underfoot and felt two strong hands on your hips, plucking you from the wall like a ripe grape.

A startled squeak escaped you and you tried to free yourself from the tight grip by kicking.

"Let me go right now!" you yelled, and Gunwoo set you back on the floor, but not without pressing you firmly against his chest.

Cursing, you resisted, trying to shake off his hands until he wrapped both arms tightly around your torso and you barely had room to breathe.

"I'm really sorry, but we can't let you go. This is for your own safety!" he pressed out strained as he pulled you away from the wall.

Snarling and flailing like a cat gone wild you tried to move his arms away, Gunwoo looked around frantically for Woojin, who had already rushed across the yard to help.

"Stop that right now! You're both fired!" you shouted and a desperate yelp escaped you as Woojin tried to grab your wrists.

"I'm pretty sure you can't fire us," Woojin said and you tried to fight off his hands.

Together they tried to drag you back to the house where the big canapés were lined up.

You were startled yourself when in the heat of the moment you hit Woojin on the lip with your fist, but he didn't even flinch, instead pressing your hands against your body, his chest pressed tightly against yours.

You could see blood flashing at his mouth and tried to ignore your guilty conscience. Still, your resistance weakened a bit. Your muscles were already burning from the tension.

Finally, they managed to throw you onto the cream-colored canapé with the red cushions and before you could jump up, Gunwoo pounced on you and pinned you with his massive body underneath. His hands pressed your wrists firmly into the mattress next to your head and he was between your legs, so you couldn't even begin to fight his weight.

"Stop that! It's no use!" he said, and that's when you paused for a moment. Angrily, you glared at him and stared him straight in the eye.

"You guys are really pissing me off! Just let me go!"

Gunwoo sighed loudly and braced himself so he wouldn't hurt you with his weight. Like a wall, he cut you off from the outside world, and only when your pulse calmed down again did you begin to realize what position you were in.

Silently, he watched you, perplexed, as a strand of hair fell into your eyes, as the strap of your top slipped off your shoulder, revealing your white lace bra. He felt your soft body under him, your breasts, how they nestled against his chest and how your skirt had slipped up.

Directly he became insanely hot and indecent thoughts crept into his head.

"What are you going to do now?" you asked sharply, blinking at him through your thick lashes. He was even more handsome up close and you could feel his hard abdominal muscles against your body.

"Wait until you calm down and promise not to run away again."

You sparkled at him and jutted your chin a little. As you spoke, his warm breath brushed against your face and his eyes wandered aimlessly across your face.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because Mr. Choi will kill us if you don't."

The two of you were silent for a few seconds until the patio door opened and Woojin came back out with a cloth pressed against his bloody lip. You hadn't even noticed that he had disappeared, so focused were you on each other.

Gunwoo made no effort to move, and when his gaze fixed on your lips, you smiled slightly.

Teasingly you stretched your pelvis towards him until your middle brushed against his crotch and he noticed that your dress had ridden up so high that your panties were visible. However, you didn't seem to mind. His grip loosened on your wrists and his cheeks flushed as you felt a glint of it, causing arousal to shoot between your legs.

Your pretty face with deep-set eyes drove him crazy and he automatically had to imagine what it would be like to fuck your brains out in that position. Hearing your moans as he thrusted into you.

"You know I like it rough, right?" you mumbled and Woojin swallowed loudly.

"...Excuse me?"

Gunwoo looked completely overwhelmed, but his body's reaction spoke volumes. You rolled your hips at him again and this time he clearly felt your cunt against his now hardening dick.

"Well, considering the position we're in, I think we can take advantage of that, no?"

He exhaled loudly and let go of you.

Head flushed and clearing his throat, he turned away and sat down next to you. Seeking help, he looked at Woojin, who just stared at you.

Then he pressed a pillow to his middle and mumbled a curt apology before disappearing into the house.

Amused, you tilted your head and brushed your dress back into place.

"Is he always this uptight?" you asked, and to be honest, you wanted them even more now.

Woojin swallowed and then put on a grin.

"With beautiful women, you can sometimes lose your composure."

"Charming," you replied, stroking his shoulder as you passed, which made him freeze.

Then you settled down next to him on the couch and took the cloth from his hand.

Carefully, you dabbed at his lip, leaning against his bare chest as you did so, and said in a honeyed voice:

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He held your wrist tightly, thus catching your gaze. The amber of his eyes was streaked with golden speckles. He was stunningly beautiful, too, and his muscles tensed under your fingertips.

"Half as bad. As a boxer, I'm used to worse."

You gazed at him through your thick lashes and as he took the cloth from your hands and leaned forward to set it aside, your gaze traveled over his broad shoulders and the muscles on his back that were tensing.

You noticed the tattoo on his back and touched it with feathery fingertips.

"You served?" you asked curiously, and he shuddered as you stroked along the lines. His entire body tingled as you leaned against him and he felt your tits against his torso.

"Yes. You know about this sort of thing?" he asked incredulously. You smiled slightly and ran your fingers over the tattoo.

"Not really. But I'm interested. It's hot..."

Woojin's eyes lit up and his enthusiasm was contagious.

"Do you have a girlfriend or Gunwoo?" you asked then, and he stumbled over his words:

"No... There's not much time besides boxing."

You nodded and ran your fingers down his shoulder, over his biceps, to his inner arm. He watched how you bit your lip and wanted to touch them.

"As bloodhounds, it's hard to find someone?"

He tracked your movements, fidgeting restlessly. He wanted to grab you, kiss you to know what your lips tasted like, and he wondered if you would still look so confident stuffed with his cock.

"We're not bloodhounds."

You raised your eyebrows, wandered your fingers over his palm, and rested his hand on your thigh.

"You work for my grandfather, you're my bodyguards.... He would never hire any men off the street. If you're not bloodhounds yet, you will be soon."

Woojin pressed his lips together, slowly closing his hand around your inner thigh, just centimeters from where you actually wanted to feel his long fingers. Sighing, you leaned forward a bit, placing a hand against his chest until he had a good view down your cleavage.

"What did he tell you to do? What are the rules?" you breathed, and Woojin increasingly lost his self-control. His hand closed tighter and tighter around your thigh and you could see him struggling with himself.

"Don't let you out of our sight. Protect you with our lives. No touching." he enumerated the rules Choi had drilled into them, and now he finally understood what Hyun-Ju had warned them about. When she talked about you being dangerous, cunning, and a temptation, he hadn't believed her. But now he could hardly stop himself from pushing you down on the couch and ripping your clothes off.

He wanted your sweet voice moaning his name and touching you everywhere he shouldn't.

You nodded slowly. Of course Choi had ordered them not messing around with you. He knew you and your charm too well. You had a temper. You were uncontrollable. Everyone was afraid and enraptured by you at the same time.

"What if I want to touch you?" you whispered in his ear and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Agonizingly slowly, you let your fingers travel down his stomach, to the waistband of his pants. Your lips brushed his jawline and his hand wandered up your leg. The temptation was too big and he struggled with himself.

"He'd kill us..." he whispered with the last bit of resistance he could muster.

He... Your grandfather knew you well enough to know that one stupid rule wouldn't stop you from asserting your stubbornness.

"What if I want you to touch me?," you continued, pressing your thighs together so he could feel the heat between them on his hand, trapped just finger-widths away from your cunt.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, he furrowed his eyebrows in agony, and you wanted to fall to your knees to see if he looked as stunned when you took his dick into your mouth.

But before you could slide your fingers into his waistband, you stood up and left him sitting there, dumbfounded.

Gasping, he also pressed his hand between his legs as you disappeared into the house. It was a game for you and you were the master at it. Like chess. You were the queen. The boxers were your pawns, the pawns with which you passed your time, and both had to admit that they liked it more and more to walk for you on the board.

You retreated to your room for the rest of the day, until in the evening you resigned yourself to not getting out of here anytime soon.

The next few days your games became more and more dangerous and both Gunwoo and Woojin expected you to lose their mind every time you came into the room in skimpy pants, a dress that barely covered your breasts or skirts that showed glimpses of your underwear.

You made the time in the villa so much more interesting and they caught each other raving about you, losing themselves in mind games, only to be jilted in the end.

The danger surrounded you like the smoke of a cigarette and yet it was so seductive that Gunwoo did take a peek through the crack of the open door of the bathroom when you went to shower. He hated himself for it, but his curiosity and dirty desire to see more, to not always be kept at a distance, overwhelmed him.

He opened the bathroom door just enough to peek and catch you slipping out of your clothes.

He saw through the crack how you took off your skirt, threw away your top and looked at yourself in the mirror only in your underwear. He felt disgusting, but the line of your thighs as they merged into the perfect curve of your ass made him pause until you took off your underwear too. The way your tits spilled out of your bra when you undid the clasp made his cock hard in an instant and only when you turned on the water in the shower and faced the door did he tear his eyes open in shock and twirled away, pressing his back against the wall next to the door and gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Gunwoo never been more thirsty in his life. Although he should just leave, he risked one more look. Just one last one. He wanted to suck on your skin, let his tongue lap up the water that dripped from your nipples, trickled down your calves. Your back is sexier than he realized, the slope of your spine incredibly pleasing to the eye, especially as you began to lather up your soft skin with the shower gel.

His pants were uncomfortably tight and he wanted to slap himself.

As soon as you walked past his room, wrapped in steam with only a towel around your body, a soft sound made you freeze.

The strained gasp came from the boys' room and you dared to look through the crack of the open door, which had hastily not been closed properly.

You recognized Gunwoo's broad back on the bed, muscles straining to him jerking his cock off, sighing your name. Your lip twitching up as fast as you clenched your legs together.

Another time you tried to take a cup from the top shelves in the kitchen. However, you were too short and the modern cabinets were placed way too far up. When Woojin saw this, he came to you, stood behind you and enveloped you in a shadow as if a tree had grown out of the ground right behind you.

He took out the cup and held it out to you, but you made no move to take it. You glanced coquettishly over your shoulder, leaned back a little until your ass was pressed firmly against his crotch and said:

"Thank you. Very thoughtful."

Immediately all color drained from his face and he grabbed your hip with his other hand to prevent you from making his dick even harder by wiggling your butt.

"It's all right," he dismissed it and wanted to flee, away from your seductive body and mesmerizing eyes.

But you turned, looked up at him through those long lashes you could swat flies with, and smiled sweetly:

"What do you think of the top? It's new, but I'm unsure if the color suits me."

Although you looked innocent, everything in him screamed trap! Still, he dropped his gaze and took a rattling breath as he clearly saw the curve of your breasts through the thin, almost transparent lilac material nestling to your body and your nipples forming little mounds on the fabric.

"It's pretty. Very pretty..." he stammered, trying to resist the urge to push the stupid thing up and hold your breasts in his hands.

He had big hands and they would fit perfectly.

As soon as the heat made him hard again, he watched you go, teeth gritting and jaw flexing as he lusted over how smoothly you walked away. You had to know you drove him crazy, that you were so beautiful and just out of reach that it made him want to crush the mug in his hand. Before Gunwoo could ask him, if he wanted to help him work out, he disappeared into the bathroom, with the excuse that he still had to shower.

Instead, he tried to get rid of his hard-on by ignoring it or even silently praying for it. But when he made the mistake of looking through the window, which offered a direct view of the pool and the loungers in front of it, an incredulous sigh escaped him.

You were just lying down in the sun, in the top and short skirt that accentuated your long legs. With big sunglasses on your nose, you tied your hair in a bun and to his horror, you unceremoniously pulled your top over your head. Your breasts in the bright sunlight looked soft and Woojin couldn't look away. As if caught in a curse, he stared at your body as you made yourself comfortable on the lounger, slipping out of your skirt and tanning only in black panties.

A wave of heat flashed in his gut, one that told him he was doing something wrong, that he should look away. He wasn't a pervert who secretly stalked women, though it was really hard not to look at you when you were prancing around in front of their noses all day. He shook his head, looked at himself in the mirror and mumbled a few curses. Fresh, hot blood flowed straight between his legs, made his dick thump against his lower stomach, the flushed tip peeking out of the waistband of his boxers.

Then he looked out again, eyeing the lines of your thighs as they converged between your legs, and as he pulled his now rock-hard dick out of his shorts, he tried to block out the accusing voice in his head.

Your skin glowed like the skin of a peach and he wondered if the tan-lines were as lighter where the panties were as they were around your breasts.

He wanted to touch your nipples, no he was so desperate, he wanted to take them in his mouth, suck on them and kiss you until you begged for him to fuck you. The fat of your boobs looked so soft, plush, and he imagined the weight of one in his palm as he started to stroke his cock. The sight of you naked and unaware made his head go fuzzy, garnet eyes glazing over as he shoved his boxers into the floor and kicked them away.

His cock laid heavy and demanding in his hand as he palmed himself to the sinful thoughts.

He sped up, imagining you kneeling on all fours in front of him and him slamming into you from behind, your pussy sucking him in, gripping him way better than his hand could. The naughty fantasies played like movies in his head and didn't let him go anytime soon. He gasped overwhelmed, imagining your naked body under his, stretched out just for his satisfaction. When you turned onto your stomach, he had to brace himself against the wall, panting. He had been plagued by images of you since day one, as if trying to burn the curves of your naked body into his memory. He loved how round your ass looked like this, how the length of your thighs begged for his hands to reach into each one. His fingers longed to feel soft skin between them, to sink into flesh and pull you back against him. His orgasm felt dirty, sultry, a long strand of ecstasy pulled from his cock and dripped onto his hand, splattered on the windowsill.

He cleaned it all up, put his pants back on, and tried to forget what he had done.

Meanwhile, you slid the sunglasses on your head and smiled slightly as Woojin's curly head disappeared out the window.

You made life harder for the two of them with every hour that passed.

Always the treat in front of their eyes, but they didn't dare to grab it. Yet.

The boxers were way, way too curious about you since they entered the luxury villa. Not to mention it was still late summer, so they caught you making dinner or doing yoga in the tiniest shorts and prancing around with no bra, nipples always hard and tempting from the breeze of the air conditioner.

It was way too much fun for you, however, you also became impatient. All this was soon not enough.

It was already dark and the round lanterns in the garden bathed everything in a pleasant orange light. Together with the blue of the pool, it made a dreamlike contrast. Woojin and Gunwoo were sitting on the loungers and talking quietly, but when you appeared, the conversation stopped and they looked at you attentively.

As soon as you took off your bathrobe and stood in front of them in just a sinful piece of bikini, Woojin clawed at Gunwoo's leg. They examined every little movement you made, the way you cocked your hip, how you cupped one of your breasts as you turned to them while you got into the water.

"Do you want to just watch or join?" you asked, letting yourself slide into the deeper water. They looked at each other, puzzled, and Gunwoo said:

"I don't know if we're allowed to..."

"What if I drown? Don't you have to protect me from drowning? You can't do that from there."

They looked at each other, not sure what to do, and before you waited any longer, you poured a gush of water over the edge of the pool, hitting them both. Startled, they jumped up and you giggled as your attack left them dripping and soaked.

When they heard you cackle so gleefully, something playful entered their gaze.

"Are we going to let this pass?" asked Gunwoo and Woojin shook his head, coming to the edge of the pool, but before he realized, Gunwoo had seized the golden opportunity and pushed him into the water from behind.

Woojin, however, clung to his arm in a flash and pulled him along. Gunwoo frantically rowed his arms, but it was all to no avail as they hit the surface of the water next to you with a loud splash.

Drops of water splashed you completely wet and you held your hands in front of your face. When they resurfaced, Woojin coughed, Gunwoo rubbed his eyes, and you held a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

As Woojin tossed his hair out of his face, he fixed you and pulled his wet shirt over his head in one fluid motion. At the sight of his trained body, you raised your eyebrows slightly and bit your lower lip, however, as he walked up to you and muttered:

"Well now you're laughing!"

You tried to run away squealing. However, he caught you and splashed water on your face, though in the process he also hit Gunwoo, who also began to tussle with him. He tore off his shirt and threw it to the edge before grabbing Woojin and wrestling with him.

You were laughing like little kids, splashing water at each other, and you felt more free and like yourself than you had in years.

The sound of your bright, high-pitched laughter as Gunwoo dove between your legs, lifted you up and threw you into the water with a loud splash was like music to the boys' ears.

You wrestled for quite a while, holding each other, pulling your legs away and dunking each other under the water until you could take no more.

Your heart was light, the water pleasantly cool, and the boys' hands firm on your soft skin.

You finally landed between the two of them. Woojin had his arms wrapped around your belly, pressing you tightly to his chest, Gunwoo grabbed your wrists, pulled you to him and held you by the waist. You paused in the position, breathing heavily. You brushed a wet strand of hair out of your eyes and you suddenly realized how close you were. You looked up at Gunwoo, who had a sweet smile on his lips, Woojin's arms were tight against your stomach and you leaned against him. You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from him. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, and your heart raced in anticipation.

"Do you really want to fight us?" asked Gunwoo with a smirk, your skin tingling excitedly. Woojin tried not to look down too long at your ass pressed against his crotch and instead pinched your sides playfully.

"Maybe she has a chance," he said, and you tilted your head a little, like a curious cat.

"I think you can use those strong arms of yours to do plenty of other things with me," you replied, delighting in the stunned reactions. Gunwoo froze and looked a lot like one of those greek statues of a god and Woojin's grip on your hips tightened.

With a silky voice and seductive aura, you took Gunwoo's hands and slowly guided them up your sides.

"Or is that not what you want?" you asked, as if asking his opinion on his choice of ice cream.

Gunwoo could no longer take his eyes off your slender fingers guiding his hands along your curves.

"Or this?" you asked, placing his large hands on your breasts.

In parallel, an overwhelmed gasp escaped Woojin as you rubbed your ass harder against his crotch. His hands flew to your hips and he could think of nothing but the heat gathering between his legs, pressing against the soft curve of your ass.

Gunwoo cupped your breasts tentatively, but they felt too good, too perfect to let go. He wanted to get rid of your bikini, to feel them whole and complete.

Your words were like a spell that made the boxers take off completely:

"Or don't you want me?"

Gunwoo's eyes snapped back to your face and he looked almost panicked as he said:

"I want it! I want you!"

Woojin grinded your ass against his bulge and would have loved to pull your bikini bottoms down right then and there to thrust into you.

"We want all of it!" he added, and you smiled triumphantly.

It was so simple.

"Then take it."

Gunwoo gave Woojin a questioning look over your shoulder, he nodded curtly at him and by then he was already leaning down to you, pulling you closer by the face and kissing you tempestuous. Woojin began kissing your neck, continuing to rub his increasingly hard length against your soft skin.

The kiss was sunny, warm, full of desire and you melted, pressed between the two muscular men. Gunwoo began kneading your breasts, sighing into your mouth as the water seemed to boil around you.

As soon as he broke away from you, Woojin turned your head to the side by the chin and already his lips were pressing to yours as well. Sweet as honey, hot as fire and much more impetuous than Gunwoo.

He greedily pushed his tongue into your mouth, turning you over until your back bounced against Gunwoo and he could push his knee between your legs.

"Free her tits!" murmured Woojin, and his hands reached for your ass, kneaded your soft flesh until you gasped into his mouth. Directly you felt Gunwoo's fingers pull open the loops of your bikini and the top fell off of you. He tossed it aside and Woojin was finally able to touch what he had been dreaming about for nights. Directly he kissed down your neck, sucking on your skin until he reached your nipple and ran his tongue around.

You took Gunwoo's hand and placed it on your other breast as you leaned against him, sighing comfortably.

"So pretty for us," he murmured, twirling your nipple between his fingers while Woojin sucked on your other and groped your ass.

The water lapped around you and you felt detached, weightless.

Gunwoo's fingers wandered over the waistband of your bikini panties, hesitantly, as if weighing whether to cross that line. However, it was all too late now anyway.

"Touch me! Please go on!" you gasped, your fingers in Woojin's hair, working red marks into your skin.

Gunwoo's lips brushed your neck as he exhaled and slid his fingers into your bikini. He played with the little bundle of nerves, rubbing it until your knees went soft. You gasped, your lips swollen and your face enlightened with desire.

You looked into Woojin's eyes as you did so, and he was equally incredulous by the immense horniness. You stroked down his abs, over his crotch, and there he lifted you out of the water with ease.

"Woojin... What...?"

But you didn't get any further, because he was already carrying you onto the canapé, the cool air on your wet skin gave you goosebumps and when he leaned over you and kissed you wildly, you let out a loud gasp.

In Gunwoo's eyes, too, a fire burned in the meantime that could no longer be extinguished. Whimpering, you pressed your body against Woojin and the stormy kissing ended only when you both could no longer breathe. He tilted his head a bit and his hand wandered down your belly into your bikini bottoms where he stroked through your folds. His eyes lit up and a blush shot up your cheeks as he felt how wet you already were.

"Shit have you been this horny all this time?" he muttered, biting the crook of your neck, making you whimper softly. As he did so, he pressed his thumb flat against your clit. Quickly, you grabbed his wrist and held it ironclad so you didn't immediately come over his fingers.

"Don't act like I'm the only one.... I know you've been watching me," you replied, glaring piercingly at both of them. Gunwoo actually laughed softly and sat down next to you on the canapé, while Woojin knelt between your legs, the sun sparkling on his wet abs.

"Do you really think we haven't been thinking about fucking you since day one when you're always running around in those skimpy clothes, getting us hot and worked up obviously with pure intention?" he growled and started spreading wet kisses along your collarbone. Your head was already floating in the clouds, so you looked up to the star studded sky and when Gunwoo firmly kneaded one of your breasts, you let out a sigh:

"Oh God..."

"He won't be able to help you now," Woojin chuckled and that's when you felt him roll your bikini panties off your legs and toss them carelessly aside. Since he was kneeling between your legs you couldn't squeeze your thighs together and hide your soaked cunt from Woojin's intense gaze.

"Look at how wet she is!" he said with a grin at Gunwoo, pushing your knees even further apart. Gunwoo eased off your neck for a moment and stroked two fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness on his fingers and the smile on his lips turned your head. Gasping, you pushed through your back as he suddenly sank two fingers into you and began pumping them into you.

"Gunwoo... Oh... Fuck," you moaned as you clawed at his biceps and moved your hips against his hand.

"You like that, huh? My fingers deep in your pussy?" he murmured in a soft voice, as if he was talking to a puppy or a kitten.

Woojin watched as Gunwoo's fingers disappeared into your wet cunt, creating naughty wet sounds, while your whole body trembled and by now his cock was so stiff that he could hardly stand it anymore. Gunwoo suddenly pulled his fingers out of you so that you were forcibly thrown back into reality and could only watch as he pushed his fingers into his mouth and licked your wetness off of it.

"She tastes like candy," he gushed, and Woojin grew more impatient.

"I need to taste her so bad..." he growled, kneeling down in front of the canapé. Without further ado, he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you to the edge so that his face hovered in front of your exposed cunt.

When his tongue met your clit, your eyes were already rolling backwards and when he then also sank two fingers into your hole and pumped them into you at an unholy pace while sucking on your clit, you couldn't stop moaning his name. He ate you out as if his life depended on it and as your hand sped into his curls and you pulled on his strands, he growled into your pussy. Gunwoo meanwhile went to work on your breasts, taking your nipples in his mouth, sinking his teeth into your sensitive skin and groping your whole body with his big hands.

"You're god damn gorgeous," he grunted, sucking so hard on your neck that you trembled. You felt your high rolling in record fast and Woojin worked your throbbing pussy only more intensely. His tongue slid over your bundle of nerves and his fingers hit the spots that drove you crazy every time.

"Faster... Woojin please," you begged and the sound of his name spilling from your lips had his cock aching against the fabric of his way too tight boxers, shoulders aching as he hammered his fingers into your pussy even faster, almost hoping you'll break for him.

Gunwoo palmed himself through his shorts by now, as he was more than aware of the sounds of Woojin devouring your pussy and your naked body just stretched out and ready for them.

Your vision was blurry by now, but when you felt Gunwoo's hand in your hair you looked up at him.

"Are you our good girl, princess?" he asked in such a low voice that you could only nod breathlessly. All you could do was cry in gargled whimpers, writhing around as Woojin focused on sucking the life out of you, his hands now on your hips, holding you still.

"Then open your mouth suck my dick, like the little slut you are," he purred, kneeling beside you, pulling down his shorts and holding his massive cock in his hand. A strangled gasp escaped you as Gunwoo put the tip to your lips and spread precum on it. Overwhelmed, your eyelids fluttered as you licked his slit and he tangled one hand in your hair, slowly pushing his length into your mouth. As he nudged your throat, a gag escaped you, making him groan loudly. You braced yourself against his thighs as he began to rut into your mouth. He was so thick that you quickly stopped breathing. In addition, your whole body tensed as your orgasm threatened to wash over you. Desperately, you squinted your eyes as Woojin didn't let up. He noticed how your legs began to tremble around his head and sucked hard on your clit. your whimpers stuttering as he continued to suck, flicking his tongue against it before sucking again. You gripped the pad beneath you, shutting your eyes tight and moaning repeatedly around Gunwoos dick as Woojin devoured you. Gunwoo noticed it too and paused from his slow but deep thrusts into your throat, holding you by the hair, his tip still pressed tightly against your lips as you came whimpering loudly. He studied your expression closely, trapped in the cage of pleasure and pure bliss.

As you slowly came back down from your high, Woojin licked clean everything he had caused and looked up at Gunwoo.

"Fuck you have to taste her! Her pussy is addictive."

Woojin chuckled contently between your thighs, his fingers pulling your folds apart to show Gunwoo the way your juices dribbled out of your leaking hole. He teasingly blew a puff of air over your sopping cunt, enjoying the way you writhed beneath him.

Completely attuned to each other, they changed places while you swam on the edge of reality, unsure if you would ever forget the feeling if pleasure flashing through your veins like lightning. You had never come so hard and that had only been Woojin's finger and mouth.

Gunwoo took a seat between your legs, grabbed a handful of your ass and pulled you closer to the edge until his mouth met your pussy. Directly you saw stars and when his tongue penetrated you, his deep humming filled your body. Somehow you felt Woojin's mouth on your neck, nibbling on your skin, stroking your tits and you were closer to heaven than ever before.

An unintelligible mass of words, curses and their names escaped you as you pushed his face deeper into your cunt with one hand in his hair. His nose bumped against your clit as he licked deeper and deeper into your hole and the knot in your belly tightened burning.

That's when you felt a rougher grip in your hair than Gunwoo had before. When you looked up at Woojin, you already saw that he was holding his cock and palmed himself. It wasn't as thick as Gunwoos length, but longer and even now you didn't know how to survive it.

"Don't leave me out, open up for me baby!" he demanded and pressed his tip against your lips. You saw how you got him worked up and as he tilted his head, taking in the sight of your fucked out facial expression, even though they hadn't really done anything yet, he was sure not only to be satisfied with a blowjob today. He tapped at your lips with his angry red tip, his eyes wide with demand.

You couldn't help but obediently obeying like the good girl you were, you parted your lips for him, taking the tip of his cock with ease. With uneven whines of pleasure, you stuck your tongue out to lick up his length. Slobbering messily, you smeared a mixture of precum and spit all over your chin.

Woojin tangled his fingers into the strands of your hair, guiding your head, watching your lips stretched around his dick as he pushed himself down your throat.

Tears welled up in your eyes and the naughtiest sounds escaped you as he began to snap his hips against your face. Your slurping noises and stifled whimpers only seemed to spur Gunwoo on, as he gripped his hands tighter into the flesh of your thighs and sinked his whole face into your pussy, licking as deep as he could.

Woojin grunts, feeling you swallow around him. He liked the way your eyes clouded with tears, the way you looked at him with such urgency when you needed to breathe.

"I think she's about to cum," Woojin gasped between his deep thrusts into your throat, and Gunwoo hummed in response, continuing to penetrate you with his tongue.

"Gunwoo tongue-fucking you real good, huh?", Woojin pressed out and pushed you all the way onto his cock so that your nose bounced against his lower belly and the world around you blurred. Gunwoo meanwhile withdrawing his tongue from your pussy and spreading your lips to start sucking on your clit again, a scream ripping from your throat from how amazing he was making you feel, as Woojin roughly pulled you back by the hair in time and pulled his dick out of your mouth to look at your face as you crumbled beneath him. Gunwoos mouth and tongue still torturing you. You'd long accepted that you were going to have to just cum for them. It's something they made sure you understood from the beginning. You came not for your own pleasure but because they wanted to see it. Like hungry lions they were just waiting until they pushed you over the edge each time. Your high shook you and your eyes rolled back as Gunwoo obsessively pressed his mouth on your pussy again. Woojin watched with satisfaction as you recovered from your climax, continuing to hold you by the hair so as not to miss any detail of your flushed face.

When you were gradually able to think clearly again, your legs were still shaking and the boxers were looking at you with a gentle smile.

"Holy shit," you sighed, running your hands through your hair and looking Gunwoo in the eye as he climbed back up to you.

"Was that good?" he asked, though he could read the answer on your face and body.

"That was sick," you murmured, and that's when his lips crashed down on yours. You could taste yourself on him, his hands tight on your hips and your head fogged with lust and desire.

"You didn't think that was it, did you?" asked Woojin suddenly, after the boxers had exchanged a meaningful glance. Even if you saw clearly again, your head was still filled with absorbent cotton. Before you could inquire, Woojin grabbed you by the hips and threw you over his shoulder. Grumbling, you drummed on his back as he carried you into the mansion, Gunwoo close behind you.

"Put me down! I can walk myself!"

He didn't even seem to have a little trouble carrying you up the stairs, and when he just laughed throatily, you got all hot.

"Don't act like you don't like being bossed around. You were just fucking begging me to finger you faster," he said and your head glowed with shame and arousal. In truth, you had never experienced anything hotter than being used by the two of them and everything inside you was screaming to finally be fucked.

He carried you to his and Gunwoo's room, threw you on the kingsized bed and climbed between your legs to kiss you. Demandingly, he slid his tongue into your mouth without hesitation, grabbed your hips and rubbed his hard dick through the fabric of his shorts against your thigh.

You sighed softly and your cunt contracted demanding. You wanted to feel him, deep inside you even if his size was already scaring you.

Gunwoo closed the door behind you and sat down on the chair beside the bed, watching you intently. Woojin kissed the red marks he and his best friend had worked into your skin all over your neck and breasts, then looked at you.

"What do you want, princess? Tell us so we can make you feel good. We're here just for you."

His voice was rough with lust and you melted under the gaze of his gemstone eyes. He couldn't get enough of the sight of your soft skin, pleading eyes and legs spread over the bed. He looked at you through half hooded eyes.

"Oh yeah? You're selflessly dragging me into your bed?" you asked cheekily, wandering your fingers down his stomach until you slid them into his waistband. He smelled seductively woody and of honey, which immediately gummed up your mind. Worse than any alcohol.

Woojin grinned crookedly and put a hand around your neck to push you back onto the mattress. You could feel how impatient he was.

"Answer him!" sounded Gunwoo's voice, low and rough, and you shuddered.

It was enough to make you gulp and the heat between your legs pulsate.

"Fuck me. I want my bodyguards to fuck me until I can't walk," you whispered and immediately fire shot into Woojin's eyes. He looked to Gunwoo, whose dick was massive and powerful in his hand.

"You want to start?" he asked him, and you got goosebumps. Gunwoo shook his head and smiled gently:

"You start. I'll take her after you stretched her for me."

Woojin nodded with a dirty grin, looked down at you with an intimidating stare, and flipped you onto your stomach by your hips with lightning speed. With a gasp, you felt him grab your hips, pulling you toward him until you were propped up on your elbows and your ass was sticking up in the air in front of him.

With one hand he pushed your torso into the mattress, with the other he pulled off his boxers. Your body trembled when you felt his tip at your entrance. He covered it with your juices, letting it brush up and down between your folds, and his tip alone would stretch and ache you, you knew for sure. He wasn't as thick as Gunwoo, but he was longer and you'd never had such massive cocks before.

"Look at the little princess..." he said teasingly to Gunwoo as he continued to tease you with his tip at your entrance, rubbing along your clit.

"Ready and desperate for us to fuck her brains out."

He had wanted you like this since he saw you that morning, ass in the air as you did your early morning exercises. But now you were even hotter, pussy messy and dripping and already spread from his fingers. He had an urge to spank you, punish you a bit for being so dirty, for teasing him for so damn long, but his balls are so heavy with cum that he needed to pound into you, like he needed to breath.

"I'm trying not to break you," he growled, and that's when he started to penetrate you. You whimpered softly as he began to push his tip inside you.

Your face was pressed into the mattress and you could only look at Gunwoo, who was watching intently as Woojin sank inch by inch deeper into you. Your body trembled and your walls began to pulse painfully.

He dug his fingers into your hips so you couldn't get away and pushed his length incessantly into your aching hole. Directly your field of vision veiled as inch by inch he seemed to tear your insides apart, regardless of your whimpers and gasps.

You clawed at the bed sheet and just as he disappeared halfway inside you, he paused to sigh softly:

"Holy shit. Your so tight. The best pussy I ever felt..."

You managed to take a quick breath and adjust to his size as a naughty moan was ripped from you as he thrusted completely into you unannounced. Your widened eyes met Gunwoo's as he palmed his hard dick and watched you in overwhelm, moaning softly.

"Oh fuck... Woojin it's too big," you pressed out overwhelmed, between whimpering and gasping. Subdued, you moaned out, clawing your hands into the mattress until his thighs bumped against yours. You felt his balls pressed against your clit and he pulsed deep inside you. Then he leaned over you until his mouth hovered next to your ear. He kissed your shoulders reassuringly and murmured:

"Shh. I know baby girl. Take it like the little whore you are."

Your breath caught as he slid out of you and slammed into you again. This time faster as your arousal was already dripping out of your cunt and as soon as he started thrusting into you, your eyes rolled back.

"Fuck so good," he gasped and Gunwoo started moving his hand up and down his cock, turned on by the way his best friend was destroying you from behind.

Then he started moving his hips steadily, he gripped your hips tightly and after just a few thrusts you thought you were going to burst. Every movement electrified you and soon all you could hear was your moans, the slap of his hips against your ass and his low growl as he took you hard and deep from behind. He could feel the thick veins that ran along the length of his cock rubbing against your walls with every plunge, and knew you could feel them too. Your hands were already slipping against the sheets, searching for some kind of sanity to cling on to as he fucked you senseless. All the while, you watched Gunwoo who couldn't take his eyes off of you, and as you narrowed your eyes at your third orgasm, Woojin grabbed your hands and yanked them out from under you, leaving you fully at his mercy.

"Look at Gunwoo and show him how good I'm fucking you!" he panted, seeming to reach deeper with each thrust. He moved his hips roughly and quickly. By then he was holding your wrists with only one hand, reaching for your face with the other, bending over you and turning your head until your lips collided. He was starving, keeping your face in his iron grip so he could take what he wanted so bad. Your lips were soft but eager, following his movements, trying to keep up. It was sloppy, a clash of tongues and spit smearing across cheeks. But you tasted so good, felt so fucking good bouncing against him. He twisted one of your sensitive buds, thumb and forefinger plucking and pulling as you moaned all breathy and light.

He gasped and clawed his fingers into your hips so hard it hurt, but you were hardly aware of anything except the enormous bliss that mixed with the pain into a pleasant mass.

He filled you up completely, messed up your insides and with every thrust you were more on fire.

The room was filled with slapping skin, the wet sound of your cunt and your sinful noises. You were seeing stars by now and he was just stepping it up a notch, slamming into you like he was trying to win a race.

Your cheek rubbed against the sheets with each time and your mouth was open as his name rolled from your lips like a desperate prayer.

The knot in your stomach tightened firmly and you could see Gunwoo's heated gaze as he watched closely as Woojin's cock disappeared into your tight hole and penetrated it.

Your back ached and Woojin was sure he had never seen anything more beautiful than your cockdrunk face, your body bent just for him and your ass slapping steadily against his hips.

"How does she feel?" asked Gunwoo, sliding his hand along his dick, edging himself.

"Incredible. So wet... So tight. Fuck she's crushing me," he gasped between thrusts, letting his hips snap deep inside you several times, hitting the sensitive spot each time, sending you into a different atmosphere.

With your hands behind your back and Woojins cock squeezed at your tense walls, he snapped his hips hard against yours a few more times before his movement became chaotic and sloppy.

By now your arousal was flowing down your thighs and had he not held you upright by your arms, you would have simply collapsed while the orgasm almost overtook you like an avalanche. The world was enveloped in a glistening white light and Woojin pushed you over the edge as you moaned his name so sinfully that he would probably never forget it. He felt your walls tighten around him and your body spasmed.

"It's okay baby girl! Come around my cock! Let me fill you up," he moaned and that's when the knot in your belly snapped into white glowing hot pleasure. You screamed, your next orgasm explosive your eyes rolling so hard it hurt, your entire body shivering as you tried to handle the pleasure.

Your orgasm made your entire body tremble and the expression on your face, pressed against the bed sheet, your eyebrows drawn together accusingly and your features contorted with desire, that's when Woojin came too.

With a loud grunt he came deep inside you, but he didn't stop, not even as thick ropes of hot cum filled your already gushing pussy and spurting out onto his stomach, onto your thighs. He was unrelenting, keeping you both within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. His hot cum mixed with your juices and spilled out of your cunt as soon as he pulled out. The sight made Gunwoo clench his teeth. Sweat stood on Woojin's forehead and he looked at what he did with satisfaction.

Taken completely by surprise, you stayed flat on the bed, trying to calm your breathing, but the orgasm left you drained and shaking, your eyelids fluttering and your fucked out face. It was a glorious view and he gently turned you over onto your back, brushed your hair out of your face and kissed your lips with so much affection that you felt quite comfortable.

"Are you all right?" he asked, kissing your neck, stroking your sides and calming you.

You nodded weakly and gradually you came back to reality. Gunwoo stood beside the bed, his throbbing cock heavy in his hand, and your body immediately responded by letting the arousal run between your legs again.

"Do you think you can really take both of us?" he asked challengingly and the mocking grin on his lips, made the pride and lust return.

"Of course..." you said, and Woojin tilted his head a little, his eyes shining energetically, and he grazed your neck with his lips.

"So you want Gunwoo to fuck you too?"

Quickly you nodded and looked at Gunwoo, who looked impatient.

"Such a good girl...", Woojin purred and stepped back to make room for Gunwoo, who was lunging over you as he did at noon today, spreading almost innocent kisses along your jaw. You felt his tip at your entrance and your body responded without you being able to do anything about it.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and there he pressed his tip into your aching hole. "Fuck, I guess we're wrecking her tonight?", Gunwoo chuckled , biting his lip at the sight of your pussy spread so wide open for him.

As he stretched you open, the initial thrust inside is slow and sharp. He smelled pleasantly sweet of fresh strawberries and cinnamon, which immediately got you hooked. He was big, shifting his hips slowly for you to take it all in. He intercepted your moans with kisses until you were moaning into his mouth, fingers clutched tightly in his back and barely able to perceive the world around you anymore. He moved his hips fluidly, almost artistically, finding the sensitive spots that made you fly every time. There he worked it down your body again. His eager, hot mouth enveloping one of your nipples and sucking. His tongue flattens, nibbling on your heated skin and swirling around your nipples, fast and rough until you were whining, your cries came with every thrust. You were the perfect picture, everything even more incredible than either of them had ever tried to visualize. He felt unlike anyone you had ever been with. Beside his kind nature there was a sadistic edge to his slowness, dragging each stroke as if he wanted to slide over every nerve in the tight depth of your cunt. Your body was out of your control by now, the coil in your belly so tense that you feared fainting with the next orgasm, while your brain was just mush.

"Gunwoo, you're gonna fucking break me!", you sighed and moving your hips against his, without a chance of resistance.

His muscles under your skin felt warm and protective. You sucked him right in, all tight and warm, gummy walls spreading to fit snugly around him. Your moan was swallowed down his throat as he pressed his mouth to yours again, brutal and quick. But somehow sweet and intense.

"Don't act all surprised, you wanted this. You were the one driving us crazy all along," Woojin said from his place on the chair where he watched you two fucking tightly entwined.

He was right. You wanted this, but you never thought that both of them were so good in bed and fucked your mind out with ease. Gunwoo smiled and his breath bounced against your lips as he held your hips as your body's were completely melted into each other. He lifted your hips a little with both hands to sink even deeper. Directly your eyes rolled back and only incoherent sounds passed your lips anymore. Enchanted by your beauty, the warmth of your cunt and your body that he never wanted to let go of, he pressed his lips hard on yours again as he felt your body trembling beneath him and your fingernails digging deeper into his back.

You gasped into his mouth, unconsciously raising your leg up to wrap around his waist tighter as he supported you with his arm, your fingernails clawing at his shoulders as you felt yourself reach your climax, the coil in your tummy snapping.

"Fuck she's crushing me," he moaned, coming deep inside you moments later. Overwhelmed, your breath went rattling and you tried to gasp, clutching tightly. You didn't know if minutes or hours had passed as Gunwoo rolled off you and stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily. You could not yet comprehend what had just happened. Only when Woojin slipped into bed next to you and pulled you in by the waist until your back was pressed tightly against his chest did your pulse gradually calm down. It was pitch dark outside and their bed seemed more comfortable than your own right now. Gunwoo moved close to you so that you could lay your head on his chest and feel his heartbeat with your hand. So you fell asleep tightly embraced, exhausted and overwhelmed. You felt safe and secure. A Feeling that you had been missing for a very long time and that was all the more beautiful now that you perceived it again.

You fell into a dreamless deep sleep and when you opened your eyes the next morning, it took you an eternity to realize that the ringing noise did not come from you imagination. Sighing, you felt Woojin's arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and Gunwoo was also still fast asleep, one hand on your hip.

The events of last night were burned into your memories like brands and you would probably feel the traces of that night for days to come. But then the front doorbell rang again and finally even the boxers slowly woke up grumbling.

You managed to free yourself from Woojin's grasp and push Gunwoo's massive arm aside to slip out of bed. Quickly grabbing your robe from your room, you sleepily hurried down the stairs as the doorbell continued to ring.

"Yes, yes! I'm coming!" you called out, and when you saw your sister on the display outside the door, you breathed a sigh of relief.

As soon as you opened the door, she was already rushing in.

"You're not awake yet?" she asked incredulously, heading straight for the kitchen to make herself some coffee.

In fact, it was unusual for you not to be up at this hour. You were an early riser, always full of energy. But after last night, you were glad to be able to walk upright. Hyun-Ju turned to you and leaned against the kitchen counter. She looked around the apartment in wonder.

"Where are your bodyguards?" she asked curiously, and you automatically pulled your robe tighter around your body.

"They're still asleep."

Suspiciously, she looked at you properly for the first time. There from second to second the questioning look turned to recognition then to disbelief.

"What's that on your neck?" she snapped, and you jerked back a step as she tried to touch a spot the boxers left on your neck with her finger.

"Nothing!" it escaped you too panicked, too quickly. She furrowed her eyebrows and grabbed your robe, pulling it down a bit. Her eyes went wide and her mouth was open in bewilderment.

"Holy shit!"

Directly you slapped her hand away and took her now full coffee cup to drink it yourself.

"Which one did you lure into your bed?" she asked directly and you tried to hide your grin by taking a big gulp from the coffee mug.

Because you couldn't answer without grinning like an idiot, she scrunched her nos in disbelief.

Slowly she began to realize it. She could always read your thoughts on your face.

"Don't tell me you have...", but she didn't get any further, because now Gunwoo and Woojin also came strolling down the stairs. Their hair messed up, yawning and Gunwoo wearing sweatpants while Woojin was only in his boxershorts. When they saw you they greeted curtly and Hyun-Ju could almost grab the smell of sex in the air as they smiled amusedly at you as you passed.

"Good morning Hyun-Ju. Boss," Woojin said, and Gunwoo pressed his lips together to avoid looking too guilty. But Woojin's satisfied look in your direction was enough to prove what was obvious anyway. The hickeys on your neck, your hair all messed up and the tiredness on your faces was proof enough. She even got a good view of the scratches all over Gunwoos back, as he walked out of the door.

As they sat down with their coffee outside, your sister whirled back around to face you.

"Both of them? All at once?" she hissed and you laughed softly.

"You're unbelievable..." she exhaled heavily, shaking her head. The two of you looked out onto the terrace where the two boxers were chatting, offering a picture like something out of an erotic novel. Upper bodies exposed, muscles glistening in the sun and hair a mess from sleep.

"For not wanting them, you like your bodyguards quite a bit now, don't you? I must admit they are quite pretty toys" sighed Hyun-Ju, and you cleared your throat with rosy cheeks.

"Maybe. Just don't tell Grandpa... Otherwise, he'll take them away from me."

When your eyes met, you grinned like an idiot and you two couldn't help but snorting with laughter at that.

Taglist:

@be0mluver @lola2004sworld @ilyilykaeya @badwicht @marked-unknown @peachy-aisha @etherealcherrie @mel-onthemoon @heisoemi

[slasherscream]

A/N: shout-out to @abominableghostface, who was my beta reader and co-conspirator as usual.

CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + WHAT TYPE OF "LEAVING IN THE MORNING" PERSON ARE THEY

❥ we ride at dawn. try and survive ❥

Billy Loomis - The man with the plan. When he says morning he means we are going to be in the car and on the road by the time the sun rays begin to hit the earth. Granted, it's not a hectic morning by any means. He'll have made sure the two of you started packing days in advance. There’s no last minute rushing around. No wondering if you packed a toothbrush, or your favorite jacket. You double checked everything the night before, and then checked behind one another to make sure. But no matter how peaceful the waking, being dragged to your car at 4:30am will make you want to kill him. He passes you your favorite blanket that he threw in the dryer last minute, a cozy protection against the dewy chill of the night turning to morning. When he tells you to sleep until he finds somewhere decent to eat you hate him a little less.

Jordan Li - By nature Jordan is more of a night owl. Through pure necessity they’ve molded themself into something resembling a morning person. Sure, the way they don’t start smiling before 10am shows you it’s not at all a natural state of being, but they do it anyways. 

So used to starting the monotonous, average days bright and early they’re definitely not going to want to start a vacation late. They wake up to the sound of their alarm. They wake you up to soft kisses pressed into your skin. When you open your eyes, scowling at them anyways, they can’t help but laugh, “Yeah I know, I know, fuck off. But we gotta head out before traffic hits.” 

Knowing how you are in the mornings Jordan packed the car last night. When you roll over, intent on ignoring them they roll their eyes and shift, so that he can drag you from bed no matter how hard you try and make yourself dead weight. 

You’re still half asleep, leaned up against him beneath the spray of the shower, but wake up when he flicks water at your face.

“Fuck off.” You grumble. 

“Once we’re on the road I’ll fuck off for at least an hour. Then we’ll grab breakfast, yeah?” He pushes a loofah in your hand and grins once you take it. They shift again, nudging you out the way with her hip so you’re sharing the water instead of hogging it, “Wash my back so we can head out.” 

When they wake you up outside a diner two hours later instead of one you’re feeling much more agreeable, pulling them in for a kiss when they open your car door.

Sebastian Valmont - A chronic riser with the sun. It doesn’t matter what time he goes to sleep, he is going to wake up right as the sun rises. He has black out curtains and takes morning yoga classes. The bastard. His body simply enjoys being awake at six am. Thus, he sees absolutely no reason why leaving for your trip should come hours after that. He’s going to be the one driving anyways. The maids packed all your things, and the butler brought everything out to the car. All that’s left is to get you out of the house. Sebastian helps you put on your clothes, laughs at the way he has to push your arms into your shirt, and drag you to brush your teeth. When he tucks you into the passenger seat he knows you’ll be asleep again by the time he slides into the driver’s seat. He sneaks glances at you for the first few hours of the drive, quietly listening to music and the soft sound of your snoring, enjoying every second.

Stu Macher - Ball of energy that he is, Stu is awake bright and early, and does not need time to “wake up.” He unfortunately acts like this is a universal experience. The fact that he’s excited about the trip makes his typical lack of empathy towards night owls even more brutal than usual. You’re unceremoniously dragged from bed. He tickles you as you brush your teeth. If you seem a little extra groggy that morning he hops in the shower with you and turns it on cold to get your motor running. He acts completely baffled about why you’re still scowling by the time he’s back from his banishment of loading up the car while you try to dress yourself in peace. To make matters worse he wants to talk about anything and everything with you despite the fact that the sky is still that sleepy shade of blue that’s half night, half dawn. You stare at him hatefully from the corner of your eye, grunting answers at him until you pass a diner that’s open and you can get caffeine into your system. His excitement for the trip is cute once you’re awake.

Kevin Khatchadourian - Rises with the sun and is deeply irritated that you don’t. On a regular day he rarely let’s you sleep in. You’ll be lucky if he chooses to start his daily routine without you. On the mornings when he decides to practice archery, which is most, you’ll get an extra hour and a half. By the time he’s coming back inside he wants you both moving around one another, starting the rest of the routine. Brushing teeth, making food, the idle chatter of your voice. Considering he’s not fond of changing your routine, which is exactly what a vacation is, he doesn’t want to hear a single complaint about the hour he wakes you up to start the drive. He also doesn’t let you fall asleep when you get into the car, even though he’s the only one driving. You’re keeping him company no matter how tired you are.

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - While he maintains a strict schedule of waking up early unless hungover he is by no means a morning person. He’ll wake you up as gently as he’s capable of if the shrillness of the alarm didn’t do the trick, rocking you by the shoulder until your eyes blink open. The two of you packed the car last night so there wouldn’t be anything to do or communicate with one another upon first waking up. Two non-morning people trying to talk to each other upon first waking up was a recipe for disaster. Especially if it was the pair of you. Quietly you go about your morning. Brushing your teeth side by side, bumping against each other every now and then instead of speaking. Ben grabs the green smoothies that he made for the two of you the night before, something to tide you over until you found a place he was willing to eat at (which was always an unnecessarily complicated task.) It’s thirty minutes of driving and radio playing softly before you’re caught in a bit of traffic and you’re awake enough to be sweet. You lean across the cupholder to kiss his cheek and he gives you a small smile,  “Morning, L/N.” The two of you are experts at sharing your mornings by now.

❥ we leave sometime before noon ❥

Jason Dean/JD - Will never wake you up before he thinks you’ve gotten all the rest you need. His favorite hobby is turning off your morning alarms if he thinks you set them unreasonably early in comparison to when you fell asleep. He’s certainly not going to break that pattern for the start of a vacation, when you should be resting. You’ll wake whenever you naturally wake up, JD still wrapped around you. You’ll shower, drink some coffee, do one last check of the luggage and then he’ll haul everything out to the car for you, no matter how much you both packed. He likes you to not lift a finger during your trips and it starts before you ever leave the house. It certainly puts you into a vacation mindset.

David Mccall - David himself is an early riser but likes to let you sleep in whenever he can. The start of a vacation is certainly one of those times. He spends the hours before you wake taking care of last minute things. He checks all the bags again, makes sure everything you could possibly need is packed, then loads up the car. He makes sure the house is clean so there’s no mess to come back to that you’ll stress yourself out over. Closer to the time he knows you’ll get up he starts making breakfast for you. He’s so focused on the task he jumps when your arms loop around his waist and you start to press grateful sleepy kisses to his back. You’ll be on the road in an hour or two, he’s in no rush. He wants you relaxed and enjoying yourself every step of the way.

Josh Washington - Due to his insomnia he is not falling asleep any earlier than one am most nights. To ask him to get up at dawn would be like killing a puppy. You both sleep in, wake up sometime just before noon. You like to be realistic about your expectations for yourselves, so there’s no rush. A late start was factored into the plans from the beginning. You packed everything into the car the night before, so all there’s left to do is hop in. You wake yourselves up with some music to start. Barely twenty minutes on the road you see a cute diner and stop for late breakfast. You smile at each other as the afternoon sun shines on both your faces, sleepily discussing what you’re most excited about doing when you arrive at your destination.

❥ secret third worse thing ❥

Nathan Prescott - Nathan likes your journeys to begin in the dead of night. Whether it’s heading to the airport or hopping in the car to start a long drive, a 9pm start time is the sweet spot for him. He doesn’t like waking up early to start trips in the morning. Nor does he like being stuck in the claustrophobic traffic of other human bodies or cars during the afternoon. You’ll be dead tired by the time you get wherever you’re going but having a good beginning to vacations is important. Especially for Nathan. When you start at night his anxiety tends to be lower for the whole trip. The things we do for love.

[lethalchiralium]

Drag Me Under | Happiness Series

a/n: ITS THE LAST POST BEFORE THE NEW YEARS!

warnings: mentions of drugging

summary: One moment, you’re home - the next? You’re somewhere you don’t recognize with people you don’t recognize either, holding one of your most precious valuables.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

There’s Simon, the cuddly man who adores being a girl dad and being a good husband. He’s quiet, he smiles, he loves holding either of his daughters for long periods of time - you’d be surprised if Mellie even learns to walk. He loves to kiss your head, loves to hold you, loves to be near you.

He plays dolls, he does tea parties, begrudgingly dresses up when asked by Winnie, but he still does it all with a smile on his face. He brushes little teeth in the morning and night, he changes diapers before you could ever try to, he hates tying his daughter’s shoes since she cries about leaving home and her toys. He kisses skinned knees, fingers bitten by Mellie, and stubbed toes.

That’s your Simon.

So when you come home crying from what was supposed to be a “day off” to go shopping and a spa day, Simon is there. He took one look at you when you came in the front door, four hours too early, he knew something was wrong. He put the baby in her bouncer, gently patted Winnie’s head, and made his way to you.

His hands touched your elbows, your hands were up shielding your face. His hands slid up, pulling yours away to look at your tear-stained face. You told him what happened, that a man harassed you at the coffee shop you went to right before you were meant to go to the spa. You quietly repeated what he said through tears and soft sobs, not wanting to describe how the man touched your back, but still detailing how he followed you - how you remembered what Simon said, wove through back streets until you found a tram and made your way home.

It’s not the first time you’ve been harassed, but it was one of the scariest. You wrapped around arms around your husband’s neck, expecting him to mold right to your body but he didn’t. His hands settled on your cheek and hip, a chaste kiss on your ear before he said he needed to go out for a pack of cigarettes.

It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later that you found a fresh pack on the kitchen counter, just out of reach of the girls. His wallet, his keys, both on the tile far out of reach - two things were missing from his “pile”. His knife, which has your first date with Simon etched on the side, and a balaclava with a skull painted onto its face.

The man who left your house wasn’t Simon, you knew that for sure when hours after you had put the girls to bed, there was a soft knock on the front door. Three, pause, one, pause, two. The man you opened the door to had bloody knuckles, a ripped shirt, and prideful eyes.

You moved aside, closing the front door and watching the anomaly as it observed you, brown eyes detailing your face. The man who stood in your front hallway, coated in blood on his stomach and arms was called Ghost.

You were always weary of Ghost. Simon disappears under his armor to be someone else, something else - a machine. Well oiled, maintained, and reliable. No feelings, they only get in the way. Ghost was the monster your husband was made to be, but Simon was the man you made into a husband. So when you pulled off the balaclava to a smile full of red, blood beginning to drip from his teeth - your heart sank. Like a dog, he shows you his injuries so you can take pride in them. But you don’t.

“What did you do?”

“I-“

“No.” You shook like a leaf, you weren’t scared that he was going to hurt you - you were scared he had killed someone. For you. “Why did you do that?”

“He touched you.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “I didn’t tell you that.”

“Your body did.”

You fought tears then.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“What did you do to him?”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that you were scared. And it doesn’t take much to see how the armor began to be broken, that Simon was slowly peeking through.

“I didn’t kill him.” He said, hand gently resting on your arm. “He’ll be spending a couple days in hospital, he learned his lesson.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.” He nodded in acknowledgment. “But no one gets away with making you cry.”

•••

“She’s pretty.”

A cold hand touched your chin, you could barely move a muscle in your body. Your chest clenched with anxiety. Where were you? Who was talking? It sounded nothing like König’s Austrian accent, or anyone else you knew. Not any of the 141, no man you’ve ever heard.

“Did you get that baby to sleep?”

You felt sick at that exact second. Where was Mellie? Why couldn’t you open your eyes? You were holding her before… Oh god. Someone had gotten into the house, you were dragged out with Mellie - right past a bleeding out König. Nausea settled into your stomach like heavy ink, coating everything.

“Out like a light. Nothing a little morphine doesn’t fix.”

You could’ve thrown up at that second if it wasn’t for your body responding to any attempt to move, the air you took in to breathe was little. What did they give me? Why did they take Mellie? Is Winnie okay? Oh god, König. Laswell. Roach. Please have my daughter. Please save this one too.

“Boss said to leave them down here, right?”

“Yep. She should be waking up soon anyway.” There a slight chuckle. “Shame he won’t let us have our way like he usually does.”

“Apparently this one’s special, or whatever.”

“Sure. She’s married to a special forces operator. Boss knows which one, hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“The guy MI6?”

There’s a creak, a door slamming above you.

“Shit, he’s back already.”

“Let’s go. They’re fine.”

Creaking, more movement until a door opened, slammed shut, and there was a sharp metal thud - it sounded like a deadbolt. You could barely feel your fingers as you listened to the conversation upstairs, it seemed the floor was incredibly thin.

“Are they asleep?”

Lloyd.

Your thoughts were instantly engulfed in flames even though you were freezing cold; the ink turned to oil, your nausea turning into anger. Lloyd fucking Riley. Your father in law was behind this. Then it clicked. He was casing the house when he knocked. Laswell appearing must have thrown him off. He must have wanted to kidnap you himself.

It took all of your might, but your eyes sluggishly opened - your sight blurry, but you could see for the most part. The room you were in was dark, the only light seeping through was from the ceiling - in between rotting floorboards. You could see exactly where the men were standing; all right above you. You couldn’t tell feel much else, but at least you could see and hear. What did they drug you with? Hopefully the morphine they gave Mellie wasn’t enough to hurt her.

“Good.” A laugh. “She’s a darling little thing.”

“What, the baby?”

“Yes. And she’s beautiful too.”

“She is. Not sure why you’re not letting us-“

A step forward, four feet take a step back. “Touch her and I’ll slit your throats.” Silence for just a beat, boot snapped against a shin. “She is my plaything.” He then snapped in Russian, which you couldn’t understand a thing.

You tried not to be an angry person. You were committed to showing your girls that anger isn’t the answer. But it festered like a fever, slowly yet throughly seeping through your muscles. If anything happened to your daughter, you had no idea what you would do. Anything short of murder - you couldn’t even think of taking someone else’s life. That was Simon’s job.

Simon. Oh God, Simon.

There was hushed talking above you, you struggled to look around the room, trying to find your baby. Cardboard boxes, filled to the brim bins, a bookshelf with a broken shelf.

Find what you can use as a weapon. Nothing is off limits. If it can be used to stun or incapacitate your enemy, use it. Don’t let it go unless you have to. You could hear Simon speaking to you. He’d be here if he knew. You’d be out of here if he knew.

It’s okay. Stay calm. Find Melody.

You forced your legs to move, one by one and over the edge of the bed, you clenched your fists as best you could to gain more feeling in your arms. They definitely drugged you more intensely than they could have Mellie, it made you nauseous. You were able to sit up, your head spun and you fought to keep yourself from throwing up. You forced yourself to stand, you took a glance around. The closest things to you were a cardboard box, a broken laundry basket, and a ripped towel. You peered into the large cardboard box pushed against the wall and your shoulders dropped, anxiety flushed out of your chest as you instantly reached down to your sleeping daughter. “Oh Mellie baby.” Your weak arms scooped your sleeping baby, you kept her firmly against your chest as you moved back to the bed. You checked her over, making note that she wasn’t hurt - only a needle mark in her arm. It made you sick.

You kept her there in your arms for an hour, listening to hushed voices with fear in your heart. She barely woke up, forehead still warm - her fever having not broken yet. She was clammy. You were more terrified of your baby dying than you could ever be of the situation you were in.

You put Mellie on your bed for a few minutes after the first hour of being awake so you could scavenge the room for something, anything that they may have brought for you or Mellie. All you found was one of your old diaper bags with a handful of diapers, one bottle, half a bag of wipes and no medicine. You dumped it out into the raggedy quilt on the bed, pulling out all of the pockets with tears of worry in your eyes. You had nothing for her. You put what you had away, then returned to your spot - Mellie in your arms as she quietly slept.

The footsteps grew louder after a few minutes, then a door was opened - it sounded like the one at the top of the stairs. You held your baby even closer to your chest, pulling your legs up and trying to make her seem invisible. You watched as the figure you dreaded appeared - a distinctly harsher looking Lloyd Riley. He had cleaned himself up to case your house, now he was dressed in thick flannels, dark pants, and tattered boots. Clearly bundled up to fight the cold while you were left in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, your daughter in a thin onesie.

He reached the bottom of the steps, a sick smirk tugged at his lips before he spoke. “You lied to me.”

You didn’t say a word.

“You are married to my son. You’re my daughter-in-law.” He smiled. “You’re a Riley.”

Your baby moved her arm, you didn’t look down.

“That baby of yours looks so much like my Tommy when he was that small. Can I hold her?”

“No.”

“She speaks.”

“I need medicine.”

Lloyd’s arms crossed, you felt your chest grow tight with fear. “What for?”

“My baby is sick.” Your voice was quieter than before, anxiety settled in heavy increments in your body. “I almost broke the fever but then you fucking took us from our home.”

Lloyd took a step back, nodding slightly. “Fine. That’s the only thing you get to ask for.”

“I don’t care if I don’t get to ask for anything else. She needs medicine.”

He doesn’t say a thing, only turning and walking back up the steps. You heard the door slam, the deadbolt click, and the creaking footsteps. You would’ve used your energy to keep listening to him, but your daughter began to stir in your arms. You looked down at her, silent tears ran down your face.

Simon, please hurry.

•••

“Hey darling, you didn’t answer my calls yesterday or today. I know I’m probably reading too much into it and being paranoid, I’m just worried.

“I um- I’ll be going dark for a few days, and I’d like to hear your voice before then. So call me back when you can, yeah?

“I love you. Kiss the girls for me.”

Simon ended the voicemail, pulling the phone from his ear before slipping it into his pocket. The cigarette between his fingers felt heavy as he pulled it up to his lips, taking a long drag before flicking it onto the ground. He ground the cigarette butt into the tarmac before he pulled his balaclava back down, his hands gripped the rifle attached to his front.

He normally would keep his phone in his locker, but now he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He walked towards the overhang, where Soap stood with a concerned look.

“No answer?”

Simon fished the phone out from his pocket, handing it to his sergeant. “No. She’s busy with the baby.” His friend gave him a look, one Simon knew wouldn’t go away until he investigated further. But Simon was confident in the security of three operators in his home. “She’s fine. Laswell would call me and tell me if she wasn’t.”

“I gotta bad feelin’, LT.”

“Your bad feelings have been wrong before.” He stared at Soap, annoyed. He wasn’t more anxious than he already was about leaving them, why is everyone making such a big deal about it? “Soap-“

“Hurry up, Soap, put that phone in your locker.” Price barked as he marched in between Simon and the sergeant, Soap gave him one last look before disappearing back into the barracks. Price was quickly followed by Gaz, who waved for Simon to follow as well.

“Shit.” He muttered, knowing he was late. “What happened?”

“Spotted one of the goons near Piccadilly Circus.” Gaz answered, Simon began to jog towards them. “Overwatch thinks they have eyes on their hideout.”

“Let’s go get ‘em, then.”

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Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[del-stars]

mom, i'm tired, can i sleep at your house tonight? mom, is it alright if i stay for a year or two? mom, i'll be quiet, it would be just to sleep at night.

sirius is walburga's favorite child. when he is born, he is her favorite thing in the entire world. walburga holds the heir to the house of black, just hours old, who almost killed her as he tore his way out of her, and thinks mine, mine, mine. she spoils him with affection, never lets anyone hold him besides her. sirius is the one thing she has done right: she has made a son, and he is hers. she loves to dress him, loves to rock him to sleep, loves even to hear him cry because this thing needs her. she is needed. she is necessary. unconditionally, she is loved.

toddler sirius is obsessed with his mother-- hides in her skirts, screams every time she leaves the room. walburga absolutely revels in this attention. nothing has ever loved her this much before. he does whatever she wants, goes wherever she says, wears whatever she puts on him. he is infatuated with her, she can do no wrong in her eyes, and she wants him to stay this way. she cries at the signs of his aging: his growing hair, the teeth poking through his gums, the way he starts to waddle around the house. he can't grow. he can't change. walburga wants him to be small forever.

she hits him for the first time when he's four. because sirius has always done what he is told, he has always obeyed his mother, and then all of the sudden he's having fits and doesn't want to be touched. walburga doesn't understand, can't comprehend that he wasn't always going to be her little doll. for so long, he has still been a piece of her, and now he's developing his own mind and personality. he is becoming his own little person, and walburga feels herself fill with rage at the thought of that, because he is hers. he is a block of hardening clay, and walburga wants to be able to keep molding him forever.

and sirius tries. tries to make his mother happy, tries to play the part of a doll. he doesn't understand why his mother doesn't want to hold him anymore, why she looks at him with such abhorrence, sometimes. he wants to stop, knows that it's his fault she's acting this way, but he doesn't know how to. he doesn't know what he's doing wrong. he doesn't know what about himself to change.

and then sirius is sorted into gryffindor, and that's-- well, it's not right. it is not what he is supposed to have done. sirius, eleven and away from his mother for the first time, cries. he goes to dumbledore every day, begs to be put into slytherin. there's been a mistake. this isn't right. he listens to every howler he gets from his mother and wishes he could figure out what is wrong with him, so that he can fix it. he wants his mother to be happy. he wants to be loved again. much too late, he wants to be a piece of her again.

too late, because walburga begins to resent him, once he's sorted, once she realises he is an independent person that she is no longer able to control. he won't do everything she says, he will find people he loves more than her, he won't spend every waking moment with her. he's supposed to hate school, and yet he comes home babbling about how much fun he's had. sirius, who she made, who she nurtured, who is hers, enjoys his time away from his mother. walburga can tell, can see it in his eyes that he's done things she would disapprove of. sirius spends that entire summer after first year trying to be perfect, trying to win her affections back, but it is never enough.

sirius tries, and tries, and tries, and then he gives up. somewhere between his three missing fingernails and two broken ribs, he stops trying. his mother hates him, and he still doesn't quite know why. he really, really wishes this resignation makes it easier to leave. it doesn't. sirius packs his bags and lets them wait under his bed for several months. there are still days when he wants his mother.

they blame her, after he leaves. walburga black, who raised a rotten boy, who was never tough enough on him, who should have done better. they will never know how hard she tried, how desperately she tried to force him to change, how hard she cried when he left. even after he's gone, he is hers, hers, hers: her greatest love, her biggest failure.

[ginnysgraffiti]

blood, violence, cannibalism, stalking.

&. LEE x yn.

"LEE, WE ALREADY TALKED ABOUT THIS!" you yelled at the top of your lungs, pissed off as blood dripped from his mouth and his hand shook from anger on the steering wheel.

"I KNOW, BUT I WAS HUNGRY! NO ONE WILL NOTICE, WHY ARE YOU WORRYING SO MUCH ALL OF A SUDDEN?!"

"HE HAD A FAMILY! HIS HOUSE IS OVER THERE, HIS FAMILY WILL SEE THE CAR SOON!"

"I ALREADY TOLD YOU I CLEANED IT!"

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT-"

you couldn't stand him anymore.

you weren't an eater but his needs and urges were now everyday things for you, and you were sick of fearing that you'd end up behind bars every single time.

lee's bloody hand was still maneuvering the steering wheel when you opened the door and jumped out. you were in the middle of the countryside, but the streetlights still allowed you a view.

"hey- what are you-" he complained.

"leave, go away and leave me here, i'm tired of you!"

lee's eyes pierced your skin like cold needles, and for a moment you thought he was going to jump on you or run you over.

finally he left you there, and you heard the engine go wild as he drove away in the stolen pickup.

now there was only you and nature, if things were bad you would have asked for a ride to your house.

you walked under the dim light and the buzz of the street lamps, there were two or three houses lit up even though it was late in the evening. you didn't bother knocking, you wanted to stretch your legs for a bit.

you could still smell the acrid smell of lee's vehicle in your nostrils when you noticed that a still figure had been contemplating you for quite some time while your mind was elsewhere.

you approached carefully, but you stopped when you noticed some wrinkles illuminated by the street lamp.

you got a little closer, albeit at a safe distance, and recognized the strange man who had been chasing you around supermarkets or inhabited neighborhoods for weeks.

it was creepy, really, but you didn't tell lee.

you didn't want him to worry about something so small.

but maybe, just maybe, it was better if you did.

now you were the one staring at him, and you stared at his strange gray braid falling over his shoulders and his strange scout or fisherman uniform.

"long time no see, mademoiselle."

a smile moved his wrinkles, and you held back a retch.

"who are you...? why have you been following me?"

"haha, you're smart. it's that old sully just wanted to make friends. he feels so alone..."

why does he talk about himself as another person?

that guy needed to be taken to the mental hospital.

"i can give you a lift, you know. i saw that you and your lovebird argued, what a shame..."

"how long have you been stalking me?"

"no, don't treat old sully badly. i'm just protecting you, that's all."

now there were two options: run away...or run away.

you took a step back and felt the gravel slide against your sole, the old man raised a thick eyebrow and in an instant he was on you.

the view was foggy and the world spun around you like a top when your feet left the ground. the next moment he slammed the back of your head against the wall and the dull thud echoed in your head.

he had already restrained your wrists, and if you kicked or screamed it would be worse. he took his time to smell and imprint your scent into his nostrils, you closed your eyes until it hurt.

you understood.

you could already feel his sharp canines imprinting on the cool flesh of your neck and it made you sweat terribly.

a strong smell of mold and musk trapped you whole.

you tightened your fingers around the fabric of his uniform until you could see your hands shaking, but suddenly his teeth moved away and fell with him.

"DIE, BASTARD!!!"

lee was behind him with an iron pipe, the old man was reduced to a puddle of blood in front of your feet. you avoided touching it as if it was lava.

your boyfriend was still as dirty as before, shirtless and looking like a butcher, but now he was scratching his head with a strong itch and you held back a laugh.

"am i too late? did he hurt you?"

his eyes traveled over you frantically, as if to see if you were still in one piece.

"don't worry...i'm o-"

"i'm so fucking sorry about our argument...i should have listened and been more careful, sorry, i-..." his voice caught in his throat.

"shhh...i'm glad you're here."

your lips rested on his, you could feel the blood from his previous hunt running down your throat with a strong iron taste.

he didn't notice and pushed you against the wall, seeking your lips as his lifeline.

his fingers were quickly stroking your hair, now your shoulders and following your hips.

"i love you, i love you, i love you..."

the words slipped out of his mouth like his most precious mantra. you were so glad he had saved you...

luckily, his cannibal sixth sense never failed.

[lostintransist]

Liaison - Chapter 2 - Da’ Fuck is a Roadman

The worst part about your job had to be the commute. The trip to the office each day took nearly an hour. Between the two trains, one bus, and a half-mile walk any energy you might have had been used up. You did not mention to anyone on the team where you lived and that you refused to buy a car. Mostly you were sure that your years of driving on the right side of the road and turning on red lights would lead to you killing someone in a vehicular collision and would rather avoid that.

The old building you shared with three other tenets creaked every time the wind blew and your small studio in the basement required two dehumidifiers to keep mold from overtaking the space. The jaw-cracking yawn overtook you as you stepped off the bus. You make it as far as the front door before the exhaustion becomes too much. You manage to brush your teeth, rip off your bra, and toss on an overlarge shirt you stole from an ex before sleep steals you away.

The weekend slips by too quickly for your liking. You can see the emails piling up in the inbox of your work email, anything truly urgent would CC Kate who worked nonstop. You stop into a cafe on your way home from the weekend market, happy to start to recognize the barista behind the counter. Sunday afternoons you did your shopping for the week and rewarded yourself with a scone and a warm latte. The day is capped off with a video call with a friend in Maryland and by eight you are asleep.

You wake early, 4 AM the alarm goes off to make it to the office for your 6:15 call. You dress simply in jeans, rain boots, and a long-sleeved green shirt. Starting on the walk for the bus you clock the young man posted up at the edge of an alley. You keep an eye on him but don’t change course as you continue closer to where he stands.

When you get within ten feet of him he jumps out and mumbles some words at you.

Tilting your head at him you try and process the sounds you heard.

“Wanna run that by me again kid?”

He mumbles the same words, louder and makes a vaguely threatening gesture.

“Yeah, I got nothing. Good luck with whatever you need,” you step into the road to continue past him.

Mumbler jumps in front of you, shouting now.

“I’m trying to rob ya you stupid American!”

“Why didn’t you say that back there?” Hooking a thumb over your shoulder to point to where this interaction started. “Also you don’t have a gun, do you even have a knife?”

As he starts to sputter the youth in his face is evident.

“Okay, so how does this shtick work?” gesturing to all of him, you continued. “Do you just walk up to people and demand their wallets or what?”

“Yeah, give me all your money!”

Mentioning wallets seemed to re-energize him.

“No thank you,” you start walking again. If you don’t make up the lost time you will delay yourself at least fifteen minutes and might need to call a cab to make it to work for your phone call.

❈❈❈

The hardest part of your job, second only to dealing with people who didn’t understand your role, would be the lack of consistency of who might be in the office from day to day. Harold hadn’t been at his desk when you finally rolled in, already accepting the call you had scheduled for this morning in the lobby. You waved to the one person at a computer as you dumped your things and asked for a moment of patience from everyone on the call as your headphones connected.

The call dragged on for nearly an hour as you stayed on mute replying to emails. When a question could not be answered by anyone else you jumped into the conversation, explaining you had three options for a team that would fit their needs. At this point, you would need a timeline and payment. Confirming the email address took another five minutes, back and forth. When the call wrapped up the clock ticked closer to 9 AM.

Letting your head slam against the desk you took a series of deep breaths. A message tone dinged from your computer. Looking up you found a message from someone named Roach.

>Calls that bad?

Turning you catch sight of the person who had been in the office when you arrived.

“You Roach?”

>That’s me.

Masked and covered from head to toe, the man looked as innocent as a bloodied tiger. You saw a lot of men like that lately. Something about this job had them covering up more than a nun in a convent.

“Okay, I’m still meeting everyone. And no? The call wasn’t that bad but I ended up being late because some fucker I think tried to rob me?” After explaining the whole situation this morning to Roach he sends you a message through the chatting platform.

>You met a roadman.

“Da’ fuck is a roadman?” Incredulity had become a familiar state since moving to England.

Staring at Roach you wait for his typed response. He looks at you, makes a face beneath his mask, bobs his head from shoulder to shoulder, sighs, and puts his fingers on the keys.

>A roadman is what you might call a mugger in the US.

“No, a mugger has a gun or a knife and can back up his threats. That child told me to give him all my money and couldn’t even find a decent threat to make me comply. All the bastard did was make me late.”

Roach’s only reply to this is a hearty shrug.

A voice from behind has both you and Roach spinning in place.

“Liaison I need a contract confirmed,” someone barked at you.

The demand hits wrong after the roadman incident and the achingly long call. You turn to see a large man, again in a mask, staring at you from near the door. This mask looked hard, the upper face half of a skull. This must be Ghost; Kate had warned you about him.

“I must have missed the question in that statement, care to try again?”

Roach’s brows nearly touch his hairline as he quickly averts his gaze.

The tall, broad Lieutenant moved faster than his shape would indicate he could. He looms over you, hard skull and eye black leaving no color beyond the whites of his eyes.

“Did I stutter Liaison?”

“No, but you might need to if you try to tell me what to do without asking again.” You flick a nail against his mask. “Now if you’ll excuse me I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Slipping from beneath Ghost’s shoulders you make it two steps before his hand wraps around your bicep. Snapping back to look at him you contemplate the wisdom of punching him.

“Ghost! Let her go,” Price’s command splits the air.

He lets you go with exaggerated care. You flip him the bird, hiding the move from Price using your body. You stalk up to Price who is staring Ghost down over your shoulder.

“Did he hurt you?” Price asks as you draw near. He wasn’t Ghost’s captain but had recently been promoted to work directly below the elusive Sheppard. You tried to keep up on who worked under who but with so many moving parts you had to check your spreadsheets every time you had a question.

“No, I’m fine. But next time the meathead needs something from me tell him to send an email and to use all his manners.” You sweep past Price and head for the kitchen. Might as well start some bread so you can beat something up.

That second interaction with Ghost solidified the tone of your relationship. The same day he threatened you with his size and laid hands on you he found you in the kitchen. You pulled the tray of rolls out of the oven when he spoke.

“I’ll take one of those.”

Without pausing to consider you shut the oven softly and tip the hot pan over, spilling the steaming buns onto the floor. You don’t even try to make it look like an accident.

“Whoops. Guess you forgot to ask for something you wanted.”

You ignored the fuming soldier behind you as you set the hot pan on the stove to cool and cover the dough and place it in the fridge for later. You gave it an hour before checking back to find the kitchen clear and cleaned up the rolls from the floor.

Three weeks later you are pulled from an important email by a fist in your hair. Ghost growls in your face.

“What the hell did you agree to with Sarcosis?”

A wince you can’t stop slips. “Hair pulling is a kinky thing for me Ghost, you ready to follow up on this offer?”

Disgusted, he lets you go. Then Soap is there, pushing between you two. Rubbing the back of your head you decide to answer. He did ask a question after all.

“Sarcosis needs to borrow one man, someone who can play spotter for one of their snipers. Job is less than three days. I wrangled a favor to borrowing one of their men if we ever need ‘em.”

“Why take the job?” Soap peers over his shoulder, hand still firmly placed on Ghost.

“All Keith is asking for is an impartial set of eyes to confirm a kill. They aren’t on the no-fly list. Do they need to be?”

“No-fly list?” This question comes from Ghost.

“Yeah, the no-fly list.” You pop open a sticky note from your screen, enlarging both the note and the words you let the men read the list you got from Kate. “Taking jobs with these guys won’t fly, hence the no-fly list.”

Ghost takes a deep breath, tucking the demon’s demeanor back behind his vest. Soap lets his hand drop back to his sides.

���Now if all this excitement is over I am going back to my emails,” turning your back to the men you return your screen to normal and type away at your ongoing email.

Roach sends you a message that you see but don’t reply to.

>Sarcosis nearly got Ghost killed on their last job, might want to flag them for your no-fly list.

Ghost and Soap stand behind you for an uncomfortably long time. When they eventually move you pull your headphones on and settle into the chaos of never-ending emails.

❈❈❈

It took you six months to figure out the rules for jobs. You had asked Kate, repeatedly. Each time she gave an answer about whether to accept or reject, you would question her. Why accept this job and not this one? Over and over you asked and the answer always amounted to a feeling. Vibes. You took notes on every call and Kate’s decision since she couldn’t articulate why to accept one job over another. She had worked with the 141 for so long that she had a sense for these things.

Those six months were grueling, but you found a pattern. The price of a job could be relied upon to weed out anything the team wouldn’t take. The numbers broke down to roughly £20,000 per man per job. The more complicated the explanation the more guys you figured would be needed. That rule of thumb would be right more often than not.

The guys would take rescue missions but were better equipped to handle situations where there would be no witnesses. They worked well with teams from most companies and governments but there were a few that several men refused to work with again. It was a small list but the fact you recognized each name on sight often gave you a queasy sensation in your stomach.

Enough of the team would submit requests to take one job or another you had to start a running list of preferences and skills. Pinning down hard skills turned into a bit of an issue so you had a self-reported list and a list of skills reported by others. The sheer number of interconnected spreadsheets and the random formulas learned to create boggled your mind. Once one of the members of the accounting team, Doreen, saw your massive spreadsheet she collected the general information known about the office to add to your knowledge pool. She also helped you break out the information about each member into a separate file that fed into your master sheet. Doreen, for as old as she was, had a vast understanding of spreadsheets. The search function would become a new god in your role.

Chapter 1 |

Masterlist

@nicroyal02 Chapter 26 is up on A03

[divine-misfortune]

The hoes asked for more virginity kink Aether, with a side of corruption kink, and honestly I fully blame @iamthecomet because of that fucking Aether/Phantom fic from a while back (comet you know what you DID!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I haven't been okay and or normal since.)

I made a post a long while ago about Alpha being Aether's first, just had to take the fresh quint after seeing him so painfully and obviously lusting after Omega for so long. Had to dangle every filthy detail he knew about his mate over Aether's head. It's Alpha's fault he's like this, taking such visible glee in pushing Aether into every new feeling. His new vessel is so sensitive, so unexplored, and he tells him as such.

Aether realizes it with Dew, when he moans into his mouth and flinches from his big hand palming at him through his slacks. The feeling is surprising and it confuses him, Dew looked like a deer in headlights that day - flushed and panting, straining and leaking in his boxers, brows pinching upwards as he stares back at Aether. The naivety in his pale blue eyes makes something dark and sick claw at the back door of his mind, a beast fighting for its way in to wreak havoc on the water ghoul trapped between his body and the wall.

He shushes the surprised whimper Dew questions him with, the doubt muffled in a kiss fueled by greed. A desire to take what can never be given back.

Promises of 'I'll take care of you' 'I know exactly what you need', and 'you'll feel so good' to soothe away hesitation. The final nail in the coffin is when he squeezes Dew's cock and begins to stroke him through the suffocating fabric, his little body twitching and reacting without his permission as Aether whispers 'you trust me, don't you droplet?' Dew's dick jumps in his hand and he knows he has him even before the shaky, feeble nod.

The first time is intoxicating. He wishes he could defile Dew's innocence over and over and over. Dew indulges him sometimes, plays demure and sweet the way he once did genuinely. It scratches the itch for the most part - Dew is a good actor after all.

But sometimes the greed rears it's ugly head.

Aether tries to keep himself in check but it's hard. All the siblings he passes in the hallways reeking of virtue yet to indulge in the most pleasurable cardinal sin. His teeth itch to become acquainted with all of that unsullied flesh.

The hardest, most strenuous test of his will is when they bring the new summons to him after their arrival. Still unaccustomed to their bodies, moving awkwardly and carefully like they don't quite understand why every part does what it does. He's tasked with assuring they're healthy, that nothing went awry in their arrival, and of course he does. It's his top priority after all! He's been professional each time but his mind wanders on him, that he can't help.

He eyes the warm untouched body with a hunger that none of them pick up on at the time. New summons hold no shame, no learned sense of modesty yet, unknowingly teasing him with every inch. There have been a few times he's dared an inch too far, brushing softened cocks in passing or kneading more than necessary at breasts under the excuse of examination. Makes his heart race and his body ache with desire, horribly aware of the way his dick sticks to his thigh, a feeling becoming more uncomfortable by the second.

The second they are whisked away Aether is fumbling with his zipper. Growling as he tugs at himself, hunched over his desk with a hand flat to the surface, nails digging into the wood. The idea is wrong and he should be ashamed for wanting it but all Aether can do is want.

He wanted to take them, all of them. Introduce their bodies to addicting sensation. Mold their wants to align with his own as they simply don't know any better.

Aether knows the position he's in, how trusted he is, and truthfully it only makes the desire to corrupt more voracious.

He spills into the waste basket with a groan, and the beast is satiated briefly with fantasy, but for how long it will remain that way he can't tell.

[pascalsbby]

CARNAL / 7 : RUIN

Chapter 6 / Masterlist

Summary: 4.5k, f!reader, dark!joel, dbf!joel, try and mess with my birdie again!joel

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, violence! guns, cum eating, car sex, dominate & aggressive joel, ANGSTTTT

A/N: This is officially the penultimate chapter. The amount of love I’ve been shown over and over again has been so overwhelmingly beautiful, and it all started with Birdie and Joel. I am so thankful for each and every one of you. I’m so nervous to end this. What if it isn’t what you wanted or expected? What if I miss them too much? I guess that’s the point, that love hurts.

But we both know how it goes– I say I want you inside me and you hold my head underwater, I say I want you inside me and you split me open with a knife.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

You huffed at Joel, thinking he wasn’t really asking you to lick his cum from another man’s seat. His demeanor changed, “Don’t make me repeat myself, sweet girl.”

You looked around his face and settled on his drooping bottom lip before he took it between his teeth. “Joel.” A half-whispered and hidden word. You’ve never been able to fill the room with his name the way you want to, the way he fills you, always sneaking away from the crowd and having to whisper it into the palm of his hand– whispering it into the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

He clawed at your ass, making the fat rumble in your soft skin, the slap echoing into the golden hour around the both of you. The streetlights were dim but becoming brighter as the sun sunk and the inevitable end of the party approached. None of the chatter from the backyard mattered, the dog barking a couple of houses down, cars passing a couple streets over. He mattered. You had waited so long to be seen by him again. To be prayed to. To be drooled over. Even the sound of his deeper breathing made the air feel electric. Like breathing it again, mattered. 

You felt like a fucking animal that needed to be leashed to the corner of a heavy table. It took you a while to understand why your body takes over when you’re around him— his depravity was familiar. You saw yourself in him, and that consisted of you both wordlessly pushing down emotions and fucking them out of each other instead, molding into one another in a release of anger, tears, lust. This is how you bond, fucking each other to scare off the elephant in the room. Fucking yourselves when you coulnd’t reach one another.

When his hands were upon you, he was paying attention to you, and Joel paid attention to what made you nearly weep under the weight of his want. It was a fine physical partnership, mostly because whatever he wanted became what you wanted. A blurred line between want and need in Joel-shaped bruises in your fat.

His big, brown eyes were gracing your body, searching, as if he was looking for any sign that another man had been here. You stick your tongue out and stare at him before digging your nose into John’s seat, your breath hitting the leather as you slide your tongue through his cum. You would do anything to make him happy. He knows that. He loves this.

You want him to love you.

He does.

You gag.

Quietly, you reminded Joel that you were in someone else's truck. 

“Gotta go back before someone comes out here. Don’t want John to catch us, Joel.”

He scoffed. 

“Wish he fucking would. Then he could see me buried in my pretty pussy.”

You could see Joel behind you, blocked slightly as you hear his cock hit his stomach and he sighs in relief, his veiny length thick and unshy. He whimpered as he slid his wide thumb across his wet tip. His half-breath grumbles were what made your slick drip down your swollen and still-quivering lips.

He bent down and pulled your lips apart, whispering into you, “Look at her, cryin’ for me.” He was a man starved. The cold of the night disappeared as his tongue did the same into you, loud and vile as he sucked around your entire propped up center, not missing one inch of skin inside or out. The feeling of his mustache moving with his lips as he sucks on you, tickles you, is too much. You come on his beard, flattened to his face, messy and wet from devouring you.

“Doin’ s’good, cleaning up Daddy’s mess n’ letting him clean you up, too.” He stretched his palm across your head and pressed your tongue and nose into his cum once again. And you let him. 

Joel heard a car unlock and his hand was immediately pulling your hair knotted in his knuckles backward, your face pulling up from the leather seat with force, startled that he might get caught. For Joel to be caught at the scene of his crimes? That was unheard of. 

You heard the zip of his pants before his hands were back on you, warm, and pulling down your dress in a hurry. His thumb missed at first, dipping into your mouth before moving across your lower lip, trying to smudge the spend away that was still dripping down your chin. With one hand entangled in your hair and his other smeared with his cum, he did what he had to do, leaning into you as he licked himself off of your chin seconds before it dripped between your breasts. 

He growled at the taste of himself mixed with your skin. Soft, salty. Carnal. Unintentional, like his body forced it outwards because it was too heavy to carry alone. Like even he was slightly surprised at what he’d just done. But it’d been months since your skin was between his teeth, and he’d trace every bulging vein down your neck with his tongue if you would just call his name, Joel Joel Joel. 

There was silence, birds chirping in the trees, and another pair of cowboy boots knocking against the pavement. You knew that cadence well, they sounded just like the ones currently gracing Joel’s feet. 

“Miller!” You jumped at the intense intrusion and then tried to relax your shoulders before they swallowed your ears and gave away your guilt.

A man walked towards the both of you as Joel pushed your body away from him, discreetly but not gentle enough as you tried to regain your standing. You didn’t know the man’s name but he was usually at these backyard parties. How many middle-aged men live in this fucking neighborhood? 

“Be careful sweetheart, can’t have you falling. Don’t wanna have to carry you back in there to your daddy with a busted knee.” Too many. 

You opened your mouth to tell this man that your daddy wouldn’t give a fuck. The person who would is the one standing right next to you. 

Joel huffed, then coughed. A warning. The man moved topics quickly as if he vaguely understood. 

“Haven’t seen you around the shop recently, Hana’s been asking where you’ve been.” His attention returned to Joel.

“Hana?” You scoffed, out loud. You were out of place and awkward, standing smaller than both of them. This conversation was meant for the men. 

“‘Must be one of Sarah’s friends! Haven’t seen ya around and Hana knows so many people it’s hard to keep up sometimes.”

What a proud father. 

I wonder how entitled he would be to share that information if he knew that Hana was once (probably not shy of ten times actually, knowing anything about Joel) speared on his wet cock instead of babysitting, as she had most likely claimed? You wonder if he knows that Joel’s cock has been buried inside of your warmth, too. A few minutes ago, actually. With the way you are both standing, hidden by a truck door, missing from the party for nearly twenty minutes. 

“I’ve just been keeping my head down Drew, working, you know. But I’ll drop by soon, I need to fix a broken toilet in the upstairs bathroom and I need a flange replacement.”

“Well we’re always open for you Joel, you know that. Don’t be a stranger.” With that, he looked between the two of you and you swore recognition flashed in his eyes before he patted Joel on the shoulder and walked towards your back gate. 

I wonder if he knows, you thought. Men tend to stay quiet for each other like that. Having each other's backs regardless of it means choosing him over your own daughter. Especially if it means keeping it out of the public eye. It’s easier to call your daughter a liar than to deal with the ‘consequences’ of her reality.

“Not the only thing that’s always open it seems.” You mumbled, immediately hoping that he didn't hear it. How utterly unfeminist of you to blame the girl. You weren’t any different than her; enamored, prayed to… paid. But it seems like he brings out the worst in you. But being the worst is better than whatever empty shell has been dragging its way through whatever the fuck these past twenty-something years have been. 

You have the crashing realization that you feel alive with him. The blood coursing through your body has purpose, now.

As soon as the top of the man’s head disappeared through the fence, Joel started in on you. Best to put a child in their place before they have a chance to speak and form a conclusion of their own, no? You recognized the bad in him, yet you still let it devour you. 

“This what you wanted, Birdie? For people t’ know? Dropping little hints like it’s your fuckin’ job, huh? First you make sure I walk in on whatever the fuck was going on with John… knew I’d be back there so you knocked on the neighbor's door and asked him to fuck you with his eyes in front of your family? In front of me?” Pointing at his stuffed chest. He was so much taller than you but it wasn't something you thought of often until he towered over you. You knew there was more to this than a random man and a disgusted accidental namedrop of his previous fuck toy. 

“Then…” he looked around, trying to gain composure before scolding you like a child, ”then you make me come out here and lose myself in you again?” 

“Make you? You fucking followed me out here, Joel.”

“Lower your goddamn voice, Birdie. I came out here because I knew you wanted me to.”

He was right. About all of it. You can’t be alone for long. You need something or someone there sitting just on the outside to remind you that you aren’t dissipating into the floor of your bedroom.

Maybe that’s why you never saw Joel coming, either, because the quicksand was already up to your knees and no one in your life ever taught you how to save yourself, they had only taught you that they would not be the ones to pull you to safety. You knew you wouldn’t be able to save yourself, either.

The way he sticks to you makes you feel taken care of and looked after. He treats you like a woman in need of guidance, but he never judges you for it. Unless he’s scolding you, in that case you feel like a child again. It feels nice to feel like a child around him, because you know that in one way or another he will hold you like one too, once it’s all said and done.

Then he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So of course you did what you know, offering your body to whomever would most closely fill the Joel-shaped hole. You hoped that he would be here to see that you had indeed found another man, and this one could stand before your family. Now, Joel is standing right in front of you. It’s been months… and you hate him. You hate him so bad that the hate has turned to love.

You love him.

“Yes Joel, I want you. I need you. I have needed you this whole time you were probably off filling some other twenty-something year old. But fuck, I want you to get a fucking grip. You left me.” Desperate and too loud. “For months. I needed you and you just left me. I thought you would be the one who wouldn’t leave me. I lost Sarah too. My best fucking friend. And you know how much I hate this fucking house and I haven’t even been writing or painting and–”

You had never actually spoken to him about it all. But he knew. You were tired of arguing, of never being right. Of always being treated like a child but expected to act like an adult. 

He filled the immediate silence, but his tone was more tender this time. 

“You thought I was with another woman?” He looked as if you may have well dug your hands into his chest and tore him limb from limb.

Each month without him an envelope would show up, usually on a Thursday. Those used to be your days. It was shoved into your window pane accompanied by a soft knock. You never caught him despite the foul amount of time you spent looking out the window, waiting for him to come and save you again. You didn’t even need rent money anymore but it was always there and he never was. You were saving it in a hidden box with to get the fuck out of here scribbled in thick black marker on one side. 

You thought about just showing up, as it wasn’t something he himself was ever opposed to when it came to you. Except for when you really wanted him too. Needed him too.

Last month you couldn’t sleep and the edibles were making you more restless than relaxed. You got up at 4:24 am and sat yourself down at your desk, got out an old notebook and picked up a pen for the first time since graduating. You started a note to Sarah that still sits unfinished on the second page of the college-ruled journal. 

I saw it in his eyes, Sarah. It started months ago, before he left the first time and this was all still a secret. When I saw him again… you were looking down and trying not to let the tear slide down your cheek and into the black ink. That would be weak of you, to deliver a note to your lover's daughter and have it soiled with your tears, while apologizing for the pain you caused her.

I swear I saw it swell and dare itself to fall out of his eyes right then and there; love. And I’m so sorry for hurting you. I felt seen and heard. I felt held, Sar.

You accepted his angry disappointment and let it lay over you like a blanket, familiar. It meant he was there, he was in reach and your fingers could get lost in the curls on the back of his head. So you sat there and admired the wrinkles between his glaring eyes. Beautiful fucking eyes. Indulgent, and prodigal in the way he refuses to let you go. He lowered his voice and moved his curls out of his face. 

“Do you know how much of my life I’ve risked to put you first? It cost me my daughter’s trust. She will never look at me the same again. And my pride,” he said your name and his jaw hardened, the apparent sour taste of you leaving his mouth, “my pride baby girl. Do you know how much it hurts me that you just found another man?”

You were crying, the tears warming the red of your embarrassed face. He had done his shaming, his job at keeping you in your place. Now he would complete the circle like a snake eating its own tail.

He will tear you limb from limb knowing that his warmth is the only thing able to glue you back together; then he will pull you into his core and comfort you. You will be five, seventeen, twenty-five, in his arms.

It would be hard to tell what he was feeling if you didn’t know him, but you do, and his sadness is so discreetly and gently placed under the cover of his angry brown eyes. Your tears turned to sobbing and it all felt like it was going to fall out of you and onto the ground in front of his feet.

“Stop cryin’.”

He reached down and started low, tracing his thick fingers up your inner thigh, tickling against his carved initials and causing your clit to swell. He lowered his voice and spoke to you like you were a child in trouble.

Here it is, the wordless apology. Touching and heavy breathing.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about opening that computer and clicking on your name again? Just to hear the mess your pussy makes when it sees me? How you pool around the base of whatever cock you decided to stuff yourself with that night and then regret it because it wasn’t mine.”

“Fuck.” It left your lips with a moan and an even bigger sob that you could no longer hold inside. He didn’t flinch and didn’t show any sign of acting on his movements rather than to tease you, see if he went too far or if you would still melt under his stained black work hands.

He moved one finger down the ticklish part of your neck and traced your skin to your hip. Then he removed his touch from your skin and once again stepped backward. Like a father’s friend should stand.

He got what he wanted out of you, always does. And most of the time you yearn for the ache in your knees on the rare occasions you don’t give in. Giving in meant pleasure, but it was always accompanied by pain when it came to him. 

It was a consistent push and pull, give and take. He was so generous in the beginning, giving his money, time, and his cum, all in your name. He knew that to win you over you have to first, give. Now he takes and you happily oblige.

He has a unique knowledge of you, one that you really didn’t even recognize in yourself. Which is ironic, considering all you do is sit and burrow in your own psychoanalyzation. Trauma recognizes itself, even when it isn't directly yours. He had been around long enough to recognize himself in you. 

Then, you heard the end cadence of your name.

As he stepped backwards the footsteps stopped behind the two of you. Caught. And you prayed to a God you knew wouldn’t answer that it wasn’t your dad. 

Neither of you turned around to face him.

“Knew you’d go right back and fall down on all fours for him when you had the chance. God,” John laughed, “you’re a fucking whore. N’ not even the good kind that’ll suck your dick when you ask. I asked nicely, didn’t I? But not nice enough. Unless you’re Joel of course.”

And suddenly it didn’t matter that this was to all be a secret. You, standing a few cars down from your front door, hair a mess and cherry-flavored chapstick smudged down your face. Joel’s cum hardened where his tongue missed. Mascara running down your redended cheeks from either being fucked too well or from the tears that were starting to well up in your eyes again.

There was a high pitched buzzing as your body recognized the danger and began to shut down, watching Joel’s back muscles flinch in anger as he made his way over to John. You knew how deeply Joel was able to feel, and hate was probably not excluded from that depth. 

It wasn’t a secret anymore the moment his knuckles cracked against the fat of John’s cheek, seconds before he was on the ground. The birds stopped singing into the night. 

Here he was, standing up for you like someone should have done since you took your first goddamn steps. But you were yelling at him to stop. Someone finally came to save you and you were telling him to stop. He was starting in again, pulling his fist back and clenching his jaw, preparing for the impact to hurt him too. But his pain didn’t matter when it came to you

“You think you’re gonna talk to her like that and get away with it? Oh you’ve fuckin’ lost your god damn mind. I really shoulda punched you in your ugly fucking face when you had it in my truck window all those months ago. Spare me the time. Say another word towards her and I will make a pretty painting with your face on this concrete.”

“Oh, but she wasn’t in pain whenever she was calling my name instead of yours. That pussy tastes like goddamn honey, Jo—”

One thing you loved to do was have Joel hold his palm out and let you sit your face in it. It was bigger than your face, but it was warm and strong. Safe. You knew deep down that it was capable of hurting someone but death had not crossed your mind, not until John lay wheezing on the ground, laughing. Half-dead from Joel’s blows, not even able to prepare as he took in a deep breath and got ready to fire again.

Up until this moment you felt like you were a good person to have in life-threatening situations, always level headed and use to immense stress, but for the first time in your life everything around you was moving in slow motion.

You turned and watched as the white of your front door turned black, opening, and it felt like the moment Joel showed up the first (second) time at the gallery. But this felt like a last time type of feeling. It felt like an ending. 

“Joel,” you pushed out.

He didn’t even react to your voice. He simply acted as if he’s never heard it. As if it hadn’t, alone, made him rock his hips into whatever the fuck he could fit between the past three months. 

“Joel, stop. Someone is coming outside. Please stop. Joel.” Sobs were getting caught in your throat. You started to walk towards him, to set yourself in front of John if that meant that he would stop.

“Birdie, turn around.” You don’t listen, walking towards him. “I said turn arou—“

Another voice broke through. The one you thought you might have heard first. The voice of the first man to ever break your heart. The one who only spoke out in anger. The one who should have been throwing punches at himself all of these years. 

“Joel Miller what the fuck are you doing?” He had his pistol by his side. Must have heard the yelling and screaming, and if there is anything a Texas man loves more than the possibility of getting to shoot someone off of his property… 

Your dad called your name second, expecting an answer. And now you wished you wouldn’t have tried to stop Joel so that John wasn’t able to open his own mouth and speak the truth you both had been hiding. 

You’re eight again, and the sound of his knuckles against the kitchen counter were reverberating through the empty theater atop your head. The only person gracing the red lined theater seats is you. Small, child you, looking at the screen and out the front of your head. 

“She—“ John is stuttering through already swollen and broken lips, Joel shakes him as a warning not to open his mouth further, “she’s fucking him.”

Silence. Other people had followed your dad outside, including your mother. Admist the audience was Sarah, who you had not known was here the entire time. Her face was twisted in pain, and you knew that this was your fault. This was more pain for her and it was all because of you.

It was quiet, everyone was in shock, besides the night birds singing. The hum of the orange streetlights above. Joel’s heavy breathing and John’s slight wheezing from being hit over and over and—

Your dad’s jaw sits tight. He opened his mouth and the sky felt like it was going to fall. 

“Excuse me?” That was a threat and his body was closing in on Joel imminently. People were yelling, but it sounded far away. He cocked his gun and the clicking was drowned out by your mothers screaming. 

“I fucking knew something was happening. How dare you, you sick fuck.”

You begged, talking fast, “Dad stop. John thinks he saw something but Joel was helping me find my keys I dropped in the truck. He came here to leave but I asked him to help me instead.”

You knew what came next—always had. Because proverbial fists were for the women of his life. Actual fists were for the men. Bullets were for his inflated masculine ego.

“Dad, plea–” 

“You shut the fuck up.” He was talking to you. 

Joel’s boots were hitting the ground again as he dropped John’s collar, closing in on your dad. He managed to grab Joel by his shoulders before he could submit him to the same fate as John.

“I don’t care if you are her Daddy, you better not ever speak to her like that again.” His strong nose was pushing into your dads, eye to eye.

“Her sayin’ not to talk to you, spending time over at your house. Does Sarah know?”

His finger pushed up against Joel’s chest.

“That’s my daughter Joel. Do you want me to prance down the street and right through your front door to fuck your daughter right under your nose?”

He lifted the gun towards Joel and you were screaming. It took a moment to register that it was you, your throat burning as Sarah screamed behind you. 

Of course it would be this man to take Joel away from you.

Joel huffed a deep and viscous laugh. He looked over to you for the first time in minutes and pain filled his eyes. But they were wide open and focused on the gun pointed directly at his head. You nodded towards him for some reason, giving him permission for whatever he was about to say. 

“You know what? I fucking dare you to kill me for being the only one here that has ever taken care of your daughter, you motherfucker.”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

A long and sappy thank you / 1K followers post is coming soon 😚

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[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

(i love you, i love you (kill me in the morning) ; bonus part)

kenjaku rests on a tatami mat, admiring the ephemeral glow of the starry sky.

it’s a sight to behold, truly: the infinity within it, blooming endlessly across the milky way, before his very eyes. that swirling of indigo and pure white. endless possibilities, just out of reach — so close he can almost reach out and touch them, feel them glide across the skin of his fingertips.

slowly and sweetly, savouring the cold air, he ponders. legs crossed, hair swaying gently in the summer breeze; about this, and about that. about a plan that’s been resting in the back of his mind for thousands of years.

he wonders if there is any way you could be of use to him. 

without too much contemplation needed, he decides that there isn’t. that nothing about you could benefit his goal, that there’s nothing your presence could possibly accomplish. that you have no place, in the world he resides in, no place in the narrative of the story he is crafting. no place in the clash between curses and sorcerers and everything in between.

(and kenjaku understands, without needing to peek into his host’s memories, that perhaps that is exactly why suguru geto loved you.)

he goes to visit you, anyway. just for the fun of it, just to satisfy the ingrained urge his body has to do so. and it’s fascinating, it truly is — the fondness that sprouts in the confines of his chest when his eyes meet yours. a childhood muscle memory, one this body could never fully rid itself of. 

it is nothing short of horrified, the expression on your face; you look like you could pass out any second, and kenjaku finds it just a little bit amusing. 

but he bites back a laugh, and his lips curl up into a smile. not the smile of a people-pleaser, nor the smile of a liar, but the smile of something rather monstrous.

kenjaku does not think you will figure him out. he does not think it possible. how could you possibly? with such miniscule cursed energy, without any concept of the soul? 

and yet you do.

you tell him that he isn’t suguru geto, and you’re absolutely right. and now, kenjaku is maybe just the slightest bit intrigued.

(how strange. how amusing.

is there really no limit to what love can accomplish?)

eyes shining with barely contained, gleeful curiosity, he takes a step forward, and you call out for a dead man. a ghost. kenjaku does not expect anything to happen, because how could it?

— a hand comes up to squeeze at his throat.

it is a firm grip, with strangulation as its intended purpose. a lethal kind of ferocity. almost desperate, primal, like a mother wolf protecting her cub; the pads of his lithe fingers press into the sides of his own esophagus, and prevent any air from entering his lungs. those chipped nails dig into his pale skin, vicious and ruthless, hard enough to draw blood.

it is violent, it is gritty, it is devoted. an instinct of the body, as natural as the beating of a heart.

kenjaku can’t help it — he chokes on a laugh, as suguru’s hand curls around his throat. within the vice grip lies an old promise, molded into the very fabric of his being. a promise that transcends death.

he’ll protect you forever. 

kenjaku smiles, all teeth. drool dribbling down his chin, neck bruised and bloodied. pondering; about this, and about that. about two children by a dusty summer creek.

(no matter what, huh?

— such a fool.)

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟 𝕞𝕖 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴀ ʙᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴘᴇʀ ᴜꜱᴜᴀʟ ɪɴ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ ɪɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ, ꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ, ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ, ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜱᴇx (ᴄᴜɴɴɪʟɪɴɢᴜꜱ, ꜰ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴘʟᴏᴛ? ᴡʜᴏ'ꜱ ꜱʜᴇ? ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ 3ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴜᴄᴇ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 3.4ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ꜱᴀʏ ʏᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ - ʟᴀɴᴀ ᴅᴇʟ ʀᴇʏ

⋆ ★ ɪ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴀɴ. ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍ ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛʟʏ ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴜᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ, ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ.

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Rough hands trace the curves of her body; a strange gentleness in how he holds her, despite the roughness of his skin and urgency in each movement. She leans into it, leans into borderline indulgence with each further touch. The night is when they’re allowed to be so careless, let their existence become simple and primal; pure pleasure.

Hunter’s mouth finds a new spot just where her jaw meets the rest of her face; his tongue traces a path for his mouth to follow, peppering soft kisses followed by long sucks against the hidden skin; she gasps, almost squirms out of his grip, but the hand tenderly holding her hip squeezes and places her back on her spot against the wall.

Wet lips trail up to her ear.

“Be still for me, mesh'la,” He mutters the instruction, coarse and gravelly, and she shivers in place. Those damned lips of his curl up. “Do what I say and you’ll get everything you need.”

It’s hard to believe him when he’s taking so karkin’ long. A childish part of her brain wants to stomp her foot and whine. But she just allows her eyes to loll back instead, breathing hard with a nod.

His lips dive back to her neck immediately. His hands switch places, his right keeping her hips and ass pressed to the wall, the other gripping her chin. He lifts it, cranes, and manhandles her so incredibly gently as he finds new spots to litter with his touch, a grace and a poison simultaneously. Her eyes flutter close, and a whine comes out of her gritted teeth.

“You’re doing so good, baby.”

She wants to call bullshit. They know damn well she’s using all her energy to remain patient. She’d held his hand as they ate across from each other on the dining table, barely listening to what he was saying and instead focusing on the movement of his lips. Hunter had seemed just as desperate for touch and petting when they’d first begun; but now he decides he wants to take his sweet, sweet time.

“Don’t start beggin’ and whining now,” His words interrupt her brief moment of reminiscence, and her eyes return to his gaze. “You know what happens when you do.”

“I’m sorry–”

“Mesh’la.” The words are crisp and cut through the air, stopping her entirely. His thumb traces the area around where he’s holding her in a split moment of fondness. “I’m your boyfriend,” Hunter reminds her, ever so gentle yet firm. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Oh, but she wants to anyway, her mind pleads. `Cause maybe if she does, he’ll let her fall apart to his touch quicker, come over and over again until she’s entirely void of energy. Not this exquisite torture.

“I know, I just…” She chokes on her words, gulping slowly as he continues his ministrations; one single finger trails down her body, slowly tracing how her body was molded by the Maker, patiently waiting for her to continue. The softest whimper escapes past her lips; she can’t even scold herself for it– that’s how desperate she is.

“Hunter,” She pules.

“I know,” He answers far too quickly for her liking. Maker, why does she enable him to be this smug? Even worse, he’s still so loving; ardent and sweet and karkin’ sexy. “I know, mesh’la.” His lips wander again, pressing his open mouth to her temple. Her eyes flutter. When he pulls away, she feels his hand reach up and hold her cheek, softly caressing the rest of her face as he talks. “Let me have my way tonight?”

You always have your way, is what she wants to tell him. Not menacingly nor to win the argument. She just wishes to poke at him a little. But with the way he has her, the way he holds her, the toxic touch and powerful presence looming against and above her, she’s robbed of all higher thinking. 

She nods compliantly; Hunter smiles with overflowing affection.

“Thank you.” He presses a single kiss on her lips and she breathes it in selfishly. It’s nothing, a mere passing show of devotion; but it feels all the more remarkable because it’s Hunter’s lips, his signature distinct intimacy.

Before she’s left with the extra time to think his actions over, he picks up where he’s left off, trailing his hand down to her neck and collarbone, before cupping the underside of one of her breasts, only thinly covered by her sleepwear. She grins pleasantly, not expecting him to dive in so soon. Hunter remains susceptible to the temptation of her body.

“`Love your tits,” He blurts. “Best pair I’ve ever seen.”

Suddenly, a chuckle ruptures from her stomach.

“Yeah?” She mumbles, but it’s closer to a plea than an admonishment. His chin dips down and he places another kiss on her collarbone after tugging down the hem of her shirt.

"Always so fucking soft. Perfect to hold," His praise feels like the kindest words that could ever be bestowed onto a person. Within a few split seconds, his hands are under her shirt, warm skin palming both breasts without hesitation. 

She squeaks in surprise. He shushes her.

"Don't be like that," He says. She can't respond before he presses their lips together, taking his sweet time swiping his tongue over both lips as he caresses her chest. Her elbows loosely resting on his shoulders isn't enough to keep her stable; the feeling of her ass sliding down the wall is a discomforting bother as they kiss. Hunter seems to notice.

He pulls away, allowing her to catch her breath. However, she's left gasping again when his thumbs swipe over her nipples in sync.

"You need some help balancing?" Hunter asks. She huffs softly, chin dipping up and eyes flitting away. 

"No," She lies.

A far too smooth chuckle is his response. Suddenly, she has to look down to keep eye contact. His fingers slip away. That can't be right. He's far too tall to-

The ground thumps with a large thud, and she gazes down to see his knees pressed onto the floor with his hands against the wall, tantalizingly close to her hips.

Oh. 

One of his hands comes to her leg, tracing the bare skin at the back of her knee (it tickles, damn it, but she doesn't want him to stop touching her now) as he lifts it and motions for her to rest it on his shoulders.

"Balance on me while I get my eats, how `bout that?"

The woefulness in her whimper is simply embarrassing; she covers her face briefly with a meeker whine, gripping onto her head and letting it rest against the wall. The vibration of Hunter's voice is so damn close now, and she can feel him laughing; kriffing laughing way too close to her pussy to stay composed. Her hips unconsciously roll to his face.

"Hmm, baby," He teases. She slowly slides her hands away, letting them rest on her cheeks as she gets the most filthy sight of Hunter on his knees for her. "Don't you want to feel good?"

There's no time to respond; his hands are already toying with the waistband of her shorts, snapping them against her hip playfully.

"Aren't I finally giving you what you want?" She raises an eyebrow; he raises one back. Well, he's correct, if she must really think about it. She doesn't, though. "Why are you so damn flustered?"

Before she can stop herself, she adjusts to rest her leg on his shoulder better, a hand tangling its fingers into his hair and tugging his chin up. He purposefully allows a soft groan to leave his lips. The heat between her legs is scorching.

"I'm sorry," She can't help but apologize constantly. Hunter frowns. Her only response is a shrug. "It's just you, Hunter."

His inquisitory look is not to be confused with one of actual puzzlement; he just wants to hear more come from those sweet lips. The hands playing with the hem of her shorts begin sliding them down, taking her panties down with them, until they reach the place just above her knee. She hitches her breath, pussy getting exposed to the cold air.

"Just-" She sighs softly, chest heaving. Her gaze ascends to the ceiling. "-How you make me feel."

"Yeah?" In just a few moments, her shorts and panties are completely discarded, and he's inched a few centimeters closer to her delectable warmth. She nods, sounding almost deprived and dehydrated. Kriff, what he does to her.

"Yeah."

"You need me?"

Something choked comes out of her mouth.

"Yes," The words are a borderline moan if it weren't for the breathiness that drowned out the noise. 

His strong nose nudges her thighs apart, breath lingering over her clit. She hums.

"You'd like if I-hmm-" Hunter begins to ask, before his tongue suddenly ventures past his lips, lapping up her entire sex. The first real moan is pulled out of her at that moment. He can't help but grin victoriously against her. "-Took care of that, wouldn't you?" He finishes his sentence. 

Another moan follows as he decides to have another taste immediately after, groaning softly against her pussy. When his tongue flicks over her clit, a barely-there tease, she pats his head and grips his hair, almost like one would rile a horse.

"I-" She takes a breath between her words. "I would."

"Yeah..." The words are so muffled by her skin, so quiet and uncharacteristic that she's unsure if it's a sound he intended to let out so discernable. But it's hard to focus because his mouth is back on her again. His tongue, hot and slow, gather the seepage that's gathered all over her cunt and works it around, moving his mouth back and forth with far too much precision. She gasps, then sighs out a serpentine moan. When her hands unintentionally rake through his hair again, tugging him closer to her pussy, he groans.

Hunter breaks away for a moment.

”Don’t you just taste so sweet…” He mutters, completely understandable yet undistinguishable all at the same time. Her eyes flutter, almost daring to fall close, eyelashes batting against her cheeks while letting him take it all, take everything she has, just to get some pleasure back.

And my, does she get bountiful.

His lips completely engulf her cunt, sucking at her lips and flicking his tongue against her clit with determined persistence despite her squirming and buzzing above him. She wishes to feel like this forever. Selfishly receive for eternity, if Hunter allowed it; she (rather smugly) knew how much he got off to this. It's obvious in how he shifts on his knees back and forth, trying to get friction between his pants.

And all just from pleasuring her. The ache between her legs grows more just thinking about it.

He continues his succor, lingering sweet little kitten licks over her clit every few moments before going back to her folds, pushing his tongue through them more and more the longer he stays between her thighs. She shivers in sheer delight, nails scratching against his scalp to grasp onto even a fraction more of grounding.

He gives it; it's not until her ass is fully lifted in the air that she realizes he's wrapped both of her legs on his shoulders, now only relying on his strength and the dependability that her back won't slide off the wall. She moans, allowing her ankles to meet on his back and wrap themselves, pushing his face even closer to her cunt if it were possible.

"Good," the murmur is barely detectable between the rest of his groans vibrating against her sex. But it's there and it's encouraging as his hands drift to her thighs, squeezing them under his rough palms. 

"Oh, yes..." She sighs, eyes shut. "Please, Hunter."

There's no need to beg now. He's giving her all she wants. But it doesn't matter.

This is heaven, his mouth is heaven; she's been blessed with the touch of an angelus. 

His tongue, still hot and fluid and all over, pushes further into her, softly massaging the beginning crooks of her walls. It wiggles and curls every so slightly, and his lips engorge the rest of her cunt, sucking pleasantly as he delves himself into her. Even more devastatingly, he seems to do it so lazily; almost half-assingly holding her up, like if he exerted any less energy she'd crumble to the ground. 

But the cruel idea is no longer on the forefront of her mind when he pushes his tongue fully in her, solid and warm and she rocks her hips onto him. He moves it, slowly fucking her with his tongue, moving her thighs under the grip of his hands to encourage her to sway with him.

When she musters the energy to gaze down, she lets out a filthy moan. His eyes have been set on her face for who knows how long at this point, shining with delectation and an almost predatory satisfaction. She groans, and a gasp follows when suddenly she feels his tongue slip out of her, replaced with focused circles of his middle finger. Kriff, she didn't even feel his hand leave her thigh.

Hunter circles her entrance again, controlled and charmed, and she mewls.

"`Got something to say, mesh'la?" He asks. She wants to respond with something witty or sexy or just anything, but instead, she just whines again, robbed completely of any cognitive intellection. Hunter rumbles something that sounds close to a laugh. "Aww... poor baby." He dotes. "Loth-cat got your tongue?"

"Fuck- fuck you," She finally manages to get out, lips tugging up even as he lets out an actual chuckle and pushes in barely an inch of his digit into her.

"Mm, I think I'd like that," He quips back. She scratches his scalp harshly, tugging on his hair as a reasonable response. She can't think of anything else to say.

In typical fashion, Hunter doesn't waste much more time and pushes his finger into the second knuckle. The whine that follows is guttural, senseless, She almost feels like purring, his finger sending heat and waves of pure goodness spiraling through her core. It's just as she pictured it in her daydreams; she wishes she could tell him so.

Hunter picks up his pace, smiling deviously. Another finger traces the very graze of her entrance, a teasing circle. 

"I bet you'd make me beg," His finger begins searching for the perfect spot inside of her. She winces, not from pain, more from surprise, but Hunter is alerted and slows down slightly nonetheless. "I bet I'd love how you make me whine."

"Oh, I'm su-sure," Her tone is dipped in sweet sarcasm, even as her body and voice twitch when he crooks his fingers in a new spot. "Make you just as desperate for me as I'm for you."

The hum that vibrates in his chest is deathly attractive. 

"Who says I'm not as desperate?" He asks. He pulls out his finger for a brief moment, looking up at her, making sure they make direct eye contact before he mouths 'two?' and getting her direct verbal confrontation, before circling his index finger one last time and plunging it in. "Maybe even more?"

She can't help but smile, open-mouthed and lazily drunk on pleasure. When she doesn't respond, he doesn't probe it out of her, just rocks his fingers in and out again, determined to find the spot that will have her dilapidated and serving him.

He finds it. Really quickly. Maybe a little too quick.

She exclaims suddenly, surprised at the sudden spot he grazes with the tips of his digits, and he smiles. An open-mouthed kiss is pressed against her inner thigh before he says a thing.

"That it?" He asks brusquely. Hunter doesn't get a response, only the lightest tug on his locks, so he takes the sign to continue. 

He rubs against the spot again, and she bucks forward. So he does it again. Then again. And some more, occasionally pushing and pulling his fingers in and out to create more friction between the two of them. His fingers are slick but he still faces some resistance as he thrusts his fingers into her sex, she's just so tight, clenching around him sporadically yet without her climax in limpid sight.

Hunter looks up, eyes glazed over and hooded by his eyelids. There's pure, malignant glee on his face all derived from her pleasure, and it's too fucking hot to manage under the pressure of slowly peaking bliss. 

The pace he sets is toe-curling, causing her to loll her head back and hit the wall roughly as she tries to gain her footing back against the wall, slowly undulating her hips with each of his thrusts, fucking herself on his hand. Then he finds the other spot, unexpected and beginning to tire his fingers out, but he doesn't pull back. He goes for it further. 

It's as if she's struck by a bolt of lightning; she cries out, loudly, and her back arches off the wall, head hanging. She's only relying on the strength of his shoulders to keep her up, heels grinding into his back and fingers beginning to strain with how hard she's tugging onto his hair. Suddenly, her finish seems so in reach, a little too close for Hunter's liking, it seems.

He slows down. She jerks his head.

"Hunter-!" She reprimands, interrupted by the nudging of his nose against her clit. She pouts, disappointed he'd stoop this low and try to distract her, but he expresses no regret in his eyes; there's a fucking twinkle of enjoyment instead.

"Hey, now," his words are too smooth for her liking. He nudges her spot again, and she whines softly, going to rock into it again before he stills and holds her in place. "What did we talk about?"

She frowns.

"Be patient-" He reminds her, slowly beginning to move his fingers again, each and every graze against that spot that makes her see stars becoming more and more vigorous. "-And I'll give you exactly what you need."

Before she can respond, he's got her back to the peak again, nudging his nose through her folds and to her clit to make it all the more better. She allows her eyes to close, delicately patting his hair instead of the rough tugging she indulged in before, and rocks her hips a few times to help him out in reaching her climax.

"Oh, I'm so close..." She whispers, so lowly she mistakes for a moment that Hunter didn't hear her. Silly, she really should've known better.

"I know, I've got you."

"Hm..." The hum comes out of her inadvertently when she feels a small mini-wave of pleasure wash over her, just a fraction of what she might feel when she finally does finish.

Hunter follows up with a flick of his tongue, just enough to make that pleasure swell into a tidal wave.

"Yeah, you do..." She moans, resting her hands on his head and fisting his hair a little more. All the while Hunter is catching every drop of sweat, every dollop of her sopping cunt he can reach. She feels his nose rub against her clit again, then just the tip, flicking his tongue with expert precision in a way reflecting how he handles a vibroblade. The waves curl and undulate, and kriff, she's so close, so close...

"Come for me."

She does as he says, so obediently and almost immediately, a sharp cry of his name pushed out of her as she falls into the feeble pleasure he's graced her with. It's a nearly painful feeling that tears through her, but it's so damn good. She feels her legs render useless and turn to jelly as her body explodes with all the pent-up tension, and she's shaking like a life, clenching around his fingers, getting coated with slurps of her release.

All the while he's praising her through it, voice rough and cunning.

"Now was that so bad?"

"Look at you, falling apart nice and loud..."

"What a perfect little thing."

She looks down to his face, seeing him licking his own fingers covered in her slick, and flashes him a soft grin despite the frustration she feels with his dutiful fawning.

There really is heaven in him, isn't there?

tags: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch + some people i thought might enjoy, hope u dont mind the tags: @moodymisty @secondaryrealm @freesia-writes