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hoseoksluna · 6 months

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MURK | myg ft. jjk

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

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

summary: one encounter with jungkook heals you enough to mend your boyfriend's heart.

pinterest board: murk

warnings: anxiety attack, different forms of self-harm and self-sabotage, mental agony, mutual masturbation, toying with polyamory, foreshadowing the use of a sex toy, alcohol consumption, seduction, provocation, teasing, oc wears pretty lingerie, cuckold kink, guided female masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, nipple play, clit rubbing, ass play, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, facial, cum eating

note: oh my god, this was supposed to have three parts, but it was getting way too long and i decided to prolong the series. i'm not gonna even mention how many parts this series is gonna have bc my characters surprise me every time i finish writing so... they're the boss of me. ANYWAYS, pls i am so proud of this work of mine and i can't wait for you all to read it. pls, spam my inbox anonymously! i need to hear your thoughts, so pretty please, let me know everything you're feeling, hating, expecting etc. i'm absolutely obsessed with oc, jk and yoongi. ALSO, let me know what team you are. team yoongi or team jk? i'll put a poll in the final part if i remember. hehe ENJOY READING ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Sensing Yoongi’s emotions, the clouds pull in, shunning the sunlight and you feel it. You feel it, enormously.

The wind becomes violent. Curtains of sheer gray slap against the windows, undulating with such might that you sense its urgency. You stare at it in deep thought, naked and barren—void of any dignity, void of any rightness of feelings. A hole of blackness takes form in the middle of your chest, where the memory of Yoongi exiting the room hastily plays on a loop and there’s a faint, feeble hand in you, one of that urgency, that reaches for him, while the other remains slack at your side, caressing your own skin, pacifying your selfishness, your hypnosis—dragging you away from the side you had unwittingly and so unrightfully chosen.

And while you want to mend what you’ve caused in your relationship, the only side you want to take at the moment is your own. The defeat pains you still, but what aches even more is the feeble wish there wasn’t any defeat at all. Not on Yoongi’s face, not on yours.

You don’t regret what you’ve done. You don’t want to regret anything anymore, which is why you’re still standing dressed in your femininity as Jungkook apprehensively rakes his hands through his hair on the bed. You care very little for it because a bigger part of you is concerned about the well-being of your boyfriend. You wonder what he’s up to downstairs. Is he pacing? Is he busying himself from the onrush of his negative emotions, not able to stand the sight of you? You’d run to him, but there’s a bigger matter at hand. You have to fix your mind first. You have to cleanse yourself of the mess and the chaos, sort out the darkness so the light pours in.

The light that will guide you to make the right decisions at last. The light that will burst your ugliness to smithereens, smother you with its heat so the hypnosis won’t penetrate it again. The light that should, ultimately, help Yoongi, help your relationship—fix its face, soothe out the overbearing tension.

You’re aware Jungkook put you under a spell, now that the wind and Yoongi’s coldness has sobered you up. Turned you against him. Made you forget about him. You give zero fucks about how he does it time and time again. What you will concentrate on in the present time is making sure it won’t happen again. How? You’ll figure it out. Somehow.

You don’t want any of the males to regard you as of now—and you wish you were alone, you wish you could escape like Yoongi did. That thought leads you, conspicuously, to begin to understand the reason behind his actions, but you don’t allow it to unfold in you. Not yet. You turn around to look at Jungkook.

Elbows propped on his thighs, he’s digging a hole into the hardwood floors with the blackness of his irises. A small mole kisses the side of his ribs, the only visible part of his body that is otherwise clouded in shadows. You take your eyes away from that sight, not trusting yourself, hating yourself for naturally looking at that intimate part of him. Upon the sound of your movement, Jungkook flicks his eyes towards your form. You dislike everything about his attentiveness to you with every fiber of the betrayal that your body has become.

His face is squished in his hands. He doesn’t look at your bareness. Merely studies the emotions written on your face. Like the healer he is, you know he wants to find something, anything to latch himself onto. And while you once obsessed over this need of his to mend, to make right, you despise it now. In spite of it, while you swallow down your distaste for it, your hand yearns to pet him like the wounded puppy he is, because you know that the tumultuous darkness both men are facing is of your origin, of your doing.

You keep it clenched in a tight fist.

You don’t want to touch him anymore. You don’t want to touch any of them. Don’t want to cause any more harm than you already have with your desires.

Jungkook startles when you make your way towards your travel bag. You hide your breasts beneath your forearm, not wished to be seen, not wishing to be vulnerable like that. The feeling of your stickiness along the inner sides of your thighs makes you cringe, worsens your hatred, and tears begin to sting in your waterline when you unzip your bag and grab the first thing you see. Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but for the last time you avert your gaze from him and bolt to his bathroom. At the sound of his heavy steps, you slam the door shut.

He calls your name and it is only then, when you’re alone, that you let those bitter tears and whimpers emit out of you. The sound is hidden by each strike of his palm upon the wood and your hand flies to your mouth in effort to stifle your emotions, feeling undeserving of them, feeling wrong, ugly, not worthy of his damned attention—not worthy of anything.

“Sweetheart,” Jungkook whines. The first pet name he ever called you. You let out a pained sound and he forces the door open with all his might. Even though you don’t want to, you let him see the state of you—clutching your wrinkled dress and panties, concealing the evidence of the pleasure he gave to your body, of your femininity that he had put under his spell.

You step away from the threshold, slinking deeper into the shadows of the bathroom. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be looking at you with such solicitude and affection. His brows shouldn’t be knitted like that, those eyes bigger and rounded than they usually are, fists tight and clenched, veins thumping and thick. Yoongi should be standing in his place with the intention to heal. Not him.

“Please, go away,” you whisper, hot tears pouring down your pallid cheeks. You’re ashamed of them because you know full well that at this point you should be doing anything but crying. You’ve gone through so much turmoil, mingled with the darkness to such great extent that you should be proud of your work. You wanted this at some point—you wanted to remain the opposite force with separate feelings. You wanted to be his, when you had no right to choose.

Jungkook’s eyes glisten. You turn your back to him, unable to be a witness to his emotions. You can’t see that; you don’t deserve to and he shouldn’t be feeling like this. He should’ve long exited this disorder—

You sob louder, exhausted of your thoughts, exhausted of shoulds, of wrongness. Turn the shower on, aware of the traces of disobedience and pain on your backside and you want to hide, but you have nowhere to go to.

Jungkook turns the main lights off, leaving only the soft flickering bulbs on by the mirror. Ever the healer who senses your emotions by some sixth sense that you hate. Dimness covers your shame.

He takes away your dress and panties and you let him. Folds them neatly on his laundry hamper. You watch him treat your underwear with such gentleness that it hurts. A flashback of him ripping your thong and making your bum red fills your brain, causing your feelings to expand in your chest—so much that you think your body is too small to keep them in. You can’t breathe, your lungs don’t have enough space to stretch and you panic, taking small breaths that don’t appease your need for air. Not at all.

You step into the shower, needing to get away.

The hot water burns on the curves of your behind and you hiss, but it alleviates your hatred. You deem it is precisely what you deserve. Your hand turns the temperature higher, sobbing into the stream of water, lungs heaving with such heft and it is okay, for it camouflages your hypocrisy. That is, until Jungkook notices it.

“Are you crazy?” he mutters in dismay, fixing the temperature, but you grip his wrist briefly, pushing it away. Don’t look at him. Only warn him this way, silently. His miffed sigh wafts into the mist rising along your form, diffusing into your hair that still carries the scent of the pond. You want to wash it all out. “It’s going to hurt more like this.”

You scowl, cupping the water in your hands like a child. “I don’t care. Leave.”

The outward pain of your body isn’t the problem here. It aggravates you how he doesn’t see it—how he can be so ignorant to the more important matter at hand. Yoongi left because of him and because of you, because of the single-minded pleasure between you both that had nothing to do with Yoongi. You might as well have been there alone with him—Yoongi being just a pair of helping hands. Redundant.

Burning. Burning of eyes, burning of skin, burning ache of heart.

Jungkook scoffs at your forwardness, dumbfounded. Has the audacity to follow the drop of water trickling down the small of your back. You splash him, willing him to go away, but he stays put. Unbuttons his cargos. Hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, ridding himself, and stepping into the shower with you, sliding the door shut.

You whisk your eyes to him with as much ill-will as you’re able to muster and he seizes it, unafraid of it, backing you against the wall. Solemn mien, subdued and so soft amidst the hardness of his decisiveness. Small pearls of emotion are stained upon the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, twinkling in the shadows in tandem with the ever persisting glint perched on top of his irises. “I told you to leave.”

He doesn’t blink. “You splashed me,” he utters, lowly. Grips your waist and pushes you against the coolness of the tiles. It takes a hold of the burn and rips it away, relief flooding in its place and your features relax against your will. “See how it feels better?”

It does, but you don’t give him the benefit of the doubt—you refuse to. Not when you deserve to rot for hurting your boyfriend enough to make him leave, not when it should be him standing here with you—

“Don’t punish yourself,” Jungkook whispers, fixing the temperature yet again, letting the mist disperse. Such a tender, velvety sound that reaches deep inside of you, even when you want to fight him, even when you think that punishing yourself is the least you can do, considering how despicable you’ve become. But then he dabs a small amount of body wash onto his palm, rubs it across your sternum and it nobbles the drift of your self-sabotage.

You feel the snugness of his touch, the darkness thickening in you and you take a fright of it.

You put a stop to it.

Grasping his wrist, you blink through the unrelenting fragrance of cherries filling your nostrils. “Don’t touch me.”

Seeing the panic flitting over your damp eyes, he lets go, respecting your wish. Smears it on the broadness of his chest instead. “Alright, I won’t touch you.”

You sigh a whiny, vulnerable breath of relief. The glint of his irises ripples as tears pool across them. He, too, blinks them away. Stills as a sculpture while watching the film of your emotions. For a mere moment. Your throat constricts. Time, then, resumes.

Jungkook hands you the bottle. Silence suffuses the profound atmosphere as you lather yourself in the cherry aroma. Almost without touching your skin, he peels your hair away from your back, capacitating you to reach your shoulder. As if his hands, now that they’ve acknowledged themselves with your body, simply cannot keep their distance. You shoot him a look that forces him to drop his limb. Note that it trembles on its way down to his side; note the same trepidation beginning its course on your body. Your mouth rounds in yet another rush of emotions, but you don’t cry.

You’re so tired. So tired of feeling. So tired of guilt, of shame, of getting up and falling again.

You avoid your intimate parts, your breasts and your behind. You hold your body instead, arms wrapped around your ribcage in effort to put yourself back together. You don’t understand why he’s here, why he cares; why he thinks he has the right to touch you without your boyfriend being present, why he thinks the situation between you and Yoongi is something he needs to remedy. And why, ultimately, he thinks it’s right to be on your side, instead of Yoongi’s.

He’s not your friend. He doesn’t know you.

You look up at him to fire that question at him, but Jungkook clutches the shower head and, with lukewarm water, he cleanses you of the foam, the bubbles and the stickiness on your thighs that he never got to wipe clean because you had pushed him away earlier. And then it happens.

He cleanses you of your dirtiness, of your hatred and of your tiredness, too. With the same shower head, the same lukewarm water. And you can’t explain how he does it, how your body lets him, how it willingly lets go until there’s nothing in you anymore. Just the cherry perfume and the hole in your chest with a murky cloud in the middle. You merely watch it dribble down your skin, plop onto the tiles on the floor, swimming around your feet and his. Dumbstruck.

You feel like stomping on it, but you don’t have the energy. Figure it will drown in the small pool of water on its own, die a slow, painful death, before it trickles down the drain.

You don’t know how it came about now that it’s gone and you can’t take your eyes off of him. All he did was rinse you off. And the ridiculousness of it all is that, the more Jungkook deepens your eye contact, the more you want it back. You want to be the one who purges you of it. Steal the magic from his hands and splatter it back on your skin, in place of the cherries. He can keep those.

Why did he come? Why didn’t he go to Yoongi?

And you ask him. “Why are you here?”

He fishes for a bottle of shampoo. “Will you let me wash your hair?”

You scowl up at him. “I asked you a question.”

Stillness in his features. “So did I.”

That damned stubbornness, so reminiscent of yours, of your muted, silent one, hidden within you. Fair enough. You search within yourself for any hint of protest. Find none—find it’s been washed away, find cherries and the heft of the cloud, no darkness, much to your dismay. You turn your back towards him.

“Tilt your head back.”

Thankful that he didn’t do it himself, you do as he says. Jungkook wets your hair and you feel the pond leaving you, your heart skipping over to latch onto it, adamant on not letting it leave, but alas—it disappears along with everything else. You wish your heart would trickle down the drain, too. You have no need for it, anyways.

Jungkook’s touch on your hair is benign, careful as he rubs the shampoo on your scalp. You flutter your eyes shut, welcoming in, somehow, the massage that diminishes the intensity, which your thoughts are hurled at you with, as though he was the owner of them and he came home to make order. And they settle altogether to listen as he begins to speak. “It shattered my heart. To see both of you so broken because of me. I saw it at dinner at first. Then I saw it again today. It pains me. It pains me that it’s my fault.”

Silence, hefty, strong silence. The principle of being seen by another pair of eyes; the principle of your agony being seen and understood, no longer obscured within your mind, within your heart. Jungkook didn’t just see you, he saw Yoongi, too. Saw through you both. Something about that, along with the work of his fingertips, mitigates the heaviness of your emptiness, of your cloud, but it doesn’t tear the misty body. Not yet.

Your throat is dry. “Why are you here, then? Why aren’t you with Yoongi? He’s your friend.”

He gently drags his palms across your length. “Because Yoongi deals with things like this on his own. He doesn’t need a friend when he goes through shit. He needs to be alone.”

You don’t understand. Yoongi always needed you when his mental health was at stake. Needed you as he unraveled the entanglement of ropes of that darkness that had enveloped his mind by talking to you about it. Then, he would eat with you, fuck you and try again the next day. It would be a long process, but it would be something you’d go through together. There never was a time he’d walk that path alone.

And then it hits you.

That was before you. Before he met you, he meandered through that decaying meadow alone. Jungkook served in the military—he doesn’t know anything about the change that occurred. Doesn’t know that Yoongi gave up his isolation.

And you tell him. Merely a hint of it. Figure it’s Yoongi’s story to tell and you don’t have the heart to snatch that opportunity away from him.

Listening to your words, Jungkook slackens. You only hear the sound of the shower head being put back into its place that indicates his shock to you. You figure he wanted to rinse off the shampoo, but the information paralyzed his body. You turn around to see that bewilderment writing verses across his features. Tenderness, too. A tendril of liquid emotion swirling past his waterline. “I tried my best to make that happen when I could,” he utters and you don’t think he realizes he said it, eyes unfocused, fixed on the tile beside your arm. “You can’t imagine how difficult it was for him. To let you in.”

You feel the same tenderness curling into your cloud. Your mouth rounds again. Touched, terribly touched. Gladness holds hands with that tenderness, gladness that he didn’t leave when you had told him to. Because if he had never stepped inside the shower, you wouldn’t have known. You wouldn’t have known the secret that changes everything.

You yearn to see Yoongi. Yearn to hug him, hold him, to pour out your love into him. Think you’re ready now. Stable enough to satisfy your craving. And in the love that you feel for him, you sense the light swarming, begging to be seeped into him.

You stand beneath the stream to rinse off the shampoo, the water blanketing your head, peace penetrating your skull, tidying up the mess in your mind. Hushing out your thoughts now that your negative feelings long slinked away. You’re a new person. Clean, purified. And while you find it hard to believe, all you want to do is truly run to Yoongi.

You can’t let him venture back to that forlorn meadow, to the ghost of his isolation. You might have shown him the way, but you have the will to stop him—and that’s more than enough.

The healer that Jungkook is… he did it again. He dismantled your attachment and now he fixed your mind. You don’t know from what source he had rooted out the light, but he gave it to you. He gave it to you when you needed it the most, without knowing a thing about it.

Blindly, you hook a finger around his index in a gesture of thanks. You don’t want to look at his nakedness. Don’t want to be pulled into that energy again. It brings his attention to you and you want to weep. Differently now. You want to weep due to the fact he somehow, seemingly, knows because he cups himself. Due to the roundness of his eyes that you know, that still live under your skin—differently now, too. Due to the fact that you got to be acquainted with him, despite the ruckus and the pain it came with.

And you hope, in all truthfulness, that you remain something along the lines of friends after this day is over. How else would you have gotten to this healing?

You open your mouth to express your gratitude, but Jungkook speaks first. “Don’t look at my worm.”

The laughter that dribbles out of your mouth is so lightweight, so full of breezy and summer-breathed relief that the tears, which were held in, do break through the confinement and roll down the apples of your cheeks. Different, different tears.

Friends, yes, please. You beg the heavens. May they let him become your friend.

Jungkook scrunches his nose, squeezing your finger, relief, too, washing over him. “Don’t cry, I swear it’s not small like this all the time. It gets bi—”

“Get me a towel, you dummy,” you say, softly, amidst your sputtering laughter, wiping your tears away. Jungkook smiles, the change of the atmosphere illuminating him from beneath, and he slides the door open, letting the slight cold air in. You turn off the water, focusing your eyes on the last ripples of water draining your negative emotions until they slip, entirely, away.

Jungkook holds out a beige towel for you. Doesn’t wrap it around you; still respects your wish. Lets you take it from him and then he disappears into the bedroom, closing the door shut behind him.

You used the alone time to doll yourself up for Yoongi. At least a little bit—you didn’t want to overdo it, amongst other things that you already had.

Although you missed your favorite mango scent, the cherries didn’t seem so bad and you got accustomed to it fairly quickly as you swiped a tiny bit of your cream blush along your cheeks, where you’ve let your relieved tears dry. You smeared the same tint of soft red upon the puffiness of your lips, connecting it to the perfume, connecting it to the healing that sank lower and lower in your gut. And you sealed it into the entwistment of your braid—sealed it fully.

You won’t let it leave you. Not this time; not again.

By the time your feet pad down the wooden stairs, you discover what Yoongi was up to in his absence. Three plates of ramen are prepared on the dinner table, gone cold by now, along with utensils and opened cans of fizzy drinks. The sight lids your eyes with tears, but you stifle them, blink them away. You thought he wanted to forget you, when in reality he had you in mind the whole time. And not just you, but your culprit as well—and he cooked him food.

A sudden roar forces your head to whisk towards the balcony. And your heartbeat quickens. You don’t feel your legs as you speed outside.

Yoongi sits on top of the stairs, a cigarette in hand, torso twisted, facing Jungkook, whose shoulders sag in consternation, palms open towards him. He makes a move to his side, but Yoongi raises a limb to stop him. Looks at you for a moment. At your wet hair, at the same state of Jungkook’s. Your heart lodges in your throat—

“Get away from me,” Yoongi mutters, taking a long drag from his cigarette, and you don’t feel anything at all. Not your legs trembling, threatening to drop to the ground. Not the standstill of your bloodstream. You’re struck, unable to speak, to think. Yoongi rises to his feet and points his busy fingers at you. “Did you enjoy your shower?” he spits the venom in your face, ruining your makeup that you diligently put on for him—your tears flow, mingling with it, hot to the touch. “Did you enjoy fucking him?”

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

Yoongi’s own tears pool in his clouded eyes. You’ve never seen them before and they break you, tear apart the cloud in you. “You didn’t what, honey?” he croaks out. Repeats the question.

Your sobs ache, but you don’t care. You take a step towards him, reach out your hand like you should’ve done earlier before he left and he takes it. The light that spills out from your chest radiates him, radiates him enough that he gives you the chance to explain yourself, to redeem his heart and you’re willing to do anything for it. His palm is cold, more cold than it’s ever been and Yoongi squeezes you, as if to beg you to undo the gashes upon his heart. Jungkook looks at the intertwinement for a mere second and you refuse to note the sliver of pain whirling past his eyes. Not this time; not again—this is about you and Yoongi. And you’re glad when he leaves. You don’t watch him go.

“I didn’t have sex with him,” you whisper, the only way you could keep your voice still, your tears soaking the neckline of your lacy dress. You will your healing not to quiver, but to remain strong, remain unbreakable. “I swear on my life that I didn’t.”

The same drops of pain pour down his face and you can’t bear it. You bury your face into his clothed chest, bunching the material of his T-shirt in your fists, needing him to believe you, needing him—

“You took a shower with him,” he breathes in pure disbelief. You feel it palpitate in his heart that your forehead is pressed against. This time, you understand right away how wrong that was—that showers are something that belongs to you and him, your shared rose garden of some sort that they could become, even though you were too smothered by the darkness to realize it fully in the moment.

You halt the shame creeping in. The guilt, the wisps of darkness. You’ve healed, and it shall stay that way. No more.

“I took a shower alone.” The wind nips at you and it is like a slash of a whip on your back. “He came in—”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Lets his cigarette fall to the floor of the veranda. With his lips pursed and like a bolt of lightning you can’t keep in your hands, he rips himself out of your hold and lopes inside the cabin with heavy, wrathful steps.

And you can’t stop it—the colliding of Yoongi’s fist on Jungkook’s cheekbone.

You yelp, grabbing a hold of the fabric of Yoongi’s T-shirt to pull him back, your sight blurred enough that you can’t see. You can’t see properly the way Yoongi doesn’t let Jungkook fall to the floor, but instead grabs him by the collar and fumes in his face. Your sobs choke you and you press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around his torso, willing him to stop, begging him in your silent language.

You feel the heavy, long thuds of his heart, the trembling lift and fall of his chest and you squeeze him tighter, weeping into the cloth of his garment, emitting liquid fear—fear of Yoongi receiving the same hit, fear of the darkness, much bigger one, enveloping all three of you. And you don’t have the time to blame yourself for causing this. Yoongi’s words stop you dead in your tracks.

“You forced yourself on her?” he hisses, pushing him to and fro like the curtain billowing behind you. “Are you that fucking desperate for pussy that you forced yourself on my girl? Should I fucking kill you?”

A momentary stillness. Your breath is loud. Louder than the hard huffs of air escaping the mouths of the two males.

“Let go, hyung,” Jungkook croaks out, defeated. And you don’t know how the sound of it makes you feel. Perhaps, you’re feeling nothing, which is a good thing. You put your boyfriend first in your weak heart, his feelings, his well-being. Not Jungkook; not yourself. Even though your heart silently, painlessly cracks.

“I asked you a question.” Yoongi’s wrath rises, absorbing the room, despite the fact his voice is deadly calm. You squeeze him harder.

He did force himself into your personal space, but if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been healed. You wouldn’t be here, on your boyfriend’s side. And the thought of being the opposite force if he hadn’t done that, cradling his back instead of Yoongi’s terrifies you enough that you speak up—in need to fix the situation.

“He didn’t, Yoongi. I promise,” you whimper, burying your face deeper into the middle between his shoulder blades. And there you feel his spine shake. You caress his stomach to soothe him, peppering kisses along that strong column.

Yoongi punches him again. It reverberates throughout your whole body. You only hear the crash of Jungkook’s form onto the floor.

“Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again,” Yoongi hisses and he twists his wrist to alleviate himself of the affliction scattering along his knuckles. “And what you’ve done to her, the pain you’ve caused her is something I will never forgive you for.”

Stillness. Terrible, terrible stillness. The whip of the wind. A roar of an upcoming storm in the heavens far, far away. You don’t become it. You remain yourself. His girlfriend, defended.

Yoongi turns around and cradles your face in his hands. Wet, worried eyes, begging you for something that you can’t pinpoint. Shiny, sniffling nose, suppressing his emotions. Red, regretful mouth, breathing out exasperated breaths. Quivering chin—quaint in the rawness of his expressed love towards you. You yearn to kiss him, you yearn to take him home, so terribly remorseful that you got him into this gut-wrenching mess. And you listen to your body, fulfill the only right decision you’ve come across since meeting his friend.

“Let’s go home, baby,” you whisper, pecking him softly. Yoongi nods, wiping your tears away. Takes your hand and leads you towards the front door.

Jungkook, now standing on his wobbly feet, bruised and bloodied, merely watches the pair of you. Sorrowful. And as you walk away from him, you clutch in your heart what he’s done for you.

Yoongi hands you his car keys. “Wait in the car.”

You nod and you go. Don’t stick around to see the unfolding of the storm. Don’t say goodbye.

The rain pitter-patters on the roof of the car. You’re tired of it. You’re tired of the summer. Don’t find any beauty in it. Not even in the mountains and the trees.

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet.

Your stomach grumbles, but you don’t feel any hunger. You’ve nibbled on your bottom lip so much that rawness of blood is all that your teeth sink into. The same blood that, much like your darkened self-sabotage, trickled out of Jungkook’s nostril. It tastes bitter on your tongue.

A ruthless carousel of scenarios spin in your mind and you’re tightly buckled in the seat of fear with no way out. The fear that, in your absence, Yoongi’s hit got reciprocated. The fear that the same blood you taste could, possibly, be on your own hands.

You want to get away from here. Far, far away.

When Yoongi emerges from the cabin, a thunder announces it. The only blood you detect is the dried one on his knuckles. The rain didn’t get to clean it and once he places the same hand upon the shivering coldness of your thigh, a decision perks up in you. A decision to not let anyone get in the way of mending and cleansing anymore.

You shall be the one who does it now. Not the rain, not Jungkook. They’ve both done enough.

And when you lift that wounded hand to your lips, you wish you could clean it with your tears—but you fear the salt would only pain him more. So you settle for your sighs of relief, for your gentle kisses and for the light in you to do the work.

“No more tears, honey,” Yoongi murmurs, cupping your chin and pecking you. “It’s over now.”

You drift to sleep during the ride home.

And you sleep through the whole afternoon in an anguished effort to forget. Forget the blood, forget the sound of Jungkook’s body hitting the floor… forget yourself.

You didn’t dream about anything at all. Only the darkness consumed you, a lullaby of nothingness.

And when you awake, your feet groggily take you to Yoongi. They seem to know where he is, even when your eyelids are still half-closed, even when your brain still dozes. A canopy of dusky, darkening heavens, with hues of roses dispersed all around, gently fondles your eyes to rouse them fully and right here, on the balcony, much different to the one you spent your afternoon on—much smaller, much more confined—is where you find your boyfriend. An empty pack of cigarettes on the table, a cold purple lighter and a dark bottle of liquor.

His strained back greets you first. He doesn’t hear your steps; he doesn’t sense your presence and it isn’t until your fingertips touch his saddened spine that he turns around. Wrinkles of the same dejected nature, absolute despair wrung into the paleness of his face. You cradle it and you bolster it when he spills into your hands, when you feel the hotness of his tears. And you spill with him—the only thing left to do.

You will your light to swathe him. Press his head against your chest as you lead him to take a seat with you on his lap. And you keep your mouth tightly shut when the soreness of your muscles, the slight discomfort of the burn on your skin forces a whine out of you. You keep it caged in. Put your boyfriend first.

Sifting your fingers through his hair, you kiss his scalp—kiss his mind, even when you don’t know its contents. To ease it, whatever it was that caused him to break.

You sit like this until the moon springs from the clouds. You don’t look at it. Refuse to.

It’s Yoongi who speaks first, cold fingers sunk beneath your thighs, seeking your warmth.

“Tell me everything from the beginning,” he murmurs, weary eyes boring into yours. “I need to hear it from you.”

You’d give him anything he asked, anything he wished for; you’d pierce your heart if the time asked for it. And so you nod, place your hand on his chest, lie against his good shoulder and you begin to leak. Leak the simplest of words you’re able to find in your windswept mind.

“He put me in a trance when we were intimate. So much that I lost my mind, lost my surroundings, lost my sense of home.” You swallow, dryly, thinking that’s the best way you could explain it without deepening the gashes upon his heart. Decide you will not overdo it. “And when you left and I breathed in the fresh air, it was like I’d woken up from it. It hurt so much. I was worried about you, but I wasn’t ready to face you. Not when I had to deal with the repercussions.”

Yoongi squeezes the flesh of your thigh to comfort you, thumb fondling the skin back and forth, listening intently.

“I didn’t understand at first why you left. I was so out of it. But little pieces started to put it together in my mind as I was thinking about it. And then I saw Jungkook with his head in his hands and I knew I’d done something really, really bad. I wanted to run away, like you did, but I had no other place to go to other than the bathroom. And Jungkook…” you trail off, taking a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally for this part of the story—the thread that is linked to the bruises upon Yoongi’s knuckles. “I thought he wanted to comfort me, and maybe he did. I pushed him away but he relented. He was concerned because I—” A lump forms in your throat, your lashes quiver. “I made sure the water was boiling hot because I wanted to burn off—I wanted to punish myself for making you leave, for hurting you. And then he got in the shower and I didn’t say anything.”

You pause for a moment, thinking about how you’re supposed to mention the matter of the burn of your backside and his concern regarding it without wounding Yoongi.

“He—” Your throat constricts and Yoongi cradles your face in his palm, lifting your head so you can gaze into his eyes, draw strength from him. He nods, encouraging you to continue, while seemingly giving you as much time as you need. Tears the lump apart. “He was worried because the hot water was making the burn on my butt worse, but I—I didn’t feel it. I was crying so hard.”

His eyes search for something in yours and you know right away what it is. The answer to his question on whether he touched you. You wrap your arm around his neck. Glad it didn’t wound him. Enough that you overbrim with the desire to assuage his disquiet.

“He didn’t touch me,” you whisper, although it’s not entirely true. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. “Not in the way you think. I told him to stop. He wanted to wash me. I told him no.”

He blinks, but you can’t read his solemn features. You see the memory of Jungkook gripping your waist and pushing you against the tiles, so you wouldn’t burn your skin, and you saying nothing displayed on them. It overwhelms you, but you fight it. What’s done is done.

The worst part of the story awaits you. You pluck it, ready to get it over with.

“All he did was rinse me off. And he told me about how it hurt him to see us like this because of him. I felt everything leaving me when I was listening to him. I don’t know how, but I did. He asked to wash my hair and I let him. I felt so relieved to be ridded of the guilt and the pain I felt that I started crying again. He made me laugh. And then he left me alone. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if he hadn’t been there.”

Stillness, awfully quiet stillness—like the one at the cabin, but you do not fear it. An abrupt onrush of strength fills your bones, giving you the notion that whatever comes next is something you’ll be able to endure.

Yoongi drops his hand. You will your heart not to drop along with it.

“The lines have been blurred so much that I—” He averts his gaze. Towards the glimmering stars up above as if they could give him the strength he’s now void of. “I don’t know if it’s fair for me to feel the way I do, when—when I let him have you.”

You are able to endure it. A motherly stimulus creeps in, one that has the capacity for the mightiness of whatever it is that he’s feeling. You want to swallow it down. You desire to.

“What do you feel, baby?” you whisper, nudging your nose against his, an Eskimo kiss to relieve him, to help him. “Tell me.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes in regret. “It should’ve been me,” he breathes. You nod, agreeing with him, even though you’ve accepted that fate wrote it was meant to be Jungkook. Perhaps for that very reason, he was inscribed to be pulled into that whole situation to begin with, no matter how lewd it was. “And it should’ve been me under that—”

He doesn’t let himself finish his sentence, but you know what he wanted to say. It brings tears to your eyes, the fact that he hated what you had done to yourself and instead wished it was him—to whom the harm was done.

You let them pour out. You don’t want them smothering you. You want everything out, so you can move on—so both of you can.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Another Eskimo kiss, a longer one this time. Yoongi sniffles against you and you want to pull out more from him, to rid him completely of those negative feelings. “Like you said, it’s over now.”

Yoongi nods, vulnerably, and you peck him on the mouth. And he’s unable to reciprocate the kiss, for his features twist in another rush of liquid emotions. You stroke the back of his hair, running your fingers down its length, urging softly more out.

“I don’t regret anything,” you continue, pressing your cheek against his tears, letting them seep into your skin. “Even though it hurt, I don’t regret it, Yoongi. Neither should you.”

He sobs and it reverberates through your body. You remain strong. Strong like the mountains. “I hurt him.”

The breath you inhale is knifing you sharply. “He loves you—”

“And I hurt him,” he cuts in, squeezing you against him, needing you. “I didn’t trust a word he said. I didn’t—” he heaves, unable to catch his breath, hiccups. “Because I thought he hurt you, I didn’t hear him out. I didn’t know he helped you.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He told me he didn’t force himself on you, but I didn’t believe him. I gave him so much shit for it, for spanking you. And then he begged me to hit him again.”

The healer deemed it would make Yoongi feel better. Your heart warps.

“Did you?”

“No.”

You kiss his temple and you don’t realize that it’s a silent thanks until you lift your lips, however you’re not thrown off balance. It should be like this. You should feel for both men. You should feel. It makes you a living, breathing human. And Yoongi’s reactions and emotions make him human, too, even if they seem wrong in the moment. It’s not something to hate him or judge him for—it’s something to love him for. He should feel safe. Deserves to.

It’s better than to feel nothing.

And you tell him. A thousand times until he nods, sloshing your words in his mouth before carefully swallowing them, accepting them.

“It’s not a lost cause. You can talk to him. And you can try again.”

Yoongi looks at you as he takes in what you’ve said, as if the concept never crossed his mind—or, if it did, it perhaps seemed too unrealistic to make happen. As if he was doomed for life. As if he lost him forever.

Love is never lost. And you tell him that as well.

Yoongi lights up from within. You wipe away his tears. Brush his hair away from his face. And you give him every last drop of your light, hugging him. And he hugs you back until birds begin to sing in the sky.

It took several weeks for Yoongi to gather courage to call Jungkook. Liquor bottles piled in a row on the balcony and you didn’t count them anymore, you just joined your boyfriend, who had become a frail skeleton, whenever his nerves asked for the burning liquid. Either you would keep him company or you’d bring your own shot glass. And each time, it would end with a subdued, murky therapy session, without the fucking.

Yoongi hasn’t touched you since the afternoon spent in the cabin.

He wasn’t in the mood and you stifled yours. Your body was so accustomed to the daily release of pleasure that because it didn’t have it now all of a sudden, it felt weird—it felt out of place, and you drowned it out with alcohol and smokes, drowned it out with shopping sprees until money ran out and stashes became empty. So you had to settle for your own hand.

And it was easy. You daydreamed about Jungkook. Felt the ghost of his fingers on every sensitive place your hand roamed. On your breast, on your thigh and on your clit, in your entrance. You replayed everything he’d done to you and it didn’t hurt; you didn’t feel shame. You’ve healed to the point that it drenched you, aroused you enough to coax your orgasm out in mere minutes.

And it didn’t feel shameful because Yoongi had told you the reason why he fled the scene.

“You were in pain and I couldn’t stand it. You wouldn’t look at me and if you did, you’d look away as if I had no role in the sex. He took control when it should’ve been me. And I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

It wasn’t about you being so preoccupied in the trance. It was about Jungkook taking charge as if you were his. Which was what led Yoongi to think he forced himself on you in the shower. It was about him being silent and not speaking up, prioritizing your pleasure.

It made sense to you, but you still apologized. For what, you didn’t know. Just felt the need to. And Yoongi made you feel so safe, as safe as you had made him feel that night on the balcony, that you couldn’t help but yap about how enjoyable it was for you—what Jungkook did to you. And Yoongi agreed.

You were content that you’ve moved past the hurt and focused on the real truth beneath, revealing it: you both had enjoyed it when you were pleasured.

You didn’t check if the conversation made him hard, for you ran into your bedroom to relieve yourself of the ache between your legs as fast as possible. But he found you. Watched you. Validated you. Validated your daydreams. Told you what to do as he smoked a cigarette, standing in between your outstretched legs before the bed, the summer wind cooling the sweat on your body. And then he told you to do it again.

And again.

Until he couldn’t pull out any more orgasms out of you.

He became obsessed with it.

Because the next day and the many after that, you did the same thing. He would watch you while you fingered yourself. He’d tell you what he’s doing to you in your daydreams, taking charge of them, what Jungkook is doing to you. Other times he’d jerk off and come all over your tummy and cunt. Still remain hard; still remain needy. He wouldn’t fuck you. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t even insulate it. Wouldn’t slip it inside the dreams. And once his desire would run out of its sweet wine, yours simply wouldn’t. And the more you both indulged in this act, you figured out two things.

One, Yoongi used it as a coping mechanism. As a healing tool to recuperate from the afternoon spent in the cabin, one that would ultimately help him have sex with you in the long run. Two, you were riding the waves of ideas and excitement with no real fulfillment, with no release.

Tasting the picture of the sin at first might have been enough—but the more you did it, the more you wanted to sink your teeth into the real thing.

You wanted Jungkook again.

And like the intelligent man Yoongi is, he figured it out, too.

A certain number of orgasms was an indication of an ending to this playful time. And the last time you did this, Yoongi—at this number—was ready to withdraw and jump into the shower, but you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Hungry, starved, devouring his neck, grinding your still wet pussy against his softening cock.

He put two and two together. Immediately.

“You’re hungry for what I haven’t given you yet, aren’t you?”

You begged for it, moaning against his artery, reveling in the feeling of his cock against you after such a long time. And when you looked at him, you saw drunkenness seizing his features. Drunkenness without the consumption of alcohol. And you felt the same inebriation enclosing around yours, knowing your desire sparked this inside of him. It felt different. Way, way different.

“Think about how you want it. Make yourself come as many times as you want. And when I come back from the shower, tell me about it. We’ll figure it out; we’ll make it work.”

It grazed your hunger. Squeezed it in such a playful way. Like a human hand squeezing an animal because of the cute-aggression it feels towards it.

You didn’t know how many times you came. You were too lost in the story you constructed, soaking the bed sheets even more than you already had. Your fingers had turned wrinkly by the time you opened your eyes, finished with the plot, to see Yoongi leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, not having the heart to disturb you in your passion.

And while you showered, playing the story in your head over and over, Yoongi cooked you food. Poured you liquid courage. Waited for you at the table, dressed only in a pair of joggers. Chain-smoked, the rule of only smoking on the balcony long forgotten during his process of healing.

When you sat down to eat, you slid your feet across his lap. Lifted your camisole, let him see your bare cunt the way he liked it that one time; the scent of your mango body butter wafting in the air, the sultriness of an August evening carrying that eccentricness right into his senses, readying him for what you were about to tell him.

And you began, casually, with every bite of the delicious food he made you. You got ahead of yourself, though, dumb by the intensity of adrenaline and arousal coursing in your veins. “I want you to dictate every move. And it’s up to you if you let him fuck me or not. My first idea from the start was—”

“I want you to tell me your full fantasy. What you touched yourself to. From the beginning ‘til the end.”

You fixed your mistake quickly.

“I dreamed about him watching us. You gave him rules. No touching. Hands on the armchair I wanted him to sit in. No talking. Then, I began with you letting him see what we’ve been doing. Loudly, vulgarly. Me playing with my pussy while you jerked off until you came all over me. Then you ate me out and wouldn’t stop until I begged you to fuck me. From behind. While you stretched my ass with a butt plug.”

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?”

“Yes. He heard it all. Every word you used. And I wanted you to do it to make him needy. Needy enough to beg you to let him fuck me.”

Yoongi only cursed. And you felt him hardening again under the soles of your feet. You caressed his ache with your toes.

“He thought the butt plug was used to stretch me for him, but it was for my pleasure, for decoration. You only let him pump your cum deeper into me. You didn’t let him come. And you held me from behind. Held me open for him in the air. And then he begged you for mercy. You gave in. Dropped me to the floor. And he fucked me ruthlessly, keeping me still on the floor with his thighs around me. He wasn’t able to last long. Begged you to let him come in me and you did. And then… then he ate me out. And so did you. At the same time. And I came so hard that I squirted. Then we took a shower. All three of us.”

“Did anything happen in the shower?” Quick, hard breaths, as if he was on the verge of an orgasm from your footjob.

And he proved to you, with a groan, that he was when you finished your story and his joggers dampened. “No, you both just held me. And we kissed like crazy.”

And it was this release of cum that drove him to make that phone call.

When Jungkook picks up on the first ring, Yoongi grabs his keys, blows you an air kiss and leaves. The joy that thrums in your heart is unlike any you’ve ever felt. You know where he’s gone. You know it fully well.

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up.

Hours later, he returns. With a grin blossomed on his face, one you haven’t seen since the day at the cabin, and a pink bag in his hand, one he hands you as soon as he takes off his shoes.

Inside you find the butt plug you dreamed of. Silver with a purple faux diamond in the middle. Fairly small, just the kind you’re certain you will be able to take. With a freebie of a much smaller packet of lube. To be safe playing out the fantasy.

Yoongi kisses you so hard when you look up at him that he steals all of your breath, ridding you of your chance to thank him.

“He’s coming over later.”

You kiss him, equally hard. Happy that he’s happy, happy to see movement in his healing journey. You give him tiny kisses, a hundred of them, and he breathes a laugh into your mouth, his joy filling you with energy and exhilaration. Finally, finally, finally—you’ve missed this emotion of his. Glad for the sadness, for the murkiness to be gone.

And you pray nothing gets in the way.

When Jungkook announces his arrival by knocking on the door, the sight you’re met with is quite uncanny. Though your heart isn’t stirred by it, bouncing in your chest like a small child seeing its father after a long, long time.

It’s been almost a month and he’s become older since the last time you saw him. His hair, grown longer and thicker, curls at his temples, ears and the nape of his neck. Round eyes have stayed the same, as well as the glint, and there’s a hint of the same joy that you’ve found in Yoongi, whirling in circles past it. Nose void of any blood, cheekbone healed from bruises. His demeanor is careful as if he had been punished enough by the fight and the silent treatment that followed it, taking off his shoes and his zipper hoodie, revealing a much bigger broadness of shoulders and arms, exposed in a tight fit of a black tank.

While Yoongi drowned his sorrow in alcohol and smokes and then came across his relief, his air in a sexual fantasy with his friend involved, he—the said friend—clearly found his coping mechanism in the gym.

He’s huge. As if he hadn’t already been from the military.

You lick your lips at him, and it’s such a natural reaction that you don’t even think about what you’ve done until you perceive that he doesn’t look at you at all. And it turns you on. It turns you on that he’s holding himself back from you. You know what hides beneath, what comes out when he lets go of his good boy persona.

Glancing at Yoongi, he’s already smirking at you with a playful gaze. Affected by his ignoring of you just the same. The shared connection thickens the energy around, but Jungkook breaks it.

He breaks it once he lifts his head, hangs his hoodie on the back of a chair and envelops you in a hug. Defaces your evident tendency to view him as an object, scribbles it in slashes until the ink runs out. All by a few strokes of his hand down your hair, down your back clothed in a new silky robe.

And when he withdraws from the hug, you see the healer that helped you become the person Yoongi needed on his journey.

His somber eyes skim over the long length of your nighttime attire, as if lamenting over the fact it’s not the red one. Over its dusty-pink color that parts the fabric to reveal your smooth leg and your toes. And then he’s gone, pulling your boyfriend in the same hug that lasts a bit longer, uttering silent words that should’ve been said that afternoon at the cabin with each increase of squeezes and pats within the hold.

You know they’ve said what they needed to hear during the phone call to mend what’s been broken. You feel a certain proudness of Yoongi for managing so well, for being at this very part of the journey. It’s praiseworthy.

“You hungry?”

Jungkook looks at you at last, imaginary puppy ears perking up at your question. And his eyes soften, wet with emotion from the reunion. He rubs his belly. “Starving.”

You shuffle your feet to make your way into the kitchen, but Yoongi beats you to it. Wave a hand towards the table, inviting him to sit and, out of habit, you pour some liquid courage into a shot glass for him from the bottle you keep there instead of a vase filled with flowers.

He merely glances at it. Doesn’t drink it.

“How have you been?” you ask, screwing the lid back on, not being able to take your eyes off of him—your entire history faintly blanketing your sight.

And he deepens the eye contact.

“How do you like your butt plug?”

Taken aback, you laugh, the atmosphere so airy all of a sudden that your cheeks flush and your lungs heave with affability. This is the friendship you had begged the heavens for. Without strings, without pain. Light-natured friendship, with flirtation in the middle. You find it hard to believe you have it. Find it hard to believe he’s here.

Find it hard to believe that when you had told Yoongi he could try again, he took your words and created this, embedding it into your fate.

“It’s pretty,” you say, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. Jungkook smiles, fondly, fingers wrapping around the shot. You’re reminded, momentarily, of the way he teased you with the foot of his wine glass on your first dinner date.

As if thinking about that night, too, his other fingers sneak to your bare knee, tapping it once. “We picked it for you.”

You nod in feigned, exaggerated gratitude, even though you mean it, even though the thought of them choosing a sex toy for you makes you burst into flames from within. “Thank you, Oppa. Thank you so much. I will use it well.” And you bow to him with each word in your seat next to him.

Jungkook laughs and it’s such a sweet sound that you feel unfamiliar flowers growing in you, laughing along with him. He lays his palm flat on the entirety of your knee. Heavy, strong, warm. Then, he widens his eyes, as if he only now realized what you’ve called him. “You’re younger than me?”

You’ve guessed he was older than you. “I was born in 1999. I take it you’re around the same age as Yoongi?”

Not the same, entirely. You recall him calling Yoongi ‘hyung’. He must be a year or a few years younger.

That tenderness you know flashes in his face. “I was born in 1997. Yoongi is older than me.”

Your mouth opens in the shape of ‘O’. Jungkook’s eyes flick to it before he averts them, slapping the side of your thigh gently, sighing as if he held his breath the entire time. Only then does he down the shot you poured him, keeping his hand there.

Such a blessing, the simple act of getting to know him.

He slouches in his seat and you ask him again. “How have you been?”

Smacking his mouth, he roams his gaze along the perimeters of the dinner table. And you realize he’s avoiding the question. Avoided it the first time you launched it at him, too.

You fold your fingers under his palm on your knee, signaling your understanding and sympathy. Don’t want to think about the healing journey he had to walk through by himself. He’s reached the end and that’s the most important thing as of now. You caress his reddened, tattooed knuckles, smeared with flecks of violet and yellow—much like your bum that one afternoon—with your thumb, wondering how that tinge came to live there. “What happened to your hand?”

Jungkook contemplates your study of his hand, stoically, still as ever. Then, his mouth rounds, barely, in a tiny suggestion of sadness. Your heart catches it before it disappears, making it hers. In such a swift moment that you don’t realize what you’ve done.

“Boxing,” he murmurs, eyeing the way your hand is enclosed around his large palm, the way your thumb hovers over his knuckles, as if afraid to cause them any more pain. Seems touched by it and your brows knit, your heart speaking to you, telling you something, urgently, but you don’t understand her.

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?”

Jungkook shakes his head ‘no’. “Didn’t want to.”

And then it hits you—the language of your heart unfolding within you, deciphered at last. It hits you how you and him are very much alike.

This is his coping mechanism. Hurting his hand as he lets out his negative emotions. Knowing, just like you, that the pain is the gain, the relief. And by the state of the bruises, you were wrong. He’s not at the end of his healing journey—and he’s nowhere near the beginning. He traipses around it, steering clear of it, ignoring it.

Your lungs swell. And that motherly impulse you’re familiar with croons around them, extends towards him with the dutiful intention to heal.

And you will.

You will heal both of the males.

And the decision is strengthened even more in you when Jungkook hears Yoongi’s footsteps and startles, extracting his hand from your hold, from your thigh. Like he startled upon hearing your movement back then, scurrying towards your bag as if you were intending to leave him, abandon him.

It is your heart that weeps now for him, not your eyes, remembering the words Yoongi uttered over his bruised cheek and bloody nose. Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again. You try your hardest to remain strong on the outside. For him, for Yoongi, for yourself. You try your hardest to forget that declaration, that physical pain of his, considering it over—long gone, a lifetime away.

And when your boyfriend sets the full plates of food in front of him and he digs in wordlessly, you watch him. With a landslide in your insides. With a hand on his muscled arm, stroking back and forth, eyes flicked momentarily to Yoongi, willing him to see how broken his friend is.

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it.

He settles for a drink instead, fixing his gaze on the table. Takes a step back on his journey, his nerves pursuing him. And so he’s not alone, because it is your duty, you follow him into that rabbit hole like the Alice you are. With empty hands, void of any control, despite the onus you own in your heart.

By the time sex is even mentioned between the three of you, you’re tipsy and your head is swimming.

You’re conscious, aware of your body, aware of your surroundings and your home. Aware that you’re intoxicated, too, and it’s a peculiar feeling—to be present in your body and out of it just the same. And you owe it to the males sitting around the table. To the owner of the house, mainly.

Yoongi has taken such a dominant role naturally that he’s the reason why your head is taking laps in his energy. And it was him who put the topic of sex to the front after double meanings found their way into the gradually unfurling conversation, imbued with exuberance. Asked Jungkook straight away if he’d been sexually active with people after you, to which he merely shook his head ‘no’, too vulnerable to express it in his own words. You don’t think Yoongi even realized the gravity of the question, influenced by the alcohol, the lighthearted energy and the fact that he got his friend back. And Yoongi… he praised him for it, making his head lift in disbelief and coyness. You saw the way it healed him, brought color to his face— it happened so quickly, too quickly, Yoongi turning the leaf over right after, seamlessly leading the conversation back to the double meanings, working them up until you and Jungkook blushed.

But you didn’t listen entirely, and neither did Jungkook. You surveyed the way he turned the praise over in his mind, dwelling on it. And you knew, without a doubt, that, besides healing him—undoing the ugly words flung at him that day, it turned him on. He played with his bracelet in the air, a faint smile on his mouth, legs outstretched, touching yours, and you… you wanted to play with him, too. Your body begged you for it, telling you it’s time.

In fact, you knew very well what the little bit of alcohol Yoongi drank was doing to him. Much like Jungkook, it helped him avoid the matter of his friend’s sensitive burden at hand while collecting information. Especially about where he stands in the realm of the three of you and sex. And while you’ve let him do it, thinking it was something he needed to do on his journey, you've also been deciding for the last half an hour when it was time to put a stop to it. The sexual comments, the double meanings—it became too much, became too obvious, even though he, in most probability, wasn’t even aware of it, was doing it for you unconsciously. And your body agreed, whispering to you that the only way you could do that was to take advantage of what was right before you.

You were going to outrun your boyfriend and seduce them both.

You light up a cigarette, bringing Yoongi’s attention to you. You graze your foot on his shin as you cross your legs, lifting it higher until you reach his thigh. And when you take a long drag, you skim your hand on Jungkook’s knee, briefly—calling for his attention, too, preparing him. Your toe feels up Yoongi’s soft manhood and he stops talking, your hand trailing along the side of Jungkook’s thigh, inches away from his intimate parts. They let you touch them, both heads turned in your direction.

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently.

Before Yoongi has the chance to scold you for interrupting him, you withdraw. You withdraw entirely. Pretend to take your cigarette to the balcony. Jungkook lifts his hand to grab yours, to put it back where it was, but you’re gone before you could take him up on it.

You feel both of them watching you as you leave. You sway your hips a little. It makes you chuckle. Makes you feel invincible.

You stay there but for a mere moment. Don’t even finish your cigarette before you put it out in the ashtray. And when you return, you undo the knot while they are preoccupied, unaware of you. Uncover the outfit you spent your money on while Yoongi healed.

A sheer, black crop top, with polka dots and puffed sleeves, that ties in the middle, ending beneath your breasts and adding nothing to the imagination. Could be mistaken for a wireless bra. Panties of the same tulle material with frills on the side. You leave your robe undone, the act of revealing yourself so casually stiffening your nipples. You consider taking a seat as if you did no such thing, but an idea pulls you to your boyfriend, who’s ignorant to your scheme, listening to something that Jungkook is telling him.

You don’t grasp any of the words coming out of his mouth, however you do focus on the deep intonation of his voice. Let it curl beneath your skin; propel you to act out on your whim.

You take a seat on Yoongi’s lap. Jungkook’s gaze falls on your intimate form, bare under the almost translucent fabric, and he parts his lips. He watches as Yoongi wraps an arm around your middle and smiles at the feeling of your bare skin. You rock your hips once, backwards, pretending you’re shifting to make yourself comfortable and Yoongi grips your waist until his fingers turn white. Jungkook doesn’t stop talking, hides his astonishment at your behavior, at your boldness. Doesn’t stop looking at you and neither do you at him, nodding to every other word as if you were listening. That is until you grab a handful of cheese balls and pop one by one into your mouth, purposefully letting one of them fall into your cleavage.

“Can you get it for me? My hands are full.”

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

You’ve interrupted him so rudely that you’re surprised that he doesn’t frown at you, but smirks instead. Yoongi caresses your thigh, validating you, catching onto your scheme, and it spreads the fire that burst in you hours ago, making it bigger, hotter.

It’s time. You want both of them, badly.

You lean forward for him, fingers ready for the next move you’re planning. Jungkook lifts a hand, reaches for the orange treat in the middle of your breasts and before his digits have the time to grasp it, you pull on the loose knot on your top, your flesh spilling, the treat slipping onto the floor.

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased.

“Oh, no.” Fake pity; fake pout. You look at the cheese ball, then back at Jungkook. Your impishness reflects in the blazing fire of his eyes, the same one that courses through your body. “I guess I didn’t tie it properly. Can you do it for me? My hand is dirty.”

You eat the last remaining cheese balls while staring him dead in the eye. Show him your orange-tinted fingers once you’re done. A spark flashes in the fire; piques his interest.

Leaning forward even more, Yoongi uses your position to slide your robe down your shoulders. Lifts you for a second to rid you completely of it, setting you back down sharply, causing your breasts to bounce. Throws it on Jungkook’s lap. A gesture that tells him playtime has begun. He sucks in a breath, biting his bottom lip, the way Yoongi gathers your hair in his fist stealing his attention fleetingly from you, fingers clutching the fabric.

And when he takes the swinging laces in his hands and barely tightens them, you click your tongue, disapprovingly. “Tighter.”

It arouses the beast in him, eyes lidding ever so slightly. He pulls on the laces until your breasts are squished together. “Like this?”

You wet your lips before you quirk them up. “Yes. Make a bow for me.”

Jungkook deepens the eye contact as he obeys. You lift your chin, asserting Yoongi’s dominance, taking after him, the inkling to own that beast in him absorbing you whole.

And you shall.

When he’s finished with the bow, he grazes the material of your top, fingers flat against your nipples before he slouches back in his chair. The touch was too brief for your liking, yet it spurs your cunt to soak your panties, the notion that you’ve done it intoxicating your senses—you’ve seduced him.

You mimic what he did, theatrically—you slouch back into Yoongi’s chest, turn your chin to the side to tell on him. “Yoongi, he touched me.”

Yoongi only smirks, playing along. “Did he? How? Show me.”

Your fingers fly to your pebbled nipples, stroking them in downward motion like he did before you repeat it. Again and again. Your hips begin to slowly rotate, your body reacting to your touch, to the pleasure you’re giving it. “Like this.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches in his throat. He spreads his legs. You do, too. And when you whimper, he twitches, your robe slipping onto the ground, joining the cheese ball.

“Did it feel good? When he touched you there?” Yoongi asks, hands spreading across your thighs. You make a noise of agreement, whining into it. “Does it feel as good now?”

You shake your head ‘no’, meaning it. “No, it makes me needy.”

Yoongi hums. “Where?”

You cup the soaked material of your panties, right over your cunt with one hand, while the other squeezes your breast. “Here.”

Your boyfriend opens your legs wider, as if to take a closer look at what body part you’re showing him. “You should do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“Like what?”

“Touch yourself.”

Jungkook stills. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. Neither do you.

“How?”

“I don’t know, maybe I should ask him,” he mumbles, fingers playing with the frills on your hips. “Do you want me to ask him?”

The asking of consent, beckoning out your slick. You nod your head. “Ask him, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Jungkook’s mouth is parted in an enigmatic manner, waiting—waiting to be given what your boyfriend long teased him with. And you like the suspense, the tension pulled so taut, the process before he’s gratified. It makes you even needier and, like Jungkook, you clutch the fabric of your panties in impatience.

Yoongi doesn’t ask right away. He tortures Jungkook until his lips lose their moisture. Dry, like a withered flower asking for the tiniest raindrop to refresh. And you want to give it to him. You’re leaking so much dewiness it is only right that he could get to drink it. You tuck that thought into your heart.

Yoongi hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your panties and slowly, like your robe, drags them down as far as he can reach. Then, he lets them pool by your knees. “Take them off of her,” he commands in a hushed tone, fingers drifting to your waist, stopping by your mound and your stomach on the way. And it isn’t until Jungkook rids you fully of the wet undergarment that he finally asks: “How should she touch herself?”

Jungkook crumples it in his fist, tightly enough that white comes into view across his colorful knuckles upon the denim of his jeans. And among other things, his breath hardens. Gazes into your eyes as he says to Yoongi, “Tell her to lift her legs, lick her fingers and rub her princess parts until it feels good.”

He’s tuned in into the role-play. You think about how you wanted to turn off your brain for him when he had told you to not think that he’d ever get sick of you. How you wanted to keep it stupid for him.

You know that if you were to do that, if you were to let go—that he’d put you under his spell again, but you’re not letting that cave in on you. Because when Yoongi imparts the instructions to you and you lift your leg, propping your foot on Jungkook’s thigh, saliva-coated fingers finding your clit, you feel a sliver of something indescribably exhilarating.

Jungkook moans at the first few careful circles. And it’s him who becomes hypnotized.

It’s your green light to play the role of a stupid, innocent girl—in the hands of two very experienced, aroused men. Seduced, more like. You pat yourself on the back, mentally.

And the proud feeling of your achievement, the feeling of his vigorous and ardent observance of your pleasured cunt, of the tendril of the profound reminiscence that sweeps in as if he truly missed the sight of her—it all incites you to speed up your movement. To consciously immerse yourself deeper in the role, in the pretending. You figure it should work like this; you won’t get submerged in the water of the hypnosis if you remain in control, clinging to it with all your might. Not if Jungkook is the one spellbound this time.

You feel your orgasm drawing closer at that thought, breathing against your body.

“Am I doing it right?”

Jungkook sneaks a hand around your ankle, hard breaths puffing out of his still parted mouth, cheeks full of vibrant color, eyes dazed—so awfully dazed and fixed on your cunt, on the sheen of your arousal splattered on your folds. Then, he licks his lips, slouches further in his seat after he moves his chair to be more in line with you. Horny, curious puppy, needing to see the full view; your work of art. Yoongi’s soft chuckle rumbles against your scalp and you realize he’s been watching him this entire time, studying him—assessing the situation meticulously.

“Is she doing it right?” Yoongi asks and you can hear the smirk coating his voice. Jungkook’s other hand, with the panties still clutched, wraps around his hard length, brows furrowing and you whine at the sight, but Yoongi tuts, disapproving. “No touching.”

Jungkook lifts his hand and so do you—to stall your orgasm, the principle of Jungkook obeying so easily almost throwing you over the edge. You breathe heavily, a tingly sensation swarming within your skin, a certain string of words rising on your tongue.

You turn your head towards Yoongi. Dart out your tongue to lick swiftly at his bottom lip before you kiss him. Yoongi hums, pleased. “Tell him he’s a good boy.”

Another similar sound, one that makes you smile. You drift a hand towards the back of his head, fingers sinking into the dark length of his hair. Yoongi purrs, blinking down at you like rose petals fluttering—you feel as though you were at the very beginning, living through the moment you learned Jungkook’s name, as if no pain, no murkiness never settled upon the three of you. You don’t know how it makes you feel and you hardly want to decipher it; you gravitate towards enjoying yourself more, thoughts and feelings pushed to the side.

“He is, isn’t he?” Yoongi murmurs, taking your arm gently in his hand and joining it to your other one around the back of his head, then he roams his back, takes his time, until he plants it upon your cunt. You spasm at the long-awaited contact. “He listens well. So out of it, the poor thing forgot to speak. Maybe we should help him with that, don’t you think?” Poor thing. Your hole clenches, drooling with your dewiness and you groan, the aspect of Jungkook being degraded like this, after he dominated both of you the last time, making you utterly, utterly feral.

At your noise, Yoongi begins to play with your slippery folds, pressing them together with his fingers flat on each side—not touching your pussy, but pleasuring her nonetheless. You give him more at each squeeze he bestows on your clit, elated that he’s touching her after such a long time, elated that he’s able to.

It is, undeniably, working like this. Your heart thrums with elation. Happy it has come to this, happy it’s different this time—happy that both parties are happy.

Not wishing to lose the momentum, you gaze at Jungkook. At the light cascading dimly from his lip ring—that pink, puffy, dry mouth that you long to kiss, that you long to feel on your bundle of nerves. His eyes seem to grow in size at your attention and you’re so touched to witness something like that. You need to ride his face; you need to watch those eyes roll back. You can see his need to take charge, to tell both of you what to do by his irregular breaths, clenched fists and bulging muscles, veins so prominent that you do well not staring at them at all—but he subdues that need, perhaps for you, perhaps for Yoongi. Both possibilities graze your feelings with such fondness that he’s putting himself last, prioritizing the hard truth: you’re not his, not in the sexual ambiance of your time spent together, not even in the lasciviousness of your daydreams.

You’re Yoongi’s and he’s the boss, one he should’ve been since the beginning. And that’s the core of the difference. The key that makes this work.

Covering your mouth, you spill your idea of how you should help Jungkook speak into Yoongi’s ear while keeping your eyes on his round ones. He aches to be let in on it, to know, but you don’t allow him that satisfaction. In fact, when you beam at Yoongi once you withdraw, it’s more of a provocation directed towards the puppy than an expression of your true joy.

“Yes, fuck yes,” Yoongi agrees, orbs aglow by the idea, by something that you can only pin down to a feeling of safety within the environment. He feels safe. Feels comfortable. Feels okay—more than okay by the hardening length against your bum, by the moonbeams flecking across his irises, by the extension of his index finger to your clit, which makes you freeze, stop breathing altogether. “But I want to make you come first. Can I?”

You peck him, deeply, to seal that package of positive feelings in him, to seal that sense of safety and comfort. Nod a million times. “Yes, please, baby. I need it.”

Yoongi coos at the pet name, at your willing submissiveness to him and expression of neediness. Nudges his nose against yours. “Need what?”

You giggle softly. Happy, so awfully happy. “I need you to make me come,” you say, but your words are muffled by the way he skims his mouth over yours, and you don’t think over the next words directed to the other male that tumble out of you. “You want to watch?”

A stupid, stupid question because he’s been watching this entire time, although it breaks something. Breaks the invisible wall between you, Yoongi and him—breaks his coyness as he sets your foot down and leans forward, smiling fondly. “I’d be happy to watch. Honored.”

It breaks the unspoken, unseen tension. Breaks the past. Breaks the hurt. And the difference, now validated, made beautiful by his smile, sinks in, spreads across the atmosphere surrounded by the three of you. The sense of safety and comfort now sails over into Jungkook’s pores, slipping inside. And you could burst now. Burst with your joy.

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves.

You didn’t expect that to happen.

Yoongi feels it—and you feel him feel it by the trembling breaths he takes against your back. And even though you went into the rabbit hole with him with empty hands, now you hold healing in them. A warm round body of light, heavy and thick, ready for them both. Yoongi might have talked Jungkook’s head off and drank until his nerves eased and was able to escape them, but now he’s eligible to take the light. Jungkook is, too, now that he’s given you his consent for the dynamic to be different. A certain kind of glorious satisfaction envelops you in glow, ridding you of any intoxication and you’re bare. Vulnerable, horny and so tremendously bright. Filled with flowers, filled with love, filled with a delicious, selfish taste of control.

You want to kiss Jungkook, but you recognize right away that there’s a time and a place for that, one that is not appropriate now. You stifle your craving, wiggle your hips to let Yoongi know you want him to begin.

You brim with the need to forget now and just enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself at the hands of your long-awaited desire, now boundless, now right, now different. And you break the crumbles of the wall, the hurt and the past when you tell them. “I want us to forget about the last time and enjoy where we are right now. Can we do that?”

Although you don’t know the contents of the long conversation they had in private about this, you’re glad you’ve said it out loud. Glad it’s out of your chest. Glad for the kiss Yoongi plants on your temple. Glad for Jungkook’s hand encasing yours. Even if that’s the only way they communicate their agreement.

Out with the old, in with the new.

And Jungkook keeps holding your hand when Yoongi begins to rub your clit. He tightens his hold, in fact, at the first twist of your features, at the relief intermingling, despite the fact he knows nothing about how this is the first time Yoongi touched you like this since forever ago. His hand feels much more different than yours, much more nimble and much quicker. And the pleasure that floods your body is more about that than it is about the stimulation. A wish pricks at you, a wish to tell him, but you don’t let it get near you, not when you know the time for that is long, long gone, not when forgetting is supposed to take place now because the new is here.

You push those thoughts entirely away. The thoughts of there being a certain forever ago, a certain past along with it, too.

And then Yoongi hums and the sound sweeps it far, far away from you.

He pinches your nipple. Finds it’s not enough and forces your top open, undoing the bow, baring you to his and Jungkook’s eyes. Joins his other hand to knead both of your full breasts, but you whine, needing him elsewhere. Yoongi chuckles, listening to you—drifting his hand immediately back down to your clit, resuming his swift circles.

Jungkook salivates. Makes no indication of being in demand of participation. Merely wipes at the corners of his mouth while his other hand squeezes yours in a tight, clammy hold. Light protrudes from his eyes, akin to the one you still own, cooling the sweat layering upon your body. No darkness of arousal, none whatsoever, only the chocolate brown of his irises, vibrant, mesmerized and absolutely affectionate.

Newness, you breathe it in and exhale a moan. Yoongi changes direction. Moves from circles to side to side, angling your body so he can give it his all. You feel the incoming pressure of your orgasm and you ready yourself for it, squeezing your eyes shut. And when he decides to alternate, so quickly that you lose track of it, it is your ultimate undoing.

Mainly when Yoongi curtly slaps your clit, transferring you back to the very beginning of your story, rooting you there. You come so hard that you fall apart.

Tears fly out of you, but you laugh—and the sound is broken by a deep moan from your chest caused by pure, boundless euphoria. Yoongi prolongs your orgasm, keeps strumming your clit, purring onto your mouth and you open your eyes to witness his devotion to it, to your pleasure. Brows furrowed, eyes lidded, pouty mouth. Adamant on making you feel as good as—

It triggers another orgasm. A softer, mellow one. And the string of noises you let out are of the same dulcet nature. Yoongi swallows them, groaning, fondling your pussy, patting her gently, making you tremble, woozy, giddy and so incredibly girly.

“That was so good,” he whispers, caressing you everywhere and you nod, a million times. You’ve missed him, terribly.

You give him a nasty kiss full of tongue, aware of what’s happened and of what’s next just the same.

Yoongi perches on the floor, knees on either side of yours as you crawl towards Jungkook’s lap. He leans back, a surprised grin appearing on his flustered face. And it hits him like a ton of bricks when you pop his button open and drag down the zipper of his jeans. Your words that follow, too.

“Off. Everything.”

“You want to suck me off?” A calm bewilderment coats his voice, such a heavy oxymoron for him to bear when he was fine with just watching.

You smile at him briefly before you wet your lips, eager to make happen what he can’t believe you’re willing to do for him. “I knew it would get you talking.”

An airy laugh. So endearing to your hearing sense. He cradles your chin for a mere beat of time. “You’re so smart.” He takes off his tank, revealing his enormous pecs adorned with a long but dainty silver chain that you crave to have swinging in your face, that steals your attention from the dose of validation he gave you.

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic.

Only to hoist it back up when you realize he went to fetch the gift he bought you, along with a bigger tube of lube from your bedroom. Your body tremors and it’s both of the males that try to alleviate it. Yoongi, who settles back behind you, fondling the skin of your bare bum. Jungkook, who turns you to look at him, nodding once to let you know everything’s okay.

You release a breath, but you can’t hide the shakes.

Jungkook strokes your brow. A tender touch that drives you to believe him. Yes, everything’s okay. The past is gone. Healing is contained in the conscious reminders. The light in your hands flutters, calling out to you, and you press it over that heft of your wandering heart.

It’s you who alleviates the tremors.

And when you take off your top, Jungkook follows suit, ridding himself of his jeans.

To distract your mind from hurling false thoughts at you, you finally allow yourself to look at his hard length—still, disappointingly clothed. Thick. You can almost feel the memory of him, the heaviness of him, when he had you pressed against him by the pond. The first time you touched him. You groan, softly. “Off.”

Jungkook coos, patting you on the cheek with his finger. “So eager.”

He paints a smile on your face with that brush of his digit. “Be a good boy and listen.”

Without taking his eyes off of you, he swears. Pulls his manhood out, tugs his boxers a few inches down and you bite back a gasp, a moan and something in between. Red, swollen tip, the petal of a sun-kissed rose, little thick veins enveloping the girth. He keeps his balls covered to tease you. “Like this, Mommy?”

You glare at him and it’s Yoongi’s second-hand embarrassment laughter that smooths out your features, contagious to such a great extent that when you look back at him to see him pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed and crinkly, you burst into the same laughter, lungs expanding, exhaling all that heft and momentary residue of panic until there’s nothing negative left.

It even radiates Jungkook. He laughs so much that his cock bounces, which deepens your giggles and you hide your face in your hands.

And when the conveyance of joy simmers, another tender tears rush out of your tear ducts. Good tears. You’re so content with life shared with the two males that you can’t help but be emotional. You shield those tears behind the premise of your laughter. They’re private—just yours. The final conclusion of the dark side.

Yoongi skims his fingers across your tiny hole. Back to business.

You tug Jungkook’s boxers all the way down and you lift his ankle to rid him completely of them. Mimic the way he did it to you. You even think about keeping them. Think about how this is exactly how it should be—recollecting only the good parts of the story, the light side while letting the dark one go. Jungkook sees it on your face and he lets you decide.

You don’t have to think twice.

You fling his underwear on the chair you sat on. Jungkook caresses your hair in response and you smile at him. Yoongi leans over you, fists your hair and pushes you toward Jungkook’s cock. At the sight, the puppy swears.

“Spit on it. Make it nice and wet for him,” Yoongi orders and there’s slyness to your ever persisting smile when you gather your saliva and do exactly as he says.

At the first contact of your liquid love, Jungkook swears again and there’s no stopping to that litany of vulgar words when you, just like him, swirl it around the top of his head with the tip of your tongue without taking your gaze off of him. It’s at this movement of yours that a flashback gleams across his still round, tender eyes for a split second. Now he remembers, now you’ve pulled him back to the place you didn’t even realize that you did.

Yoongi guides you to wrap your mouth around him and Jungkook loses it.

The suction of your cheeks, the eye contact, the warmth of your mouth and the wetness of your tongue, Jungkook rolls his eyes back before he whisks them back to you, not able to miss one moment of the pleasure you give him. Yoongi pushes your head back and forth and when it dawns upon you that there’s nothing else for you to do but to keep your mouth open while Yoongi does all the work, you moan. And like Jungkook, you can’t stop.

You feel Yoongi’s lips at your ear. “You think you can take him all the way?”

The mewl that comes out of you is the only agreement you can manage to give him. Yoongi groans, kissing your earlobe before he licks it, nibbles on it, taking his mouth to the skin beneath, causing your eyes to narrow. Your pussy drenches, throbs and your hand automatically flies to her. You rub yourself slowly to gain a hint of relief, bobbing your head up and down, tongue feeling up the thick veins along his girth and you whine so desperately—enough for Yoongi to check what was the cause of it.

He draws back. Finds you touching yourself. Clicks his tongue and chuckles in absolute appreciation. He likes what he sees. Pushes your head until your nose swipes past Jungkook’s minimal pubic hair and only when you gag does he let you breathe—does he let you play with his tip on your own. “Mommy is playing with her needy cunt.”

The curse word that wafts in the air is singular, coming out of your and Jungkook’s mouth simultaneously. There’s no laughter this time. Just thick arousal spreading across the room, dizzying all of your senses. Jungkook is breathless and the look you share is desperate, unspoken but so, so vivid. You take him in your free hand and jerk him off, reveling in the feeling of his veins. You give him all of your whiny moans, straightening up, your fingers sneaking to your hole. Eyes narrowing, mouth open, the sounds of your slick saliva in your tight grasp so obscene, so stimulating that when you begin to finger yourself and Yoongi latches his lips onto your neck, you know you’ll be coming in mere, pathetic minutes.

Jungkook leans forward a little bit to watch you stuffing yourself full. Bites his lip, closes his eyes when you tighten your grip around his head. And you do it again and again to coax his moans and he willingly supplies you with them. Opens his eyes and the look he gives you stops time. “So good. So fucking good.”

You yearn to kiss him and he does, too. You twist your wrist and he loses himself for a moment. That alone speeds up the coming of your orgasm. Your body flares with heat, your fingers picking up their speed instinctually and Jungkook angles his head to kiss you—

You push him back. To tease him, to make him more desperate because it pleases you and Jungkook smirks at you, gripping your panties in his fist. Hiding your own, you lick him all over and get to the undiscovered part you want the most.

You mouth his full balls. Whimper against them. Hot flashes fill your sight at the scent of him, even more so when Jungkook inhales your sounds and emits the same ones. “Fuck, sweetheart, oh fuck, yes, like that.” Takes your hand and busies it, wrapping it around his length. You spasm at the pet name, at the warmth that seeps into your skin from him.

It’s him who guides you now. Yoongi merely watches, in awe, wet fingers rubbing circles on your tiny hole, preparing you. “That’s it, honey, make him come.”

You’re so overwhelmed by your task that you withdraw your fingers from your heat, though Yoongi is quick to replace his. And the speed he establishes, you mimic it on Jungkook’s length and he grunts at the contact of your dewiness on him. You twists your wrists, fucking yourself back on Yoongi’s fingers. Bore your gaze into Jungkook’s. Hard, hard breaths, quickening lifts of his chest, he struggles to reciprocate your eye contact, the rhythm so beautiful so seamless, working so well.

And when you wrap your lips around him and suck him with fast bobs, he comes.

You open your mouth, yearning to feel him paint your face. Quick to grip his balls to feel them emptying out for you and you milk his cum out of him, jerking him off until his ropes smear on the corners of your lips, hot and thick. Yoongi pulls out his fingers, latches them onto your hip. “Stick out your tongue.”

You do as he says, in time to catch the last rope landing onto the muscle. You hum, swallowing, watching the tension screwing his features and the relief unweaving it as his orgasm reaches the end. Winded, dumbfounded, gruntled. A lovely sight to behold.

Jungkook’s grip loosens on your panties. And with his other hand, he feeds you his cum. Swipes his fingers from your cheek onto your mouth, plunging it inside. Yoongi kisses the side of your face, gripping your neck to hold your head steady for Jungkook, allowing him to finish the job.

You swallow everything, the taste of him suffused with mild earthiness, with tanginess and the tiniest hint of sweetness. Liquid candy, just for you. You allow him to see how much you enjoyed that, but it’s Yoongi first to whom you show that you’ve swallowed everything.

Your boyfriend beams at you. “Well done, honey.” He kisses you hard, licking into your mouth, and the thought of him tasting the residue of Jungkook numbs your senses entirely. “You did so well.”

You’re panting when he withdraws and when you look at Jungkook, there’s a moment of stillness when you take in the thundering turmoil rushing inside him. You don’t have to guess what’s behind it. Jungkook voices it. “Let me kiss her, please.”

Such a soft murmur, charged with so much desperation. You break at the sound of it, gripping his hand, furrowing your brows, ready to give him anything he wants, boundlessly. Your heart thuds and it only takes one look at Yoongi and he folds, too.

Nods.

You thought he’d kiss you from the position you’re in, but Jungkook stands to his feet, grabbing you along with him, picking you up like a child by sliding his hands under your armpits. And when he presses you against him and kisses you hungrily with fast pecks, breathing hard, you discern how illogical it was for him to call you Mommy.

Even though he can listen like a good boy, it’s merely a role, one he plays for you, for Yoongi, one that fragments with each kiss. Who he truly is the reversal of it.

He’s Daddy. Undeniably.

You’ve never been keen for titles. You and Yoongi never used them, never felt the need for it, hence why you both laughed when it came up. But the more you kiss him, the more you sense it. The awakening dominance, the tendril of fatherliness that spirals around you, the deserved respect he emanates. It turns you on to the point that you find yourself wondering what else is there beneath the shadows of your undiscovered sexuality.

The feeling of his warm skin against yours, his still hard manhood against your stomach, the provocation of the lip ring, the softness of his mouth slowing down and prolonging the kiss—fuck. How much more can you possibly get aroused? He empties out your brain, but you’re calm, not panicked by it at all. And to stay conscious, to stay in control, you wrap your hand around him again.

He hisses, breaking the kiss, grasping your hand. “Too sensitive. Sorry. I came so hard.”

You coo, pecking him deeply, squeezing his broad shoulders. “It’s okay.”

When you turn around to give your attention to Yoongi, you find him deep in thought, fixed on Jungkook. “Remember how she came when you kissed her? At the cabin?”

Your heart speeds up. Not due to fear or anything of the sort, but due to excitement. You know where he’s heading with this.

“Hard to forget,” Jungkook murmurs and it thrums beneath your skin, spreading wide.

“She came multiple times when I made her think about that,” Yoongi starts and you can’t halt the smile growing on your lips. A tiny whirl of shyness mingles with the words coursing through your bloodstream. “It’s what we did. I made her imagine that you were kissing her, eating her out while she touched herself. And now I want you to give it to her. Give it to her good. Better than she was able to imagine.”

Sharp inhale of breath. You want to see his reaction to your secret—but then hands. Clammy hands on your hips, nose nuzzling in your hair. “Who’s gonna be in control when I do that?”

Your eyes widen, pulse quickening to the point that it troubles you.

And Yoongi looks at you when he answers his question, “You. It’s me who’s gonna watch now.”

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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innerfare · 23 days

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Smutty Captain Kid Headcanons - Part 1

Summary: A collection of NSFW headcanons for Eustass Kid

Genre: Smut

CW: oral sex, threesomes, cuckolding, exhibitionism, dirty talk, mean dom Kid, toys, piercings, spanking

———

Man is a f-r-e-a-k.

Seriously high libido. He’s hard more often than he’s not. If you’re going to be fucking him, you’re going to be logging some real overtime. And he’s serious about getting off, too. Turns into an absolute fiend if he has blue balls, takes it out on the entire crew. Everyone knows when the captain didn’t get off the night before. Basically can’t function without a blowjob.

Loves a good challenge. All about the chase.

Went through a phase where he wasn’t interested in sleeping with women unless he could get two at a time. His face and cock buried in pussy is his perfect night. Would happily drown in the pussy if he could.

Definitely enjoys cuckolding other men. Is the definition of a bull. But while he likes bedding a woman behind her boyfriend or husband’s back, he prefers to make them watch. If the boyfriend/husband is a marine or government bureaucrat, it’s even better.

Has definitely had his dick sucked by marines before, both male and female. Has joked about his wanted poster being a nude.

Never shuts up in bed. It’s a running commentary, him goading, teasing, and bullying you. Tells you to stop being such a crybaby when he’s fucking you. “You told me you could take it, so you’re gonna fucking take it.” “What’s wrong? Embarrassed by how wet you are? Because you should be.” “Of course it’s too big, but you’ll cum on it anyway.” Definitely calls you his dumb little fuck bunny. Can be really mean when he makes you cum. And just when it’s about too much, he says something nice. “You have the cutest pussy.” “You taste so sweet.” “You’re such a good girl.” When he’s saying mean things, he’ll sometimes stroke your cheek with his thumb or place sweet kisses on your body.

If you do end up in a relationship with this man, you might just live to regret it because all of his attention is going to be on you. And that’s a lot.

Gives you a pair of metal bracelets. Dumbly, you think they’re just a sweet gift (Kid? Giving a sweet gift?) so you put them on without a second thought. Next thing you know, the bracelets are stuck to a wall, you can’t get them off, and Kid is ripping your clothes off like a little kid opening a birthday present. Is so proud of himself for this one, too. As much as you complain, you never take the bracelets off after that. Killer figures out pretty quickly why you now wear a metal band on each wrist, and sometimes an extra set around your ankles; gets drunk one night and confides in you that he’s a little jealous; when you ask him if he’s jealous of you or Kid in this scenario, he says, “both.”

Has had so many threesomes with Killer he's lost count. The two have an agreement to always share when asked (one veto per year). Dating Kid basically means being in a throuple with Killer, and fucking Kid definitely means getting fucked by Killer. Killer is even allowed to fuck you without Kid present (but you have to tell Kid about it or else he gets jealous).

Has definitely written his name in lipstick on your tits before.

Really into toys. Has tied you up and left you with a vibrator between your legs several times.

Used his devil fruit power to shoot needles through your nipples, piercing them the way he’d always wanted. Has bought you a variety of pretty nipple rings since then- a pair with several opals dangling from each end, a pair of black shields, cute butterfly barbells with amethyst wings, a pair with onyx coffins on the ends. His favorite pair are the ones with little ruby cherries; he pretended they were cheap but he actually spent a fortune on them (the rubies are pigeon blood, very high quality) because he just couldn’t pass them up. Actually came in his pants the first time he saw them poking through your thin shirt, forbade you from going braless after that. One of his favorite things in the world is putting new rings in, to the point he forbids you from switching them on your own. Loves to use his devil fruit power to tug on them when he’s fucking you.

Speaking of rules, he has quite a few, mostly because he gets very jealous. In addition to no going braless, you can’t wear your hair off the ship in pigtails (every time you do, a man in town hits on you and Kid just has to fight him), you can’t eat ice cream in public, and if you want to wear that one top- the skintight plaid one with cutouts- you have to pay the blowjob tax (Kid really enjoys cumming in the boob cutout). If you break the rules, you won’t be able to sit for a week. You often break the rules.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #eustass kid #eustass x reader #eustass kid x reader #victoria punk #kid pirates #eustass kid headcanons #eustass kid smut #one piece headcanons #one piece smut

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shroomdreams · 2 months

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Between your amazing sub ratio writing and then the cow bikini of him gosh

If this is too much just ignore but either afab!ratio or cow hybrid where he’s begging to be bred and/or lactating for you and need you help being milked 🥛 🐮 🤤

Got Milk?

Cow Hybrid!Dr. Ratio x GN!Reader

a/n: ngl I’m still unsure if I can write for male characters with afab genetalia/female characters with amab genitalia so I’ll stick with Cow Hybrid!Dr. Ratio osdhjgsdg

It's an open secret that Dr. Ratio is a cow hybrid- Considering his tail and mannerisms. His unique “assets” are talked about in hushed whispers, many wondering what milk from the eclectic doctor would taste like. As fate would have it, you are the first one to figure it out. The doctor had been holed up in his home for a few days, turning away people who were wondering what’s wrong. It is only when he bit the bullet and called for your help did the door to his house opened.

He was a wreck. Impeccably combed hair was tangled in knots, his body bare for the world to see as his tail swishes in agitation. Greeted with impatient moos, you take a moment to assess the situation- “Milk me.” Ratio suddenly sounds out, desperation and anger present in his tone. “Please- I can’t take it anymore.”

Feeling sorry for the man, you instruct Ratio to get on all fours while you prepare a couple of bowls. If you knew this is what awaited you, you would have brought a bucket and breast pumps. Thankfully, Ratio doesn’t seem to mind the improvisation, instead taking to moo and huff impatiently. With one final look, your hands grab at his chest. There was barely any pressure, yet milk eagerly drips from his nipples and into the bowls below.

Ratio lets out a mixture of mooing and moaning as your hands work to massage the milk from his teats. He pants, squeezing his eyes shut as his erection twitches, leaking precum. Sweat dribbles down his forehead as your deft fingers pinch at his nipples, the pads of your digits flicking the hard nubs, coaxing more of his milk to fill the bowls. This process continued for an hour, and yet he was still, oh so needy.

The next logical step was to drink from the source. Cows only make milk when they have a calf, right? So if you could trick Ratio’s body into thinking you’re a calf, maybe he’d calm down. However, this only exacerbated the heat ravaging his body, as Ratio’s mouth falls open as your timid lips suck tenderly on his nipple. Warm, creamy milk floods your mouth, some of the substance leaking from the corners of your lips. Ratio arches into you, his cock incessantly twitching, aching for some attention.

(AFAB!Reader) Your bottoms were barely out of the way when Ratio sinks you down on his cock, groaning both your mouth sucking on his breast and the way your warmth wraps around him. He doesn’t last long, cumming in your walls while milk floods your mouth once more. And yet, he was still very needy. So needy he ended up cumming in your several times while you worked to drain his teats.

(AMAB!Reader) You bent him over the coffee table, quickly lubing his asshole while you fisted your cock. Your ears are nearly deafened by Ratio’s mooing when you pushed you cock all the way in, rubbing against his prostate. Ratio moans, dragging his nails on the wood as you thrust into his walls, screaming when you reach over and squeeze his chest. Milk spurts out from his nipple as you cum in his ass.

Ratio laid on the floor, mooing softly as you cleaned him up and stash away his milk in the fridge. High off his hormones, Ratio gets cuddly with you, pushing you into his chest as his tail wags. The next day, he’s extremely ashamed to look you in the eyes, his plaster head hiding his flushed cheeks. You just smile at him and sip on your thermos, letting out an “ahhh.” Warm milk always makes you feel better.

+ bonus!

You stared at Aventurine as he took a drink from your thermos. You aren’t entirely sure how to explain that the sweet, creamy milk he drank isn’t from some obscure brand, but rather from a very horny Dr. Ratio. You decide to hide a few cow stickers in some of his folders. Seeing his tomato-colored face when he realized was a treat! Later on, Aventurine shyly asks if you had more milk.

You happily oblige him

(Meanwhile, Ratio wears loose fitting shirts after you milked him. Just the fabric brushing up against his nipples has him hard. Poor baby!)

#shroomie.fic #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #100 followers event #monsterfucking #hsr x reader #hsr smut #dr ratio smut #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #cow hybrid #cow hybrids #gn reader

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dhddmods · 4 months

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Intersex Guide!

Hello and happy pride! We wished to share a passion project we have been working on for months - a guide to intersex traits and variations! Please reblog to spread awareness.

Now, a question that many ask - what is intersex? Well, we will be answering that question for you here! Anything on this post that is written in red is NOT intersex, so if you wish to skip over any of it, you can. And if you wish to get straight into the intersex types, scroll down to the read-more and start from there.

Intersex, also known as the intersex spectrum, is a term used to describe when someone's biological sex - as in the sex they are born with/what they naturally develop during puberty - is not clearly defined as the typical male or female sex traits.

(This does not include someone that was born male or female, and later chose to have their sex traits changed due to being transgender, transsex, or altersex. It also does not include males that experienced circumcision/dorsal slits or penis splitting, females that experienced genital mutilation, or males & females that indulged in modifications such as piercings and beading.)

This only applies to primary sex traits - chromosomes, genitals, reproductive organs, and hormones. Atypical secondary sex traits (breasts, muscle tone, body/facial hair, deepness of voice) do not make someone intersex unless it is paired with "abnormalities" in primary sex traits.

Before you can understand what it means to be intersex, first we must clarify what it means to not be intersex.

A typical male has XY chromosomes, a penis, two testicles within the scrotum, and more androgens (mostly testosterone) than females. Upon puberty, they usually (but not always) develop more facial hair & muscle tone than females, and a deeper voice than females.

(Note: A penis has a phallus, a scrotum beneath the phallus, foreskin protecting the head of the phallus, and a urethra on the head of the penis. It is is straight or slightly curved when erect.)

A typical female has XX chromosomes, a vulva, two ovaries, a single uterus, and more estrogen than males. Upon puberty, they usually (but not always) develop larger breasts and wider hips than males.

(Note: A vulva has two labia, a single pea-sized clitoris, a single vaginal entry, and a urethra above the vaginal entry and under the clitoris.)

Here is a list of non-typical sex traits that, by themselves, are not intersex.

Accessory Breasts (Polymastia): Having more than two breasts. Accessory Nipples (Polythelia): Having more than two nipples. Athelia: Having only one nipple, or no nipples at all. Amastia: Having only one breast & nipple, or no breasts & nipples at all. Breast Hypertrophy/Macromastia/Gigantomastia: Having extremely large breasts Gynecomostia: Breasts on a male. The reason this is not considered intersex is because all sexes (except for people with amastia) have breast tissue, which can vary in size regardless of sex. Females can have small breasts, and males can have larger breasts than is expected. Hypotonia: Low muscle tone. Bicornuate Uterus: A heart-shaped uterus. Septate Uterus: A uterus that internally has a partition down the middle. Macropenis: A penis that is 7 inches/17.78 centimeters or larger. Macroorchidism: Testicles that are 4 milliliters or above pre-puberty, and above 30 milliliters as an adult. Macrovagina: A vagina that is deeper than 5 inches/13 centimeters. Labial Hypertrophy: Labia that is longer than average (above 2 inches/5 centimeters)

Now, onto the intersex spectrum! First, some notes.

-An intersex trait is a singular atypical trait. For example, someone with ambiguous genitals, but no other "abnormality" has an intersex trait. -An intersex variation is when multiple atypical traits are present, with at least one of them being an intersex trait. For example, someone with ambiguous genitals and fused kidneys has an intersex variation. Equally, someone with ambiguous genitals and cryptorchidism also has an intersex variation. -CTF stands for "close to female." CTF traits are when the traits are predominantly "feminine" (vulvas, uteruses, ovaries, estrogen as the main sex hormone, breasts, widened hips, XX chromosomes, etc.) -CTM stands for "close to male." CTM traits are when the traits are predominantly "masculine" (a penis, testicles, androgens as the main sex hormones, increased hair growth, higher muscle mass, a deepened voice, XY chromosomes, etc.)

Also, when we state that an intersex trait/variation is "fairly common", we mean that it is fairly common amongst the intersex population, not that it is fairly common in the general population. Being intersex is still classified as "rare" statistically speaking (as statistics define "rare" as 1 in 1,000 people.)

So for the sake of this post, here is how we are classifying the following:

"Fairly common" = 1 in every 5,000 (or less)

"Rare" = above 1 in every 5,000, up to 1 in every 100,000

"Extremely rare" = above 1 in every 100,000

Similarly, when we say "higher risk of _", it does not necessarily mean that risk is very high, just that its a higher chance than a person without that trait/variation. It could be as low as 1% higher of a risk. Every sex has its risks, whether its male, female, or on the intersex spectrum. To put it into perspective, females are at a higher risk of breast cancer than males.

Also, keep in mind that "may include" means that not all of the features will be present on every single person with that variation; in fact, none of the extra features could be present. However, for chromosomal variations specifically, it is highly likely that at least 1-5 (or more) of the listed extra features will be present.

And finally, when we say that "fertility is average", what we mean is that the gonads are fully capable of producing healthy average numbers of sperm/eggs, and/or the uterus is capable of carrying healthy babies. Struggles with the sperm reaching the eggs still might occur, but if direct insemination is done (as in the sperm is directly injected), then pregnancy should occur perfectly fine.

---

Penile Traits/Variations (not including those on the agenital spectrum)

Urethral Traits/Variations (not including those on the agenital spectrum)

Ambiguous Genitals

The Agenital Spectrum/Agenital/Agenitalia

An umbrella term, describing those born with no genitals, closed-off genitals, small genitals, or genitals that are missing typical penile or vulval traits.

(Anorchia & Monoorchidism fall under this as well.)

Gonadal Agenesis

An umbrella term, describing an individual that is born with an absence of one or both gonads (ovaries, testicles, or ovotestes).

Other reproductive traits/variations

Hypergonadism

An umbrella term, describing an individual that is born with gonads that produce high levels of hormones compared to males and females.

Hypogonadism

Primary Hypogonadism/Hypergonadotropic Hypogonadism: when its the gonads themselves that have low production levels. The brain is still communicating to produce the average male/female levels of hormones, but the gonads are failing to keep up with the brains-signals.

Secondary Hypogonadism/Hypogonadtropic Hypogonadism/ Central Hypogonadism: when the brain has low levels of communication with the gonads. The brain is failing to send out typical levels of signals to the gonads, and the gonads only produce hormones when a signal is received.

Other Hormonal Variations

Chromosomal Variations

And thats all!

Again, please reblog to spread awareness. Intersex people are highly discriminated against. Their bodies are still regularly mutilated at birth, in order to make them "look right."

This mutilation can cause complete infertility, a loss of sensation in genital areas (making sex unsatisfactory), gender dysphoria, body dysmorphia, and even chronic pain.

Additionally, intersex children are often bullied at school for looking or sounding "abnormal" for their age/gender. And as they grow up, they face the same difficulties transgender individuals do - judgement for not being a "real man" or "real woman" (or for being non-binary), difficulty dating, struggles finding jobs, complications in receiving proper healthcare, and they are at an increased risk of being abused and assaulted. Many are also left out of sports or kicked out of public bathrooms as well.

This is all due to the lack of education. Tolerance and acceptance needs to be taught to children. Many doctors have no idea how to treat intersex patients, as they didn't learn about their bodies, even in advanced schooling. We need to put a stop to this.

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spiderlily-w1tch-blog · 17 days

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𝙽𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚔𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚞 - 𝙰𝙱𝙾 𝙿𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝙱𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝕎𝕀𝕊ℙ𝕊𝕀𝕄ℙ𝕊

— — —

ft Claiming|Mating, ft sex ed; Demonstration, teacher/student|age gap, fingering, nipple play, size difference, belly bulge, knotting

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: I do not own Naruto or its characters, all credit goes to its creators and actors

WC: 4,225

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: includes underage(16), Omegaverse, very slight mention of Blood, No use of Y/n, 2nd Person POV, obligatory exhibitionism/public sex warning (Series Warning)

𝔐𝔦𝔫𝔦 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Shikamaru is aged up to about the age he is in Boruto(and a couple others of the Konoha 13 are mentioned to be older too), the students are anonymous so they can be pictured as the New Gen kids or just random peeps, whichever floats your boat, oh and Temari doesn’t exist here lol or at least they never got together

【Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

— — —

“Make sure you’re all paying attention, got it? Otherwise, you’ll stay incompetent little Alphas your entire lives if you don’t learn.” Shikamaru Sensei announced to the class from behind you, sitting in his chair with you on his lap, legs spread open wide, hanging over the armrests.

You figure you would have been more embarrassed by your position if you weren’t so caught up in the Sensei’s pheromones. You felt his arm reach to the front of your body and spread your lower lips to show off your glistening, slicked-up cunt.

You’re a student of his friend, Kiba Sensei, who teaches older kids, old enough to have already presented, whereas Shikamaru Sensei teaches kids right about or just younger than the age to present. They reached the sex ed portion of the curriculum and he said he needed an assistant, vaguely remembering that your friend, an Alpha, was requested as an assistant for Naruto Sensei, the Omega course instructor. Another of your classmates, a Beta, was requested to help with the same course for the Betas and possibly again for an overarching lesson.

This wasn’t quite what you had in mind but you couldn’t get yourself to care, this felt too much like heaven for that.

You gasped at the sensation of his fingers on your slit, even if just the edges. The rough pads of his fingers felt amazing against your sensitive skin. At the rate things were going you wouldn’t have been surprised if he triggered your heat.

“You see how her pussy is dripping?” He called out, receiving a couple of vacant nods as all attention was solely on your naked form, “That’s called Slick. It’s a natural lubricant that every Omega produces. It indicates arousal and makes the process of mating easier for everyone involved. If you’re lucky enough to have a big ass fuckin’ knot, you might have to add more lubricant.” He drawls on, clearly not happy he has to actually be teaching these kids how to properly fuck an Omega, though he was clearly slipping in a hint of subtle bragging with a silent ‘like me’ in his statement.

“Uh, Sensei?” A hand flew up from the second row, the only female Alpha there it seemed, “What about male Omegas? Do they have both like Female Alphas?” She asked, fidgeting nervously.

“Yes.” He sighed, having assumed that was common knowledge, “Instead of having testicles behind their little cocklettes, they have pussies. It generally looks pretty similar down there for Female Alphas and Male Omegas apart from proportions, since Female Alphas, such as yourself, have internal testes. Moving on.” His voice was firm and left no room for argument, wanting to just get through the lesson.

“This right here,” he slid one hand up and stroked two fingers over your clit before spreading them just enough to frame your already swollen bud. The feeling made your body tighten up and your head to be thrown back onto his shoulder as a moan was ripped from you at the sudden movement, “is the clit.” He smirked at your reaction and teasingly nosed at your cheek.

“As you can see, it causes massive amount of pleasure for our pretty little Omega, here. It’s extremely sensitive so even the slightest touch can affect her,” he emphasized his point by simply moving his middle finger to gently caress it in slow, tight circles. Your back arched and your hands gripped the chair’s arms, your little Omega claws digging in and scratching lines into them while your feet flexed and your toes curled.

“Holy shit…” One of his students muttered, his voice heavy with arousal. You whimpered when he moved his finger away from your clit again.

“Please…“ You whimpered out, grinding your hips the slightest bit against his cock, barely restrained in his pants. He moved his finger away from your whole cunt, and to the juncture of your thigh and pelvis, which drew another, more needy whimper and whine from your throat as you started to grind your hips more desperately.

“See that? You do it right and you can make your Omega just as needy as she would be in heat. So even if you haven’t given her anything from your dick, she’s already basically cock drunk.” He drawled, though he was clearly proud of himself. “And you brats obviously know what tits are. If you didn’t I’d wonder how you even made it this far.” He muttered and got a soft airy giggle from you which he smirked at.

“If you do your job right and you knock her up with pups,” he punctuated his point with suddenly plunging 2 fingers into your awaiting cunt and made you cry out at the unexpected pleasure and arch your back while his other hand slid up your body to grasp at your breast, “then these pretty tits will fill with milk in preparation for the pups.” His hand shifted from groping you to pinching your nipple and lightly tugging. You became a mewling, whining mess and your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to arch your chest into his warm palm or buck into the hand with 2 of his big Alpha fingers moving inside your pretty pussy.

“And how do you ensure you get your good little Omega to carry your pups?” He asked whether it was meant to be rhetorical or not, you weren’t sure but he answered in lieu of his students anyhow, “You knot her. You fill her with cum and her fertile little Omega cunt will be plugged up full and she’ll get nice and round with pups. If you do it right.” He growled out lowly at his students, practically convinced they’d be incompetent Alphas for one reason or another. He slowly dragged his fingers back and forth in your pussy and smirked at the lewd squelching of your slick. The Alpha made your back arch with a jolt once again when he scissored his fingers inside you and spread your puffy lips and let even more slick rush out of you and drip onto his pants and down to the chair he had you spread out over.

“Now, to make sure that you get it and actually learn this shit, I’ll be giving you a live demonstration.” Shikamaru Sensei spoke with a bored expression but his scent betrayed his true feelings of excitement to fuck your tight little Omega pussy. Your little virgin pussy, well, not so virgin anymore, but still untouched by a real cock, only ever your toys for your heats. The arousal in his scent served to cloud your mind even more with your own horniness rivaling even your heat at that point.

“Ready, ‘Mega?” His deep gravelly voice was right next to your ear as his lips brushed the shell of it, his hot breath fanning against your face. It sent shivers down your spine and arousal to spike directly in your core where his fingers still slowly moved in you. You whimpered out a hum of approval and shifted your hips in his lap once again. “I need words, Princess.” He spoke like a soft command though it still held just as much authority.

“Yesss..!” You hissed through the torturous pleasure of his devastatingly slow pace. A low rumbling emanated from his chest, a pleased sound, as he nosed at your cheek to silently show his delight for your answer.

“Good girl…” He rumbled and removed his finger from your slit, earning a displeased whine that he simply snickered at. Shikamaru Sensei slid his hands under your thighs and unhooked them from the chair’s arms and patted your hip to signal for you to stand. You obliged on shaky legs and almost lost your footing before he caught you with steady hands as he stood. “Careful. Can you make it to the desk, Omega?” He asked in a flat tone but you could tell he was actually concerned. You nodded with conviction and made your way, still on shaky legs, to his desk that he had cleared off before the lesson started and leaned your bare ass against it, waiting for the Alpha’s instruction.

He had a pleased smirk and a satisfied rumble when he saw how obedient you were being. Such a good Omega, waiting for your Alpha to give his command. It had his already hard cock stirring in his pants. He advanced like a predator to their prey and stood in front of you, back straight to showcase his height and how much larger he was than you. Instinctively, you bowed your head and tilted it to the side enough to bear your scent gland to him, ready for him to sink his teeth into and claim you. The realization gave you pause for only a moment and you corrected your stance to simply show your submission to the large Alpha. Another pleased sound left him, though this one was more throaty.

“Good girl.” He purred and moved his large hands to your hips to help you hop up onto his desk. Your bare ass and cunt made contact with the cool surface and made you shiver. “All of you.” Shikamaru barely turned his head to address his students with a harsh commanding voice, “Come up closer so you can see. Everyone, sit in the first rows and watch carefully because this will be the only demonstration today. Depending on the other groups, you might get a chance for another demonstration but don’t count on it.”

You glanced at the pups when the shuffling sounds started but a hand guided your face to look back at the Alpha in front of you and then returned to your waist. There was a faint spark of reassurance in his eyes as he blinked slowly at you which you returned after a moment, silently assuring him you were ready and completely willing. A tiny smirk tugged at his lips before he schooled his expression and slid his hands up from your waist, gently cupping your tits for a moment and tweaking your nipples as his deft fingers passed over them. A small chirp left your lips at the feeling and his hands settled on your shoulders to gently push you back to lay on his desk.

You followed his silent command and let him move your pliant body in whatever ways he needed to. Consciously, he shifted your leg closest to the pups to rest over the front of his desk, perpendicular to your body to expose your dripping cunt to them before he lifted your other leg to plant your foot on the surface for the moment. He stepped back not even a foot, still keeping himself close enough to adhere to your Omegan instincts— your neediness that grew more and more for him the longer he went on— to tug at the waistband of his pants. Finally, with a small sigh of relief from him, he freed his aching cock that bobbed up from its confinement and hit his toned and tender stomach with an audible ‘plap’ from his pre-cum coated tip.

The sight of his cock, a bit longer than he is thick, sent another wave of arousal gushing from your cunt that clenched around nothing. Seeing the effect he had on you, he didn’t hide his smirk from you as he tugged his pants down to rest around his thick thighs. He stepped closer to you again and rolled his hips to slide his member through your glistening pussy lips. The foot he had set on his desk was lifted and your knee rested in the crook of his elbow, spreading you further for him.

“See what happens when such a pretty little Omega sees a suitable, worthy Alpha? When she sees a nice big Alpha cock? She knows how good she’ll be bred. How good she’ll be knotted.” He stated, though it seemed to be more about boasting than truly teaching them a lesson at that point. Nonetheless, he pressed forward and grabbed the base of his cock to slide his tip through your folds. Instantly your head fell back with a ‘thunk’ when his fat tip glided through your slick and over your swollen clit.

Shikamaru let loose a low rumble deep in his chest at the feeling and grabbed the meat of your thigh that rested in his hold as he pushed forward once again. His cock finally pushed past the soaked, twitching ring of muscle and into your tight, wet heat. You both groaned at the feeling and he stopped himself from pushing all the way in. He had to remember that even though you’re an Omega, that your body was made for this, you were still so much smaller than him. He had to let you get used to his size, Kami knew it would be more than worth it. Your body tensed up when he initially entered and your hole quivered around him. Far sooner than he had assumed, you mewled a needy whine and shifted your hips as much as you could with the position you were in.

He had only put in a couple of inches to let you adjust but that proved to be not enough. You needed more. Shikamaru happily complied and slowly began sliding more of his thick cock into your greedy little hole. You hummed, pleased, and shifted your hips up to meet him until his hips were flush with yours. When you felt the barely-there swell at the base of his cock you shuddered with pleasure and bore your neck to him.

His Alpha preened at your show of submission and even more at the simple fact that he was properly pleasing an Omega. His Omega. His good little Omega who was being so pliant and obedient. A swell of pride bloomed in his chest with a rumbling growl that sent shocks down to your cunt and a shiver up your spine. Your body quivered around him and sent him into action. Shikamaru pulled his hips back slowly and steadily and snapped right back into you.

“Fuck, Omega…” He grunted, reveling in the way your cunt clung to his length, the tightness that wrapped around him. The gravelly tone of his voice appealed to your instincts in a way no Alpha had before. Though, to be fair, the only Alphas outside your family you’d been around were your classmates and Kami knew none of them were even close to as mature as the Shadow User. Your own Sensei was a good runner-up but something about the Alpha who was thrusting inside of you just adhered to your wants and instincts just right.

“You hear those pretty little noises? Fuck- Those cute little fuckin’ whines and whimpers? That’s how you know you’re doing it right.” Shikamaru— still a Sensei— remarked to his students, a near feral smirk on his face, especially when he glanced out the corner of his eye at them and saw the looks on their faces. The enamor and want on their faces called to the Alpha so thoroughly that he couldn’t help but lean even further into his instincts. He couldn’t help but feel pride and possessiveness over you so strongly that he hunched his body over yours to shield you from their wanting gazes.

He thrust wildly into you and let the rest of the world fall away, the only thing that mattered was you and how you felt wrapped around his cock. How you felt clenching around him. How you would feel spasming around his knot. He wanted to knot you. He wanted to breed you. He wanted to mate you.

In the midst of his thrusts, you felt a thrum of deep-seated yearning and need rush through you, stronger than it was before. Suddenly, you felt your body heating up and new waves of slick gushed out around his cock.

“Oh, fuck, Omega…” Shikamaru grunted, his hips stuttering for only a moment before he was reinvigorated and jackhammered into you with a new energy. “Feelin’ so fuckin’ good that she went into heat. Her body and her instincts picked up on a prime candidate for her Alpha and are fuckin’ calling out for me, for my knot.” He spoke, only partially even thinking about his students.

“Pl.. Please, Alpha..!” You whined, bearing your neck and clawing at his shoulders. A low growl escaped him and he hummed, satisfied with a smirk that curled his lips to show off his fangs, shiny with his drool as he looked at the completely untouched spot on your neck just begging for his bite.

“You want my knot? You want my bite? Huh? You wanna be mine, ‘Mega?” His tone was teasing but he also knew that you still had enough of your wits to answer honestly.

“Yes! Please, Alpha, want it! Want your knot! Wanna be yours! Wanna be your good Omega! Mate me! Breed me! Alpha!” Your heat fuzzed your mind just enough that you didn’t have the capacity to think about lying so you were more compelled to just spout what was truly on your mind. His cheeks flushed with heat but his thrusts remained full force and his grip on your thigh and waist tightened. He jolted forward with both his hips and his upper body and when his pelvis pressed flush against yours, he crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss. Your lips molded and tongues tangled as he swallowed your moans and met them with pleasured groans of his own.

His cock filled you up so perfectly, his size hitting all the right places and made you feel fuller than you ever had before. Even your heat toys weren’t as big as him. And through messily colliding lips and nearly uncontrollable moans, you communicated that. He swelled with pride and swiveled his head to lead an attack down your jaw and to your neck. As he laid kisses and nips on the span of flesh, your moans increased in volume and octave and your hips thrashed wildly against him. The knot in your lower belly was pulled so tight it felt like it would explode any moment. When he laved his tongue over the crook of your neck, it did.

“Alpha!!” You cried out as your cunt gushed around him and clamped tightly enough that he almost felt like he’d already knotted you.

“Fuuuck, Omega… So fucking tight. So good, such a good fucking girl for me, such a fucking good Omega.” He growled out against your skin and nipped at your neck, aiming to leave a dark mark as if like a precursor. The raven-haired man forced his dick to move through your vice grip and pulled back to slam back in. Again and again. Harder and harder.

“Please- Alpha-! Mate me! Breed me! Pleasepleaseplease-!” Your words slurred together as your little Omega claws dragged over his shoulders, leaving angry red marks that he decidedly would wear with pride. It was the final straw before he would give you a mark you would wear with pride.

With a glance shot at his students, Shikamaru dipped his head down and sunk his teeth into your neck. Right over your scent gland. The metallic taste flooded his mouth like an explosion when it hit. An explosion you shared as you came again. The feeling of his big Alpha fangs sinking into your flesh and the bond snapping into place sent you hurtling over the edge before you even realized you were close. Just as your pussy gushed around his cock for a second time, his knot fully expanded and he bullied it into your tight little hole. While his potent seed filled you to almost bursting, you didn’t register your voice coming out in a pleased cry.

He claimed you. He really claimed you. Your Alpha. Your big strong capable Alpha claimed you and knotted you. His big dick had already made a bulge in your tummy as he pounded into you and crashed into your cervix effortlessly. Then his cum inside you bulged you even more. You nearly looked heavy with pups already. His pups. Your Alpha’s pups. Your Alpha.

Your chest heaved with each heavy breath you took as Shikamaru still rutted his hips into you, plunging his cum that much deeper into your womb. You keened at the feeling and hummed in satisfaction with the feeling of his cum buried inside you, soothing the heat that hadn’t even fully embedded itself yet. Shikamaru Sensei lapped at your new bond mark, soothing the ache and cleaning up the blood. You shivered at the affection and let out a pleased purr that he responded to with a rumble of his own.

“And that’s how it’s fuckin’ done.” He growled proudly at his class, though he didn’t take his eyes off you. He dipped down and pressed another kiss to your lips and you could taste the residual metallic taste in his mouth as he licked into your mouth. “Now, if you want to complete it, which you should always do unless you want to be a piece of crap Alpha, you gotta have your Omega bond you, too. So, how about it, babygirl? You wanna gimme a mark like a good girl? My good girl?” There was a gravelly rumble to his voice that sent sparks down your spine and you shyly nodded. It brought a small smile to his face and he bore his neck to you, showing off the unmarred skin just waiting for a claim on his scent gland. He emitted a musky, undoubtedly mature scent that appealed to and enticed you wholly. It drew you in like a drug that you had no intentions of resisting.

You laved over his skin with little kitten licks and that clearly pleased him if the slight change in his scent and the rumbly purr in his chest was anything to go by. Opening your mouth as wide as you could, you leaned in and bit down as hard as you could to sink your teeth into his flesh, managing to puncture his thick skin with your little Omega fangs after a moment. The bond snapped into place again, wholly this time, and a sense of peace washed over you. You could feel how pleased he was with the outcome through your new bond and happily lapped at your bite that decorated his skin.

“So.. you’re like… really bonded now?” One of the chattier young Alphas-to-be spoke up from where he was fully leaned over the desk beside you.

“Yea. And if you play your cards right, you might be able to bond an Omega, too. Though, that really relies on if you paid attention or not. If not, you’re not gettin’ another demonstration and you’ll be doomed to be an incompetent Alpha for the rest of your days.” Shikamaru spoke lowly, purposely scaring the boy as a tactic to make sure he followed the lessons, particularly the first part of the etiquette lesson. “And yes, I’m aware that I pretty much skipped the main courting part, but this is a special situation. One that you more than likely won’t get to be in, so you make sure you follow that lesson. At the very least don’t be a dick.” He rolled his eyes a bit, though you giggled a bit at the show, able to tell that that’s all it was.

“Good Alpha…” You murmured, still just a touch too hazy to form a proper sentence, as you nosed at his neck. He turned his head back to you and nosed at your temple with a kiss to your cheek.

“I’m gonna be tied to my Omega for a while, so we’ll just continue the spoken portion of the lesson for now.” Your Alpha carefully picked you up and maneuvered you into a comfortable position in his lap as he sat in his chair before his class once again. Exhausted and satisfied, you curled into his chest and just listened to the rumble of his voice as he continued with his lesson.

He kept his arms secured around you and would press the occasional kiss to the top of your head and nosed at your hair to ensure you were still comfortable and came down smoothly. He explained that to the class and brought the atmosphere mostly back down to normal while he spoke about the domestic aspects of caring for an Omega and taking care of a mate. He touched on having a Beta partner but mostly kept explaining how to be a proper Alpha to an Omega.

“So make sure you don’t screw it up. I’ve explained it pretty damn clearly.” That brought a small smile to your face as you let yourself drift off into sleep against the firm, warm chest of your Alpha. You would later hear about when a fellow instructor walked in and saw him not only knotted in you but now mated to you and gave him an exasperated tongue lashing but overall just rolled their eyes at him and carried on. Many of the other Omegas in your class were envious and practically demanded gossip but life remained relatively the same, save for having a wonderful Alpha caring for you and taking every opportunity to dote on you, especially in front of his students.

— — —

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥:

Crossed out if I can’t tag you for some reason!

@frosch-thefrog @hellsingalucard18

#cw exhibitionism #tw exhibitionism #cw public sex #tw public sex #abo dynamics #alpha x omega #alpha shikamaru x omega reader #nara shikamaru x reader #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru x reader #naruto x reader #naruto shippuden x reader #naruto smut #naruto shippuden smut #spiderlily spells

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vinomino · 1 month

Text

Cherry Red

Tending to your sweet Omega

Featuring: Umemiya.H x f!reader

Contents: NSFW MDNI, pwp, omega!Umemiya, alpha!reader, omegaverse, rdr is described to have male genitalia, sub!umemiya, dom!reader, knotting, biting, anal fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, mentioned mpreg

Rare; you’ve been called that ever since you presented your secondary gender. Ever since childhood, you already knew you weren’t a normal girl. Alpha females only made up a sliver of the majority of alphas, so you’ve never met another like yourself. It didn’t affect your life much, since all you had your sights set on was studying and an acceptable career. Romance and dating weren’t on your mind until you met that omega boy who turned your world upside down.

It was hard to believe someone like Umemiya Hajime was an omega. The way he presented himself as a leader was quite inspiring to you. He never let the expectations of secondary genders stop him from committing to what he wanted to accomplish. Even betas and alphas respected him, he achieved something you thought was impossible. Umemiya was strong. Your worldview changed when you got to know him. Then you finally had him.

“So, this is why you didn’t answer my calls.” You slip your shoes off and walk over to the nest in the middle of the room. Umemiya’s nest. His heat was almost at its peak, the intense pheromones started to trigger your rut. It made your mouth start to salivate. His usually neat white hair was all ruffled and drenched in sweat, his cheeks were as red as a ripe apple. Bending your knee, you can see his eyes were glossed over. “Omega, do you want me to help?” You wait a moment for him to process what you said. His blue eyes slowly shift over to you, “A-Alpha…” he pants. Even though you weren’t close to him, you could tell his breathing was all over the place, it was frantic. Dropping your bag to the side, “Answer me, Omega.”

Umemiya whimpers and curls up on his side, “Wan’ Alpha’s help.”

Immediately, you step into his nest, and your rut stirs. The sight of your Omega in heat was causing blood to rush in your veins. You have to swallow your desires to keep yourself calm. When you sit down, Umemiya crawls over to you and jumps at you, lapping at your neck. “There, there.” You pet his head as he whines. “I’ll take care of you.” A promise you were going to keep. A promise always had kept. He moans when you trace your nails over the healed bond mark on his nape. “Omega, look at me,” you instruct. Umemiya raised his head, his pupils were blown wide open, drool was smeared around his mouth, and he was so flushed, that he resembled a cherry. The sight triggered something feral deep within, you wanted to devour him whole. A breathy sigh escapes your lips as your body heats up. “Lay on your back.”

He twitches and bites his lips when you suck on his pebbled nipples. Popping your mouth free, you press your thumb into his chin and drag it down, his swollen bottom lip slips out of his teeth. “I want to hear you, can you do that for me?”

“O-Okay, sorry Alpha…”

“It’s alright, I’m not mad.” You smile at him and wipe his wet eyes.

As you begin to scent him, you can feel him start to calm down. His breathing starts to regulate itself. “A-Alpha, need you.” He groans, tilting his head fat back enough that his Adam’s apple is jutted outwards. The crotch area of his pants was darkened, his slick was soaking into the fabric. Unbuckling his belt, “Lift your hips for me, baby.” Slowly, he places his palms on the ground and lifts his ass up. In one swift movement, you pull both his pants and boxers down. The damp fabric of his boxers sticks to his skin for a second before snapping away. His cock slaps against his navel.

Umemiya gasps as you wrap your hand around his cock and stroke him. “Mmh! A-Alpha! Alpha–” Tears cling to his lashes, like a pearl necklace. You make a note to yourself to buy him one. He fists at a piece of your clothing that made up his nest. Milky white liquid dribbles out his slit at the tip of his cock and onto your hand.

“Alpha…” He calls out to you.

“Yes, Omega?” You coo at him.

Gulping, his Adam’s apple bobs, “Wanna touch you– wanna touch Alpha.”

Releasing your hand on his dick, you lean back on your knees. “Omega, come do it yourself then.” You grin when he shakingly sits up and crawls over to you. His fingers tremble as he unbuttons your shirt. When it’s finally off, he discards it somewhere in his nest. His proximity was causing your rut to go into its peak. Clenching your fists, you dig your nails into the palm of your hand to fight off the urge to shove him back down and fuck him senseless, breed him up– “There.” Umemiya grins up at you as he unclasps your bra. “Good job, Omega.”

Scissoring your fingers in his dripping ass, he sucks and nips at your tits. Curling your digits upwards into his g-spot, his mouth drops open as he shoves his face into your breasts and hot pants into your skin. “You ready, Omega?” You whisper into the shell of his ear, making him shiver. “Mhm, wan’ it– hah want your cock, Alpha.”

Umemiya coils his toes as you line yourself up to his crying hole. “Relax.” He nods, strands of his hair falls into his face. Pushing forward, you breech his rim. You hiss at the tightness engulfing you. He loudly moans, weakly pushing against your chest, because as overwhelmed as he is, he doesn’t want you to stop. Umemiya’s brain is a puddle, he wants you to knot him, breed him. His instincts scream for it, for his womb to swell up, for him to carry your pups. Alpha, Alpha, Alpha. He doesn’t register that he’s calling out for you.

Surging forward, you kiss him. Lapping the drool off and running your tongue over his neck. Bearing your fangs, you bite down, bucking your hips at the same time. He whimpers and throws his head back, giving you more access. Running your hand over his abs, you flick one of his nipples and his cock twitches, more cream leaking out all over his happy trail, sticking the hairs to his skin.

Sitting up, you grip his hips and drive into him. He babbles incoherent words, full-on crying at the pleasure. You can’t even control yourself anymore, succumbing to your instincts. Angling your hips upwards, you hit his g-spot, and he wails. “C-Cum-Cumming!” A wide smirk etches itself into your face as you continue to abuse his sweet spot. “Cum then, Omega. I’ll fill you up. You want that, yeah?”

“Knot– wan’ your knot, Alpha! Wan your pups!” His cock shoots out white ropes all over himself and onto your pelvis. Collecting some of it up on your thumb, you stick your finger into your mouth, rubbing the taste of your Omega– your Hajime all over your mouth. You curse, feeling yourself near your edge. “I’m gonna cum– gonna fill this ass up.” You laugh at how crude your words are. Umemiya can’t even respond, gurgling moans out. With a final push, you spill yourself in him. His mouth opens to a soundless scream as he feels your knot starting. “Shhh,” you shush him. “Bear with it.” Pushing his damp hair out his face, you kiss his cheeks. His brows are furrowed as you swell up inside his ass. “You did so well, you’re such a good Omega.” He whimpers at your praise. Umemiya was yours and you were his. That was all that mattered to you.

a/n sorry this was just super duper self indulgent

#tw: omegaverse #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker smut #umemiya smut #umemiya x reader #mino.writes #mino.drabbles

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first-edition · 10 months

Text

Moon boys (Steven grant/ Marc Spector/Jake lockley X Fem! Reader)

Sum- Night before christmas your husbands give you a special gift.

Warnings- Oral sex (fem recv.), SEX. P-in-V, Unprotected, rough sex, hair pulling, light slapping, squirting, mirror kink (if you squint.), riding, pet names, mention of both male and female parts, cussing, 18+ language and themes, after care, long intercourse, hickies, my ditty google translate Spanish. (Sorry)

SMEI-PROOF-READ sorry for errors (suck it up)

THIS IS NOT INTENDED FOR THOSE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 READ WITH CAUTION AND HAPPY SMUTMAS.

Sitting on the bed, legs crossed, you watch as Steven feeds his fish the premium fish food he got for christmas.

“There you go gus…special food.” he says watching him eat it.

“What are you doing baby?” Marc speaks as he stands putting the food to the side.

“Nothing.. Just watching you both talk to the fish.” you smile looking up to him as he walks to you standing in front of you.

“I got all the presents wrapped and under the uh…tree.” you say looking over at the fake little tree that sits on a box in the corner of the room.

“Hmm. Steven not get a real one this year?” he asks you to shake your head.

“It's okay though.” you say scooching back onto the bed as he kneels on it the covers dipping under his weight. His lips connect with yours as you both share a passionate kiss.

His lips move to your jaw line.

“Fuck…you smell so good.” he grunts into your neck leaving sloppy kissing behind. His hands move under your shirt. You feel his calloused fingers against the skin of your waist moving higher to connect to your breast as his thumb brushes over your nipple.

“I know you feel so much better.” he says gruffly in your ear causing blush to attack your face your breathing speeding up. You take his face in your hands connecting his lips with yours. His hand leaves your chest and moves to your thigh pulling your legs apart lifting your leg up and around his waist holding onto your thigh before leaning back from your lips and pulling off his shirt.

His scarred, ripped chest mouthwatering to your sight. He pulls off his belt discarding it and his shirt somewhere in the room. He comes right back to your lips kissing you deeply breathing in your scent. Your hands feel along his skin. Breaking the kiss for s second once more to pull your shirt off your breast free nipple harder from both arousal and cold air. Youre left in your small christmas themed panties.

“Imma give you over to steven baby huh?” Marc speaks lowly, glazing in the mirror after Stephen was yelling at him to go first.

“M-marc.” you breathly speak. He kisses down your body since they've learned to shift without it looking like a seizure; it's seamless to his voice shifting into Steven's sweet English accent.

“I'm going to take these off now, love.” he speaks softly which makes you giggle at his politeness where Mark would rip them off without asking.

You nod to him and he pulls off your panties, mouth watering at the sight of you always so wet and ready for him.

Before any other word or action can be done he grips your thighs throwing them over his shoulders and diving face first into your cunt his skilled tounge immedtley finding your clit suckling and swirling.

“A-ah! f-Fuck! Ste-steven!” you scream out in pure pleasure of a moan as you weren't expecting such pleasure so fast it shocked you. He answers you with a moan, the vibration hitting a new type of nerve.

Your hand finds his hair gripping his fluffy curls, your other hand gripping the bed sheet under you, your back arching. His tongue dips into your entrance back to your clit over and over as your writhe in pleasure. He will never miss the chance to eat you out so good you go absolutely brain dead for him.

Marc should be waiting in his headspace but he sits in the reflection with Jake, arms crossed, watching as you moan and whine under Steve's firm grip holding onto your thighs. The sight of his alter makes you feel the best turning him on even more. Making him more excited for his turn.

“St-steven..ah sl-slow down. Ngh!” you gasp out back arching as you feel your climax approaching. But he does the exact opposite and wraps his arms around each thigh sitting up kneeling sitting back on his heels pulling your body up with him your lower half off the bed.

You gasp as you make eye contact with him, his eyes dark and lust blows before your eyes roll back cumming into your husband's mouth.

You grip the sheets tightly as your orgasm washes over you. Giving your cunt one last drag lick of his tongue does he carefully set you down licking his lips before wiping his mouth like he just devoured his dinner.

You pant fuck out already with out even any dick. Steven glances at the mirror and Marc fronts getting up off the bed pulling off his pants, his already hardened cock leaking and twitching in his grasp.

“You ready for round two baby?” he asks not really wantign an answer as he’ll fuck you anyway.

“Wh-what?” you ask not to hear him. But before you can decipher the message he pulls your legs again rubbing his tip up and down against your used slit. You flinch in pleasure as he brushes over your stimulated clit.

“Come here honey.” he says taking your arms placing them around his neck as he allows you to brace for the fucking hes gonna give you.

He slides in easily as you were well teased before. Bottoming out in you in no time he begins to thrust up into you.

“Shit…” he groans, feeling you clench down around him. Your nails dig into his skin as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Ma-a-a-arc!” you moan out as he impales you over and over his member is perfect in every way filling you so good.

“You fucking slut baby, my fucking slut huh?” he groans.

“yes - ah -y-yours.” you moan uncontrollably as he pulls your leg over his shoulder kissing and marking up your inner thigh. He pants and groans at your pulsing walls as he takes you over and over.

He leans back slighting allowing his hand to dip between you his thumb connecting to your overly sensitive clit and with a view rubs you cum on his cock mouth opening into an o face beautifully contorting. Your clenching cunt around him makes Marc cum deep into you with a moan.

He lets go of your leg carefully taking it off his shoulder resting it on the bed making sure to stay in between your legs. He leans down to you kissing your face and neck making you giggle. Marc chuckles into your neck as you wrap your arms around him pulling him down to you.

“Don't say that,” he says.

“I didn't say anything.” you speak.

“Mm-mm not you baby, jake.” he says, glancing back at the mirror set up in the corner of the room, a hidden kink between the two of you.

You turn your head, you see you and Marc are still tangled in each other, you smirk before pushing Marc over to your on top of him. You look behind you at the mirror before Marc smacks his hand down on your ass making you gasp and giggle again.

“Come on Jake, honey, if you got something to say. say it to my face…papi.” you joke the last word. The once soft placement of Marc's hand on your ass turns into a tight grip.

“I was saying, that if you can smile and laugh you havent been fucked rough enough.'' Jake says you look down seeing your other lover. Hard blush now pasting your cheeks.

“F-fuck.” you stutter not expecting him to actually front. Out of the three you rarely see jake he’ll only come out when both marc and steven arnt doing well and usually he’ll come out to give you the fucking of a life time. But on rare occasions he’ll join you in the shower just to run his hands along your body, tease you about and then help you dry and dress before cuddling for a bit before you wake up and either Marc or Steven are back. But goddamn is he good at after care.

His arm extends his hand wrapping around your throat snugly before he sits up. Your mouth falls agape.

“What? No smile for me Princessa?” He says you give a cocky smile before he slaps your cheek, not enough to do any true damage but just enough for you to feel as it goes straight to your pussy again squeezing around his now hardened dick.

“Smile again.” he says which comes out more like a threat as his lips grazing against your jaw line. You do so and in return get another slap making you giggle which pisses him off more he takes his other hand, the one he slapped you with, and pulls your head back by your hair causing a whimper out of you wiping the smile off your face.

He takes his handoff your throat and moves it to your hip patting your skin speaking his accent strong.

“Ride,” he speaks. You don't listen but once he gives a firm tug to your hair you whine and then move your hips forwards and back. His grip on your hair loses but not enough for you to look at him as you still look at the ceiling.

“Arms behind your back, hold your elbows.” He instructs you to immediately list and put them behind your back, bending them and holding onto your own elbows to keep them there much like how he would time them with his belt.

“Mm good girl.” he groans as your hips move against you forcing all of him to shift in you. Moving his hand from your hip to your breast he pinches your nipple playing with it while his mouth connects to the other one.

“J-jake.” you gasp out. He tugs on your hair and bites your nipple.

“Nuh uh!” he snaps at you.

“P-papi.” you stutter out.

He hums loosening the grip on your hair once again.

“Come on princess, you can ride better than that. Marc and Steven had you being a pillow princess, with me, you're gonna work for it.” he says slowly. You pick up the pace but unfortunately you feel as though you're not going to last long. Not with your clit rubbing against him and his cock hitting the perfect spots. He can feel you clenching around him as your movement becomes sloppy he lets go of you completely and grips both your hips stopping you forcing you to freeze your motions panting in ecstasy.

Your legs shake under you as your orgasm is put on hold. When your legs stop shaking and your breathing goes back to normal, Jake pats your thigh and lays back.

“Go again.” he says, your eyes widened as you look at him. He raises his eyebrow at you, tightening his grip on your thigh.

“¿Hice tartamudeo?” He asks you dont answer having known very very little Spanish or atleast what he's taught you.

“Did I stutter whore?” he asks again not wanting to ask again.

“No.” you answer only for a sting to hit your thigh as his hand slaps down against the skin.

“No papi.” you fix your mistakes quickly. Your hips begin to move again keeping your arms behind your back once again feeling the slow eventual build up of an orgasm. Once again he stops you in your lust filled state feeling your cunt fluttering around him making him go crazy on how you please him with being so obedient to his commands.

“Again,” he says. You let out a shaky breath and once again continue grinding against him. This time you reach your high faster but Jake can still tell but this time he doesn't stop you as he sees tears threatening at the corner of your eyes and your flushed body and worn out legs.

You reach behind you taking your arms untangling them and bringing your hands up to his chest to support yourself.

“Go on. Princessa cum for me hm?” he says as your nails dig into his chest making him groan in pleasure as you fuck yourself on him finally cumming.

“My turn.” he chuckles and grips your hips and roughly thrusts up into you causing you to scream out a moan. Your head falls forward, your hair falling in front of your face as you take his cock once again.

His hand shifts again to your clit making sure to fully overstimulate you. You hear his moans underneath you as you feel his dick twitch inside you signally he’s close.

“P-pa-api..ah ah!” you moan out the neighbors surely hearing you.

“Come on princessa squirt on me! hacer un lío hacer un lío.” he speaks

(make a mess)

“Agh fuck.” Jake groans out as he roughly thrusts up into you cumming deeply into you once again and as if on cue the last rub of your clit your body does exactly what he demanded. Your cunt squirts on him painting his abs.

He chuckles sitting up holding your head up from the back of your neck. Kissing your lips.

“Good girl.” he says. Before carefully pulling you off him and setting you down he gets you going to the bathroom turning on the bathtub water before wetting a washcloth with the warm water cleaning off his stomach from you and his cum. Hurryign back to you he sees you breathing lightly fucked out laying on your side nude in bed. You're covered in hickies.

“Princess.” he speaks calmly as he pulls his boxers off the floor pulling them on.

“Hey” he says moving your hair out of your face brushing his thumb against your cheek. You lean into his touch causing a smile to form on his face.

“You alright?” he asks you to nod your head.

“Come on.” he says, lifting you like a rag doll and pulling you up into his arms, lifting you off the bed before taking you to the bathroom to help clean up. He changes the sheets and helps you dry and dress before drifting back off to sleep with you.

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #Steven grant x reader smut #moon knight fanfiction #Marc spector #marc spector x reader #Marc Spector x reader smut #Jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockely smut #jake lockley x reader smut #Moon knight smut #moonknight x reader smut #Moon boys x reader smut #Steven grant x Marc Spector x jake lockley x reader smut #Steven grant x Marc spector x jake lockley x reader #jelsasnowflakessmutmas #smutmas 2023

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iknowsescapingjourneys · 10 months

Text

Synopsis: Being in love with Coriolanus Snow is putting her life in his hands. She trusts he'll treat it kindly. She trusts wrong.

aka: reader has hanahaki disease for a man she's not sure is even capable of having feelings.

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader ; third person perspective

Words: 5.7k

18+, mdni

tw: author's first smut, brief mentions of vomiting, suffocation, mentions of blood, unrequited love, death, angst, handjobs, oral (male receiving), headpushing, minor humiliation, nipple play, nonconsensual oral (female receiving) if you squint (reader gets overstimulated and wants to stop, coryo doesn't), piv, unprotected sex, creampie, minor orgasm denial

a/n: please let me know how this is, i have never written smut in my life but this man deserved it.

_________________ ✾✾✾ _________________

Roses.

What a lovely flower. The overlapping intricacies of the petals, the meadow honey musk that filled the air in their presence. The romantic connotations. The connotation to him.

What a lovely flower indeed.

She’d found they were awfully persistent too. Her knees were raw and red from the recurrent contact on the cold marble floors of the Academy bathroom. Bloodied petals littered the water of the gaudy gold toilet bowl, an attempt of the Capitol’s to show off wealth they’d only just regained after the war.

Her trembling frame lurched forward once more with another fit of coughs mixed with the sickening feeling of needing to vomit. She was well aware that nothing from any of her meals would find their way back up, but the nauseousness in and of itself was enough to find herself desperately wishing the agonizingly long school day would be over. More than anything she wanted to curl into her plush mattress and excessive amount of blankets and drift off to a slumber full of dreams of a better life.

Maybe a life where she wasn’t plagued by unrequited love. Crushes, she’d dealt with. She wasn’t exactly used to rejection, but she was certainly able to realize when she wasn’t someone’s cup of tea and excuse herself. Crushes weren’t the same thing as being in love though. That was something she was well aware of.

To fall in love was to put your life into another person’s hands. In fate’s hands, even. A good person would cherish and appreciate the paramount responsibility that had been placed upon them and do anything in their power to ensure that no harm was caused. Unfortunately, even the best of people can’t compel themselves to truly love someone that they don’t harbor genuine feelings for.

So in the grand scheme of things, all she could really do was force the remaining petals up her throat and into the water below her tear streaked face, rise to her feet, and flush the toilet on the way out of the stall. She stopped for a moment when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, drudging forward until she was face to face with herself.

She wasn’t sure if she still recognized that woman. The dark circles under her eyes, the smear of red at the corner of her lips. The light in her eyes drained to a pitiful dullness. She turns the sink on, wetting her thumb and dragging it along the corner of her mouth. At least that was something she could fix.

Her hands smoothed out the skirt of her uniform, and she did an unsteady spin in front of the large mirror to ensure that she was looking, at the very least, presentable. When she was tolerant of her appearance, she pushed the large wood door open, scampering back into the hallway and back to a class she hadn’t been able to focus on for the last week and a half.

A dozen eyes flickered to her face when she came in through the side entrance, though she found only one lingered on her after all the others had returned to the papers on their desk.

There was an entire ocean in that gaze. An entire sky. The entirety of the very planet they stood on swirled in the orbs that followed her from the door to her seat. His thin lips curled into a polite smile and she felt her heart skip a beat, accompanied by that ever familiar itch in her throat. She pressed the back of a shaky hand to her lips and muffled a cough, hoping to ease the feeling.

Coriolanus Snow was beauty incarnate. Platinum blond curls that fell in his face when he was deep in thought, sharp features that softened when he spoke about something that excited him, and those eyes. She could get lost in them. Some days she was sure she already had.

Ever perceptive, she watched as the blond cocked an eyebrow at her, a silent question. She waved him off with a less than convincing hand movement, which only caused him to cock his eyebrow higher.

Her second attempt was slightly more convincing with a jesty eye roll and a significantly more convincing wave of her hand, which she’d finally managed to subdue the shakiness in.

Still, it was no surprise that when the class had been dismissed and she’d finished collecting her things, Coriolanus was waiting outside of the classroom for her. His large hand found the small of her back, easily guiding her into the divot between a classroom and the hallway. She shuddered as the pad of his thumb brushed against the corner of her lip, the feeling quickly bringing on a coughing fit she had to turn away from him to subdue.

“You’d flounder as an actress.” His voice fills the air, and her body stiffens. He was far from stupid, and she’d known that from the beginning. Still, she’d thought at this point that she was doing well enough to hide it so that she’d be able to finish out the school year.

She turned to him, heart so far into her stomach that she could feel it thudding there, only adding to the nauseousness that was flooding her system once more.

“I never claimed to be a good liar.” She responds, her eyes falling to the crimson liquid pooled on his thumb. Delightful.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, taking a step forward, and she takes a step back on instinct. The muscles in his arm flex like he’s holding himself back from doing something, and she finds herself wishing he’d either touch her or go the fuck away.

There’s a tone to his voice that she doesn’t quite recognize. It’s certainly not loving, but it’s not feeling like rejection either. She tries to clear her throat, (easier said than done), before she croaks out, “I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me.”

To be fair, her reluctance doesn’t come from any form of self depreciation. She knew Coriolanus though, and she knew that in the entirety of the time she’d known him, he’d never shown interest in any of their fellow classmates. He always seemed too busy to bother with the base instincts of attraction. There had even been a rumor at one point that the Snow heir had been asexual, far too logical to indulge in senseless behaviors such as romance.

His voice dips lower for a moment, “Assumptions are rarely beneficial.” The words come out in a drawl, or at least, they replay in her head that way. He takes another step forward and her back hits the walls roughly, unaware that she’d run out of space.

“Let me walk you home. We can talk about this more in private.” He offers his hand, long nimble fingers stretched out in a proposition. She takes it carefully, each one of her manicured fingers individually slotting themselves between his. The feeling sends warmth through her frame, spreading out through each and every nerve in her body. She finds herself squeezing it idly, almost in an attempt to reassure herself that the events were grounded in reality. When he squeezes her smaller hand back, she allows some of the tension to flood from her body.

Coriolanus is nothing short of a gentleman the entire walk home. He opens the doors for her, walks on the side of the sidewalk nearest the road, and pulls her closer when they walk past a group of men that he surmises makes her uncomfortable. Her heart pounds so wildly that she makes him stop halfway to her family home so that can clear her throat of the abundance of silky petals that had jammed themselves in the soft tissue.

She’s surprised at how gentle he is with her, the way his hands collect her hair and hold it out of her face, how his free one strokes up and down her back to comfort her. She has to stop him despite her appreciation when it only causes more coughing.

It’s not unusual when she finds her home empty when they finally arrive. Her parents, ever busy people, tended to not return until sometime in the late evening when her mother would throw a meal she’d prepared into the oven, and they’d have a silent and often uncomfortable family dinner. A true Capitol tradition, if her friend’s accounts were to be believed. She found herself wondering if anyone in the “happiest place in Panem” actually even liked each other.

When she wiped her lips and felt the sticky, hot blood transfer to the back of her hand, she was reminded of why so many affluent names might stifle those emotions.

“Can I get you anything? A water? Some apple juice?” She knew that was showing off by her offer of fruit juice, still such a scarcity in the Capitol. Agriculture had been hit hard in the war. But Coriolanus was in her home, and she was going to pull out all of the stops.

His lips twitched up into a smile, and her heart fluttered once again. “Water is fine. I won’t waste your delicacies.” He responds modestly, and she’s reminded again of what a gentleman he is. She knew that her parents would approve. Now she just needed to play her cards right. Nothing in the world sounded quite as sweet as being paraded on the arm of the young man of Snow.

She happily pours him a glass of water, the thick engravings of their family crest sparkling in the ray of sunshine that slipped through the silk curtains. Wealth was something her family far from lacked.

Love, however, was scarce.

She hoists herself onto the marble counters, watching him as he sips from the glass. She can’t help but to think to herself that she could sit here for the eternity of the day, watching his lips part around the cup and his Adam's apple bob with each sip.

The silence should be awkward, and she worries that it is for him, but she finds herself woefully unable to figure out where to begin a conversation like this. She lets out a breath of relief she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding when he rises to his feet, sets the water on the dining room table, and begins speaking for her.

“I’m astounded that someone as beautiful as you could be fearful that a man would not reciprocate their feelings.” He says, and his voice is so hushed and he’s suddenly so close to her that she can feel her throat close up in a mix of anxiety and absolute and utter infatuation.

“You always seemed so preoccupied and I feared that perhaps romance was something that didn’t cross your mind, and-” She cut herself off when she realized she was blabbering on, the words dying suddenly in her throat. She feels like a fool around him, as if her brain is no longer connected to her mouth. She’s convinced something in him causes her entire body to short circuit.

“No one else seemed worthy of distraction.” He replies when the silence hangs in the air for a moment too long, and she’s thankful for the words, not just because of the way they make her heart swell and her limbs feel electric, but also because it gives her a moment to regain her footing instead of opening her mouth just to verbally tumble around the floor once more.

“I’m nothing special,” She replies humbly, her eyes trailing to the floor. It was not as if this was her first time being courted, but it was certainly the first time she felt inclined to accept. Still, she knew there was a game to be played here. Everything in the Capitol seemed to be a game of some sort.

“You can skip the modesties with me,” He begins, lithe fingers reaching forward and gripping her chin softly, forcing her eyes to his. She found herself getting lost in the oceanic pools once more. “I can see right through them. I much prefer honesty.” He finishes his thought with a finality that cuts her denial from her lips before she can even speak it.

“May I kiss you?” He asks before she can even right herself on this new playing ground, but after a moment, she nods, stricken wordless even further. He wastes no time in pressing his lips to hers, and she finds that he’s not nearly as gentle as she would have imagined. His lips are forceful and she’s jolted back slightly by the force. In response to this, his hands find her hips, fleshy and pliable, and he pulls her forward again, devouring her whole. There is no fighting for dominance, she needs no verbal cues to know it would be pointless. Despite this being her confession, she is clearly no longer the one in charge.

The room seems to be spinning for a moment as her brain struggles to catch up to the rushed intimacy, and when she finally regains her footing, her hands desperately reach out for his broad shoulders, digging into the red wool of his Academy jacket. He peels himself away from her to shrug it off of his shoulders, letting it pool on the kitchen floor beneath their feet. He stares at her face for a moment, stroking his thumb along her flushed bottom lip, and she parts them instinctively.

He falters for a moment before he shoves the digit into her mouth, stroking across her tongue. Her lips seal around the digit, her tongue moving to explore every centimeter of his salty skin. Coriolanus grunts at the sensation, his eyes flickering back and forth between her lips and her eyes, shifting slightly to accommodate the tightening in the front of his pants.

Emboldened by his response, she eagerly sucks at the pollex, letting her eyes fall until half-lidded, imitating acts she was sure they’d find themselves in relatively soon.

With more restraint than she’d previously given him credit for, he pulls his thumb from her lips and dives back down to encapture them once more, bending and molding her until she’s not sure where she ends and he begins. Her teeth clash against his once and he grunts at the unpleasant feeling, his hand moving to her jaw and keeping her steady as to ensure that he could take what he wanted without her petulant, inexperienced movements.

His roughness is unprecedented, so unlike the gentle hesitant touches from any of her prior romances. She finds it’s not unpleasant, though slightly surprising. The unfamiliarity of it doesn’t stop the heat that continues to pool between her thighs, especially when his pearly white canines sink into her bottom lip, drawing a cry from her throat before her brain has even finished fully processing the feeling.

The residual stinging was clue enough of a puncture in the sheer skin, only proven further when he pulls away and the carmine fluid has tinted his teeth. His pink tongue glides over them effortlessly, and her mouth falls agape slightly when his azure eyes flutter shut and he groans at the taste, his hips stuttering forward just enough to catch her attention.

It’s clear he’s growing impatient with the lack of true intimacy, especially when he wraps a hand in her hair, guiding her roughly to the tiled floor in front of him. She resists slightly as her bottom slips from the high counter, and as a result, she hits the ground rougher than she’d intended.

He seems to find it no priority to ensure she’s okay, instead spending the time eagerly pushing down the flowing kilt like fabric of his uniform, followed by the slacks beneath them. His eager cock twitched behind the cotton fabric of his briefs, and despite her discomfort on the way down to her resting place, she finds herself reaching out wantonly, her hand trailing over the thick outline in the fabric.

The man above her sucks in a choked breath at the sensation, and it encourages her to continue on. She crawls forward on the cold floors, her fingers hooking into the elastic waistband and helping the fabric bunch at his knees where the rest of his clothing resided. His cock sprung up, heavy and leaking, hitting his stomach and leaving a smear of precum on the blue undershirt of his uniform.

She reaches up, hand curling around the velvety length, solid and hard at its core but oh so soft and smooth as her hand glides along the skin. She pulls her hand back, spitting on it eagerly. Saliva runs down her chin slightly, but she finds it easy to ignore as she slathers the makeshift lube over his erection.

“Fuck, darling.” He hisses, and she finds herself wondering if the exclamation is at the sensation or at her eagerness. She decides she won’t deprive him of either, just in case. Her hand slides up and down his dripping cock, collecting what she can of the precum droplets pooling on top to help the slickness of her ministrations. When she finds there’s no resistance to her movements, she tightens her fist around him, speeding up the strokes around his velvety shaft. His hips stutter a few times in an attempt to find her rhythm before he’s fucking her hand, hunched over as his nails dig into the thick fabric of her jacket. Every jut of his hips pulls a soft grunt from his lips, his eyes falling closed as he enjoys the pleasure that she’s happy to give him.

When she’s sure he’s sufficiently hard, and his length is throbbing eagerly in her soft palm, she gently pulls her hand back. His hips thrust into the empty air once before he realizes she’s not got her hand curled around him anymore, and he whines, oh god, he whines, at the loss of contact. The noise sends heat directly between her legs and she unconsciously shifts in an attempt to lessen the sudden increase in pressure.

She eagerly sits up on her haunches, sticking her tongue out as far as she can as she moves forward, letting the heaviness of his cock rest on the pink muscle. His fingers curl in her hair and attempt to guide her forward, but she glances up at him with a look of warning, pressing gently into his hip bone to keep him from sliding any deeper. She was going at her pace, and he’d find a way to respect that.

She slowly dips her head further down his shaft, taking him in centimeter by painfully slow centimeter as his nails dig into her scalp punishingly. She finds his lack of patience almost comical in a way. How a man so poised and level headed in most circumstances can be brought to primal nature by the minutest amount of pleasure. A man is a man, after all.

It doesn’t take long for her to crave more from him, desperate to see him crumble at her hands. He’s so incredibly prepossessing, and she finds that this is better than anything her clearly uninventive mind could have conquered up. The way his blond curls cling to his forehead encourages her further, and she wraps her hand around the base of his dick to ensure she doesn’t get too eager and choke herself on his length. Her cheeks hollow when she begins to bob her head, spit quickly budding on the edges of her lips. Coriolanus groans above her, his grip growing tighter in her hair. Her eyes widen when his hips snap forward, her lips meeting her wrapped hand in less than a second. She gags suddenly, hints of sickness swirling in her stomach as tears prick her eyes. His cock twitches in her throat, and she notices the way the veins in his wrist bulge with how roughly he’s gripping onto her.

She’s just managing to gather her bearings when his patience seems to fade completely, and his hands move to the back of her head, shoving her hand away from his shaft before thrusting forward once more, her nose pressing into the course curls of his pubes. Her stomach heaves and she struggles to swallow down the much stronger surge of nausea. He wastes no time in pulling himself back out until his tip brushes against the inside of her lips before he’s back down her throat once more.

He leans over her, the tight V of his adonis belt pressed into her forehead as one of his hands rests on her shoulder to keep him upright. His groans fill the air around them, accompanied by the noise of her gagging around his cock with each thrust. Spittle drips down her chin, dirtying her uniform. She has no time to swallow any of it, instead focusing on staying alive as she’s used as a living sex toy.

“Such a pretty mouth, baby. You’re doing such a good job,” Coriolanus chokes out between licentious groans, and just that smallest amount of praise seems to make his rough treatment that much easier to handle. His dick leaps in her mouth, once, twice, and then he’s pulling out of her mouth, his hand wrapping around the base of his shaft so tightly that she watches as the color drains from his fingers. He leaks precum so heavily that it drips to her tiled floor, and a few moments later, when he seems to have effectively staved off his impending orgasm, he pushes her head down towards it.

She cocks an eyebrow, looking up at him in confusion. “Lick it up, doll. Don’t want any of it to go to waste.” He smirks, shoving her head down once again. Her face blossoms into a blush, humiliated by the thought of licking something off the floor like a pitiful dog, but she leans down, pink tongue dragging across the porcelain flooring. The thick liquid is salty and clings to her tongue, lingering behind no matter how many times she attempts to swallow it down.

His fingers grip her chin gently, a sharp contrast to the way his hips brutalized her mouth moments before, and tilts her face up. Her eyes meet his icy orbs, and his lips curl into a soft smile. “What a good girl. So obedient.” He hums, and her dripping cunt clenches around nothing.

“Let’s get you undressed, hm?” He supplicates, and she nods, swallowing heavily, the saliva soothing her sore throat as he helps her to her feet, guiding her until her back hits the closest wall. He guides her jacket off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in the pile with his. His agile fingers easily undo the buttons of her shirt, and his head dips down, placing kisses on each expanse of newly exposed skin.

When the final button is undone, the fabric bunched up around her arms, he shoves it away eagerly. Her bra is unclasped with such ease that she has no doubts that he has some form of experience with them, and the realization causes a confusing heaviness in her chest. She does her best to shove it down, especially when his pale lips find the soft flesh of her breast, white teeth nipping hard enough that it draws a yelp from her. He quickly drags his tongue along the reddening flesh before his lips suction around it, sucking harshly. She writhes between him, pleasure blossoming in her lower stomach. Her pussy throbs needily, soaking the pink cotton underwear hidden beneath her skirt.

His nose drags against her sensitive skin as he makes his way down to her nipple, the bud already hardened by her arousal and the cool air. His tongue brushes against her and her back arches slightly, her mouth falling open in a soft whimper. She opens her mouth to implore him to continue, but before words can even fall from her lips, he’s picking her up, carrying her back over to the counter, settling her on it before his large hands drag her pants down her legs, growling under his breath slightly as they get stuck on her shoes, impatiently tugging until both her shoes and burgundy pants fly halfway across the room. He doesn’t even bother with her skirt, simply shoving it up until it bundles around her stomach.

She bashfully closes her legs, embarrassed of the slick arousal that’s soaked a nearly transparent oval into the crotch of her panties. Snow’s lips turn down at the corners, glancing up to meet her eyes before he’s pulling her thighs apart, his tongue running across his bottom lip as he takes in the sight. He runs a finger down the front of her underwear and she squirms, her canines biting into the soft skin of her bottom lip.

He shoves her panties to the side, exposing her glistening cunt to him. He groans deep in his throat, his head falling forward slightly. “Shit, darling, all this for me?” His voice is deeper than she’d ever recalled hearing it, and it only serves to get her more excited, legs spreading slightly wider to give him a better view. He whistles lowly, a seductive grin climbing his lips before his hands find her thighs, pushing them even further apart as he leans down towards her. His tongue meets her clit immediately and she jolts slightly, the sudden, intense pleasure too much to handle right off the bat. Her reaction only seems to fuel his enthusiasm, and he begins to lap at her bundle of nerves like a dehydrated dog. She undulates frantically, attempting to escape further up the counter but held in place by his strong hands. The sensation is overstimulating, overwhelming, far too much far too fast.

“C-Co-Coryo!” She cries, tears beginning to bud in her eyes as she writhes in desperation. Her hands shove at his head, trying to push him off. His gorgeous blue eyes glint as he stares up at her, taking in every movement, every reaction. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. If anything, his grip tightens on her legs, delving further into her sopping heat.

The coil in her stomach tightens in a way that’s so intense that it hurts, her legs shaking as he continues to eat her out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have in his life. Her vision goes black when his lips wrap around her clit and his lips form a suction that’s so pleasurable that she sees stars, and she’s not entirely sure she hasn’t died on the spot. Her hips jerk uncontrollably, her protests devolving into nothing but incoherent babbling as she orgasms so violently that it genuinely hurts more than it brings her pleasure. She doesn’t even realize she’d been crying until she’s in a coherent mindset again and finds that her cheeks and neck are drenched in the evidence of just how overstimulating his mouth had been.

In the time it had taken her to come back to some semblance of reality, Coriolanus had already spread her juices over his dick, the angry red cockhead and shaft glistening in her arousal as his hand pumped over it a final few times.

“You ready, pretty girl? I know you’re gonna take my cock so well.” He purrs, his lips still glistening with her fluids. She jolts slightly when his tip rubs against her entrance, her pussy sore and overwhelmed from his onslaught. The hand not guiding his cock presses into her lower stomach, keeping her stationary as he presses into her, her cunt clenching around him so tightly that she’s not even sure he’ll be able to stuff himself inside her.

His head falls forward, chin to chest as a strangled noise leaves his lips, and she watches as his knees buckle for just a moment. “You didn’t warn me you were so fucking tight.” He grunts, his eyelids fluttering as he struggles to gain control of himself. His hips snap forward in one, swift movement, and her fingers find the edge of the counter, a scream ripped from her lips. His palm covers her mouth quickly, his lips finding the shell of her ear as he shushes her, stilling as deep inside her as he can.

“It’s okay, baby. Just gonna hurt for a second. It’s okay.” He comforts, or attempts to, and she finds herself brought to the brink of tears for the third time during their encounter. She struggles to control her breathing, her toes curled tightly in an attempt to distract from the pain.

His impatience blossoms again, and rather than waiting for any semblance of approval from her, he waits until he’s no longer at risk of blowing his load like a preteen boy before he pulls out to the very tip, thrusting himself back into her roughly. She cries out in discomfort, but it seems the two noises sound similar enough for him to take the noise as assent.

He ruts into her with such force that her breasts bounce with each thrust, slapping against her skin roughly. Each time his cock sinks into her wet cunt, he lets out a strangled grunt, ever vocal of the pleasure her body supplied him with. One of his hands travels down her leg, gripping onto her calf. He forces it up and back up into the air, the angle letting his girthy cock press even deeper into her. His nails dig halfmoon circles into the soft flesh, marking her up. Pleasure begins to wind in her stomach as the pain subsides, and she whines wantonly, her forearms shaky as they pressed into the granite counter tops, keeping her upper body raised.

It’s barely been three minutes but she can already feel his cock twitching inside of her as his thrusts lose their rhythm, falling into a directionless pounding of his hips into hers. His breath comes out in pants, his free hand grabbing at any part of her he can reach, squeezing and groping her needily.

“Gonna… fucking hell, dar-ling, gonna cum for you.” He rasped, and not a second later, his hips stuttered as his cock pulsed inside her. She could feel each twitch of his fill her up with rope after rope of hot cum, the warmth radiating from inside of her before beginning to pour out of her aching hole, pooling on the counter below her. He stays inside her for a moment, hips pressed into hers before he slowly withdraws his cock, shuddering as the head slides out of her cunt. His eyes immediately fall to the combination of their fluids beneath her, and he collects them on her fingers, trailing them back up her sopping pussy before shoving it back inside her. She can feel the kindlings of pleasure die in her stomach, forgotten and discarded.

He pulls his fingers away, wiping them on her thigh before pressing a chaste kiss to her sweaty forehead. He helps her down from the counter before beginning to collect his clothing, redressing in a way that settles an unwelcome feeling of rejection in her stomach. “Are you leaving?” She questions softly, and he turns to her, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I have a project due, doll. Surely you understand.” He replies in a tone that she can tell should have been reassuring but was decidedly not. “Of course.” She swallows roughly, giving a polite nod of her head as he grabs his bag from her kitchen table. She pulls her clothes on with the unsteadiness of a baby deer, watching him collect his things as if nothing had happened.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” She asks, looking up at him pleadingly. He places a kiss on her cheek, running fingers through her messy hair. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He replies before he’s out the door and heading in the direction of the Corso.

The relief from impending death doesn’t feel as good as she’d imagined. Requited love feels like soreness between her legs and a heaviness in her chest. She chokes down the feelings, busying herself in cleaning up the kitchen. Her parents would be the cause of her untimely death if they found what she’d done.

She finds that despite the sun being out, she’s dreadfully tired. She vows to wake up early in the morning to finish her homework, and stalks up to her bedroom, burying herself in the plush sheets of her overly expensive bed. She doesn’t know when she starts crying, but she knows it doesn’t end until she’s exhausted herself asleep.

_________________ ✾✾✾ _________________

She’s startled awake gasping for air. It doesn’t matter how many times her mouth opens, she can’t suck in air. She flails frantically, falling off the side of her bed with a thud on the carpeted floor. She wrestles with the blankets, suddenly killer constrictors. Panic rises in her chest, and she coughs, swallows, heaves frenetically. She crawls, hands and knees to the in suite bathroom, hunched over the toilet.

She shoves her fingers into her mouth, desperately attempting to clear her airways. It triggers her gag reflex but nothing comes up. Her stomach heaves, tears streaming down her face. She can see the darkness of death begin to seep into the corners of her vision. She tries to scream but the sound dies in her throat with her breath.

She continues to shove her fingers down her throat, increasingly frantic as she feels herself growing weak at the lack of oxygen. She heaves again, and finally, she feels the object loosen. Her fingers brush against it the next time she shoves her fingers down, and finally, she gets it up, accompanied by such an excess of blood that she’s not sure how she’s still somewhat upright.

Lying in that puddle of blood is a full rose, stem and all. The thin stalk of the flower is littered in thorns, the petals covered in droplets of crimson liquid. She doesn’t understand. This should have been over. He’d loved her back.

Her hands move to her throat suddenly, the suffocating feeling returning. Her hands clench into fists, pounding on the granite flooring. She knows this one isn’t coming up.

She finds that more than anything, she’s tired. She curls up on the cold floor, fingers curling around the rose. Her cheek presses into the warm puddle of her own blood. The thorns on the rose draw more from her shaking hand. Coriolanus Snow was just like his roses - beautiful.

Beauty - a deceitful bait with a deadly hook.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games

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raisin-shell · 6 months

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I think I’ve spent most of my night going through your blog, I love your writing so much! Do you think you could do kind of like a kink list for the boys on what they’re into overall? Either that or maybe something like what qualities they seek in an SO/if they have a type etc. Whichever you feel would be more interesting! Thank you :) ❤️

Oh my gosh that’s so incredibly sweet to tell me! I was opposed to masterlists for a while but I made one so it’s easier to find my stuff. And AND there will be more to come. Thank you love! This made my day. 🥰🥰🥰 Now then let’s get kinky! And this is LONG OMG I’m so sorry for everyone’s feeds! 😂 my boys are all pan too so, it should get interesting!

Leonardo

Boy blue loves his bondage. Not BDSM in general, but restraint as an art form. He practices kinbaku or shibari. He likes restraint so he can sexually tease his partner

Speaking of tease… nothing turns him on more than you flashing a little more skin or tracing your toes up his inner thigh beneath the dinner table then pulling away and paying him no mind

Tease and denial. Once you’ve caught his attention he will get even by the end of the night. Even if that means you can feel the heat from his breath against your soft petals yet he refrains from taking a taste

Male dominance. With a female he is the dominant one. With a male he’s not

Orgasm denial. Nothing gives him a bigger head than when he fucks your body into the abyss only to rip your orgasm from you just as you’re about to combust

Collaring. Should you present him with one ohhhh buddy. Hell chain you and pull back causing your neck to crane from behind

Wax play. Listen the man loves his candles. Dripping the heated wax on your bare lower back will have him soaring

His favorite fabric for you to wear is satin or silk

He loves anal, giving or receiving

Will not turn down a threesome as long as it’s your idea and you’re okay with it

His favorite position is any position which places you face to face with him

Raphael

Spanking and whipping. Nothing and I mean nothing gets his gears going better than seeing your ass ripple from a his firm slap

Rimming. This man lives to eat your ass and doesn’t mind his own eaten either

He will allow you to peg him (females) and prefers to be a top when with a male but will lower his inhibitions should it be the right person… he’ll receive anal

Oral sex and deep throating. Raph loves to part your petals with his tongue. He also enjoys taking a males cock down his throat just so he can prove that he is a soul snatcher

This is a man who likes his prostate milked or massaged and will do so for his partner as well

Loves cream pies. He has so much cum you’ll be drizzled with it

Prefers to go bareback. Let’s face it what condom on this green earth would fit him

Loves double penetration. His thick rod can feel the other object inserted inside of you

Squirting. Like I said prior… he’s a soul snatcher and nothing makes his cock harder than watching you spirt up his arm

It’s a no brainer that Raphael loves a good strip tease. His favorite material is leather or metal

Will squeeze your neck while fucking you silly sending you flying over the handle… quietly to

Favorite position is doggystyle. He likes to watch your ass bouncing against him

Donatello

Hide your sister, your momma, her sister and your grandma… this guy is a MASSIVE FREAK

Bondage. This man will strap you to a table by your wrists and ankles. He’ll sexually torture your nipples, clit or head and testicles

Slave training. Only when intimate does this normally mellow fellow need a touch of masochism. When with a male he’s a bottom therefore making him the sex slave

Spanking and whipping. He’ll tan those cheeks good and red then softly kiss the tender flesh sending your senses overboard

Anal, pegging, rimming, prostate massage and milking. Donnie knows that his back door is there for a reason and it’s not just to well you know

Electro sex, temperature play, wax play. Not only does he get off to your bodies reaction to stimuli, but he will jot it down in his notes

He also likes douching and enemas only if you’re comfortable. He likes to watch your abdomen fill with fluid and also he likes to work with a clean slate if you know what I mean

Squirting. THIS IS THIS MANS MIDDLE NAME. YOU MAY LOSE CONSCIOUSNESS

Donnie also likes snowblowing. If you don’t know what that is, google it

Oral sex and deepthroating. Donnie is a master at oral with his deep long neck and an equally long tongue. He can give head like a champ. However he tends to be a bit shy about you doing this too him. His length is nothing easy to swallow

His favorite materials for you to wear are latex, nylon or spandex

Has invented his own sex toys and several for you too

His favorite position is spooning from behind. With a male he would do a reach around

Mikey

Food play. Hide the syrup and the whip cream because baby boy is HUNGRY

Forced orgasm. Nothing turns him on more than to know he is in full control of your pleasure… and there’s nothing you can do about it

Spanking, paddling. Mikey won’t chap your ass but he does love the way it jiggles when he paddles you

Cream pies. This man will not only watch but want to taste. You’ll be cooing in a goopy mess in no time

Loves to go bareback because of how it feels. Not a fan of latex

Loves to give you money shots. His cum on your face is gold to him

Be prepared for lots of tickling, nipple play and clit or head play all whilst being restrained with fluffy handcuffs

Will masturbate in front of you or want you to do it so he can watch

Mikey likes strip teases in playful lingerie

His favorite materials for you to wear is metal or fur

Tentacle sex. He’s got several dildos with tons of lube waiting for you. He likes to watch the slippery appendage disappear into your cavity

Is not opposed to group sex especially if it’s with his brothers

Loves having sex in public. The risk of getting caught is just too thrilling to him.

His favorite position is woman on top. Doggystyle top for males.

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt bayverse #tmnt #tmnt raphael #tmnt leonardo #bayverse #tmnt 2016 #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #answered asks #tmnt kinks

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 months

Note

Hey Raven, i wanted to ask: Do you think if Silver was born as a girl that Lilia would have raised him differently? Basically, i wonder how Lilia would raise a girl.

What do you think..?

I really don't think Lilia would have raised a daughter any differently than a son. Starting out as a parent, Lilia had a hard time grasping the needs of a human child and how they differ from that of a fae child. For example, he wouldn't worry when infant Silver slipped out of his cradle (expecting Silver to come back on his own) and presently still tends to babies by feeding them milk not in a nippled bottle but from a regular cup. His primary concern, then, would mainly be on learning these nuances between human and fae rather than being concerned with male or female (the former being a far greater distinction than the latter).

Lilia and Silver's lifestyle would be the same, regardless of what Silver's sex is. He (or she) would still be in a position where they have to deal with a father that is messy and cannot cook well, which puts Silver in a situation where they have to grow up quickly to take care of Lilia and himself (when Lilia is away on his travels). This would probably result in a very similar personality forming for fem!Silver--someone who is diligent, reserved, and devoted to Lilia. I'm certain that Lilia would also still train Silver as a knight. I don't see him as the type of person who would perceive women as weak or helpless, nor do I see him discouraging a woman from being able to fight. After all, he knows and is close with two extremely powerful women (Meleanor and Maleficia) who could easily strike HIM down if they wanted to. Lilia laughs at the suggestion that his princess is a damsel in distress and is quick to correct others by informing them that maybe their princesses are like that, but his is not. Sure, that comes down to the Draconia blood making Meleanor powerful beyond the average mage--but what reason would Lilia have to deny Silver the same opportunity to gain the strength to protect others, just as Meleanor and Maleficia have for their own family and people? The fear of potentially losing Silver? But isn't it more dangerous to not let Silver have a fighting chance at all? That’s what I think, at least.

Finally, when it comes to things like "looking feminine" or "looking masculine", Lilia himself has always toed that line. In fact, he usually has the most feminine or flamboyant looks of Diasomnia. The most immediate example I can think of is his dorm uniform in which he proudly wears an oversized coat to give the appearance of being small and cute, and having tons of ruffles and a skirt-like flare to his pants. Lilia also often confidently brags about how "cute" he is and takes great pride in that cuteness. I'd imagine that he encourages Silver to dress how he likes, sex or gender be damned, so long as Silver feels his best. And Silver, being Silver, would probably just dress as usual Silver does, in something serious and practical rather than something "stylish".

I feel like the only thing that would really change is Silver not being able to attend NRC. (Well... unless it's a situation where fem!Silver attends anyway but is passing as a guy because of how androgenous she is.)

#twst #twisted wonderland #Lilia Vanrouge #Silver #Meleanor Draconia #Maleficia Draconia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #book 7 spoilers #notes from the writing raven #question #twst au #twisted wonderland au #au #twst genderbend #twisted wonderland genderbend #Maleanor Draconia

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eenslaved · 2 months

Text

It Starts With This

He has found that punishing their tits does wonders for acquainting them to the new reality of their situation. Their new status.

More than being penned in the cage, more than being stripped naked, more than the bondage and having their limbs chained, or having their mouths bitted like an animal, even more than being spanked or whipped or caned.

Very little physical effort goes a very long way when it comes to chastising a female's mammaries. One can almost see in their eyes the evolving understanding of their place after just one smack. The naked shock. The disbelief. Then, the dawning comprehension.

It only takes one lick of the whip, one open-handed slap, for their entire world view, their notion of themselves, to shift and be realigned to the new paradigm.

He never stops at just one, of course. No, the longer the flagellation, the deeper this lesson sinks in. He could go on for a long time, just flicking the whip, very minimal physical exertion on his part, back and forth, left globe, right globe. The tops, the nipples, the heavy bottom curves.

This tender part of a female, the womanly curves she took such pride in, soft mounds that she once dressed in delicate, lovely undergarments that cradled the flesh so faithfully, supported and plumped and presented them beneath her clothes - this aspect of her femininity, in counterpoint to the masculine form, associated with her ability to nurture and nourish - to inflict pain upon them in such a casual way, establishes her as a mere object, the purpose of which is to be available and pleasing to a male.

A male who has every right and privilege to punish every part of her.

As he takes up the whipping of her tits, she hops in place and stamps her feet, hunches her shoulders and tries to cringe away. None of it works to distract him from giving her mounds the attention due to them. Her tits jiggle and dance under the lash, eliciting yelps and shrieks of pain. She's really starting to understand now, that there's nothing she can do to stop this. She cannot prevent him from abusing her breasts. He is acquainting her with her vulnerability. He is chastising her for being what she is, a female, because this is the beginning of her reeducation.

Soon enough these nipples will suffer all manner of clamps, will be dragged down by weights and heavy bells, will have needles pushed through them and be decorated with rings and piercings. This flesh will be bound until they are engorged and taut in their encircling ropes, will have leather straps drawn tightly around them to highlight and outline their shape. Soon she will have her head hooded and wear an impenetrable steel belt over her holes, leaving just these two soft breasts, vulnerable and available for torture. Eventually they will learn what it is to wear the cups, to have tubes suctioning and siphoning ounces of milk each and every day, and she will see how her nipples are turned into elongated teats, being relieved of their daily yield.

But it all starts here, with this whipping she must receive while her arms are held pinioned behind her back by the ever-helpful nurse.

#lactating kink #huc0w #hucow fantasy #hucow training #humiliation kink #bd/sm kink #bdsmkink #story by eenslaved #d/s

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ashleyfilm · 4 days

Text

Seeing Clearly - Chapter 11. Joel

Hi Everyone! This is one is a bit different. We're gonna start with Joel's POV and then switch back to our dear Ash's POV. It will be clearly labeled. Enjoy!

Chapter Warnings: cursing, smut, softDom Joel, sub Ash, name calling during sex, light degradation, spanking, unprotected PIV, oral female and male receiving, all consensual - Minors - DNI

Characters: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!OC Plus Size Reader

Chapter Summary: Joel finds you after the incident with Ryan. 4.2K

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10

Chapter 11. Joel

Joel’s POV

Goddammit, how did this happen? How did he let this happen? How did he fail him again? He’s his little brother and he needs to take care of him. “Tommy, tell me who did this?” Tommy looks at Joel and sighs. Suddenly, the door opens, and Ellie enters like she’s on a sugar high. “Don’t worry, she took care of it,” Ellie says with a smile after she looks around and sees that Maria is no longer present. Joel’s mouth is a hard line, “What happened?” Ellie, just to be sure says, “Where’s Maria?” Tommy answers this time, “She’s down talking to some town leaders.” Ellie continues, “Okay, so Ash went to talk to Ryan,” Joel slams his hand down on the table and looks at Tommy, “Ryan did this?” Tommy gives him a look. Ellie, “Yeah, so she went into the cell with Ryan, and I don’t know what she said to him, but he looked so scared of her, it was awesome. By the time I got there, she had like clawed his face and then she said something else to him and he was crying, and she bit part of his ear off and spit it In! His! Face! It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.” “And that guy Bill, he escorted him out. So, I guess that’s that.”

Before anyone could respond, Joel walks out the front door as he says, “Ellie, stay with Tommy!” He walks as quickly as he can to your apartment, immediately knocking on your door. Impatient, he knocks again, and then the door whips open and you’re there. Your hair is damp from a shower, you’re wearing the sleeveless guns and roses shirt that you found with Joel when you were first here. With jeans that hugged your thighs and ass so nice. He’s speechless, you’re so fucking beautiful. He’s thought that since the day he found you covered in blood. He wanted you from the moment you first busted his balls. It took everything in him not to breakdown the door to your room in him house and fuck you that first night you slept there. He didn’t think he deserved you, he didn’t think you’d ever want him if you knew who he truly was. But now he sees that you’re the same. You did what he would have done, in your way, and he will be grateful to you for how you defended his brother for the rest of his days.

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Ash's POV

“Joel?” you say quietly. He looks at your face in a way you’ve never really seen before. His eyes are at once, beautiful, lusty, warm, and loving. He grabs your face in his big hands and his lips crash into yours. God, his lips are amazing. He pushes you inside the door and kicks it closed from the inside. Pushing you against the little table in your kitchenette, he starts to kiss your neck and palms your plump ass with both his hands. “I love this shirt on you,” Joel says into your neck. “Oh yeah?” you breathe out. “Yeah, you look hot, but I want it off,” Joel says as he pulls it up at the hem. You lift your arms up and let him take it off and throw it to the side. You’re not wearing a bra. He looks entranced by your heavy breasts, then reaches both hands and lifts one to feel the weight in his hands, the other he thumbs your nipple. “Fuck,” he groans, and you smile. “Okay, yours too, fair’s fair,” you sigh and start to take his shirt off as well. And he smiles and laughs, and you see that dimple and you cup your hand on his cheek. God, he’s just the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

For a second you worry, what if he pushes you away after this, what is this? He seems to notice the change in your eyes, and he holds your hand against his cheek, turns his mouth into your palm and kisses you there, never breaking away from your eyes. Then he pulls you close and your breasts touch his chest, and it feels sexual but also comforting and sweet. He smells your hair and holds you for so long, rubbing his hands down your back, while your hands move to his ass and squeeze. Which makes him chuckle. But then he stills, “Thank you, for what you did for Tommy. You…okay?” You sigh and run your nails up and down his lower back lightly, “So, Ellie spilled the beans? I’m sorry, Joel, I didn’t see her follow me and I-” he cut you off. “Don’t apologize, she’s seen worse. The little psycho loved it, I think she might be obsessed with you now, if she wasn’t already.”

“I’m fine, I’ve seen worse too,” you say, and he finally pulls back just enough to look at you. “You wanna tell me about that?” he asks as he pushes your hair behind your ear. And you nuzzle into his touch, “Maybe another time when both our tits aren’t out.” You lean in a put your mouth around his nipple, biting lightly. Then his hands fly to the button on your jeans as he moans, “You’re right, let’s take advantage of this first.” The two of you are giggling now, pulling at each other’s pants until you’re both just in your underwear, your little black ones that your ass has eaten up a little, Joel in little black boxer briefs. His fucking thighs, good lord. Your hands are all over each other and you’re making out like two wild animals. The next you know the back of your legs hit your mattress. Joel breaks your kiss to look at you. He looks like he wants to devour you, and you think you want him to.

“Lay on the bed,” he commands, and you obey laying back in just your underwear. He stands at the end of the bed towering over you. He’s so big, so intimidating, covered in scars but he’s so beautiful and you feel so safe. He gets down on his knees and pulls you to the end of the bed. “You good?” he breathes. “Yeah, I’m so good,” you gasp. He nods, like you gave him the green light and now there’s no holding back. He brings his face into your clothed pussy and inhales, “God, I missed you.” He says looking directly between your legs. He takes his time pulling at the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your legs. Instinctually, you start to close your knees but he’s quick to stop you, pushing them apart, “Gotta get a good look at her, sweetheart.” He uses his thumbs to pull your folds apart and look inside. No one has ever inspected you like this, it’s strange but it feels so sensual. “Oh, baby, you’re already so wet.” Joel says in an almost pitying way. “Need my help, pretty girl?” he asks as he looks into your eyes, and you feel his hot breath on your leaking hole. You nod, and of course he demands, “Baby, I need to hear your words. Answer me when I speak to you, you understand?” A shiver runs down your spine and even more slick starts to collect at your entrance. “Yes, I need your help, Joel,” you whine, and he says, looking back at your wet cunt, “You like that, don’t you? You like when I tell you what to do. Interesting, you’re such a pain in my ass out there, but in here, you just want to be my good girl, don’t you?” You bite your lip, and then remember your instructions, “Yes, I want to be your good girl, Joel.” “Good,” he says.

Then he takes his hot, wet, tongue and licks into your folds, groaning, “You taste so good, fuck, baby. I could lay here and just taste you for hours.” “Joel,” you gasp, and he starts to press his tongue as far inside your hole as he can, fucking you with his tongue. He then takes one of your hands and puts it to your breast to squeeze. Your other hand flies into his curls, scratching and rubbing at his scalp. His hands are holding your hips and ass from underneath you, pushing your pussy into his face while he continues working you with his tongue, his perfect nose is nudging your clit. Then he brings his mouth away, and spits down onto your opening. “Joel, fuck,” you gasp. “Mmm hmm,” he grunts and moves his mouth up to your bundle of nerves and sucks hard while he slides two thick fingers inside and almost immediately you say, “Joel, I’m gon-, I’m gonna, fuck, I’m coming!” You scream as your body winds so tight, and you fall completely apart groaning and moaning so loudly. Joel licks up everything you give him, you end up having to pull him off you then he looks up at you breathing heavy and smiling at you, “You came so fast, baby, that was incredible. I can’t believe the sounds I can get you to make, fuck. Jus’ perfect.”

You’re breathing hard while Joel rests his head on your thick thigh and rubs his hand along your belly, your hip and down your leg. You’ve still got your hand in his hair, it’s so incredibly soft. Joel starts to stand up and you sit up. He starts to take your glasses off, but you stop him saying, “No, I need to see.” Then you pull at the waist band of his underwear, “Why are these still on?” He smirks at you and starts to take them off and you lay back propped up on your elbows. He stands back to his full height, completely naked, and what a sight. His cock is at attention, thick, long, big. Not scary big, but like you know you’re gonna feel it the next day big. Your lips part and you stare, “Enjoying the view?” Joel asks with a smirk. You respond immediately, “My god Joel, no wonder you walk around like you do, all confident and bitchy.” He chuckles and then he looks serious again, “Get on your hands and knees.” You do it immediately facing the headboard of your bed.

Joel is basically growling from behind you. You look over your shoulder at him, you know you must look so fucked out. He smiles at you, while stroking his cock. You can’t pull your eyes away. “On second thought, why don’t come over here and get me nice and wet with that smart mouth of yours,” he says with a chuckle as he smacks your ass and then palms the cheek with his hand. You turn around and kneel on the bed eye level with his cock. You take your glasses off and hand them to him smiling. “Don’t need these now.” Joel groans, “Fuck, baby, you are such a good girl in here, so well-behaved. Now, open up.” Joel takes his dick in his hand and brings it to rest on your tongue and starts tapping and you love it. You didn’t think you could get any more wet, but you could feel it on your thick inner thighs. You wrap your mouth around the head to taste him and moan around him. He grabs your hair together at the nape of your neck holding you there, groaning above you. You use your tongue to lick the underside of his dick, putting wet slopy kisses over his cock. You whine as he pulls you off him, “Okay, okay, we can do more of that another time, but I need ‘ta be inside you now. Inside her,” he coos as he brings his hand between your legs and smacks your lips, and you moan.

You move to get back on your hands and knees, but he stops you with a hand on your back and says, “Changed my mind, want you ‘ta ride me, first.” He sits on the bed with his back against the headboard. His dick throbbing and still wet from your mouth. Joel smacks his thigh, “Come on up here, baby.” You crawl up to him and straddle him with your knees on the outside of his thighs. He starts maneuvering you, grabbing your ass and pulling you up so your stomach pushes up against his cock and his tummy. His mouth finds yours and he kisses you passionately, while he lifts you by your hips and lines his cock up with you, hitting your clit first and you shiver. Then he notches at your opening and starts to help you slide all the way down over his cock. “Ooo fuck.” “Damn baby.” You both moan out together at the feeling. “Fuck, she’s so tight, uhnnn perfect fuckin’ cunt.” Joel stumbles over his words. Your eyes are squeezed shut, reveling in the feeling of Joel inside you, finally. “God, I’m so full, oh, it feels so good, Daddy.” Your eyes fly open in shock at what you said and Joel stills. When you look up into his eyes, they look fully black, he notices your fear and starts thrusting up into you hard and says, “How does Daddy feel? Tell me, now.” And you respond holding onto his shoulders for leverage as you start bouncing on him, “So good, Daddy, you’re so big.”

Joel growls and watches your heavy tits bounce in front of his face. Taking one of your breasts into his wet, warm mouth. And now that you’re bouncing on his cock on your own, his hands roam all over your body and moves the hair out of your face. “Wanna see you when you come on my cock, beautiful. Think you can come like this, baby?” You nod, unable to speak, and he doesn’t press you to use words. “Yeah? Yeah, Daddy’s dick making you feel so good, so full you’re gonna come all over me, yeah? Just a slut for Daddy’s cock? Come for me, do it. Come. Now.” And you do, with a slur of moans, fucks, daddys, Joels. He fucks you through it, and you bury your face in his neck. And he pets your hair and holds you close. “So good baby, you did so good for me. But we’re not done, are we?” You shake your head into his shoulder. He lays you back on the bed with your head on the pillow and walks into the kitchen, you barely hear him doing something in there, trying to bring yourself back down to earth.

Next thing you know, Joel is sitting down next to you on the bed pulling you up gently by the arm to sit you up and holds out a glass of water for you. Meanwhile his raging hard on catches your eye. After he helps you gulp down a few sips of water, he sets the glass on your nightstand next to the black wolf. You see him smile shyly when he turns back to you. He notices some water falling down your chin, and his smile widens, he reaches up and wipes the water away and licks his thumb and gives you a sweet kiss as you reach out to touch his length. He groans into your mouth and says, “Oh, you want more already, honey? You sigh, “I want to take care of you, Joel.” He smiles while he says, “Don’t you mean, Daddy?” You giggle, “Shut up…Daddy!” Then you’re both laughing, and he lies you back down. “I do really like it, you callin’ me that. You can do it any time you like, ya hear me?” He says leaning over you. “Yeah, I could tell you liked it,” you say reaching up to rub your fingers through his hair. “You could? Well, you’re the one who said it, Oooh Daddy,” he says imitating you in the throes of passion.

You slap his chest lightly and turn on your side like you’re angry, but he can’t see the little smile on your face. “Baby…” he rubs your arm and kisses your shoulder, “I didn’t mean it, you know how much I fuckin’ love all the things you say and the sounds you make, you drive me fucking crazy with that.” Your shoulders start to shake as you laugh, he pulls you to your back and sees that you’re laughing. “You little brat, you scared me. I thought you were mad, ughhhh. Come here.” He pulls you over his lap with your head down and your ass up. “You know what happens to little brats?” He says tracing his fingers over your plump ass. “What happens, Daddy?” you coo over your shoulder at him. That’s when he smacks your ass hard with his big hand. “Brats get punished, baby,” he says and smacks you again and again. “Oooh, Daddy, fuck,” you moaned. “God, I knew you’d like this, such a bad girl.”

After a few more sharp smacks, Joel teases you with his fingers from behind and it feels like heaven. “Oh my god, Joel,” you gasp as he runs his fingers lightly up your back with his other hand. “Feel good? Tell me. Tell me how it feels,” he says low and rumbly. “It feels different and messy and so, so good. Need more,” you choke out in between whines and groans. “Oh, you need more? Okay, baby. I’ll give you more,” Joel says in this pitying way you just melt for. Joel then moves you back to lay your head on the pillow and he climbs on top of you, making you feel overwhelmed with him, his fucking scent which is magnified by the way your bodies are working together. It’s intoxicating and you feel like you’re in a fever dream. “Give me this leg baby,” he groans as he notches his dick at your center and pushes your leg behind your knee against your chest, folding you. He pushes in so slowly and you feel everything. Every inch, every vein, everything. You’re both moaning and moving your hips to meet each other. You didn’t know anything could ever feel like this. Feel this good and right and perfect. His right hand comes up to cup your cheek and make you look into his eyes. He’s close enough that you can see him and see the warmth and depth in his eyes. It’s like his eyes are trying to communicate with you, tell you he’s here, that he’s not leaving. You want to believe it so badly. But he’s hurt you before. With a hard and deep thrust the worries are taken from your mind and you turn yourself over to him, surrendering completely. Letting him inside, taking the risk. He kisses you then. And now all the words are gone, it’s just your moans, his grunts, his whimpers. You know this is something different, something special not just for you, but for him as well. He takes two fingers and puts them in your mouth, wetting them on your tongue and then his hand moves between your bodies, finding your clit with ease. Rubbing them easily into you, mixing your spit with your slick and you know you’re going to come apart again. He finally speaks but his voice is quiet and soft, “I know, I know, it’s okay, let go.” And you do, completely blind with pleasure. Your muscles contract and everything feels so good you don’t ever want it to stop. Joel continues the movements of his hips and his fingers. When it feels like you can’t go any higher, you’re hit with another wave of pleasure even stronger than the last, screaming Joel’s name into his neck. Joel is quickly coming apart and he asks, “Where? Tell me, where?” You can barely think but you respond, “Inside. Please.” And he releases, rope after warm rope of himself into you like a splash, and you think you might come again from the feeling.

You both breathe and try to come back down to reality. You don’t know how long it takes but he slips out of you, and you feel him dripping from your center. He takes the time to look at what he’s done, he looks mesmerized. He looks back at you, a tear coming out of your eye down the side of your face onto the pillow, he wipes it away and then grabs the glass of water to hand to you. He walks into your bathroom, and you hear the water running, he comes back with a warm washcloth and cleans you up and then himself. Setting the cloth back in the bathroom he comes back to join you. Taking the water and finishing it himself. “Can I hold you?” he asks quietly. You nod and he pulls you into his arms, your face in his neck, legs tangling together, he kisses your forehead as he tells you to rest, and you do.

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You wake up what feels like a couple of hours later, cold, alone. Of course he left. Did it even really happen, or had it been some dream to torture you? Suddenly you hear your door opening quietly, you sit up in bed, tears in your eyes and the sheets pulled up to cover your chest. Joel walks in, you can tell by his outline, and you reach for your glasses. He sees you and speaks, “Oh, you’re up. I thought I’d be back before you woke up. Had ‘ta go see Ellie, make sure she was okay. Hey, what’s wrong?” He walks over to you quickly cradling your face in his hands and wiping away your tears. You speak looking away from him, “I thought you left me. I didn’t think you were coming back.” He sighs, that classic Joel sigh but it’s not harsh or exhausted, this one is laced with guilt. “I’m so sorry. Look, I need to say something to you right now,” he sighs again and moves to hold your hands, waiting for you to look him in the eyes. “I know I’ve hurt you; I’ve disappointed you; I’ve pushed you away. I’ve acted like an asshole, well, I am an asshole. But I’ve lost so much, not more than others, but I lost my daughter the night of the outbreak, I hesitated, and I couldn’t save her. I’ve never forgiven myself and it… it tore me apart.” Tears start to form in his big brown eyes, and you hold his hand a little tighter. “It was just her and I, Sarah, she was perfect. And I didn’t think I could live without her. I tried to end it, but I couldn’t. The man I became after that, I was so dead inside, but so angry at the same time. I enjoyed hurting people; I liked causing pain to people I thought deserved it. Then I met Ellie, and she changed me, reminded me of Sarah, gave me a reason to try again. I love that girl and some of the worst things I’ve ever done, I did to save her.” Joel takes a deep breath, forcing himself to keep looking at you. Then, I meet you, and you made me want things I haven’t really wanted since before Sarah was born. But I didn’t think you would want me if you knew who I was. But I’m starting to think I was wrong, that you understand, and you do see me. And I hope you still want me. Because you’re all I want.” Your breath catches in your throat, and he grabs your hands tighter and pulls you closer. “I think about you every minute. I dream about you every night. I want to hold you, protect you, feed you, fuck you, listen to you talk, and show everyone in this town that you belong to me. If that’s what you want. If you can forgive me.”

You slowly start to smile, small just barely but he catches it, and now both of you have a tear streak down your cheek. “Joel, I forgive you. You make me feel safe. Sometimes you even make me forget all the bad shit that’s happened to me. I see how you are with Ellie and Tommy, and me, I guess I know that now. I want to be with you. All of you, every part. I wish I could have met Sarah. I can’t even imagine how much she loved you, Joel but I can feel it.” He kisses you then, slowly, tenderly. He takes a deep breath, and says, “I wish you could have known her; she would have loved you. Ash, baby, I lo-.”

There’s a loud knock at the door and then Ellie’s voice, “JOEL!! ASH!! Open up!” Joel runs to the door as you start to pull your clothes back on. He opens and Ellie’s breathing heavy like she just ran here, “Knew you’d be here.” She wags her eyebrows at both of you. Joel frowns and grunts out, “Ellie, what’s so damn important?” Ellie’s eyes go wide like she just remembered why she came here in the first place, “Oh yeah, uh, Maria’s in labor.” Joel looks at you with eyes of panic, your mouth opens in shock. After a few seconds you collect yourself and pull on your boot finally fully dressed, “Let’s go, Uncle Joel!” He smiles, giddy, so does Ellie. Joel grabs your hand in his and then the three of you run out of your place to go find Maria and Tommy.

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