#I fucked up mists hair :<

[lazyassryan]

I feel so weird posting my art lmao.

[hoshigray]

shower sex with sukuna?

꯳⃘꤫⃛✿ contents: true form! Sukuna - explicit content; minors DNI - size difference - standing + against a wall positions - biting/marking - kissing/making out - itty bitty degradation - unprotected sex - clitoral stimulation - cervix-fucking - pet names (babe, dove, pet) - overstimulation - mention of drool/spit and pain.

“Mmmahh, ‘Kuna, wa—Eeek!"

“Keheh, so damn noisy.”

Being fucked in the shower with Sukuna would be out of this world — an experience that one would have difficulty to even formulate into words. Something that they would have to experience for themselves…

Nude bodies enclosed within a confined space, shower water sprinkling down from up above glide down across wet skin, and a mist fills the atmosphere and clouds your vision…Either that or the proximity of your face with Sukuna’s. 

The cursed being holds you to the wall, your hands balled to fists as hot breaths exit your frame. The man behind you carries you effortlessly with his multiple arms, the water hitting his tattooed chest showers to your buttocks. One girthy cock is stuffed inside your cunt, stretching your entrance and rubbing your inner texture in a gratifying rhythm. Every smack of the giant’s hips on your butt is louder and bounces the walls of the shower, making it easier to drown your eardrums.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” Salmon-pink hair, usually pushed back, is now damp and low, sticking to his forehead and nape. He scoffs, “And it’s been like that way before I put the water on, huh.”

“Haaahh, ohhmyGod,” you stammer with eyebrows knitted. Sukuna’s hands arms hold you up by your arms, his lower ones keeping your waist still and stuck to the skin of his pelvis. “Ohh G-God…! So hooot…”

The man snickers to himself, observing from behind how your body’s movement is affected by his. A powerful man such as himself can put you at your whims efficiently. Even now, as his second cock doesn’t have to be inside you to have you turn into a whimpering mess, the erect, free limb rubbing up against your clitoris is enough to cause shivers to rattle your spine. All it does is feed the man’s egotistical self; seeing you try to writhe from his grasp – knowing damn well you’d fall and bust your head on the floor – keeps the sadistic excitement going.

And to keep it up, Sukuna spawns lips of his palms to chew and bite on your arms, resulting in a cry from the simultaneous pain. “—Ahaack! F-Fuucking shiiit.”

“Hmmph, so tight on me,” he purrs to your ear; the twitch of your vagina was anything but discreet. “Enjoyin’ this, aren’t you? Hmph, such a slut for my dicks, babe?”

“Ohhh, myGo—Ahhh! ’Kunaaa…!” Your mind is swimming; sticking to one thought is strenuous when all you can hear is the sounds of skin smacking up against each other or the sensation of your southern region meeting the hilt of Sukuna’s cock for his other one to press your clit again. “Suk’naa, I beg of y—“

“What?” He steps back, causing your hands to come off the wall. You nearly lose your soul, forgetting that the behemoth is holding you. Yet your fright is humorous to him. “Can’t hear you; if you wish to beg, speak aloud?”

Now is where he decided to increase the pace; the work of his hips changed to an irregular cadence you can’t keep up with. Frequent grazes to your sweet spots now happen every second or so, and the poke of your cervix nearly knocks the wind clean off you. Warm, tranquilizing water felt like cold, sharp knives for a split second, like the tongue of his stomach on your back. “Ohh! Hoooh!! Wa-wait, please, no…!”

“Answer me, pet.” He barks with a grin, sporadic plunges to your chasm becoming the norm.

“Taahh, I’m so close…!” The heat within this enclosed space strengthens the smog, disorienting your brain and causing fuzziness to blanket you outside of this intimacy. Your senses are wholly stuck to the moment, sticky and wet by the man who has you levitated and fills your slit with his girthy groin. “Please, Suku, let me cummm…!!”

Sukuna laughs bitterly, using his upper left hand to swipe his wet bangs. “Ask again.”

“I beg you, Sukuna,” Holy fuck, you can’t take this anymore! “Please, let me cum, I wanna c—Ohooo!!”

A harsh flex of his abs causes another hit to your cervix, turning your words into instant babbles. “Again.”

Before your mind becomes numb, you spit out the words in desperation. Drool mixes with the trickled water hitting your chin, and your ass is practically embedded in Sukuna’s length and meaty thighs. “—Cum!! I wish to cum!! Please, please, pleaseplease—”

“Quiet.” His upper left-hand silences your wails, the mouth of his palm chewing on your bottom lip until you open up. “Hurry up and cum, you cock-hungry whore.”

His hand kisses you — no elegance nor grace in it, an utter mess of saliva and water that you can nearly choke on. Instead, you moan along to the tongue shoving and fucking you orally. A sinful kiss that pairs with the raunchy scene and noises around you. Your ears could melt any second now, brushes to your clit has you on the brink of tears, and the heat gets worse within the span of ten seconds. Constant pokes to your cervix quicken your heart rate, and your body submits to the shocks that pull you down to your euphoric apex.

You howl to his palm; your frame jolts with every single passing crash of your orgasm with quivering toes. Sukuna doesn’t stop moving; however, he allows the gesture of going slow to treasure your vaginal walls spasming on his member and biting his lip at the feeling, having to control his urge to release by enjoying the merits of your essence coating him.

“Hnngh, fuck…That’ll do, little dove.” He whirs to your ear again, licking your helix before a chew from his canines. “Keep wringing me out.”

His words were barely decipherable because of your after-haze, succumbing to the kiss of his hand and the cold water that plasters on your hot figure. And yet, despite the contrasts, the warmth within you has you hum in delight.

© HOSHIGRAY2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Uncommon kinks I think 141 would have (feat. König)

~

Gaz: Quirofilia, the love of hands. Especially manicured hands. Pretty hands getting dirtied by gardening without gloves. Playing the piano with dainty fingers. Long nails squeezing the trigger of a Glock. A light touch running up and down his body. The sting of those pretty nails digging into his back. Soft palms wrapped around his thick shaft, massaging precum over his tip.

Ghost: This one is a little out there, but nebulophilia (sexual arousal when in fog/steam). He likes it really, really thick. Like to the point you can barely see your hand if you held it out in front of you. Likes to make you look for him in the mist. He was always so quiet, always likes to make you jump when he catches you. Then the heaviness of the air in his lungs when he inhales, ugh it just does something to him. The way your skin sticks to each other from the wetness of the air.

Price: Hear me out. Vacuuming. Watching a woman vacuum. Especially in heels. Just the thought of a domestic, hyper feminine woman makes him cream his pants. Especially if it's a part of brat taming. Speaking of brat taming and hyper femininity, he's into corsetry. It doesn't have to be limited to just your waist. He likes to lace up any soft part of you. Likes to tie the laces so tight, your skin seeps out the side and back. He likes to constrict your movement and make you breathe shallow.

Soap: Wrestling, duh. He'll show you some moves to take him down, grab you from behind and make you throw him over your shoulder, kick the back of your knees and make you kneel in front of him, put you in a chokehold with his arms. Loves getting sweaty. Loves the panting. Loves the way you mess up each other's clothes and hair. And then fuck each other's brains out on the mats.

König: Interrogation play. Always one to be in charge. (Of course there's always a safe word but you like to test yourself, see how far he will go and how much you can take.) Tie you up to an uncomfortable wooden chair. Throw cold water on you. Pull your hair. Face slapping. Light choking. Make you genuinely scared. Tie you up in an incredibly uncomfortable position where your arms are tied up behind you and attached to a pipe on the ceiling so you are forced to bend over and stand on your tiptoes. Makes you cry and cry from overstimulation. Always asks you for information you don't know anything about. Then proceeds to fuck the sense out of you, still asking for Intel.

[jaewritesfic]

Melon!AU

Actual writing now, based on this post:

“What,” Tim breathes out faintly, “the fuck is that?”

Language, Bruce thinks faintly, though he doesn't manage to get it past his lips.

He is a man who prides himself on being ready for anything, but he most certainly didn't expect something like this when responding to the Batsignal tonight.

“That is a Pit Demon,” Damian's voice asserts through comms, grave in a way that betrays his collected mask. He's unnerved. “There is nothing else that could be.”

Bruce is unnerved too, though he refuses to show it.

Gordon had half the block cordoned off so no civilians would come through by the time Bruce and Tim - the closest at the time - had arrived on scene. The alley itself is blocked in by police cruisers, though the officers are staying very firmly behind the line and not approaching.

It's no wonder why.

The…thing backed into a dead end alley looks like it's made of smoke and shadow, all long sinuous lines and dangerous angles.

It's vaguely Humanoid in the sense that it has a long torso, arms and a head. The arms are too long, the fingers curved and wickedly sharp. The face is a well of deep shadow, a smooth slate broken only when it opens its jagged mouth to show off a full arsenal of fangs.

The only other facial features are the solid, glowing Lazarus green eyes. Wide and lamp-like, they give the distinct feeling that the creature's sights will not miss anything.

There are no legs. Just the sinuous curves and overlaps of a long smokey tail. It whips about with agitation.

Floating like mist on the water is a head of white hair, edges fuzzy and undefined like it can't decide whether it's a solid or a gas.

The creature lays with its chest nearly flat to the ground, propped up only by those horrifically sharp hands and poised like a predator ready to push off into a sprint.

Glowing Lazarus water seems to pool slowly beneath it, streaked here and there as evidence of past movement.

Bruce finally finds his tongue to question Damian. He can see his youngest standing on the opposite roof of he and Tim, the two buildings that form the alley their perch.

“You've seen something like this before?”

Damian hesitates. “...no. But there are stories of things coming out of the Pits. I doubt I need to explain why this seems to be one of them.”

With that color green shining out of its face and streaked across the alley? No. No, he doesn't.

“Do your stories have any clues on what to do when one shows up?” Tim asks, unable to tear his eyes away from the creature.

Damian scoffs. “Close your eyes and hope your end is quick.”

“Lovely,” Tim bites out, voice a little higher pitched than normal.

“We won't be doing that,” Bruce responds dryly, two taps coming through the comms notifying them of Black Bat's arrival.

Bruce looks up and has to search for her for a few seconds before he can make her out in the shadows of Damian's rooftop.

“I'm still five minutes out,” Dick comms in. “What exactly are we looking at here? Can Oracle give a visual with any cams?”

“I wish,” Oracle chimes in. “Even through the mask footage I have no idea what they're seeing. The feed is corrupted to hell and back whenever it's in frame.”

“Really? In person it looks like-”

Tim is cut off when the officers below make some kind of movement the monster clearly takes issue with, the snarl that almost physically ricochets off the brick walls making everyone wince.

It's like TV static and the crackle of lightning striking a tree, like glaciers cracking and shifting underwater all rolled into one.

The hair on the back of Bruce's neck stands on end.

“Fuck. It's like a living shadow, but all sharp and wrong and angry-”

“No,” Cass cuts in quietly, silencing everyone.

“...Black Bat?” Bruce questions lowly.

“Not angry,” she responds, as sure as ever when assessing a target - no matter what kind of target.

“Scared, hurt. Guarding chest, trying to hide it. Wants to scare us away, but making no move to attack. Posturing.”

The thing about Cass is that they trust her reads implicitly - her reads of people.

She wouldn't speak up if she wasn't certain, and she wouldn't be certain if she didn't see something painfully human in the creature below.

“...what do you suggest?” Bruce asks after a moment of tense silence, trying to reassess the creature and see what she sees.

He at the very least wants her opinion, so they can weigh it in formulating a plan here.

Cass keeps looking for a long moment, before she looks across the gap at him. “Needs help. Reach out - at least try.”

Masterpost

[azrielslittleslut]

"Gray Sweatpants"

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, pure filth, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), reader is ovulating, breeding kink, shadow play, pet names

Word Count: 3.1k

a/n: i am not responsible for what i write when i'm ovulating. that wasn't me... it was Patricia.

Enjoy!

The fire in the living room of your home was burning low, the embers crackling as you read a book on the couch. As you turned a page, you lifted your eyes to the clock above the mantle. It was already past midnight, and your eyes were growing heavy with sleep.

With a sigh, you stood from the couch and stretched. The blanket that had been draped over your legs fell to the ground, and you shivered as the cold air danced across your skin.

You wouldn’t be so cold if your mate was here, you thought. But he had been gone for three days on some mission, and you had been left alone. You were cold, and lonely, and obscenely horny-

You took a deep breath to settle yourself, focusing on calming the budding desire that was growing low in your belly. It was unfortunate timing that Azriel had been sent away on a mission during your ovulation cycle. Usually, you kept track of it, making sure that he would be here to take care of you and your desires during these few days. But you had lost track this time, and your mate wasn’t here.

Gods. Just the thought of him. He was so sexy, and muscular… and the way his cock would feel inside of you, the thick head of him hitting your-

“Fuck, Az,” you breathed as you made your way toward the bedroom. “Why can't you just come home already?” You were used to him being gone on missions- it was his job, after all. But he had never been away while you were ovulating, and you felt as if your entire body was going to burst if you didn't have his hands on you within the next five minutes.

You entered the bedroom, your mood suddenly sour. You threw yourself down onto the bed with a groan, your body tingling with unmet needs. You silently cursed Rhys for sending your mate away on some stupid mission, while you were left here alone, drowning in the crashing waves of desire.

You could take care of it yourself, but you knew that while it would make the urges go away for a while, you would still be left unsatisfied. You were never able to touch yourself as Azriel did. You were unable to give yourself the mind-shattering orgasms that your mate gave you regularly.

Still, it was better than nothing, and there was no telling when Azriel would be coming home. You quickly moved your hand down, pulling up your nightgown. You weren't in the mood to tease yourself tonight. You needed to get the job done quickly before you lost your mind.

Your fingers had just reached your upper thigh when you heard soft wingbeats from outside the window. Azriel's shadows swarmed the room, announcing their master's arrival.

With a squeal, you jumped off the bed, sprinting to the window to greet your mate as he landed through the large frame. His feet had barely touched the floor before you threw your arms around him, your face buried in his neck. Your eyes rolled back at the masculine scent of him- night-chilled mist, cedar, and... sweat.

You loved all of Azriel, but you were a clean person, and you never hugged him like this when he was sweaty. But gods the musk of him... The way those leathers hugged his muscled body in all of the right places, the way his siphons gleamed in the darkness, a sign of how powerful he is...

Stupid fucking hormones.

Az chuckled as he wrapped his strong arms around you. "Missed you too, love," he murmured into your hair. His shadows skimmed up your legs, their cold tendrils wrapping around your ankles and thighs. You wanted them to keep going up, up, up, until they touched your throbbing core to grant you some form of relief.

"Missed you more," you muttered, your words slurring as you were overwhelmed with the presence of your mate. You looked up at him, saw the way those full lips of his were curved into a smile, and decided you would have him right here and now.

You reached up to grab him by the shoulders, meaning to pull him down onto the floor because you didn't think you would make it to the bed.

Azriel grabbed your wrists, his grip gentle but firm. "Not tonight, angel," he said as he pressed a kiss to your hair. "It's been a long few days, and I'm so tired. I just want a bath and sleep."

You blinked up at him, forcing the haze of desire to leave your eyes. His face was paler than usual, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He was tired, you realized with a pang in your chest.

Though you wanted him so badly you could hardly think straight, he was still your mate, and his well-being was your top priority. If he wasn't in the mood, you would force yourself to gain some semblance of self-control so he could get the rest he so obviously needed.

"That's alright," you said, your voice surprisingly even. "I'm tired, too. Would you like me to help you bathe?"

Please say no. Please say no, you silently pleaded. You didn't think you would be able to control yourself if you saw his glorious body in the bathtub. But it would be strange if you didn't ask him, as it had become a routine for you to help him wash after long missions.

Azriel smiled as he made his way to the bathroom, his wings dragging on the floor slightly. "No, thank you," he responded, his tone full of exhaustion. "I will be in and out. Go ahead and get comfortable, baby."

You nodded distantly as you made your way back to the bed and got under the blanket. You heard the water running, followed by the sound of Azriel's leathers hitting the floor. You listened closely as the water rippled, a sign that he was in the bath, which meant he was naked. Your mouth watered at the thought of his cock-

No! You inwardly cursed yourself, breathing deeply, trying to focus on anything other than the sound of your exhausted mate innocently taking a bath. You could do this. You could be a good little mate and get your shit together for a few more hours.

You didn't know how long you sat there, your eyes locked onto the far wall, your body so tense you were sure you would be sore in the morning. You were pulled from your thoughts as you heard Azriel's light footsteps pad into the bedroom. You turned to look at him, a soft smile on your face, but that smile quickly turned into a look of predatory hunger as you saw what he was wearing.

Azriel was shirtless, his brown skin still damp from the bath, his Illyrian tattoos dark and gleaming. He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, the waistband sitting low on his hips, giving you a perfect view of his glorious V-line.

Your eyes went farther down, and you let out a soft moan at the sight of his cock. It was clear he wasn't wearing any underwear, as you could see the perfect outline of his proud length through the pants.

You decided two things at once. The first thing was that you never wanted Az to get rid of these pants.

The second thing was that you would do anything to get him to take them off.

Azriel's dark brows rose. "Like what you see, love?" he teased, his deep voice low and tired. His shadows swirled around him lazily, as if they too were exhausted beyond comprehension.

"Az," you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. "I've never seen those pants before. When did you get them?"

He toyed with the string on the front as he said, "I bought them last week. They looked comfortable, so I thought I would wear them to sleep." He gave you an innocent shrug, completely oblivious to the sinful path of your thoughts.

He must be tired. Az was always aware of your cues, both verbal and nonverbal. It was a rare occurrence indeed for him to miss the scent of your arousal.

You let out a breath, your fingers gripping the blanket so hard you swore it would rip. "I like them," you murmured, the tone of your voice dropping slightly.

Az tilted his head to the side, his hazel eyes squinting as he looked at you. "Are you alright, love?" he asked, his expression one of concern. "You're... vibrating."

Indeed, you could feel your body shaking, your teeth chattering with desire. "I'm- I'm fine, Az. Really. Just tired," you said through your teeth.

Just get in the fucking bed, Azriel, you wanted to shout. Stop asking questions.

Azriel's shadows swarmed you at once, a few of them lingering around his ear. He leaned forward slightly and inhaled deeply, his eyes rolling back into his head. "You're ovulating," he groaned. "Why didn't you say so?"

You eyed his shadows as they swarmed around your body. They always alerted Azriel to your condition, and it was obvious they had given you away tonight. "You're tired, Azriel," you whispered, moving back against the headboard. "I can wait until tomorrow."

Azriel smirked at you, all signs of his earlier exhaustion wiped away in an instant. He bit his lip as his eyes darkened with lust. He took a step forward, his muscular thighs straining against those damned pants. "Let me take care of you, love. I know how painful this can be," he murmured, his deep voice lower than usual. You had a thing for his voice, especially when it sounded like that. "Let me make my mate feel good."

You thanked all of the gods, the Mother, and the cauldron for blessing you with such an attentive mate.

Before you could think, you found yourself crawling off the bed and onto the floor. You crawled on your hands and knees to him, your mouth watering at the sight of his body in front of you. You stopped once you got to him, kneeling submissively at his feet. You raised up enough to pull on the waistband of the sweatpants with your teeth. "Can I taste?" you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

Azriel ran a hand through your hair, his touch gentle but possessive. "Is that what you want? You want my cock in your mouth?" he asked, his voice full of dominance. When you were like this, you loved his dominant side, and he always gave you what you desired.

You nodded frantically. "Yes, please!" you moaned, your fingers moving up to grasp the waistband.

"Then go ahead, baby. Taste me."

You wasted no time in pulling down his pants enough to reveal his cock. He was half-way hard, and you would normally take your time, teasing him with gentle licks and kisses along his length.

But you didn't have the patience for that tonight.

You grabbed him at the base as you wrapped your lips around him, your tongue licking up the small bead of pre cum on his tip. Azriel moaned as you started to bob your head, your hand stroking what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

He grabbed your head with both hands, twisting your hair up in his fist. "So fucking good, baby," he moaned, his head thrown back in pure bliss.

You smirked around his cock as you moved your hands up to his waist, your fingers pulling on his hips in a silent plea. Azriel understood your command, and his hazel eyes glowed with predatory intent as he looked down at you. "Four taps if it's too much," he said, his voice blending in with the shadows surrounding you. You could feel them swarming along your thighs and chest, but they were staying away from the spots you wanted them most.

As much as you loved his shadows pleasuring you, tonight, your pleasure belonged to Azriel alone.

You nodded as best as you could with his cock down your throat. His grip on your hair tightened as he began to thrust, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat with each rough movement.

You gagged and choked, but you kept going, loving the obscene sounds coming from your mate. "Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head.

With one hand, you ran your fingers along his stomach, loving the feeling of his abs tensing as he thrust into your mouth. With the other, you cupped his balls, massaging them gently, knowing it would drive him wild.

Azriel pulled away, his hands loosening their grip on your hair. You looked up at him with teary eyes, knowing you probably looked like a wanton whore. You had saliva running down your chin, and your hair was an outright mess, but you didn't care.

Tonight, you were his whore, his to use and breed.

Az grabbed you by the shoulders, lifting you up roughly so your lips met his. The kiss was rough, all teeth and tongue. You nipped at his bottom lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "Why did you stop?" you asked breathlessly. "I was enjoying myself."

He kissed down your neck, biting down on your pulse point as he walked toward the bed. "The only place I'm coming tonight is deep inside that tight little cunt of yours."

His filthy words caused a fresh wave of desire to flood your veins, and you dug your nails into his shoulders. "Please, Az," you begged, grinding your throbbing core against his cock. "I need you so bad."

"I know, baby girl," he whispered, leaning down to press a final kiss to your lips. "I know what you need tonight. Do you trust me?"

You bit your lip as you nodded, expecting him to lay you down gently on the bed. You gasped as he spun you around and threw you onto the mattress so you were lying on your stomach. You struggled up onto your elbows, looking at him over your shoulder. "Az, what-"

You stopped as you saw him standing behind you, his glorious wings spread out behind him. His shadows filled the room as he unleashed his power, his hazel eyes glowing as he looked at you spread out for him on the bed. "Face down. Ass up."

Pure and utter command laced his words, and you found yourself obeying, trusting him to take care of you.

Azriel moved your nightgown up enough to give him access. You moved to remove it completely, but you were stopped as his shadows pinned your hand to the bed. "Don't move. Let me make you feel good," he murmured as he ran his hands along the flesh of your ass. You had not put on any underwear earlier, and you quickly thanked your past self for that decision.

You moaned as he slapped your right ass cheek, the sting followed by nothing but pleasure. "You're so perfect," he muttered. "So wet and ready for me. I don't even think I need to prepare you. I bet I could slip right into this wet pussy."

"Please," you moaned into the sheets. "Need you now." He was big enough that you usually needed him to stretch you out with his fingers before fucking you. But you could feel your wetness dripping down your thighs, and a dark part of you wanted to feel the pain as he stretched you out.

Azriel lined himself up with you, moving his cock through your slick folds to coat himself. He gripped your ass with a hand as he buried himself into your tight heat in a single thrust. You screamed as he did so, your fingers tangling in the sheets as much as his shadows would allow.

He set a punishing pace, his balls slapping against your clit with each rough thrust. "You. Feel. So. Fucking. Good." He accentuated each word with a thrust, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises. "This cunt is mine. All mine."

"Yes, yes, yes," you moaned, your eyes rolling back as he hit deep. "Don't stop."

The sound of skin slapping on skin mixed with your screams and moans was so sinful, but you loved it. You loved the way the head of his cock hit your cervix with each thrust. You loved the way he could meet your needs in a way that nobody else could. He was yours and you were his, and nothing would ever change that.

"What's my name, love?" he groaned, his voice breathless, his thrusts sloppy. "Say my fucking name."

"Azriel!" you screamed as you felt your climax approaching. Distantly, you had an odd thought, one that only came when you were ovulating. A need that you only cared about being met during this part of your cycle. "Fill me up, Azriel. Get me pregnant."

You both drank the contraceptive tea, so pregnancy wasn't necessarily on the table. But right now, the thought of carrying his child, of being so full of his come that it dripped out of you, sent you into a near madness.

"Oh, shit. Oh, fuck," Azriel whimpered, his hand moving down to rub your clit. "Come for me, baby. Come now."

You screamed his name as you came, your body straining against his shadows as you trembled. With a final, hard thrust, Azriel slammed into your cunt, warm ropes of his come filling you.

After a few moments, Azriel commanded his shadows to release you, and he gently raised your wrist to press kisses along your skin. "I'm sorry I wasn't home earlier," he said, the exhaustion entering his voice again. "Your ovulation happened earlier than usual this time."

You turned over so you were on your back, looking up at him with a tired smile. You playfully put your feet on his chest as you said, "It's alright. You made up for it."

Az chuckled as he massaged your legs. "Were you really going to go to sleep feeling like that?" he asked, his gaze soft. "I know how... needy you can get."

You playfully kicked him. "I was going to let you sleep," you said, pushing yourself up on your hands as you moved your feet down. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss on the warm skin of his chest. "But then I saw you in those damned pants, and I couldn't help myself."

Azriel laughed as he pulled you down on the bed, his body warm as he tucked you into his side. He draped a wing protectively around you as his shadows covered you. "In that case," he said, "remind me to wear them more often."

You laughed tiredly at his teasing, your eyes closing as exhaustion claimed your body. You were finally sated, and you were in your mate's arms, so sleep would come easily tonight.

Your dreams that night were filled with your shadowsinger wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants.

general tag list: @quiet-loser @andreperez11 @lilah-asteria

@anarchiii @inkedinshadows @panther-girl-124

@scorpioriesling

[tojigasm]

Thinking very hard about Logan talking you through it

He knows you're close ultimately before you do. Seasoned by his many years of life, your tells are specific but not impossible to discern.

It's different each time he's come to realize. A different scent to you based on the mood you're in, how quickly he brings you there, your vulnerability, and how he speaks to you.

Logan's a greedy man. He knows that. And he knew as soon as the first time it'd happened that he shamelessly selfish in getting what he wanted.

You smell like cinnamon and vanilla and fuck if it wasn't better than all the drugs he'd ever tried combined.

A part of him still thinks he might be chasing your high.

He learned quickly how to manipulate you to get different responses. Testing out what you react to and which scent meant what.

When it's a euphoric intimacy, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla isn't so strong. It's diluted some, like a soft cloudy mist.

More emotionally frustrated intimacy smells far more tart, almost coppery. It often reminds him of blood in his mouth, soaking into his lungs and taste buds like tar.

When you're in a far more glum mood, you smell like rain on cement. He's starved for it.

You're so pretty beneath him. Eyes lidded and swollen lips parted loosely as he scissors his middle and forefinger against your velvet walls.

Logan bumps his palm against your clit and you let you a gasp – your hand jumping from the bedsheets to grip his forearm.

"Right there, huh?"

You can hear the smirk in his voice and you give him a nod at that, tucking your chin to your chest as he moves his other hand to press one of your thighs upwards to where your knee almost hits your breast.

He slips his hand from your cunt, moving to pull your other hand to hold your own thighs to your chest.

Wordlessly, he kneels and pulls you by your hips to the edge of the bed before hooking his arms around your waist.

Without warning, he runs the flat of his tongue up the length of your cunt to your clit with a deep hum.

You know he can feel you shiver beneath him by the way he smiles against the sopping folds of your cunt.

"Feel good?" He chuckles softly, looking up at you from between your thighs.

You're reduced to broken whines and choked gasps, but you manage a hum in response, readjusting your grip on the backs of your thighs as Logan slips his tongue past your folds.

You smell of faint cinnamon.

"Lo," you sigh, throwing your arm over your eyes with a chipped whine.

Logan hums into your cunt, the sharp of his nose rocking back and forth against your clit.

He unwraps his arm from around your waist, reaching upwards to weave your hands together with a soft squeeze.

"Haa... ahh." Your voice grows watery as Logan brings you closer to the edge.

"M'close, Lo," you breathe, readjusting your hand on your thigh to keep it close to your chest.

"I know, sweetie." He circles his tongue around your bundle of nerves before blowing a stream of air onto your clit, "m'gonna get you there."

When he sucks on your clit again, you're cumming almost immediately with a shiver that simmers itself down your spine to your toes.

"There we go. It's a big one, huh."

A wave of vanilla woven with cinnamon washes over him and he nearly cums in his jeans.

You hear Logan before you've noticed he's moved from between your legs to stand above you, thumb circling your clit softly.

Whining, you turn your head into his forearm beside you.

"Doin' so good, sweetie," He coos, stroking his hand, still held by your own, down the side of your face before placing a kiss on your temple.

Your smell is much more prominent there, as though it travels through the roots of your hair and tickles itself through your soft skin.

Another shiver runs down your spine, causing the air on your arms and the nape of your neck to stand.

"Need you." You sob, voice muffled by the skin of his arm.

He settles down beside you on the bed, chin propped up on the flat of his right palm, squeezing your hand with his.

"You're okay."

The vanilla sinners throughout the room, and he swears he can see it in the dust that floats past the Amber hues of his room.

[solbaby7]

Feel Me

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, sexual descriptions, tensionnnn, cocky!az , minors DNI

summary: Fae males don’t make love like the sweet boys you knew in the human lands. Fae’s fuck.

based of the request in [ part 1 ]

—

No one else was supposed to be home.

Rhys and Feyre had left long before the morning dew could mist over the lawn. Cassian and Nesta had slipped out hours ago with their leathers on and hair neatly braided after a steaming cup of coffee.

Buttered pancakes steam on a plate, bacon sizzles on the stove and your hips sway in tandem with whatever bouncy song your humming. Strawberry stumps grow in a pile to your left, knife slicing at ripe fruit contentedly until a sneaky wisp of darkness snatches a piece for its master. “You planning on sharing?”

“Depends on how nicely you ask.”

Azriel doesn’t bite, he only raises a brow with a smirk growing at the corner of full lips. “Was it polite words that initiated Elain’s legs straddling your waist the other night?” Shock shoves the ability to form a sentence out the window and you despise the way your eyes linger on the mess of dark hair atop his head—thoughts wandering to less than respectable places when picturing other ways to muss up soft strands. “Bacon’s burning.”

A frustrated scoff pulls from your throat, a blush fanning across your cheeks and gratefulness floods your chest when you actually have something to busy your hands with to avoid Azriel’s honeyed stare. “Not that it’s any of your business,” You hiss, avoiding spattering oil while forking meat from the pan. “But, I was just helping out a friend.”

“Helping?” His morning voice was sinful; a low rasp coupled with lazy lids and a t-shirt that fit entirely too well.

“I offered sound advice.” The house cleans while you plate, stealing berry stumps as a warm rag is ran over the countertops. Hot water is poured in a mug, a tea bag string twirled around the handle. Azriel’s already next to you, twisting open the honey jar and passing it over before you can reach for it. “I demonstrated to ensure a thorough understanding—nothing more.”

“And what exactly were you demonstrating?”

“Like I said, it’s none of your business.” Syrup drowned pancakes are shoved into your mouth, favoring the possibility of choking on fluffy goodness over engaging in this conversation for a second longer.

Azriel doesn’t feel the same way, blocking off your hasty exit with his body. Was he always this tall? Giant wings hover behind him and they rustle softly when you reach out a hand to gently push him away. It was a mistake on your part—initiating physical contact because now all you could focus on was the warmth that ebbed through the soft cotton of his shirt and the hard muscles hiding beneath it. “Make it my business.”

You don’t pull away, too entranced with the smell of him. The feel of his body against your fingertips. The barely there distance that toed the line of entirely too close. “I don’t understand why you’d even care.” You mutter, snatching your hand away when you catch yourself subconsciously rubbing at the dark fabric. “I was—“ Words stammer, breath catching over the intensity of his stare and you have to will your voice to steady itself. “I was teaching her how to properly be intimate with a male.”

“I didn’t realize there was a proper way.”

“You know what I mean,” You ramble, obviously flustered when swatting away the inky fog that attempts to swipe crispy bacon from your plate. “She asked for advice and I gave a few tips to make her feel more confident—more comfortable. I was being friendly.” The pancakes have started to go cold around the edges but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Azriel keeps stalking closer, arms boxing you into the counter with ease.

“Hm,” His face is unreadable, void of any emotion but your certain his eyes go just a touch darker when you lean back, your shirt rising; broadcasting a sliver of your stomach and the pale blue panties peeking out of your sleep shorts. “And if I wanted some friendly advice—would you help me with that too?”

Breakfast is long forgotten, your eyes following the plate being pushed away by hands much bigger than your own. A shaky laugh emits, strands of your hair tickle at your cheeks and you’re painfully aware of your attire—or lack thereof judging by hardened peaks poking through delicate silk. “Az, you’re no blushing virgin. What could I possibly help you with?”

Cool shadows trace over bare legs, teasing up your calves and curling around your knees. “I can think of a few things.”

A predatory darkness coats every word, lids narrowing challengingly at you from above. There’s nowhere to run and truthfully you didn’t want to; falling into the trap of his insinuations until the smell of your arousal was becoming anything but subtle. But, then again, who fucking cared when this was exactly what you’d been craving for as long as you could remember. Filthy little fantasies about the Illyrian soldier had plagued your mind for decades. You were reduced to haughty looks and bitten lips while he sparred shirtless with Cassian, sweat gleaming against his chest and the sharp ring of swords colliding. Dirty desires that flared when you’d bump into Az late at night, his hair messy and eyes hazy—that lazy smile and those pet names that he’d let slip when he was too tired to overthink them.

Could it have been possible that Elain had been right?

That you just needed to look to find what you were yearning for.

You pray you don’t appear as desperate as you feel when your eyes scan his own; sifting through the shades of warm caramel and burnt sephia as if they’d shift into mystical beings with endless answers to your list of questions. “Such as?”

“Maybe,” The syllables are drawn out with a sing-songy lilt that has your legs shifting. “—we can start with why you thought she’d be using your tricks and charms on me?” You blame the breeze sifting through the curtains on the shiver that rakes up your spine.

The counter is cold when you lift yourself onto it, palms flat and back curving against the window pane. You shrug, breaking the eye contact and turning your head to face the flying creatures fluttering their feathery wings in the bird bath. “I hadn’t considered it’d be anyone else. You and Elain spend lots of time together and she’s obviously beautiful in that delicate, sweetheart in need of saving sort of way.”

“Careful, you almost sound jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” Well, not anymore. But, he didn’t need to know that you’d ever wasted a second of sleep on him. “It was just an observation.”

“A poor one.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m not going after your job.” Your arms cross over your chest, knees childishly nudging at the top of his thighs to push him away but he remains steady like a brick wall. Irritation pushes the fluttery twist of yearning out of the way the longer Azriel peers down at you with that look in his eye—that stupidly handsome smirk plastered on his annoyingly kissable lips. “Any other questions you’d like to interrogate me with?”

The vitriol in your tone only furthers the grin on his face, eating up the fluctuating emotions he pulls from you like a full course meal. “Just one more.” A breeze shifts through the open window, cutting through the strands of your hair and the smell of your conditioner permeates the space between you. “How much longer must I wait for you to pursue me before I have to take you for myself?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you’d like but not for your pardon.” It’s said so swiftly your brain barely registers the suggestive nature of it before he’s talking again. Sweeping you up in the whirlwind that was Azriel and all you could do was hold on tight for the ride. He obtains a boldness you could only dream of, hips jutting forward between your legs to keep you from slipping away; closing the distance until his wants and desires are anything but unclear when pressed so firmly against you. “How much longer?

You swallow, the movement tracked by a hunters stare as you scramble to pull together a coherent sentence. “I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you have any almost lovers that you’re still pining after?” Shadows glide over the countertop, sneaking behind you and urging you forward. Silky sleep shorts shuffle upwards with the motion and Azriel’s wastes no time in his exploration. Warm hands rake up the length of your legs leisurely, tracing over barely there scars and memorizing moles many overlooked. “Or do you only want me because you’ve never had me?”

Tension hold thick in the air, heavy mugginess that coats your skin with an uncomfortable warmth as you and Az sized each other up—waiting to see who’d break first.

The odds didn’t seem to be swaying in your favor.

“Never had you?” Azriel repeats as if you’ve told a joke, confidence roaring in his veins from the reactions your body offers him. Goosebumps follow the tantalizing trail of his fingers up your legs, thighs subconsciously shifting wider, granting access for more of his body to touch against your own. “Every time I close my eyes, I have you.” He has to know the effect this has on you. That must be why he insists on stealing your backbone and converting it into a makeshift leash until you’re completely pliant in his grasp. “Not exactly conventional. Nowhere near comparable the real thing, I’m sure.” A wicked gleam twinkles in his eyes, his hard chest the perfect contrast against the softness of your own. “But, it’s certainly served to be good practice.”

“Azriel—“

“How much longer should I wait?”

The barely restrained need he emits makes your stomach clench. Forces your eyes to dart from his own to his mouth; lingering, lusting.

Fuck, not much longer at all. It felt like the clock was ticking and with each second that passed, your fate grew nearer and nearer.

Instinct speeds up the process, nudging you closer until the tip of your nose brushes against his own. It’s cautious—exploratory. Testing what was allowed and what wasn’t but Azriel’s patience only stretches so far and waiting for this—for you—is an impossible task.

His mouth covers yours in a claiming clash of eager lips and hands desperate to learn the shape of you.

You’re no better, nails raking through inky strands and scouring the strong slope of his shoulders like a woman starved. A relieved sigh tickles at his skin when he kisses over your cheeks, down your neck; until that spot just below your ear forces out low whines. “Az,” Your chest heaves, lungs struggling for a full breath. “Someone will see us.”

Azriel groans, lips searching for the spots that shut you up. The spots that had your spine curving and leg hooking over his waist. You lean back, anticipating the cool chill of the wall but all you meet is soft sheets and fluffy pillows as inky shadows disperse around the room. “Better?”

“Almost.” Eager fingers grip at the offending fabric hiding golden-brown skin beneath, attempting to yank it free. “Take this off.”

“You’re not this demanding in my dreams.”

“And in mine, your mouth isn’t really used for talking.”

Azriel’s efficient in adjusting to your suggestions, tearing apart soft silk as if it were nothing more than a piece of parchment in his quest of baring more of you to him. Hips buck up and nails dig into the hard-earned muscles of his back while his mouth sucked marks across your chest. Warm hands dip under the waistband of your shorts, back curving softly in anticipation as preening little moans cut through the darkness of Azriel’s bedchambers.

When he finally touches where you need him most, teeth sink harshly into the fat of your bottom lip; the feeling of his fingers dragging slow circles over the thin cotton of your underwear becoming the perfect torture. It feels too good to ponder on about the arousal soaking through your delicates or the desperate pleas for more that tumbles from your lips like sinful prayers.

Any remaining clothing falls carelessly to the floor, the hard length of him resting at the crux of your thighs. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t I feel sure?” Your brows are a little pinched when you stare up at him, a hand wedging between your bodies to guide the swollen head of his cock to your entrance.

“You feel like mine,” Az confesses hoarsely. Inch by deliciously devastating inch is pushed to the brim, hazel eyes transfixed on the snug wrap of your pussy and the warmth that follows. “Like you were fucking made to take my cock.”

He was better than you’d ever pictured, stealing your very breath away with each dragged out stroke. “Az,” His gaze is heavy, sliding up to meet your own with dark promise casting shadows against god-like features. “Please, just move.”

“Here I was trying to get you properly adjusted,” A biting grip begins at your waist, fingers digging precious prints into your hips as Azriel positions you as he pleases. Bare thighs are braced in the crease of his arms, a cocky smirk ghosting his face. “But you just wanna be fucked.” Eyes roll behind fluttering lids when the pace picks up, the position forcing you to take every inch until all you can offer is choked moans and garbled praises.

Claiming marks are placed wherever Azriel’s mouth can reach, muffled groans and deep grunts of pleasure vibrating against your skin as he carves out a space specifically made for him. You don’t last long, lips searching for his own as you clench around the length of him; toes curling and manicured nails biting at the base of his wings.

“There you go,” He croons, gently tucking stray hairs away from your face—a complete juxtaposition from the relentless way his cock fucks into you. “Taking me so well.”

Bleary eyed and boneless you are in his grasp; allowing him to act on every secret fantasy and salacious desire he'd harbored longer than he could remember until you feel the vicious twitch inside you, his hips stuttering and seed spilling.

The room reeks of sex, sheets sodden and clothes too ruined to walk out of there wearing them without looking like you belonged in a pleasure hall.

Not that it would matter—Azriel won't let you go now; hooked like an addict to their drug of choice. "You were wrong, you know." Your brow raises in silent question. "Now that I've had you, I can't see myself ever wanting anything else."

[dollyprint]

going out with loser!ellie only to end up in the bathroom of the restaurant, ellie’s back pressed against the cramped stall and you on your knees tugging down her jeans and boxers to her hips, revealing her smooth stomach and that beautiful happy trail just below her navel.

you tease her with slow, deliberate laps of your wet tongue across the path of faint hairs. you can’t help but savor the subtle shivers and impatient bucking of her hips, it makes you smirk into her warm, inviting flesh, knowing she’s right where you want her.

‘someone’s needy, hm, els?’ you tease, watching her pouty lips and half-lidded eyes flutter with need. quiet whines fall from her lips as you trail damp kisses towards her hip.

‘h-how could i not be?’ she admits weakly, her mist-covered eyes finally locking on yours.

you only hum in response, not wasting any words before sealing your lips around the warm, supple flesh of her hip, using a firm, unrelenting pressure to mark her.

‘f-fuck..’ ellie hisses out a shaky breath at the sucking that’s currently bruising her pale skin. poor girl doesn’t know what to do, her hands are fisting in your hair to keep herself grounded, trying so desperately to not let her legs give out.

you repeat the process til she’s nearly struggling to speak. abruptly stopping, you stand and generously smear kisses along her throat, ‘meet me at the table, els. i’m gonna drop you off.’ you mumble before leaving the stall.

ellie’s brain was total mush; consumed by the growing damp spot she knew had formed on her boxers. her eyes flit over the deep purple and red tinted bruises blossoming on her hip, the marks unmistakably bearing the distinct shape of your pretty mouth.

a soft, amused chuckle escaped ellie’s lips as her head lolls against the cool surface of the wall. she can already picture it: once she got home, she was going to slip her fingers through her slick folds and use it to rub her swollen, aching clit, all while she admires the bruises.

[whirlybirbs]

— THE FOOL ; KYOJURO RENGOKU ; 煉獄

summary: all you wanted was to pass out in your room, but no. here you are, dragging yourself (quite literally) up the mountainside to the ubuyashiki mansion's onsen. pairing: kyojuro rengoku / f!hashira!reader wc: 3.6k tags: set-pre season 1, rated T, hashira dynamics, kyojuro's impeccable manners, tengen uzui is a son of a bitch, good fluff, embarrassed flirting, slightly forbidden romance, retable reader insert who just wants to be left alone to bathe in peace a/n: don't look at me.

Your bones are tired. 

Not just your bones — but every ounce of marrow in those very bones. The expression 'bone tired'? Yea, it was written and smithed with you in mind. Tonight, you're the muse for true exhaustion — battered, bruised, and barely hanging on. 

The short walk up to the Ubuyashiki Mansion's onsen is proving formidable. 

Every muscle in your body aches and with each step closer, you pray you'll have a moment of quiet peace to yourself. After all, Shinobu insisted (read as threatened) that you soak in the hot spring after administering simple medical aid post-mission. 

Something, something, hot spring stimulates blood flow, blah, blah, strong healing properties.

All you wanted was to pass out in your room, but no. Here you are, dragging yourself (quite literally) up the mountainside through the willows of wisteria on a lantern-lit path to the hot spring.

Your geta catches on a root and you trip up, scoffing tiredly as you catch yourself and grumble a curse. Ow. Irritation simmers under your skin, and you wonder absently what's gotten into you. 

It normally takes more for you to be so... cranky. And openly so.

When you reach the gate of the onsen, your eye twitches.

Son of a —

There's Hashira abound tonight. 

"Look who's back from her little foray out East!"

Did Tengen need to be so loud? 

All the damn time?

The small, dimly lit spot is surrounded by wisteria and maple. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you sigh and shut the red gate behind you, paying careful mind not to catch your fingers in the latch. Lanterns are perched on rocks, candles only beginning to run with wax in the evening air. The open-air bath overlooks the sprawling estate down the mountain. 

You sigh deeply from your chest, your eyes practically at half-mast when you turn around to snipe Tengen with an unamused look.

"Our dear Dream Hashira... you look like shit," comes the rogue commentary, "No offense, beautiful."

Tengen is at the far edge of the steaming bath with both arms outstretched along the edge. As always, he's taking up as much space as humanly possible. His silver hair hangs about his shoulders — and he even goes so far as to pin you with a rogueish smile. You stare flatly at him in response.

Then: the middle finger. 

"Woof. Tough crowd tonight," he rumbles as he slides a look towards a decidedly uninterested Sanemi. The Wind Hashira has his head hung back against the edge with a towel over his forehead — his eyes are closed. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he was asleep. 

"Tengen, do me a favor," comes the gritted reply from the scarred man, "and shut the hell up." 

You motion plainly to Sanemi — the gesture says thank you — with your brows raising in silent agreeance. Even the act of speaking right now is all too much. 

"I must agree with Tengen," comes the wistful and soft voice of Muichiro Tokito as he lifts his chin from its submerged position; his hair is swimming about him. The Mist Hashira looks... almost peaceful; but his words are damning, "You do look like shit."

Somehow it's worse when Tokito says it.

That makes Sanemi lift his head and pry one eye open. 

You serve him an unenthused look from your spot by the benches. You hope for a bit of sympathy, but instead:

"...What the fuck happened to you?" comes his dry response to your current state of being. 

Which — fine, maybe it's fair. The others rarely ever see you in any state aside from perfect. You're meticulous about your appearance; from your uniform to your posture, you value perfection over all else. The devil that has always haunted you is the details. Perhaps it was your rigid upbringing, but regardless—

"Ah!" suddenly, there's a resoundingly warm voice booming across the small courtyard from the onsen's koshitsu, "I see you've returned, Lady— Oh... my, are you quite alright...?"

You've got to be kidding me.

Kyojuro Rengoku's face is twisted into genuine worry. He's standing in the middle of the path, his focus entirely on you. His hair is undone and the sunburst strands are spilling along his chest and back. There's a small cotton towel slung around his narrow waist. You purposefully level your eyes with his, not daring to let your gaze waver — and then you curse Kocho Shinobu a thousand times over for sending you here.  

(Tengen is smirking. You want to throw your sandal at his head.)

Finally, you speak. 

"I'm fine." 

You don't sound fine. You sound like a woman who'd endured being unceremoniously whipped about by a snake Demon in a swamp for three hours before she could finally land a killing blow. 

Kyojuro frowns. His eyes — like two gems of carnelian — are nearly glowing with concern. Those dark brows of his knit and you try to grit out a tight smile. It fails. It looks more like a wince than anything.

It's... pathetic.

"Perhaps a soak will help," the Flame Hashira offers gently. His tone is soft with pity.

Shit. Fuck. Damn it. Fucking Shinobu, fucking hot spring, fucking swamp demon, fucking—

Right. Right, a soak. It's the thing that Tengen Uzui is somehow singlehandedly making more unbearable — he's dragging Sanemi and Muichiro by the necks from the onsen — by leaving you alone with Rengoku. 

"Go on you two! We're just leaving anyways, right fellas?"

"Die," you spit hoarsly in his direction; your expression is flat.

Tengen throws you a wink. "Relax a little, pretty. You deserve it!"

You could still hit him with your geta. Maybe if you put enough force behind it, it could kill him. 

After all, he's been doing this ever since you let it slip about your little crush. 

And just when a girl thinks she can trust an ex-shinobi... never again. You don't care if Tengen is the one offering to buy the sake, you're never drinking with that man again. He's a gossip and a whore. A gossiping whore. A devoted husband-whore who gossips like no-fucking-other. 

Admitting to Tengen Uzui's stupid face that you've been avoiding Kyojuro Rengoku because of your feelings was the second worst mistake you ever made.

Your first worst mistake was not dragging your sorry ass back down the mountain after you and Kyojuro were left alone in the onsen. 

At least — at the very least — it's quieter now, even if the silence feels oddly intimate. 

You're thankful Kyojuro has retreated into the water of the bath; the distance allows you to ignore the burning pit in your gut at the thought of him and you together. In the onsen. Alone.

You've bathed alongside the other Hashira before. The whole lot of you are warriors. There's no shame in the body — and admittedly, you grew up around konyoku onsen in Tokyo. 

It wasn't the nakedness that was the problem. 

...Maybe it was a little bit of the nakedness. 

But, mostly the fact it's Kyojuro Rengoku: the kindest man you've ever met, a man whose smile is nearly as bright as the morning sun, a man whose laugh feels like a summer thunderstorm. A man who is tall, strong, and handsome. It's no small secret he's well-loved among the ranks; respected, admired, sought after... Who wouldn't make an attempt atcatching his eye? After all, he's capable, swift, courageous, honorable—

Having a heart attack.

He's having a heart attack.

I mean — it's you. And him. Alone. 

...Naked. And alone.

He himself could have strangled Tengen when the ex-shinobi scurried off, leaving him here — though he'd never admit it. That sneaky bastard is fully aware of Kyojuro's feelings towards you, and Kyojuro swears the Sound Hashira gets off on forcing him to confront the very thing he forbids himself to even dwell upon. 

Your voice pulls him from his enraptured internal monologue.

"I am fine," you break the silence as your fingers work at the obi around your waist in nervousness. Your back is to him, and as the grey kimono slips down your shoulders, he panics, "I swear."

"I'm not sure I've ever seen you in such a state as this," he tries to sound level, confident, as he turns in the water; suddenly the mountainside is very beautiful. Yes, very nice. Very... mountain-y. 

Kyojuro's eyes flick over his shoulder briefly, back at you.

He sees skin. More of your skin than he's ever seen. There are dimples at the base of your spine. Good god. He swallows tightly and turns his gaze forward once more. 

Even the act of shrugging your kimono off is enough to make you rasp. The ribs Shinobu had been so concerned about are protesting now. It's fine. Everything is fine. You peek over your shoulder. Relief floods you as you realize Rengoku's back is turned. 

Quickly, you slip into the onsen. It's the quickest you've moved all night. 

You plunge in deep, ignoring the burn of the water along of the more raw marks and bruises bitten into your skin. Your ribs wail in protest as you inhale sharply at the heat, and you try your best to coach your expression into unwavering when Kyojuro turns back around. 

"Better?"

All you can do is grunt from your submerged position.

That makes him laugh.

You try to memorize the warm sound and tuck it neatly into your heart. It's cute, the way his eyes scrunch when he laughs. You find yourself staring for a second before swallowing down your affections.

"Shinobu demanded I come," you explain slowly, lifting your hands and playing with the surface of the water, "If I had it my way, I'd be in bed."

Or murdering Tengen in his sleep.

"The hot springs are good for healing," Kyojuro chirps brightly, canting his head as he speaks almost as if he's going to reprimand you. His voice drops an octave, "You know that, Lady Hashira."

He's teasing you.

He's — he's seriously teasing you.

You're naked and he's teasing you.

You sink a little lower into the water and narrow your eyes at him — the act makes you look a bit like an angry, wet cat. Kyojuro can only grin. Truly this is rare form for you. Your disposition is usually sunny, if not well-manicured and mindfully well-mannered. You are every bit a Lady Hashira. Moreso than Shinobu or Mitsuri in a way. 

You are the Dream Pillar, after all, and a woman composed purely of romanticism in his eyes. It's the way he could see you, in another life, in a fine silk kimono and delicate make-up; he could see you in gold and pearls, pouring tea worth more than his monthly salary into fine ceramic cups. Suitors abound.

Though, perhaps that's not so different than now.

Not with the way you're delicately pouring yourself a helping of Tengen's abandoned sake at the edge of the onsen. You'd think it was the most expensive liquor in the land with the care you take to not spill a drop. 

You slide him a hesitant look over your shoulder, the water lapping at your bruised back. Kyojuro lifts a brow.

"What?" you ask, feigning innocence as you turn back to the task at hand, "It'd be a shame if it went to waste."

"I didn't know sake had healing properties," Kyojuro offers slowly, his lips twitching upwards as he watches you take a long sip from the cup.

"Something, something, blood flow," you murmur mostly to yourself, tossing back the rest with a scowl and a wince, "I'm sure Shinobu would agree."

Kyojuro leans back against the wall, sinking a little deeper as he settles onto the seat beneath the water. The ends of his hair are soaked, turning an even darker shade of crimson. His shoulders flex as he relaxes his arms against the stones. 

His own body is tired. Beneath the water, he absently stretches his legs and pays careful mind to the twinge of pain in his left knee.

"Whether she agrees or disagrees is none of my business," he supplies diplomatically.

You reach for the jug, giving it a light shake. It's nearly empty anyway. 

You extend it, offering it to Kyojuro.

The Flame Hashira shakes his head. "No thank you. I reserve drink for special occasions only."

You quirk a brow. Your tone is light. Airy, almost. "I didn't know that about you."

He hums. You place the sake down, sink lower into the water, and try to focus on his face — not the strength in his forearms, nor the water running in rivets down his chest. 

"My father has quite a love for the stuff," he admits with a controlled frown, "I avoid it when I can."

Ah. 

Right. 

Your own father, also a retired Hashira, voiced many a feeling about Shinjuro Rengoku when he was given the chance. You'd visited home months ago and when you mentioned serving alongside Kyojuro, his eyes narrowed dangerously and impeccably sharp. His tongue lashed out at you — as if you were the retired Flame Pillar himself. 

There's a history there, it seems.

"I apologize."

"Don't," he says; firm yet soft.

"It is better that way, really," you mumble in an attempt to soothe the ache you can see across his face, "Liquor leads to making many a fool."

Kyojuro's brow quirks. "You sound as though you're speaking from experience."

"Perhaps," you say slyly, wandering to the far end of the pool. You're nearly submerged to your nose, "A lady shall never tell."

"And if I asked Tengen?"

"You wouldn't dare." The water splashes as you whip around and glare — though Kyojuro senses no real malice. 

It was no small secret you'd been dragged through the mud after you and Tengen's night on the town. Why the Master called a meeting that morning was beyond you, but there's a part of you that wonders if he was slightly amused at your less-than-pleasant state. You swore you were going to puke all over the engawa when you bowed — never mind the fact the morning sun's brightness was enough to nearly drill your brain into a pulp. 

Kyojuro had never seen you so... disheveled. 

Second to tonight, that is.

The Flame Hashira smirks. "If the lady forbades it, then who am I to ignore her wishes?"

Fucking Tengen, fucking Shinobu, fucking Kyojuro—

Fucking honorable, respectable, polite Kyojuro.

"Well, this lady does forbade it," you say with narrowed eyes, "So there."

"You really are in rare form this evening."

He's smirking. That's new.

"Yes, well," you mumble as you lull your head back and wet the rest of your hair; the warmth seeps through the strands and feels soothing on your scalp. You already feel better. Less like a swamp demon's plaything, more like a girl trying her best not to let her petal-mouthed feelings slip out, "We can blame Muzan Kibutsuji for that."

"I surmise it has been a difficult day?" he rumbles quietly from his spot in the onsen.

"You haven't the slightest idea."

"Care to enlighten me?" 

"And embarrass myself?" she mutters, splashing absently, "I'd prefer to remain capable in your eyes, Rengoku. I'll spare you the details. And anyone else who asks."

He's grinning. That sort that appears in an optimist's dream. Bright, sunny and so enrapturing it feels like your heart is being scorched by its warmth. 

"Your capability will never waver in my eyes," Kyojuro supplies as he flicks the water absently; his gaze has fallen to the sway of the wisteria in the evening air, "You are amazing. One particularly bad day does not diminish that fact."

Maybe it's the sake. Maybe it's the compliment. Either way, the tips of your ears feel warm. 

That little, nibbling feeling is back in his chest. The very one he's been trying his best to ignore for months. 

"You are only being kind," you mutter, "Because, as the other's made very clear, I look like shit." 

Kyojuro finds himself smiling a bit at the jest — his fingers glide along the top of the water, tracing idly patterns into it as he watches you sink deeper and deeper into the hot spring. Finally, for a moment, you descend below the surface.

Then, you break the surface slowly. Your hair is swimming around you, clinging to your bare shoulders. You exhale, brush water from your lashes, and inhale. You look... beautiful. A different sort of beautiful than he's used to. This sort of beauty is relaxed. Tired. You seem a bit freer than usual — unrestrained by the image you aim to keep well protected amongst the others. 

Kyojuro sinks a little deeper himself.

He's still watching you.

Your eyes find his. 

There's a moment where all you two can do is blink — Flame and Dream mingling for a breath beneath the stars. Wide eyes bound by a moment of silence, a moment of hesitation. He feels like all the breath has been swept from his lungs. All Kyojuro can do is stare into your eyes.

Then, he speaks.

Blurts, more aptly.

"You are beautiful."

...Did he just say that? 

Your lips part in quiet shock.

Suddenly, his posture is more rigid, and his expression a bit panicked — perhaps because your own eyes widen a mile at the words that spill from his mouth. Kyojuro raises his hands as he inhales sharply, the heat of the bath inching a degree hotter. Whether it's from the sudden admission or a misfire of his breathing technique, you're unsure. 

His cheeks are hot. He leans forward, shaking his head.

Damn you, Tengen. Damn you, damn you—

"I-I simply mean — you... You do not look like shit—" He attempts to explain.

"Oh—"

"Yes, yes, I—"

"Thank you," you say quickly, trying to calm your own racing heart as he swallows down a bought of embarrassment and offers a pained smile your way. It's enough to quell his panic.

"Of course," he breathes out, sagging a bit deeper into the water as he fiddles with his hands. He has a habit of rubbing at his callouses. Kyojuro swallows, then hoarsly admits: "One might think that I was drinking the sake with the way I'm making a fool of myself."

Your laugh is like a balm. 

"Hardly," you offer as you sink into the water with a smile; your eyes are glimmering with something a bit mischievous as you swim towards the water's edge. You pause, then slip a look his way over your bare shoulder, "...Do you mean it?"

"That I'm a fool? Of course."

You scoff quietly. Kyojuro's smile is tight — knowing. 

Then, he speaks warmly and kindly. He confirms your question with ease. His arms are wound across his chest. "You are truly beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever had the grace to lay eyes upon, my Lady." 

Maybe you could drown yourself here. 

You're not entirely sure how you'll ever recover from this — not from how tender he says it, not from how honest his words sound. So suddenly you feel as though he's hung every star in the sky for your eyes only, having wished upon them, time and time again, for nothing more than a moment of your time. It's reverent is what it is.

You're about to open your mouth and say something when a bright, girlish giggle cuts through the tension—

Kyojuro Rengoku has never been more thankful for Mitsuri Kanroji's ill timing. Behind her is Lady Shinobu. 

The pink and green-haired Hashira is ecstatic to find both yourself and Rengoku in the hot spring — her delight is palpable as she waves her arms and cheers brightly into the air. Her crow caws overhead. Her darker-haired counterpart levels them both with polite smiles.

"Oh, this is just lovely! My friends!" she's chirping as she closes the gate, "I am so glad to see you both back safe and sound—"

"Heading my advice, it seems," Shinobu says slowly — almost like she knows something you don't. Her pale, lilac eyes flick between you and Rengoku. For a moment, you almost suspect she's about to ask something.

"How are you feeling?" Mitsuri cries in your direction, shrugging her kimono off with ease — unbothered entirely by Rengoku's presence. The two are like brother and sister, and Mitsuri has never batted an eye about nudity, "How are your ribs?"

Kyojuro levels you with a look. 

You offer a sheepish grin. 

"Yes," Shinobu mutters as she slips out of her geta, "Four broken ribs."

Kyojuro's nostrils flare. "You said nothing about the sort."

You lift your chin in defiance. "I told you I was sparing you the details."

Mitsuri's bright eyes dart between the two of you — a little bit of giddiness blooming at the sight of Kyojuro looking so worried about their fellow Dream Hashira. 

He slides a look towards Kocho. Then rolls his shoulders. With a sigh, he moves to stand, the water lapping at his waist. You decidedly find the edge of the onsen very interesting as you try to coach yourself through the overwhelming urge to stare. 

"I trust you'll monitor her condition, Kocho," he murmurs as he moves through the water; the words sit nicely in your heart and you feel a little pride swell at his indication that he cares if you're alright, "I'll let you ladies have some time amongst yourselves."

You catch his eyes for a second. A moment. A lingering little breath that mingles between you — like Kocho and Mitsuri aren't there. Then, he stepped from the bath and gathered his robe.

For now, the two of you will pretend earlier never happened.

For now.

Just a little thing between the two of you — and suddenly, you're not so cranky. Once the muse for exhaustion, you're now the muse of lovesickness. 

When the gate closes behind Kyojuro, Kocho speaks.

"...What was all that?"

Nevermind. The crankiness is back.

"Shut up."

[hoseoksluna]

STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more���you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch. 

That’s a good girl. Messy for me. 

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is. 

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully. 

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses. 

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth. 

He is not, in fact, on his way home. 

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy. 

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny. 

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.” 

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?” 

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display. 

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.” 

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself. 

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen. 

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking. 

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do? 

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice. 

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on. 

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.” 

Naked. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.” 

And with that, he hangs up. 

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you. 

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend. 

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form. 

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer. 

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience? 

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad. 

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you. 

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done? 

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you. 

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer. 

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you. 

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had. 

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to. 

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all. 

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream— 

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment? 

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call? 

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person. 

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult. 

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there. 

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.” 

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred. 

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body. 

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man. 

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water. 

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober. 

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross. 

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially. 

Was it out of the question or would he consider it? 

Your leg jitters harder. 

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.” 

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion. 

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek. 

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?” 

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one? 

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks. 

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness. 

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you. 

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.” 

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?” 

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did. 

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently. 

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side. 

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.” 

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?” 

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself. 

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.” 

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you. 

“Can I feel how wet you are?” 

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.” 

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted. 

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue. 

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?” 

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.” 

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?” 

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?” 

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine. 

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?” 

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.” 

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?” 

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath. 

“Spank my pussy again, please.” 

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while. 

“Apologize first.” 

“You didn’t tell me how.” 

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.” 

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours. 

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples. 

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged. 

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?” 

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times. 

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think. 

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants. 

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing. 

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half. 

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath. 

Such a stark, sudden change. 

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that. 

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.” 

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving. 

“Keep your legs where they belong.” 

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage. 

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin. 

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under. 

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?” 

A question for a question. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration. 

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home. 

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy. 

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?” 

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start. 

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down. 

You fight against it. 

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness. 

And you decide to repeat history. 

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants. 

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat. 

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?” 

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether. 

And then, you collect your essence again. 

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest. 

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.” 

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you. 

He parts his lips for you. 

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally. 

You’re in charge. And it feels divine. 

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue. 

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.” 

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you. 

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince. 

And then—then he manhandles you. 

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does. 

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden. 

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter. 

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?” 

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening. 

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion. 

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.” 

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit. 

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free. 

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off. 

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.” 

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused. 

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.” 

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation. 

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way. 

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum. 

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.” 

Yoongi has had enough. 

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’. 

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.” 

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?” 

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix. 

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone. 

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?” 

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him. 

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.” 

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you. 

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.” 

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.” 

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something. 

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.” 

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you. 

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.” 

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come. 

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them. 

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.” 

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes. 

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.” 

With that, he hangs up. 

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again. 

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself. 

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you. 

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing. 

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?” 

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.” 

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief. 

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you. 

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you. 

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind. 

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles. 

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.” 

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours. 

But you don’t let him take charge. 

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.” 

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you. 

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed. 

You hold onto his neck with your dear life. 

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.” 

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours. 

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.” 

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him. 

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock. 

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit. 

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life. 

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” 

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too. 

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring. 

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.” 

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation. 

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?” 

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness. 

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him. 

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.” 

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.” 

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[daycourtofficial]

I pretend you’re mine all the damn time

Summary: on a mission Azriel ingests a breeding tonic and you offer to help him release

Warnings: SMUT, PIV, sex pollen, slight dubcon

Author’s note: I think this is my longest fic ever and also probably the fic I’m proudest of so yall BETTER enjoy. I think this is my favorite fic I’ve ever written ugh 😩 I will likely write a part two 🫶

Word count: 2.6k

(1k celebration masterlist 🍾)

“What the fuck,” you grunt, as you land a hit on another Illyrian after several minutes of exchanging blows.

You jab him in his ribs, blocking his retaliating kick. You huff as his hand grabs the knife at his side, deflecting your punch to his face.

You go low, swiping his legs out from under him, causing him to crash onto the ground. You climb on top of him, ready to land another blow, when his legs push up from underneath you, throwing you off of him.

He climbs on top of you, grabbing you by the collar to throw you back into the ground, when something strikes the back of his head, causing him to go limp on top of you.

Your confusion doesn’t last long as hazel eyes meet yours over the massive figure unconscious on top of you.

“I had it covered,” you said, pushing the male off of you.

Azriel snorts, “sure you did.”

He reaches out a hand, which you gladly take. He pulls you up with more force than he intended, pulling you in very close to his body. Your breath hitches, his smell of night-chilled mist and cedar invading your senses.

Your heart is beating wildly, and you’re sure he can hear it as he looks at you. He’s smiling down at you, a smile that weakens your knees and distracts you enough to forget all about the abandoned Illyrian camp you two were searching in.

At least, it was supposed to be abandoned, according to the intel you two had received. Azriel had asked you to come with him, the two of you making an exquisite pair on missions. Somehow you both knew when the other needed help, exemplified when Azriel hit the assailant from behind moments ago.

It’s like you both had a sixth sense for when the other was in danger.

You’re about to say something when something hits Azriel on the back of the head, causing him to lose his balance and stumble forward into you.

His mouth turns into a sneer, as he whips around and the Illyrian you hadn’t seen or noticed grabs Azriel by the collar, pushing him into a wall full of bottles and tubes. The guy grabs one of the random bottles from the wall, breaking the lid and pouring the powdered contents onto Azriel’s face.

“Shit,” the words come from your lips as your knife finds its mark in the dark haired male’s back. You rush forward, withdrawing the knife before turning him around and plunging it into his throat.

You don’t pay attention as the body falls to the ground, only moving towards Azriel, who was growing unsteady on his feet.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m here, I’m here,” you say, placing your hand on his arm. He snatched his arm away from you, and you can’t help the sound that comes from you at his rejection.

He is groaning, sweat beading on his forehead. He leans further against the wall, trying to escape your reach.

“Don’t,” he grits out.

“What is it? Do you know what the powder was?”

Azriel finds his canteen of water, unscrewing the cap and pouring it over his head.

“Az,” you say, but a growl cuts you off.

“Don’t,” he grits again, “don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

He braces himself against the wall, breathing heavily. He finally looks at you, allowing you to see his eyes. Golden irises have been replaced by blown pupils, a black pit of desire. The room is coated in the scent of his arousal.

“Azriel,” you say tersely, “we have to go now, we have to go and see Madja because I have no clue what you inhaled.”

Azriel pushes himself further against the wall as you approach him, trying to put as much distance between you two as possible.

“I can’t- I can’t winnow us out of here,” he says, the words strained. It’s then you notice that his shadows are nowhere to be seen, having disappeared when your attention was fully on the Illyrian in front of you.

You step closer again, and his chest heaves with the groan he lets out.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” The words come out harsh and clipped, a tone he’s never taken with you. You’re trying desperately to think of a solution, a way out of this, when you see Azriel’s hand gripping his thigh, moving closer to his crotch.

His face is red with heat and embarassment, but you can’t look away as he begins to palm himself through his leathers, as if he wasn’t in control of his hand.

“Oh gods,” you say, “this was that experimental breeding shit, wasn’t it?”

Azriel nods, his throat tight with pain.

“Fuck,” you say, and he groans.

You think about what you know about the sickening breeding experiments some of the Illyrians were doing. Previous intel from Az had told you all that they had created this drug that made you-

“Oh my gods,” you say, “we have to-“

“No,” he snarls, “no. I can do this on my own.”

“Come on, Az, you’ll die if you don’t.”

He clinches his hands in a fist, his face turning red with restraint. He looks up at the ceiling, and his eyes are damp. His wings twitch and flutter.

“We don’t know that,” he says, his hand undoing the string on his leather, any control he had over the hand is gone as his hand wraps around his cock and he begins pumping it.

“Am I really that repulsive that you’d rather die than have sex with me?”

A moan comes from his mouth. His voice comes out quiet and strained, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“I need it to be real. With you - if we - can we pretend it’s real?”

You stop breathing, his words clanging through your mind. “What do you mean?”

The words. He can’t get the words out. His body is on fire. He’s the Night Court’s spy master, for Cauldron’s sake.

And he can’t fucking move. Not when you’re looking at him like that.

“This isn’t how I ever would have imagined our first time.”

“But you’ve imagined it?”

“Gods, yes.”

You step closer, your hand reaching out towards him. You look into his eyes, wanting to know that it’s okay. All you find in response is pleading. Your hands lightly touch the buckles of his armor, and he gasps, his movements in his pants growing faster at your touch.

A man starved. He gazes up at the ceiling, tears about to leak from his eyes at this entire impossible situation. You were going to ruin him. You were going to break his heart, and then have sex with him to keep this from driving him mad.

It was cruel. The mother was cruel for this.

“I’ve thought a lot about it too,” you whisper, your voice softly carrying through the room.

He whips his head down at you, watching your fingers undo his straps. Your touch cools his body, but not for long.

Desire roars through him, and it is taking every ounce of restraint not to rip off your clothes and take you. He’s fighting the primal instincts that the pollen targets, his hands itching to touch you, to ravish you, opting to focus on your words.

“I always wanted you to confess your undying love for me,” you chuckle, “or, sometimes when I’m alone in the middle of the night, touching myself to you.”

A strangled sob escapes his throat at your words, causing him to notice his surroundings for a second. He can smell you, and it pushes him even further in need.

He can’t stop his hips from moving forward, meeting your own. His hand retracts from his pants, wrapping around you instead to pull you closer. Every word from you causes his resolve to crumble just a bit more as his hips grind against yours.

You were a bit breathless at the action, so you say, “when I’m feeling romantic, you tell me you can’t dare to be away from me for another moment, and you need me.”

A snarl breaks from his lips, causing your arousal to deepen. You are soaked, likely through your leathers.

“But when I’m just needy, I like to imagine you hearing me moaning your name through the door, and you burst in, claiming me as yours.”

His mouth opens as he moans, and you push the fabric of his leathers off his chest, raking your nails down his torso.

“Gods,” he exhales, “I-“

You cut him off, needing to get the words and fantasies you kept so deeply buried out there, future consequences be damned.

“I need you,” you whisper, “I’ve needed you for a long time.”

You were well aware of how much pain he was in trying to delay this for as long as possible.

His eyes are closed as your fingers slide down to the strings of his leathers. You don’t let yourself think too much about what you’re doing, about how the flight home will be, about how after this your teeny, tiny crush on him will be blown out exponentially worse.

Your fingers gently undo the ties, and his hips seek out the heat of your hands, begging for the friction they could provide.

You slide his pants down, his hard, throbbing cock springing free at the loss of its confines. Your mouth dries a bit at the size of him and the blood rushing to both your cheeks and between your hips.

You look from his cock to his face, teeth clenched in restraint.

His eyes open to yours at the sound of your leathers unbuckling, a soft, “no” hitting your ears.

“Azriel,” you start, but a moan escapes him at his name on your tongue.

He starts chanting your name like a prayer, over and over, a cadence to his chantings as you peel off the top of your leathers, exposing the expanse of skin underneath.

The chanting continues as you pull off the bra you wore, baring your chest to him completely. His hand wraps around his cock, the tip already angrily leaking in desperation.

The chanting picks up in tempo as you undo the strings of your own pants, eyes not straying from his as he strokes himself to your half-naked form. You push your pants down, pushing your underwear down as well, pulling them off with your boots, kicking your discarded clothes into a corner.

You walk back towards him, the sounds of his stroking and panting utterly sinful through the room. His breath hitches as you near him, reaching a hand out towards his cock.

“May I?” You ask, and you want to laugh at the formality of it, if you weren’t terrified of him saying no.

He nods lightly, his throat bobbing, and your fingers graze his as you grab onto his cock, wrapping your hand around it. His wings spread out at your grasp, head tilting back.

You take the opportunity to kiss his neck, and his grip on the desk is turning his knuckles white.

Your strokes don’t slow down, and it’s not until now that you feel just how wet you are. You feel bad, your arousal a byproduct of the state he’s in. He can’t help his arousal, but you can help yours.

You don’t let the shame linger for too long as you spread your palm across his chest, pushing him down onto the desk, crawling on top of him as he sinks lower.

His back hits the desk, his large membranous wings spread out behind him. Having him laid out beneath you, you allow yourself a few seconds to take in just how beautiful he was.

His tattoos covered his shoulders, making parts of his skin blend in with the darkness of the desk beneath him. His mouth parted slightly, head tilted back towards the skies, as if asking the heavens to watch your sinful acts.

You climb on top of him, the heat of your body driving him mad with desire.

“Is this okay?” You ask, trepidation coating your words.

“Gods, yes,” he replies, knowing he shouldn’t let this happen, but unable to stop himself. You’re hovering over his cock, the organ twitching as it feels just how close you are to sinking onto him.

The guilt is tampered down by the ever-growing need in his brain to breed, breed, breed. It was absolutely vile whatever these experiments were, but holy gods did it unlock a level of primal need he didn’t think existed.

His hands find your hips, and he can’t control how harshly he pulls you down onto his cock, a sharp inhale coming from you in the painful stretch.

He winces at the noise, but you stop him from allowing self-doubt to run through his head as you lean down and kiss him.

He moans into your mouth, his deep, harsh thrusts making the kiss nothing but teeth clacking and wet noises. Your nails dig into his skin as you keep grinding up and down on his cock, every thrust seemingly feeling deeper and deeper inside of you.

He keeps chanting your name, over and over, into your mouth, and you change the pace of your thrusts to coincide with it. His hands smooth over your hips, gliding up to your breasts. His fingers pinch your nipples, causing your back to arch around his touch.

You know he can’t hold out much longer - he’s painfully close, and so are you. Your stomach’s in knots, desperate for more, more, more. You reach out a gentle hand, caressing the nail on his wing. His eyes shoot open, wings flaring out as he gasps, emptying himself into you.

It causes the same effect in you, the both of you finishing at the same time. His thrusts slowed down, but he kept his tight grip on your hips. You can feel the pads of his fingers digging into your skin, leaving small bruises in their wake. Your foreheads are together, panting as he holds you for a moment.

For one glimmer of a moment, he’s holding onto you, sweat glistening on both of your bodies.

Status report.

Rhys’s voice fills your mind through the tiny opening in your mind you allow him to correspond with you in. You can tell Azriel is getting the same message as his eyes lose their shine, a glossy effect taking over them.

With a heavy heart, you pull off of Azriel, unable to respond to Rhys while his brother’s cock was still inside of you. You start pulling your leathers back on, covering the fluids and marks littering your body - the only proof of what just happened between you two.

The air is tense as Azriel dresses, still speaking with Rhysand. After a moment, his voice comes out, cold and detached.

“Let’s go,” he says, walking out of the room without another word, an icy air following him. Your gaze follows him out the door, before looking around the room.

The stench of sex is in the air, but there’s almost a hint of pain in the aroma. The air is suffocating you - you have to leave, you have to follow Az.

You look to the ceiling to stop the tears from falling. Your eyes turn down to gaze at your feet as you slowly trudge out of the room, knowing you likely just ruined your most important friendship.

Part two

[kitten4sannie]

ᴅᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ ᴄʀᴀᴡʟᴇʀ

ꜱᴇx ᴘᴏʟʟᴇɴ/ʙᴜᴋᴀᴋᴋᴇ ➠ ᴍɪɴꜱᴀɴʏᴜɴʜᴡᴀ

pairing: half orc! mingi x elf! reader (fem) x barbarian! san x goliath! yunho x tiefling! seonghwa

genre: fantasy au/dnd vibe, humor, gratuitous smut

summary: you go on a quest with a group of brutish, questionable individuals. anything for some gold and riches, right? 

w.c: 6.5k ish…..yeahhhh

the world’s longest list of warnings:  alcohol mention/usage, soft/hard! dom party members, brat in the streets baby in the sheets sub! reader, these mfs have a hard-on for social hierarchies esp mingi (he’s a big pervert too hehe), mxm (real homies jerk each other off), monster fucking (mimic box…listen i saw it in a porn one time and its been my dream to recreate it since okay sue meee take me to court!!), five?? some?? idk they made it work somehow, voyeurism/exhibitionism, praise/degradation, pet names, olfactophilia, aphrodisiacs, teasing, vast size differences, size kink, strength kink, manhandling, oral (receiving), overstim, tit play, bulge kink, handjob, blowjob, titjob, all the jobs actually, double penetration made possible with magic incantations <3, creampies, back shots, and facials for everyoneeee !! one for you!! and for youuu~~ also the word cock is mentioned at least 50 times in this one sorry bout that hshjs

a/n: hi ahhhh so this chaotic jumble of insanity is my baby 🥹 and it’s also my very first filth fest fic of the month !!! so yk what that means ;3 go on and strap in for me okay? it’s about to go down frfr <3 this is a sort of sequel to my half orc mingi fic but it can be read on its own! also i’ve never actually played dnd,, i’ve just heard about it from my brother so don’t expect an extremely accurate representation;;; i did do quite a bit of research tho <33 but yeah that being said…. rip reader’s elussy </3

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ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʙʏ ꜱᴛᴇᴇʟʏ ᴅᴀɴ

0:01 ❍─────── 3:01

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ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“Ladies and gents, now this is a quest that’s not for the faint of heart,” your local guild master announced, leaning his heavy forearms on the crowded bar table below him, stroking his long, bushy beard absentmindedly, the wood furnishing of the bar creaking underneath his weight. 

The lively room grew a bit more quiet, some individuals quirking their heads in the seasoned barbarian’s direction, yours included. “With a hefty 1000 gold pieces as your reward, this quest requires you to find and locate the rare lujuria plant, then bring its seeds back to me. Unfortunately for you lot, they’re only found in the abandoned dungeons near Mist Falls. Any takers?” 

At the mention of the plant and location, most of the interested individuals turned back to their ale and friends, resuming their loud, enthusiastic conversations. You, however, couldn’t believe how idiotic the other patrons were. You could do quite a lot with 1000 gold pieces, and being a solo adventurer, you wouldn’t even have to share it with anyone. With dollar signs in your eyes and a spring in your step, you headed up to the busy bar, having to get on your tippy toes and wave your hand around past some of the larger patron’s broad shoulders until the guild master noticed your presence. 

“Now, don’t tell me a dainty little high elf is interested in the quest I just announced. You gonna scare them off with your shiny hair and sparkly crystals?” the older man gruffed, letting out a hefty laugh, before taking a couple gulps from the oversized mug he held within his large, calloused hands.

When you simply stood there with your hands crossed over your lace-covered chest, the guild master set his mug down, his bushy eyebrows raising upwards. “Oh, you’re serious.” He leaned down to your level, cupping his hand around one side of his face, allowing you to smell the ale on his breath. “Do you know why no one likes to go to Mist Falls, little Miss?”

You shook your head, causing the small jewels that dangled from your silky hair to sway a bit. You cupped a hand around your own face, murmuring, “Why does no one like it, Mister?”

“There’s some strange wildlife that frequent the land there. Otherworldly things…things that an elf like you wouldn’t want to get wrapped up in,” he explained carefully, looking over the lens of his glasses to squint at you. “Unless, you’re into that sort of thing, of course.” 

Not understanding what he meant by his vague statement, you shrugged it off, taking his underestimation of your abilities as a challenge you couldn’t bear backing down from. “I’ll take the quest, Mister, and I’ll bring you those seeds.” 

The guild master smiled down at you, chuckling a bit, like you weren’t in on the joke that he was so amused by. “Very well, little Miss.” He handed you the rolled-up scroll, his lips still curled into a suspicious smile. “Good luck with your quest.” 

Taking the scroll, you nodded your head at him, a smug smile painting your own face, as you turned on your heels to leave, reveling in the fact that your levels of commitment and intelligence were clearly in the upper echelons compared to the rest of the idiots that frequented the crowded guild.  

Before you could leave without any issues, a deeply familiar, incredibly cocky-sounding baritone voice interrupted your mental victory dance. “Would you look at that. Gonna handle a dungeon all on your own, eh, princess?” 

You quickly turned your head, your eyes landing on the tall, solid beast of a half-man, half-orc standing with one hand resting on his leather-bound hip, his golden eyes slowly studying your body with an almost nauseating amount of interest. “Mingi…” you sighed, the events of your last few meetings flashing through your brain, the tips of your ears turning a faint red. “Oh, you think I can’t handle a stupid quest on my own either, huh?” 

He shook his head, his shaggy silver hair falling in his eyes, forcing him to swipe it out of the way with his large ringed fingers. “Nope.” His simple response encouraged his equally large, equally intimidating party members, who were hanging out near him, to laugh and chatter amongst themselves. 

Now your hands were on your hips, getting hit by a wave of annoyance, your cheeks burning.  “Watch me.” 

Mingi took a step towards you, just to show you and anyone nearby just how much he towered over you, his lips quirking up into a shit-eating grin, still peering down at your body like he could already picture what you looked like without the form-fitting lace dress that was wrapped around your curvy body like a pretty present, one that he wanted to open as soon as possible.

“With a petite little body like yours?” He reached down to slip a finger into your hair, playing with one of the crystals that adorned it. “Yeah, so small and delicate, like a pretty little fairy, ain’t ya? Those monsters in that dungeon will swallow you whole.”

You might’ve hated Mingi to an extent, but he was good. Good at making you feel tiny and desirable, and so wet, you were afraid he’d be able to smell it from where he was standing. You closed your thighs together slightly, lowering your closed fists to your sides, leaning forward. “I-i’m not a fairy, you dumb orc! I'm an elf! And I don’t need your help!” Just as you turned around to leave, Mingi cleared his throat, making you turn your head back to glare at him. 

He placed his other hand on his hip, letting his weight shift to the opposite side, his head tilting the other way. “Sweetheart, listen, I know you’re very capable of getting what you want,” he mused, chuckling softly at the way your face scrunched up slightly in embarrassment. “But, I’m sure you could use some extra party members to back you up. Me and the boys want to help you. Won’t you let us?”

You gazed at Mingi a little while longer, before your eyes shifted to his friends, first drawn to the most elegant-looking tiefling you’ve ever seen. He had sleek skin that looked like expensive marble, his hair as white as the frost that would cover all the lands during the winter months, his heavy horns ridged and curled into an ‘s’ shape, and black as soot, his thin, pointed tail quietly slithering around in a snake-like motion behind the long black cloak that hung from his pointed shoulders. 

“That’s Seonghwa,” Mingi informed, with his arms folded across his wide tattooed chest. “Doesn’t talk much, unless it’s to cast a spell or call me stupid.” 

Seonghwa’s pretty lips formed a smirk, wrapping his arms comfortably around his slim, corseted waist, his sharp, milky eyes focused intensely on you, like he was peering through you and straight into your soul. 

“Oh, are we introducing ourselves?” someone said excitedly, your eyes following the voice upwards until they landed on the handsome face of the gentle-looking goliath standing besides the tiefling. At roughly seven feet tall, the broad man sported shiny, golden locks, pretty brown eyes, and a tribal tattoo that was plastered on his veiny neck, clad only in a thick pelt that sat comfortably around his solid waist, wearing matching furry cuffs on his thick forearms. “I’m Yunho! I like to get drunk and smash stuff. What do you like to do, elf girl?” The goliath stepped forward to shake your hand, his hand completely encompassing yours, your neck almost hurting from having to look up at him. 

“Hi, Yunho,” you replied, smiling softly, feeling a bit dizzy from your vast difference in sizes. Everything about him was just so big, you couldn't help but wonder what else was too. “I’m Y/N. I like to go on quests and collect gold.” 

“Don’t tell me we’re actually going to help a high elf,” the last party member interrupted in a low voice, sneering, showing off his large, rounded canines when you looked past Yunho to scoff at him. “And an annoying one, at that. I don’t care if she’s fuckable. This is still a waste of time.”

Yunho put a large, warm hand on your shoulder, covering it completely. “Don’t take San’s words seriously, sweet. He bullies people when he likes them.” 

The brooding barbarian folded his arms over the thick, furry pelt that covered his broad upper half, rolling his eyes, a few strands of his wild raven hair falling past his forehead. “Or maybe I just don’t like stuck-up little elven brats, ever think of that, Yunho?” His pronounced eyebrows joined together in a bout of sudden fury. “Huh? Can you even hear me up there, you oversized son of a bitch?”

A faint blush appeared on Yunho’s cheeks, smiling in San’s direction, before looking back down at you. “See? He loves me.” 

You returned his smile with a grimace. “He loves being a dickhead too, apparently.”

“Excuse me?!” San growled, about to walk up to the both of you to prove that he only loved moonshine, his trusty club, and himself. 

Mingi stepped in front of San, waving his hands around exasperatedly, wishing someone presented a dialogue skip option a long time ago, bored of the introductions. “Alright, alright, so are you coming with us, or not, princess? What’s the verdict?”

You rolled your eyes, opening the large entrance door of the guild, eventually letting out a long sigh, glancing back over your shoulder with a pout. You knew you had a slim chance of surviving without them, but you still had your pride. You let out a small hmph, annoyed when they still all just stood there waiting, encouraging you to stomp your silk shoe down on the ground, grumbling, “Ugh, are you coming, or what?”

Mingi and his friends chuckled amongst themselves and elbowed each other, amused by the amount of fiery zealousness your tiny body possessed, finishing their mugs of ale, eventually following you out of the guild and onto the dirt road. 

“Hurry up! I wanna explore this dungeon today, not during the next winter solstice!” you called out to them, already at the forest entrance, tossing your head back in an exaggeratedly annoyed fashion.

The half-orc waved his hand around nonchalantly, despite his large lower canines growing more and more visible the more he began to smile, pulling out a small pair of lace panties that had a familiar design etched into them. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your little elf panties in a twist,” he chuckled, bringing them up to his face to take a sniff.

Your inquisitive expression melted down into one of horror, then scrunched again, this time pleading him with his eyes. “Mingi…don’t tell me you’ve kept those all this time.”

“Of course I have, princess. In fact, I jerk off with them every chance I can in your honor. I can cum real hard just from knowing I turned a high elf onto orc cock forever. I still remember like it was yesterday,” he sighed dreamily, wiping away a fake tear, like had just said the most romantic sentence even known to orckind.

“I still fuck elves, you twat! I don’t need you or your stupid orc cock!” you argued, turning away so that none of them could see how flushed you had gotten, heading into the forest by yourself.

“That’s a damn lie. You showed up to my hut like three times during the Great Hunt not too long ago,” Mingi explained, following after you, his friends following beside him. “Don’t you remember? I had to carry you home after you passed out from squirting too hard.”

“No!” you shouted from ahead of him, swearing you were going to melt into the floor.

“She’s got elven pride, that one,” Mingi sighed, admiring you from behind. “Anyway, I got her soaked panties to prove it. You want to see them, don’t ya, Hwa?” Mingi elbowed Seonghwa, who just shook his head in disappointment, while he continued smiling truimphantly to himself.

࿏࿏࿏

Your group took on a range of opponents, from skeleton armies to disingenuous slime cubes that you may or may not have fallen into, able to pass through quite a few levels of the dungeon, mostly due to Seonghwa’s spell casting abilities, San’s uncontrollable rage, Yunho’s knack of destroying anything he came in contact with, and Mingi’s axe-wielding skills. Did you want to admit that to yourself? Sure. Out loud? No, of fucking course not. 

You picked off bits of pink slime that still clung to your wet form, grumbling under your breath about how sticky you felt, not even noticing that some of the slime had already absorbed into your skin. 

“Need a little help there, princess?” Mingi mused, reaching down to your shoulder and wiping off some of the slime for you, his fingers tingling once he had done so. 

“I suppose so,” you murmured, standing still so that he could continue helping you, surprisingly not even that bothered when the other members of your newfound party all gathered around you and picked or pulled off the remnants of slime that remained on your body, face, and hair. 

As you entered the next room, all five of you noticed how the tinglyness remained, how it spread throughout your bodies like a gentle ripple effect, your bodies now collectively hot to the touch, though no one said anything to each other — at least, not yet, anyway. 

“A chest!” you gasped excitedly, putting your dagger back into its respective holder and running up to the large, gold-plated chest that sat at the edge of the room, just waiting for someone to open it up and collect its contents. 

“Don’t be stupid, elven brat. Not all chests are filled with treasure. Some of them could be decoys. You know that, right?” San rested the rounded bottom of his ginormous club down onto the dungeon floor, leaning on it, raising an eyebrow at you. “Or do you only familiarize yourself with crystals and orc cock?” 

“Shut up!” You held onto the barbarian’s insult, rather than hearing him out. “You’re just saying that because you want the treasure for yourself!” You got on your knees in front of the chest, muttering, “Selfish prick.” 

“What’d you say?!” San barked, his hand squeezing around the thick handle of his weapon. 

Mingi slung an arm around San’s tense shoulders, smiling as though he was quite pleased with himself. “She’s got a mouth on her, huh?” He met San’s grimace with a shoulder squeeze. “Don’t worry, Sannie. She’s gonna learn the hard way.” 

Yunho walked up beside Seonghwa, lowering himself down to sit on the cool stone ground with a thud, wiping a bit of perspiration that had formed on his forehead. “I’ve been feeling weird since we left the slime room, Hwa. Can you cast a healing spell?” 

“Yeah, me too, now that you mention it,” Mingi called out, rubbing his sweat-covered neck with his free hand, encouraging San to open his own black furry coat, revealing an expanse of sweaty, tan, tattooed skin underneath it. 

Seonghwa nodded his head in agreement, waving his hand around in front of him, manifesting a large glowing violet pentagram into existence, which eventually disappeared after the spell had be casted completely, a faint glow still visible around the edges of your bodies. 

“Mm, I don’t really feel any different…” Mingi mumbled, his hot-blooded body even more tingly than before, starting to feel like he could fuck someone into oblivion right at that moment, even more than usual. 

Once you had opened up the chest, ignoring the subsequent pounding inside your chest and cunt, you were met by a multitude of shiny, gold coins just waiting for you to take. “Holy shit, I’m rich!” 

“You better split that with us, before I split you in half with my cock, stupid elf!” San griped from where he stood, now a bit hunched over, his words slightly slurred, not even fully realizing what he was saying. 

“Wh-what?!” you squeaked, your ears bright red, turning your head to look at the barbarian in disbelief, not even noticing when the chest in front of you began to sprout limbs, a long, slimy tongue slipping out past the gold. 

“I said, I’ll split you open–” San fully dropped his club, which resulted in a resounding thud inside the small room. He pointed an accusatory finger in your direction, blinking at you through his hazy vision, using his other hand to grab at himself through his furry kilt. “–with my big, barbarian cock!” 

Yunho pointed at you as well, wanting you to notice the big monster that was about to have its way with you. “Um, Y/N, you should…” 

“Not now, Yunho, I have to tell this idiot barbarian to suck my clit!” you informed angrily, holding your middle finger up at San, which he returned enthusiastically. 

“Oh, yeah? Then, get your fucking ass over here and sit on my face, you elf slut,” San barked back, sticking his tongue out at you, still holding onto Mingi, appearing drunker by the second — though it wasn’t alcohol running rampant through his body. It was lust. The rest of them were feeling it too. 

“Slut? I’ll show you slut,” you grumbled, about to stand up and give San a piece of your mind, your fist, and possibly your body when the mimic suddenly snatched you up with its long limbs and pinned you to the floor. “Oh my god, what’s happening? What the fuck is that?!” 

San simply chuckled, leaning his back against the cold concrete wall of the small room, trying to cool his intensely heated body down. “That’s a mimic, dummy. I’m sure you can handle it though, since you’re so tough.” 

Mingi looked to his friends, biting at his lip, noticing that none of them even attempted to assist you, more concerned with finding out what the monster was about to do to you. Even Yunho, who was the only one with any semblance of a conscience out of the entire party, somehow couldn’t bring himself to get up, instead answering to the oversized tent that was forming underneath his pelt. 

The mimic pinned your wrists together above your head with one strong hand, using the other to lift one of your legs up into the air, breathing harshly as it studied your slick cunt through your tiny lace panties, eventually licking a long stripe up your body, from your pussy up to your chest, leaving your white garments completely soaked and see-through. 

Trying desperately to free your hands from the monster’s unwavering grip, unable to prevent more slick from leaking out of you with your legs being held open, you angled your head back to look at the upside-down versions of your party, crying out, “Are you fuckers just going to sit there and watch?!” 

“Yeah…we are, sweetheart,” Mingi sighed out, still leaning on San, a few drops of sweat cascading down his flushed face. He dragged his tongue across his teeth, breathing in the flowery scent of your arousal, inhaling so deeply his bull ring shifted slightly. “I’m sure you got it handled. Just tire it out with that wet fucking cunt of yours, will ya?” 

A strong wave of pleasure pulsed through your body at Mingi’s response, looking to each of the members, realizing that they were really just going to observe as you got pleasured by the monster, getting more aroused by the second. What was wrong with you? You would’ve contemplated it more, but any thoughts you had would completely fizzle out once the mimic’s tongue came in contact with your cunt, licking you up and down in a rapid, desperate fashion. Its tongue was so heavy and hot against your pulsing cunt, you couldn’t help but cum within a few minutes, your body going limp. “Fuuuck, oh my god…” 

“Came nice and hard, didn’t you?” Mingi continued to share his filthy words with you and his party, all five of you reacting positively to it. “I can fucking smell it, princess…” His smile twisted into a faux pout, his voice dripping with lust. “That tongue isn’t enough for you though, is it? Mm-mm, not nearly enough. You need cock stuffed inside your tight elven pussy, don’t you, darlin’?”

All you could do was let out a long pathetic whine, your flushed, fucked-our face giving Mingi and the boys the answer they needed. Now that you weren’t fighting back, the mimic lifted your lower half up into the air, positioning you so that its tongue could slither inside you, pistoning it in and out of your willing hole, your upper half hanging upside down, your tits bouncing with each of the mimic’s thrusts of its wet appendage, your writhing body on display for your party members’ viewing pleasure. “I’m…going to…kill you all…for watching…” you huffed out in between moans, drool slipping out past your parted lips. 

Mingi turned his head to share looks with his friends, all of them now dealing with the same almost painful predicament. “Are you all as hard as I am…?” When they nodded, he felt a little less guilty, reaching down to rub at his leaking cock through his kilt, able to feel how stiff it was even through the thick material. He gazed down at you, biting at his bottom lip, holding onto the thick leather of his body harness, trying not to blow his load too quickly. “It feels good, doesn’t it, princess? I can hear how just how sloppy that mess of a cunt is…Do you like the way it’s fucking you senseless with its tongue? Is it filling you up just right?” 

You couldn’t believe just how turned on you were in the moment, hardly about to breathe in between your bouts of pleasure, your body beginning to sieze up when the mimic shoved its tongue as deep as it could go, causing a prominent bulge to form inside your lower stomach. “S-so good, Min, gonna cum again…” 

“Cum for us, baby, that’s it…” Mingi sighed, leaning his shoulder against San’s, noticing how he began to play with his cock through his kilt, doing his friend a solid and reaching over to stroke the base of it for him. 

Groaning underneath his breath, San reached over to help Mingi out as well, the both of them hyperfixated on the way the mimic drank up your juices as though it needed it to live. Seonghwa and Yunho were in a similar position, but instead of answering to their aching cocks, they simply watched on, the visual stimulation clearly enough for them. 

The mimic lifted your limp body upwards so that you were on your knees, with its large, agile tongue fitted in between your trembling thighs, grabbing you by the waist so that it could drag you back and forth along its long, slimy appendage. “Just like that, oh my god, it’s so–fuck–” you gasped, barely able to look at the men that were huddled around you, the new position not allowing you to hide away from their hungry gazes, your body on full display for them. 

With his hand now fully hidden underneath San’s kilt, Mingi nodded his head at you in approval. “That’s my naughty little elf girl,” he praised you in a gravelly voice, groaning at the sensation of San tugging at his dripping cock from underneath his own pelt. “Let me see you cum one more time for us, princess. Can you do that?” 

“Yes, Mingiii, I’ll cum for you,” you whined obediently, reaching down your shiny, wet body to rub your clit around through your thin, soaked panties, unable to keep your mouth closed anymore from how hard you were breathing. 

“What a good listener you are, baby. Look at you playing with your tiny little clit without me having to ask. Such a good elf girl you are,” Mingi continued to praise you, knowing exactly what made you tick, his hand squeezing around San’s throbbing length. 

San let out a higher pitched moan, his body beginning to tremble against Mingi’s. “I can’t believe you–unnh–managed to tame her so easily…” 

“It wasn’t hard, Sannie…fuck– She may be a brat, but she’s a good girl at heart…” Mingi was beginning to fall apart as well, San’s calloused hand continually rubbing along his cock enhancing the pleasure of watching you willingly playing with yourself while you rode a monster’s tongue, his party’s presence filling him with even more warmth. “Cum for us, sweetheart, show us how pretty you are when you fall apart…” 

Mingi’s praise-filled request mixed with the sensation of your puffy clit grinding along the mimic’s slick tongue sent you barreling over the edge, cumming so hard, you saw stars, barely able to grasp at the dagger that still sat inside its holster.

Meanwhile, San and Mingi both began to groan and shudder against the cool dungeon wall, shooting their hot loads onto each other’s hands and the insides of their pelts. Seonghwa and Yunho both coated their own undergarments with white, biting into their bottom lips so hard they just about broke the skin.

They were all so deep in their wells of ecstasy that they hardly even noticed when you let out a war cry and stabbed the mimic with your long dagger, rendering it dead, causing it to fade away in a flurry of sparkly, white dust, leaving a few gold pieces for you to take. 

“I told you I could fucking take care of myself,” you grimaced, shoving your items into a small pouch you had hanging from your upper thigh.

Once the post-nut clarity set in, Mingi cleared his dry throat, scratching at his prickly chin. “I mean, you did defeat the mimic on your own, so credit is due when credit is due, princess. You just used your pussy to combat it…which is just as valid as using a real weapon, don’t get me wrong–”

“Shut it!” you simply yelled, your face so hot, it probably rivaled the surface of the sun, stomping past the recovering men and pushing the next door open once it unlocked itself, wasting no time to enter the last floor of the dungeon where the supposed lujuria plant was said to grow. 

“Let’s go help her out with that plant. And remember, whatever happens, happens. Just know I’m not fucking any of you.” Mingi patted San’s shoulder, looking over to the other members of his party with a playful smile.

San smacked Mingi’s back playfully, which Mingi returned. “Let’s put that elf brat in her place.”

Mingi nodded. “Yeah, on my cock where she belongs.”

Seonghwa scoffed from beside them. “Could you be anymore crass?”

Yunho patted Mingi’s and Seonghwa’s shoulders, practically dislocating them, smiling goofily, his cheeks and face flush from the energy he exerted.  “What happens in the dungeon, stays in the dungeon, boys.”

Seonghwa quietly nodded his head in agreement, until he murmured softly, “Indeed.” 

࿏࿏࿏

“Where are you, you stupid fucking plant?” you called out inside the vast, foliage-covered room, swiping at the overgrown leaves and plants that were in your way, almost tripping over a few vines that grew in and out of the broken-up cobblestone floor below your feet. 

The rest of your party followed your lead, Mingi and Yunho taking the initiative to cut down the thicker plants and foliage that stood in your way with their axes, almost completely out of breath when you finally came across a large pink plant growing in the middle of the room. 

“I’m assuming that’s it,” you said mostly to yourself, slowly walking up to the plant, impressed by its intricate petals and inviting flowery scent. “It’s not as scary as I thought it’d be. It’s almost…pretty…” 

Just as you reached out to touch it, Seonghwa opened his mouth to warn, “Wait, don’t–”

As soon as your slender fingers came in contact with one of the flower petals, the plant sent out a puff of dusty pink pollen directly into your face and the air around your party, before folding in on itself and growing comically large spikes to protect its core which contained the golden glowing seeds you needed to complete your quest. 

You began choking and coughing along with the others, reaching out blindly through the thick pollen, finding solace in Seonghwa’s arms, who began reciting a spell to lessen the effects of the plant’s attempt at self defense, but it was too late. Mind-altering desire had already set in. “Can’t breathe…can’t think…” you whispered, grabbing at Seonghwa’s chest, unbuckling his top and revealing his smooth, marble skin, henna-like tattoos decorating his jewelry-adorned collar bone. 

Seonghwa clutched your shoulders, breathing just as profusely as you were, murmuring, “Don’t think, then, silly elf,” before pressing his mouth onto yours with haste, his long, snake-like tongue slipping inside your mouth to explore it.

Strong, solid hands grabbed at your hips from behind, Mingi pulling them back so that he could grind his cock into your ass, his lips already ghosting along your neck. His deep, gravelly voice made you let out a weak moan into Seonghwa’s mouth when he sighed, “Gonna fill your cunt full of my cum, sweetheart. So fucking full.” 

“Then, I get to fill her slutty elf cunt with my tongue first,” San interrupted, already on his knees, positioning himself in between you and Seonghwa, not hesitating to tear your skirt and panties apart to access your rapidly dripping cunt. “So pink, so pretty…” He attached his drooling mouth onto your clit, sucking so roughly, your knees almost buckled underneath you, about to completely collapse when he plugged your hole up with his hot tongue. 

Seonghwa pulled away slightly, finally letting you breathe without having his tongue down your throat, instead completely shredding  the front of your dress with his talons, just in time for Mingi to groan and cup your tits, squeezing and moving them around, saliva leaking past his plump lips. “I always know exactly what your idiotic orc brain is thinking,” he sighed at Mingi, bringing his own hands up to tweak and pinch at your nipples, making you cry out. 

“Oh, yeah? Can you read my mind right now, Hwa? Can you tell that I’m about to stretch this elf’s little fuckhole wide open with my fat fuckin’ cock?” he said near your twitching, elongated ear, his hard length slipping in between your thighs to rub along the underside of your cunt, his dark eyes settled on Seonghwa’s before returning to your slick body, their hands moving in tandem to play with your tits, each getting a chance to squeeze your squishy flesh and tease your increasingly puffy nipples. 

Yunho, who was hard beyond measure and feeling a little left out, walked up to the side of you and reached down to show off his enormous cock, the slick , oversized tip an angry shade of red. He pouted down at you, letting out a small whimper. “Can you please help me out, sweet? I’m so hard, it hurts…” 

Unable to resist his puppy-dog eyes, you nodded, licking your lips, collecting his vast amounts of pre-cum at the rounded tip with your fingers, eventually using it to slick up the rest of his cock, doing your best to jerk him off with your small hands. “Does that feel good, Yunho?” 

“So good, doll,” he gasped, leaning his head back, not registering when he began to thrust his hips forward into your hands, using them like a fleshlight. 

You’re so big, Yunho, fuck– I can hardly wrap my hands around it…” you sighed out, opening your mouth to lick at the tip of his cock each time he thrusted into your hands. Your mind went blank, until you suddenly remembered that San was in between your squeezing thighs, devouring your cunt like it was his last meal, his tongue and lips wreaking havoc on your clit, his thick fingers shoved inside your pulsing hole.

“Like the way I’m eating this cunt of yours, eh, elf girl?” San mumbled in between slurps, gulping your juices down, a few dribbles of it cascading down his veined throat. “You don’t even need to answer, love. I can tell you do just from the way you’re fuckin’ squeezin’ my fingers.” San groaned deeply, watching the way you dripped for him as he continually went knuckles-deep inside you, biting his bottom lip, growling, “Cum for me. Cum all over my face, you brat. Fuckin’ do it.”

You unraveled almost instantaneously, getting your creaminess sucked off of your slit by the desperate barbarian, not even noticing that he had been jerking himself off so roughly, he had already made himself cum before you did. 

“Goddamn it, since when did high elf squirt taste so fuckin’ good?” San mumbled drunkenly to himself, licking at his swollen lips, prior to sucking your cum from his fingers noisily.

“You’ve had your fun, Sannie boy. It’s time for this little elf girl to experience the pleasure of getting broken in by real men. Hwa, you know what to do,” Mingi announced hastily, already bringing you down to the floor so that you were about to slowly take the half-orc’s cock in your cunt from behind, Seonghwa supporting your front, the tip of his tail already brushing back and forth over your swollen clit, rubbing his large, ridged cockhead on your puffy lips to slick them up with his pre-cum, his own plump lips moving at a quick pace, expertly reciting an incantation that would allow you to physically take two obscenely large cocks at once, all well as increasing your natural lubricant and allowing you access to heightened physical sensations.

“Fuck, look at you…What a good little elf girl you are, taking us both inside you like this,” Mingi sighed into your ear, reaching around your body to lazily rub your wetness into your sensitive clit. “Almost like you were made to take monster cock, huh? Not made for little elven peckers, it seems.” He pressed his hand into your lower abdomen, able to feel the pronounced outline of his friend’s abnormally large length. “Mm, that’s right. You loved being stuffed full of monster cock, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Love it, Min, so much,” you choked out, your mind going positively blank, the only thing on your mind being the insanely pleasurable stretch you felt inside your core, knowing you were quite literally filled to the brim. “Feels so good, I can’t think.”

“Why think when you can just feel good, princess?” he chuckled, rubbing your tummy in an up and down motion, feeling the outline of Seonghwa’s thick, ridged length with his calloused fingers, shuddering from the sensation of their slippery cocks rubbing along one another inside your tight, slick walls . He nuzzled your neck and the side of your face with his prickly cheek, whispering onto your skin, “M’ so proud of you, sweetheart. I broke you in before and now here you are, taking big tielfing cock in your pussy while an orc’s stuffing you just as full. What a pretty sight you are. Wish I could take a picture.”

“Oh my god, Mingi, please, it’s so–” you could hardly verbalize, your eyes just about rolling into your skull, your body pulsing with so much pleasure, you could barely keep up with what was happening around you.

Mingi routinely filled your elongated ears with more filthy words, Seonghwa gazing deeply at you, your willing hole continuing to clench around their thrusting cocks, getting stretched so pleasurably, you almost passed out from that sensation alone.

All the while, San positioned himself in from of your tits, squeezing them together and driving his cock back and forth between them, grunting and groaning each time.

Yunho gently grabbed your chin, coaxing your mouth open as wide as it would go, whispering, “That’s it, my sweet, just a little wider…” He began to feed you his cock, stuffing your mouth full and instinctively fucking your throat, your jaw already beginning to ache from the obscene girth. “You’re so tiny…can barely take it…huh?” Moaning breathily, Yunho eventually settled for fucking the inside of your gummy cheek, afraid that he would suffocate you if he continued to throat fuck you.

It seemed that this quartet had been in this exact position before. That was clear to you now. You couldn't have been more wet and willing if you tried. Getting used by two filthy men while two more watched and desperately tried to get off using your body in any way they could filled you with a sense of purpose you didn’t realize you had always sought after. 

“You want our cum in your pretty elf cunt, princess?” Mingi huffed, in between harsh, deliberate thrusts, his hands cemented on the reappearing bulge in your stomach. “Huh? You want us to make a mess of you, aye? Want to be fucked so full of our seed, you’ll give us pretty elven offspring?” 

Once Yunho freed your saliva-streaked mouth from his suffocating length and resorted to jerking himself off, you were able to reply in a fucked-out, slurred voice, “Yeah–yeah–yeah– fill me up, wan’ it all. All your cum, in me, on me, I need it, pleaseee.” 

Your willing party members’ highs all crescendoed in succession, Mingi resorting to sloppy, rough thrusts inside your tight hole until he spilled most of his load into you, his cum splashing onto Seonghwa’s cock, dripping along their lengths to form a milky rim. “Oh, fuck, that’s it…but I’m not done yet, princess…I gotta–nngh–leave my mark on my favorite elf…” He slowly pulled out with lewd pop, coaxing a few more cum shots out of his cock with a large, closed fist, watching the large milky droplets slide along your smooth skin and torn sections of your dress onto the curve of your exposed ass, his eyes creasing with clear adoration. “That’s more like it…”

“W-was that necessary…?” you murmured, trying not to cum just from the sensation of getting stuffed full of cum, sensing that Seonghwa was next in line to come undone inside you.

“Oh, my gods, I…see heaven,” Seonghwa gasped sharply, the whites of his boundless eyes glowing brightly, his lips parting to allow a shaky moan to escape. Seonghwa gripped your hips so tightly, he was bound to leave handprints, relying on slow, deliberate strokes, using your contracting cunt to milk the cum from his cock, unable to resist leaving a few drops on your clit and mound when he pulled out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna cum all over these tits, you little elven slut, take itttt,” San gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening, only having to pump himself between your slick, pre-cum covered tits once more before he was able to leave thick spurts of white all over the bottom of your heated face and lips, leaving most of his load on your messy tits.

“O-oh, godddd…!” Yunho came last, and the most, closing his hands around his reddened tip, whining profusely, unable to keep himself from completely unloading all over your pretty face and hair, practically drenching you in his cum. 

Mingi reached down to cup your chin, tilting your head back so that he could get a good look at you, admiring the way their collective seed dripped off and out of you, swearing he could shed a tear from such a beautiful sight. “Look at you. My pretty princess.”

You gently nuzzled his large hand, smiling contentedly, tasting the salt of someone’s load on your lips when you licked at them. “Your pretty princess…” 

It took a while for all of you to come down and catch your breath, the effects of the pollen still practically running through your veins, but you managed to wobble your way over to the main plant and slowly pull your trusty dagger out of its holder, slashing the plant until its precious seeds dropped into your open palm. You looked down at the golden, glowing seeds, your fingers still splattered with milky liquid, reminding you of the trials you conquered to get to your ultimate goal. As you wiped your sticky face with your sleeve, you looked around at your panting, much more docile party members, wondering if it was all worth it. 

Mingi brushed some of his sweaty hair out of his eyes, noticing the way you were looking up at him, sending a cocky smile your way. “So, you’re 200 gold pieces richer, princess. How does it feel?” 

“Huh?” you questioned immediately, your fingers closing around the pouch that contained the precious lujuria seeds. “It was 1000 gold pieces. Did fucking me stupid render you stupid instead?” 

“I’m sorry, darlin’, but with each party member fee, it rounds out at 200 a person,” he corrected you, bringing you in to give you a gentle hug and a pat on the ass, chuckling delightedly to himself, his friends joining in on the amusement. “That’s still quite a bit. You can buy yourself a pretty new dress since yours is all torn and drenched in our cum, ya’ know?” He leaned his head in your direction, twiddling his large thumbs, his smile growing more lewd. "That means I can have the one you're wearing right now, yeah?"

You grimaced, your blood boiling over, already stomping your way out of the last dungeon floor, your voice still growing louder and louder the further you walked away, swearing to yourself, “This is the last time I do anything with you, Mingi! Never again. Never! EVER!” 

Mingi simply waved off at his friend’s questioning gazes, holding the seeds that you had taken from the plant inside his own hand, admiring their shimmering edges. “Don’t worry. She always comes back.” 

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[mintmatcha]

"Sero told me." Rain buffets the street, a haze of mist hanging in the air. Droplets fall from Bakugo's hair, down on his cheeks. "Why did Sero tell me?"

Your neighbor dips behind him, rushing over to his front door. Bakugo uses it as an excuse to step closer, to speak softer.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

You wrap your robe tighter. "You broke up with me, Ka-- Bakugo."

The name change hits him and his jaw clamps shut.

"That doesn't-- if you had told me, it would have been different, okay?" There's a plead in his voice. "I would have been fucking different."

A familiar ache rings in your chest. Oh, you spent weeks mourning this man, crying in the shower over a relationship he replaced overnight. You thought you had swallowed all of the heaetbreak, but seeing him here, in front of you...

You step back into your apartment. "It doesn't change anything."

"No," he follows, almost forcefully. When he reaches for you, you almost think he's mad until you catch the sheen in his eyes. "The fact that you are dying changes everything."

[monstersighing]

18+ NSFW MDNI

M Tentacled Sea God x AFAB Reader

Title: Deep

Content: tentacle sex, knotting, impact play (spanking), dirty talk, possessiveness, praise kink.

(Other works featuring the same monster can be found via my masterlist, but this can be read as a standalone).

+++

Three weeks had passed since you’d seen Lir, the sea god you’d summoned to your bed with your wishes and desires. You’d called and he hadn’t answered. You felt empty and hot blooded enough to go out to a bar and fuck the first man who’d shown you attention.

He’d been sweet, the man you met at the bar, six drinks deep on an evening out with your work colleagues. You’d taken him home and let him fuck you from behind against the window of your apartment. You’d watched the storm lash against the sea. You’d imagined the cock inside you was Lir’s tentacles and the hands on your hips were larger, with sharp nails. He’d come inside you with a grunt and worked his fingers across your clit. You only came when he agreed to call you a slut and pulled your hair, imagining the accusation in a deeper voice.

You’d handed the man his clothes and he’d left in a taxi not long after.

I fucked someone else and I’m glad, you thought as loud as you could, stood at the sea’s edge. Hoping your words would reach Lir, even if he didn’t reply.

+++

Sunrise comes, and you walk out of your house, across the patio and down to the sand of the beach. Then to the shore. The tide is in, so you leap up to the rocks, pick your way across rock pools and perch at the furthest point you can reach. The spray from the waves mists your face.

The sun rises higher, and you lie down flat against the rocks, the sun warming your face, your shoulders, the bare skin of your belly between your swim shorts and top. You doze.

You wake to a shadowy figure above you, blocking the sunlight. It is Lir. His body bracketing yours, tentacles undulating above and behind him.

“I heard you. I know what you did,” he says.

Your hands reach up, and you touch the planes of his face. As you look into his dark, seal-like eyes, you say, “I missed you,” and then “I’m sorry.”

“You’re mine, you know that.” Two of his tentacles wrap around your wrists and push your hands down so they are resting either side of your head.

“But you left,” you say. “You left me alone.”

“I had things to attend to. During the storms, people ask for me. I save them and I grow stronger.”

He does seem larger than before, somehow. Sleeker and more muscled. The deep blue of his skin more vibrant.

“I’m yours. I won’t ever again. I’m sorry.”

“Words,” Lir says. “You need to show me.” Your cunt throbs, the sound of his voice alone has you feeling slick and warm.

“How?” Tears prickle your eyes, and your face feels hot. You need to make this right.

“I’m going to punish you. Then I’m going to fill every hole in your body and fuck your cunt full of my cum until you can’t remember what that man felt like.”

You whine then, and arch up desperate for Lir’s skin on yours. He hasn’t come inside your cunt yet. He’s spilt his seed on your body and in your mouth, pushed tentacles and feelers into your pussy and hole. But never that. You want it desperately, more than anything you can ever remember desiring.

“Yes. Please. Yes,” you whimper.

Lir lifts you then, and you are laid prone across his lap. Water slick tentacles hold your arms and legs in place, wrapping tightly. His hands pull your shorts down and off and knead at your exposed ass cheeks.

“Ten hits, and you will count them. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you say.

A tentacle slaps down against your left ass cheek. You jolt forward. “One,” you say.

Another tentacle slaps down against your right ass cheek, harder than the first, the loud crack of impact, shocking you. “Two,” you say.

Lir carries on, each slap of a tentacle harder, and swifter than the last. You wriggle, and the tentacles coiled around your legs and arms tighten and pull, so your body is taut. “Be good,” Lir warns. The hot sting of each hit becomes one warm bright ache. You feel your mind empty, except for the need to count each strike.

You’re sobbing by the time you reach ten, tears dripping off the tip of your nose. You’re unsure whether you want to pull away or wriggle your ass out to beg for more punishment.

Lir’s voice breaks into your thoughts then: “You have been good. You’re forgiven.” His hand strokes your head, while the other presses against the burning heat of your buttocks, soothing. You bask in his touch, but you want more. When the tentacles gripping your legs and arms loosen and fall away, you scrabble up off Lir’s lap to kneel in front of him. You spread your legs wide and pull off your top so you are fully naked, flushed and desperate.

Drawing you close he bends to kiss your mouth, tongue running across the seam of your lips and then pressing inside. His hands stroke across your back and his mouth dips to the side of your neck. You arch and feel the press against of his open mouth and his teeth against the skin there, like a promise. He pushes you back against the rocks and pulls your legs over his sides, so your body is stretched and displayed for him, from your wet waiting cunt to your hard aching nipples to your open pleading mouth. The sea breeze blows over all your naked skin, making your shiver.

“Please,” you whine.

“Please what, my pet?” Lir says, and he smiles.

“I’m sorry. You said if I was sorry, you’d fuck me.”

“Patience. I shouldn’t have left you so long, should I? You’re a slut.”

“I’m a slut,” you agree.

Propping yourself up on your elbows allows you to see Lir’s hard dick. It’s big, a sucker studded ridge near the base, and a fringe of feelers above his pubic bone that undulate as if seeking out touch.

One of Lir’s tentacles seek out your pussy, its pointed edge tracing against your lips. You try to push down, but the tentacles’ touch dances away and then returns light. Other tentacles glide up your body, flick at your nipples and attach themselves, suckers milking and then clenching, making your cunt twitch in sympathy. All you want is to be filled and used and know you are forgiven.

Shifting over you, Lir grips his cock and rubs it against your entrance, getting it slick. When he pushes the tip of his cock into you, you sigh. He’s wide. You feel him push inside you inch by inch, your walls stretching to accommodate him. It hurts so good you force your hips down until his cock is fully seated inside you, your legs trembling at the feeling of fullness. The frill of feelers around the base of his cock brush against your exposed clit, over and over.

He starts with shallow thrusts that have your craving more, then he plunges deeper, deeper. Boxed in by Lir’s body, your hands wrap around his wide neck. You pant and whimper into his mouth as he kisses you, his tongue deep, until his thrusts make it so his kisses are just glancing presses against any part of your face his lips can reach. You come clenching and trembling around his fat cock with a wail.

Lir pauses as your orgasm ripples through you. And then starts again. He is harsher now, his rhythm gone ragged, chasing his own pleasure. A tentacle fucks into your mouth and you suck on it. Another tentacle pushes against your asshole, circles the ring of muscle until it loosens, and rams deep inside. Lir’s cock and the tentacle slide in and out of your holes in counterpoint, and you feel full almost to bursting.

I can’t I can’t your mind says, you can’t come again. And then you do, your cunt filled with Lir’s cock, your hole filled with a thick tentacle and your mouth with the sinuous press of his tongue as he kisses you. He pushes the deepest he has into your cunt with his cock and you feel his cum slick your insides in spurts. You feel the ridged edge of his dick expand, plugging the cum inside you, suckers twitching and holding tight when your hips jerk with the aftershock of coming.

“My knot,” he says, and presses a hand just above your pubic bone. “It’ll keep you full of my cum.”

You’re too overwhelmed to speak, so you just hum, and let Lir wrap you in his tentacles.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone for so long,” he says. You settle against him, cradled in the arms of your monster and sigh in happiness. You’re happy to wait until his knot loosens, and sure that when it does he will be ready to fuck you again.

[lokisgoodgirl]

My Girl [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: [Oneshot] Literally just smut. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Avenger!Loki. Language. (Slightly) Possessive Loki. Loki tying his hair up during sex. (w/c 1.8k)

Loki surfaces from between your legs, strands of loose hair grazing against the delicate skin.

Your eyes are sealed from pure pleasure, the feeling of his wet lips working up one trembling thigh making you mewl his name in broken breaths. Five? Seven? You’d lost count.

He chuckles quietly to himself.

His fingers dance down your hips where they were hooked beneath your legs, a final biting kiss signalling the understated finale of his favourite repertoire.

“How tempting it is," he rumbles softly, " to see if you can take one more."

You open your eyes, lessening the punishing grip on his forearm.

Loki’s hair is a mess, mussed and wild from your fingers tangling through its lengths. It surrounds his angular features with the lustre of a Raphaelite halo, blended back into the darkness.

The glow of fairy-lights draped around your bedposts illuminate the glint in his eyes. Dark shadows caress the carve of his cheekbones as he sits back on his haunches, stroking himself leisurely.

He’s always hard when he pleasures you. However long it lasts.

As tempting as it is to watch him work, you find yourself rising; leaning forwards to catch him in a hungry kiss. “I need you,” you pant into his open mouth, fingers finding their way to the fist snug around the base of his cock.

Loki pauses, smouldering down. Your legs are spread open, bent at the knee. He kneels between them, the muscled expanse of his torso rising like rock from the sea.

All you want is him. All of him, always.

“Need me?” he purrs, feigned incredulity followed by a slow tut. “I must do better if my girl is still not satisfied.”

You place a loving slap on his shoulder.

The god bites his lip, gaze dropping to your breasts while his palms slide up your waist. They cup your curves, thumbs toying with your nipples as he pushes you lightly back to the pillow.

“I need you inside me,” you specify with an air of playful sarcasm.

Loki’s dimples flash while your eyes drop to his manhood, thick and hard and ready to fuck you.

“See what you do to me?” he says with a squeeze of his hand around the tip of his cock.

A pearl of pre-cum sparkles. The guttural sound which rumbles in his throat makes you clench.

You can feel a fresh rivulet of desire descend between your folds. Slowly, you work back to his delicate smile, a ring of moisture still glistening around his mouth. It’s smeared up his cheeks. Long winds of hair cling to his jawline, sealed to your arousal on his skin. He peels one off with understated grace.

Loki rakes a hand through his hair; wild again. Waves fan out like onyx flame behind the chariot of his devastating features, each tendril like the stroke of a madman’s brush.

He releases his grip of himself, and with one purposeful pump of his powerful thighs a hand lands on the mattress by your shoulder. You raise a foot, helpless to resist a brush of it against the curve of his ass as he hovers above. The god’s other hand sinks into the bed on your left with a soft thump.

“You are perfect,” he murmurs, nose brushing down your forehead, your eye socket, before his lips fasten to your own.

You can feel the hard column of flesh between his legs press upwards against your slit. It pulses eagerly. He slides back and forth, sending sparks of pleasure zinging through your core. With every wax and wane of his all-consuming kiss, he gyrates. Ragged breaths heave in his chest with each clench of his muscular ass, the pull of his foreskin against your heat building a growl.

Delayed gratification is a drug for your god. And you, his girl, indulge him.

He breaks from your lips, a strand of saliva dangling as his forehead rests against yours.

The veil of his curls shields you in darkness, only the hot mist of his heavy pants filling the space between you. It’s all you can do not to reach down and guide his cock deep inside. Right now, it might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. But you allow Loki the theatre of his seduction. Encourage, even.

He’s desperate for you. It shows.

And you love it.

Your fingertips comb past his temples, the flash of half-lidded eyes coming into view.

His eyebrows rise a fraction, a strangled yes from your lips all the encouragement he needs. With a shift of his hips, Loki’s eyes flutter closed as the crown of his cock squeezes inside your cunt.

A deep groan fills the air, his mouth hanging open.

A long curl drips over his parted lips, buffeting gently with every pant as your lover bottoms out.

He thrusts slowly as you buck your hips to meet him, rolling as one. Thick veins in his cock tug your delicate walls, flushed with the glorious weight of his need.

Your god’s hair swings around your face, dirty mutterings of devotion blasting the shell of your ear. That velvet voice absorbs into your soul like wine on tissue paper. Nothing feels as good as Loki’s cock. The way it massages the hidden depths of you, the pull of his pubic hair against your clit; the way that he can flick his hips that makes your eyes roll back.

The way he fills you so completely. He knows you; his girl.

Loki leans back on his knees, fingers wrapping around your hips and raising them. He slides in and out, enjoying every drag of your walls along his pulsing length. Those long digits knead down your thighs, spreading. Your chin is tilted to the ceiling, drowning in love-drunk chants of his name before Loki grunts.

His fluid thrusts slow.

You look up, frowning gently as he raises a hand to his side.

The god’s heavy smoulder hangs in the air like woodsmoke, chiselled torso towering over you; jet-black mane hanging sluttishly around the dagger of his jaw.

“Loki wha-” you slur, beginning to rise to your elbows. The will is knocked out of you with another of your lover’s glacial, mind-bending thrusts.

You fall back to the pillow with a gasp of his name.

“I simply wish to observe it, unobstructed,” he drawls stoically – only a tiny quiver in his voice betraying the heightened arousal searing through his veins. The warm glow of the fairy-lights is interrupted by a flash of green.

You squirm, clenching around Loki’s cock as a single circular hair-tie appears between the god’s thumb and forefinger.

“Observe what?” you manage to pant as you paw at his chest. Your pads catch in waves against the flex of his abdominals.

Loki casually sweeps his hair back from his shoulders.

Gripping with one hand, fingertips rake the tendrils cascading over his brow. He draws it back, winding the sex-dampened hair into a messy bun. You clench again.

The angles of his jaw slice into view, gatekeeper to the long thick of his neck. Veins strain beneath skin. The blood pumping within them pulses to the beat of his cock. He tilts his head.

“This,” he says darkly.

He slides his hands under your legs, hoisting them onto his shoulders. There’s a slurp as Loki’s tip pops from your entrance.

The sudden emptiness makes a gnawing hunger stir deep in your belly. The god’s cock presses gently against the squelch of your sex as he positions you with ease, fingertips sinking into the plump muscle of your calves.

Your eyes squeeze shut as Loki pushes inside you – so deep that you think you might break.

He pauses, and you can feel the primal weight of his stare roaming your face. You know that your skin is hot, that the backs of your thighs pressed against Loki’s chest slap with sweat and sex. You know that your face is contorted in pleasure, that he is fighting the urge to slam into his climax like the wild beast he is.

With difficulty, your eyelids open. Strands hang loose from his bun, flirting against his cheekbones; already falling free. Dark lashes fan against his cheek as he slides out your pussy with an obscene squelch. A deep frown appears on his forehead while he watches it disappear again, slowly.

So slowly.

“F-f-fuck-k,” he groans loudly.

A muscle in his jawline bobs as teeth clench, and you remind yourself with a prayer of thanks that Loki buried deep in your cunt is the most beautiful sight in the universe.

His fingers move from your calves to your wrists, drawing them above your head. Instinctually your digits curl around the cool metal bars of the bedstead. The god’s grip tightens, just for a moment.

“My girl,” he rumbles as he stares deep into your eyes. In this moment, more than any other, you are his.

Loki leans forward, his tongue demanding entrance and you melt into him. The weight of him bears down, squeezing air from your lungs as he fucks into you. Bucking your hips, Loki slips deeper. An untoned moan rips the air, his thrusts tripping as one of his hands palms your breasts.

You groan his name, sobbing the syllables as the fingers of his right hand curl tighter against your wrists.

More rogue strands of hair have fallen from his top-knot, sticking to his shoulders. One swings against his cheek, eyebrows peaked as climax threatens to overwhelm him.

“Do you w-want me to fill you, darling-” he grunts rhetorically, a whine snaking from his throat.

You yank your wrists from his grip, making Loki’s hand fly to the frame. It rattles the metal, the bed beginning to shake. “Fucking fill me, Loki” you cry so loudly the whole floor could hear. But you don’t care.

“Fill you with my...se- seed? My raw power, my n-norns, fuck-k-k,”

“-dripping out of me, down my thighs- Loki...please,”

Loki shudders, the ripples of his obliques between your legs making your vision blur.

You clench a final time around his cock, Loki’s head falling back. Dark tendrils fall with abandon from his topknot now, sticking against his brow. His whoreish slut-drunk form on full display as he releases a thundering rip of your name.

Hot cum throbs in a gush against your walls, the judder of your lover’s hips delivering a final wave of pleasure to your deepest centre.

Your calves tighten around his shoulders as Loki falls forward. His face buries in the curve of your neck, gyrating slowly as you milk him to completion.

Cum wells around your entrance, the filthy slurp complimenting the wet lap of Loki’s kiss. He purrs against your mouth as climax ebbs, lower your legs gently by his sides.

“My girl,” he hums quietly, before placing a kiss on your collarbone you already know will bruise.

“My girl.”

(thanks @glitchquake for reminding me Loki with a bun was hot AF❤️

Tags (cont in comments)

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[planetsage]

hiii pretty girl

“i'd say you need someone to put you in your place.” with kento and i’ll kiss you 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

hi mama 🌬️🌬️ and i’ll be expecting a FAT juicy one. put my pussy in this justtt for you <33 prompt list.

contains. nsfw so, minors and ageless blogs do not interact. f!reader, ceo!nanmi, bondage, public, vibrator, overstim, squirting, "sir."

“how about that one, hm? how does it feel?”

your widened eyes fog over; dark pupils enlarging amidst morning mist as they scream out salty tears that slip and slide down the apples of your warmed cheeks.

you can’t fucking think. the smalls of your wrist are burned and raw from your constant tugging at thick, coarse rope, the new rose-esque vibrator your boss coined constantly buzzing and sucking on your poor abused clit.

you’ve been prettily tied up in nanami’s office for hours testing out toys, special lubes, and shibari ropes: all the latest additions to his famous sex toy collection.

and you’re so hot all over, sitting in a pool of slick juices that soak and darken his push leathery office chair. nanami’s leaning against the edge of his desk. the loop of his tie is slightly loosened with three buttons of his white dress shirt messily undone, revealing shrubs of blonded hair. beefy muscles bulge out of the cotton, and he’s staring down at you with tight lips “can’t— nanam—”

“sir.”

“sir! ssorr— can’t— ‘s too much”

you feel yet another orgasm threatening to rip through you, your legs shaking and twitching uncontrollably under his observational gaze.

“you can’t?” he slams the clipboard he had been steadily scribbling in down on his desk, approaching your bound body. “that’s not what i asked you. however, your stupidity serves as a testament to its quality .. ” he leans down to splash at the puddle of your arousal, soaking his palms, “this filthy mess does as well.”

“pleeeasee” you cry out. looking up into his dark eyes and he tuts.

“i didn’t hire you to sit there and be pathetic. you must’ve forgotten your role in this company.”

he moves back over to his desk and starts digging through the cardboard box of new merchandise before pulling out a black vibrating cock ring. and if you were there, mentally, you’d whine at how he slides his fat cock through the hole in dress pants, squeezing out a thick glob of clear lube onto his tip before slipping the ring down his length, “i’d say you need someone to put you in your place.”

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