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kscheibles · 8 months

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e la vita ch. 1

content warnings: f! reader, drug mentions, drinking, emetophobia, bisexuality (homophobes and biphobes begone I will block u so fast)

word count: 3.8k

I didn’t want to be in Italy this summer.

That makes me sound ungrateful or something, but it’s the truth. Three months ago, I had planned to stay in Brooklyn with Claire all summer long. Hosting dinner parties, eating greasy breakfast sandwiches, dancing to old $1 records in our cramped apartment, picnicking in Prospect Park, and being totally, delusionally in love.

That was before things went south, she stopped trying and left me with more rent than I could possibly pay in the city. When Christina had first mentioned that a group of her friends was headed to Italy for the summer, I’d dismissed the possibility of going with them. Not only did I dread cohabitating with her wealthy, influencer friends who seemed to deal only in clout, I thought I’d be otherwise engaged. Weeks later, I’d gone back to her groveling, asking if I could sleep on the pull-out couch in Nina’s family villa for the summer. Luckily, the sofa was still available.

Now I sit at a wrought iron table – lease broken and all of my belongings sold to wealthy Manhattanites – in the warm yellow light of the Lombard sunset. Around me are chatty, outgoing girls, each more beautiful than the last. They gab about clubs and brands and boys. In the sea of Botox and iPhones, I cling to Christina like a life buoy. I push my tortellini around my plate to make it look like I have an interest in food, but I really don’t. I’m jet-lagged and uncomfortable. And even if that wasn’t the case, I’ve barely eaten since the breakup, relying on oat lattes and dirty water dogs to keep me alive.

“Try the pasta,” Christina jabs, “trust me, you’ll have a lot more fun this summer if you lean in.” I break the shell open with my fork revealing succulent ricotta curds and bright green spinach. The filing swims in a sauce of brown butter and fragrant tarragon but doesn’t affect me as it should. Nothing does anymore. The group’s conversation interrupts my train of thought.

“They’ve come every summer since the nineties, same as us,” says Nina, smirking at the girl to her left. “Hottest little accents you’ve ever heard, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Who is she talking about?” I whisper to Christina.

“The boys in the other house,” she says, “the one you see on your way up here.” Nina’s family’s home is at a higher altitude than the rest of the city, necessitating a laborious hike to the bottom to actually do anything while in town. I’m sure that they’d been sold on the privacy of the location, but its impracticality left me wanting. The only other villa nearby sat at the base of the lush green hills before the road disappeared into winding dirt.

Another girl chimes in, “I saw them last year at a dinner in the city. They’re cute, too,” she coos.

“I kissed George the summer I turned fifteen,” brags Nina and the whole table breaks into oohs and aahs. I usually have a shut-up-unless-spoken-to policy at group dinners, but I know Christitna is right. If I don’t lean in then the credit card debt I’d amassed to buy my plane ticket and the back problems I'm sure to contract from sleeping on a pull-out couch for a whole summer will have been for naught. Think of it as an acting exercise, I tell myself, a performance of the girl who is totally not hung up on her ex and excited for a fun summer with her friends.

“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, “who are these guys?”

“They’re in a band,” says Nina.

“Like a real one?” I ask. Years of living in New York have taught me that all bands are not, in fact, real ones. Nina laughs.

“You’re funny,” she muses, “yes, a real one. They’re like famous. We’ll go over eventually, they throw the best parties you can find around here. Get real drugs, too. Not just liters upon liters of Aperol, not that I mind that either.”

With my question sufficiently answered, I return quietly to my pasta, cutting each shell into impossibly smaller pieces until it’s rabbit food that will glide down my throat and do the hard job of nourishing me without any work on my part.

–

After dinner, I tuck into the pull-out couch in the villa’s spacious living room. The lack of A/C and the balmy summer air make it impossible to enjoy the luxurious wool blankets Nina’s family no doubt splurged on. I allow myself to eavesdrop on the elated sounds coming from upstairs: women confiding in each other, commiserating about their troubles, and shrieking excitedly at each other's successes.

I first try to doze off at 10:15, hoping that an early night will be exactly what I need and I’ll wake up refreshed and on Italian time. After an hour of staring at the popcorn ceilings and trying to suppress my crippling fear of missing out, I’ve tired my mind out enough to begin slipping toward sleep. I have fewer and fewer thoughts until I’m jolted by a hip-hop bassline. It resonates through the trundle bed and rebounds off my ribs, cozying itself into my heart. As I begin to come to, I recognize the chords of a house track that used to play at the girl bar Claire and I frequented in Green Point. The melody is warm and familiar and undeniably annoying. How loud must the music be for it to affect me so acutely even as I’m a few kilometers away from them?

I decide I’m pissed – and yes I decided. I’m freshly single, broke, jet-lagged, and fucking pissed at those entitled rich assholes. I slide my sandals on and head out down the hill in my sleep clothes.

I step outside onto the winding dirt road that leads the way to the boys’ home. The night is dark, lit by stars much brighter than I’m used to seeing in Brooklyn. I tilt my head back to look at them, trying to identify the big dipper. After a few seconds, I’m dizzy. I shake myself and trudge ahead, almost lulled into submission by the constant chirping of cicadas and the sweet fragrance of orange blossom that wafts off the bushes.

With each step I take towards the boys’ villa (what were their names again? Nina said one was called George), the music, electronic and fast-paced, becomes louder.

When I first knock on the faded wood door, I’m quite sure no one has heard me. I stand outside for a few minutes, contemplating whether I should knock again or cut my losses and return up the hill. I decide I may as well disrupt their party as some kind of karmic retribution for keeping me awake even as I’m exhausted from a transatlantic flight. I raise my fist and rap harshly at the door. A moment later, it flies open, revealing a curly-haired boy. Well, not boy, I decide as I inspect his features – lines decorate his forehead, and gray peeks out at me from within a ringlet that hangs over his eyes. He gives me a once over and can immediately tell I’m not here for the party.

“Can I help you?” he asks, annoyed. His accent lilts and falls over the words. All of a sudden, I feel insecure in my braless and plaid pajama-clad state. He’s beautiful – and exasperated by me. I double down on my own annoyance.

“Would you mind turning the music down?” I ask, still cordial, “I’m staying at the house up the way and I can’t get to sleep.”

The guy in front of me purses his lips and considers me for a moment. I feel itchy and uncomfortable. He’s looking at me like he can see through my clothes, to my soft hips and painted toes and peaked nipples.

“Let me show you around, gorgeous,” he smiles, “then maybe you won’t mind so much.” He grabs my wrist and yanks me into the party. A warmth covers me as I cross the threshold into the villa. The inside of the home smells like college: cheap weed, sweet sticky mixers, and sweat. My sandals stick slightly to the floor, reminding me that I really shouldn’t be here right now. Like the alcohol that’s been spilled on the ground is some great cosmic interference to convince me to go home and get the rest I ought to.

Suddenly, a big hand falls on the shoulder of the boy who’s pulling me by my limbs.

“Matty!” says the man. I can make out enough to see that he’s tall and devastatingly handsome.

“George!” the boy – Matty, I remind myself – drops my hand and fully embraces the bigger guy. “Was just showing…” he nods at me to introduce myself.

“Y/n.”

“Around,” Matty finishes. George gives me a once over.

“Did she just roll out of bed? Or get released from prison?”

“Y/n came to ask us to keep the noise down,” Matty declares with fake sincerity, “Not a partier, are ya love?”

“Under the right circumstances, I can be,” I retort. Matty and George’s eyebrows raise in amusement, faces breaking out in smiles. That sounded much more cunning in my head. Now I feel like a toy they’re playing with, winding me up to see what noises I make. It feels infantilizing. I’m uncomfortable, crawling in my skin; pride battered and desperate to go home as soon as it doesn’t look like I’m running away from a fight of my own picking. “I’d better be going actually,” I assert.

Matty puckers his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I’ll show you out, princess.” It’s a sweet nickname but it tastes bitter out of his mouth. He seems to twist everything good and make it unbearable. I resent him for it. I trudge in front of Matty towards the door with steadfast focus. As I cross the threshold, I turn to meet his gaze.

“Thanks for nothing,” I say calmly. Matty breaks into a devilishly smug grin. His eyebrows tilt a little and his lips reveal a few crooked teeth at the bottom of his mouth.

“My pleasure, darlin’,” he says. I scoff and turn on my heels, leaving Matty in the dust.

–

The scent of freshly chopped garlic fills the kitchen as I stand in an assembly line of young women with cutting boards and chefs knives, each diligently chopping an ingredient for the bruschetta.

In front of me is a bunch of basil, perfectly fresh and green. I gently remove the leaves from the stem and create a pile in the middle of my board. It reminds me of when I would be tasked with raking the leaves as a kid. Too distracted by my childish whims, I would create more work for myself by piling the leaves on top of each other and taking a grandiose dive into them before scooping them up into a trash bag and discarding them. Each leaf was like a piece of confetti, a celebration of the season and of youth. Now I do these things to prove to myself that I’m young and that I can still conjure up that imaginative, playful nature if I try hard enough.

As I rock my knife back and forth over the soft leaves, Christina asks me where I was the night before.

“I came out around eleven to invite you upstairs, but I couldn’t find you,” she says.

Embarrassed, I train my eyes to the task at hand. This is not the group to look like a tattle-tale in front of. Actually, there’s very few groups in which that would fly. My penchant for playing God and divvying out karmic consequences to everyone whose path I cross is a part of my nature I’m not particularly fond of. I’m not keen to share it, especially around people who are still making up their minds about me. Despite my steadfast beliefs and borderline-outlandish behaviors, I maintain a fervent desire to be liked. It’s pathetic.

“I stepped out for some air,” I murmur.

“Really?” she nudges, “Because I didn’t see you on the porch.”

I turn my basil bunch 90 degrees in a flourish, beginning to chop it lengthwise.

“Fine, I couldn’t sleep because of the music,” I spit.

“And…” Christina has always been too good at getting me to reveal my true feelings. She goads me torturously until it’s easier to say what I’m thinking than to conceal it.

“And I went to ask them to turn the music down,” I finish, “There, are you happy?”

“Very,” she smiles.

I pick up the chopped basil, letting the pieces float through my fingers and deciding I need to chop them smaller, still. I whack at the pile haphazardly, ruining the lovely squares I meticulously crafted earlier.

“They didn’t turn it down, if you were wondering,” I pant, “Pricks.” Christina chuckles to herself.

“No one ever does.”

–

The music of the club is omnipresent as I enter hand in hand with Christina. On my feet are heels too high to be comfortable, but the perfect lift to accentuate my calves. As soon as I cross the threshold, I drag Christina to the bartender, ordering two negronis. We idle by the bar for a moment and I take in my surroundings, savoring the bitter aftertaste of my drink and the waltz of the lights that flicker and cover the dancefloor with reverie. I listen to the synths and flourishes of the melody that envelop my senses. I hadn’t expected to like the music, but the DJ is spinning disco and it just feels right: the cold Italian aperitif, the funky basslines, and the tranquil nighttime air. I almost wish I’d left my phone at home. Nights like these aren’t compatible with phones anyway. The atmosphere feels like a relic of a bygone era, full of free love and intoxication.

Nina and a friend of hers find Christina and me at the bar and run up to us with inebriated bravado. “You guys made it!” she squeals. Little does she know we were pre-gaming at the villa in anticipation of this exact moment. I couldn’t handle Nina while sober tonight, that much I was absolutely sure of. It also didn’t help that I was alone – for the first time in several years – in a romantic foreign country without the girl whom I still loved. As unhealthy as it was, alcohol made that reality hurt a bit less. Nina grabs my hands and leads Christina and me away from the bar.

“I need to introduce you to the DJs!” Nina exclaims. I glance at Christina to communicate that no, I’m not particularly enthused at the prospect of meeting some Eurotrash guy whose head is shaved and whose torso is covered in Gucci logos. She returns the glance, silently begging me to behave. I relent.

Nina leads us around the side of the floor to some kind of dark stairwell. Rationally, I should be scared of being kidnapped but my drunken stupor inspires more carelessness than I would usually indulge in. I watch the sway of Christina’s hips and follow her like a lost puppy. Finally, we reach the top and the DJ deck is revealed. It’s shadowy and hazy. To the left is a corner booth with a straight couple making out in a way that really ought to be illegal in public. Past the lookout, laser lights flicker and sweep across the dancefloor, catching on the artificial fog and filling the air with psychedelic color. My eyes fall on the backs of two figures at the DJ booth, smoke rising above their heads. I can make out that one has headphones on and is faffing with the turntable while the other has their hands in the air and the small, flickering glow of a lit cigarette dancing around their figure. I’m dragged towards them by Nina who throws an arm around each of their necks in greeting. As soon as the one with the cig turns around, I catch his eyes.

It’s Matty. Selfish, arrogant Matty. I nod my head and flatten my mouth in a kind of recognition. The room is spinning from the alcohol and my skin is buzzing with discomfort. The bass of the music resonates in my ribs, teaching my heart how to beat. My mouth tastes salty and my knees feel weak.

I’m running to the corner where I can see a bin. Tears prick at my eyes and my hair sticks to my sweaty forehead as I swiftly empty the contents of my stomach into the small trash can. I kneel on the rough carpet and brace myself on either side of the bin with my hands. Between heaves, I lift my head to shake my hair off the back of my neck. The cool air feels grounding, but I’m soon back with my head in the can. I feel a hand on the back of my head, wrangling my frizzy hair off of my shoulders. I gasp, looking back for the sisterly comfort of Christina’s bottomless, cerulean eyes. Instead, I find a pair of brown, honey-flecked irises: Matty’s. I’m reeling too severely to be upset or confused; I’m just grateful when he uses his free hand to sweep my damp bangs out of my face and nods at me.

“Go on,” he encourages, “better out than in.”

I bury my head in the bucket again.

“Atta girl,” Matty coos in my ear. I can almost notice his hand rubbing circles on my back. Even when I’m quite sure I’m finished, I keep my head down for a moment savoring the last few seconds that I don’t have to look Matty in the eyes. Curse him for helping me. I wouldn’t know how to interact with him under normal circumstances, much less when he’s been nice to me – and watched me unceremoniously blow chunks into a bin.

“You feel better?” he asks. I lift my head tentatively, still scared another wave of nausea will hit me.

“I think so, yeah,” I mumble. Matty searches my eyes for any warning sign that I’m still sick.

“Have you got a hair tie?” I instinctually fish in my jeans pocket for one, handing it to him. Slowly, he corrals my locks into a ponytail and secures it, fingers grazing the tops of my ears and making me shiver. I sit back against the wall with my legs splayed out in front of me, knees visibly carpet burnt from my previous position. Matty flops down beside me. He reaches out to touch the red, irritated skin.

“You don’t need a doctor or something, do you?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I hiss when he applies a little pressure to my knee and shake his hands off me, “Why are you being nice to me?”

“When have I not been nice?”

“You wouldn’t turn the music down the other night,” I state. He smiles at me, eyes scrunching up until his pupils are totally obscured.

“No one ever turns the music down,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus,” he adds, “I thought you were a buzzkill. Now I can see that’s not the case, sweetheart.”

“I can usually handle my drink better than this,” I protest, “And I’m also usually not a buzzkill.”

“I guess I don’t know anything about you, then,” he acquiesces, thinking for a moment, “Do you want to start over?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” I nod, smiling tipsily.

“So what’s caused you to be sick tonight?” Matty asks, leaning his head back against the wall. His hair is curled up in perfect ringlets and his skin glows golden even in the dim club light. He looks at me carefully, like his stare could hurt me. It could, I suppose.

“Alcohol?” I say it like that should be obvious. His face wrinkles up again in a laugh I can vaguely identify as something that’s my fault. He looks pretty. I realize I want to make him do it again and again forever. I want to see the crinkles that grow at the sides of his eyes and the curl of his upper lip that reveals his boyishly crooked teeth.

“I figured as much. Anything in particular that drove you to drink?” I frown for a second, trying to remember.

“My ex,” I say quietly.

“What’d he do?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, “that’s the problem. She didn’t do anything.”

“When was that?”

“Two months ago?” My god, it’s already been two months.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “that’s still fresh.” I shrug.

“It’s alright I guess. You just feel a little betrayed when someone stops trying. I thought that was the whole point of…” I trail off, gesticulating aimlessly with my hands, “love or whatever. To keep trying.”

“I get it,” he utters.

“People stop trying with rockstars, too?” I tease. He smiles.

“How did you know that I’m a musician?”

“Well, first of all, I said rockstar–”

“Which I chose to ignore because it was sarcastic.” I roll my eyes.

“And second of all, the girls I’m staying with told me,” I finish. He nods in understanding.

“Well yeah,” he sighs pensively, “people stop trying with everybody. Even rockstars. If I’ve learnt anything in my life, it’s that giving up usually has more to do with them than it does with you.”

“You’re probably right, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less,” I argue.

“Nothing does. You just have to let it hurt for a while.”

We’re both quiet for a second. I catch a couple of bars of an Earth, Wind, and Fire song and hum along, content with the silence. I let my head fall onto Matty’s shoulder and he immediately turns his head to look at me.

“Oh fuck, sorry. Is this okay?” I ask, hand flying to my mouth “I know I just puked.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “I just didn’t think you would want to.”

“I want to,” I kiss his shoulder through the cotton of his white button-up shirt. He watches me the whole time as though he can’t quite compute what’s happening. Then he snaps back to his regular confident state.

“Let me know if you ever want to deal with your girlf– ex without drinking your feelings away…” he trails off, mouth meeting the crown of my head, “I’d love to show you around here sometime.”

“Okay,” I mumble, the alcohol, tiredness, and emotions beginning to get the better of me and coax me toward sleep.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Matty grabs my hand from my lap and wraps it in his two larger ones, caressing my thumb and humming into my ear.

–

a/n: the next bit is written, but I am still writing the end. smut soon! x

#matty healy fanfic #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fluff #matty healy fanfiction #matty Healy

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lewmagoo · 2 years

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drenched in molten gold | b. bradshaw, n. trace

description: in which two very attentive pilots take it upon themselves to make you feel the most pleasure possible

warnings: 18+, f/f/m threesome, oral (f/f), unprotected sex

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x fem!reader x natasha "phoenix" trace

notes: here, have another repurposed story from my arsenal. this fic is literally just my raging bisexuality taking over my brain

You were burning up.

Your skin was hot, hot, hot. The hands that splayed over you were intensifying that all-consuming heat, and you couldn’t think about anything else other than the pleasure you were feeling.

You weren’t entirely sure how things had escalated this quickly, but you were certainly not voicing any complaints. Not when you had your man on one side, and a beautiful girl on the other. All you knew was that it was quite literally a dream come true. A long-running fantasy that had finally been fulfilled.

The crew was on a weekend trip. A rare occasion where they all had some downtime, and they were taking advantage of every last second of it.

Somehow, you’d ended up with Rooster and Phoenix for most of the weekend. Not that you minded. Bradley at your side was already a given, because he was your boyfriend, after all. But Natasha was a new, and welcome, addition.

What you hadn’t expected was for things to escalate so quickly. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, one that ended with the three of you naked and cozied up together in a hot tub. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’d been all over each other for most of the night, and had only just decided to head back up to your hotel room together.

Bradley held your hand in his as he headed down the hall, leading Phoenix to your room at the end of the hall. He slid his key card into the slot on the door, allowing you both to step in before he did. The moment the lights were flipped on, the door shut behind your trio, he announced, "I'm gonna go start the hot tub. Phe, if you want to grab that champagne off the table over there and bring it out, you can."

You stood in the middle of the room, watching each of them walk off. Bradley stepped outside, taking on the project of figuring out how to turn the tub on while Natasha retrieved the champagne and glasses. Down in the lobby, your man had specifically requested champagne to be brought up to your room. The staff was prompt enough to have it ready and waiting when you arrived.

"C'mon, pretty girl," Phoenix drawled, turning to you as she walked backward toward the balcony. Her dark eyes never left you, and it made your heart quicken in your chest. Swallowing, you complied, following her close behind. You came to a stop in the doorway, watching as she set the bottle of champagne down, along with the glasses.

At that point, Bradley had managed to turn on the tub, and was now approaching you. He offered a gentle smile, and his large, warm hands came up to cup your face as he kissed you deeply. When he pulled away, he was still gazing at you, a look of sincerity blossoming in his eyes as he lowered his voice for only you to hear. "If you want to stop at any time, I want you to say so. Understand?"

"Y-yes," you mustered. But you would be just fine, you knew you would. You were simply still a little in shock. This was all happening so fast, and it was a lot to wrap your head around.

Rooster turned you around gently, so you were facing Phoenix. She held eye contact with you as she began undressing, slowly and languidly, moving her body in such a way that had you going hot with desire. Your breath hitched at the sight of her lithe frame as it was slowly exposed to you. Her beautiful breasts, her smooth skin, the flash of neatly kept dark hair just between her thighs.

She watched as Bradley reached down, taking ahold of your dress and slipping it over your head, exposing you entirely. He ran a soothing hand down the side of your arm before encouraging you to step forward so he could shed his own clothing. Natasha offered a warm smile, one that reached her eyes, as she reached out for your hand. You let her take it, and as she stepped into the warm water, you followed willingly.

Your heart continued to thud erratically against your chest as a feeling of buzzing anticipation swirled to life within your belly. She never broke eye contact with you as she sank down into the water, still holding your hand in hers. You knelt with her, and soon you were face to face, bodies submerged.

Her delicate fingers came up to brush across your warm cheek. "You...are so beautiful." Her voice danced past her lips with such gentleness and grace. Your chest heaved, allowing her view of the top swell of your breasts as you did so. "Can I...?"

You nodded, not quite sure what she was getting at, but at that point, you knew you would allow her to do whatever she pleased. She was kind and considerate of your limits, and you were comfortable in her presence. She made you feel safe.

She let her hand drop to your right breast, softly cupping it before her fingers brushed over your nipple. You couldn't help the quiet little whimper that left your throat as she did so, and you could see the satisfaction in her eyes at the sound. While she ducked down to wrap her pretty lips around the delicate bud, Bradley was popping open the champagne behind you, keeping an eye on you as he filled the three glasses, placing them upon the ledge of the hot tub.

Then he climbed into the water to join the both of you, where he reached out to place a hand on you, pulling you back a little. He had you sit on the little ledge along the wall of the tub - which elevated you enough to expose your breasts to the open air - soon moving to grab the glasses from the edge. He handed one to you, and one to Phoenix, who'd already joined you both. The last glass, of course, was for himself.

You already felt like you were on fire, and you knew it wasn't just because of the warm water in which you were submerged. The man you loved and desired above all others was pressed up against you, completely bare, while a breathtakingly beautiful woman was at your other side, equally as bare. And soft. So soft.

Her lips, at some point, found their way to your neck, where she began to gently nip. Rooster slid his free hand up along your arm, letting you know he was right there, experiencing this with you. You moaned, letting your head fall against his shoulder, as Phoenix continued attending to your neck. Her fingers wandered, beneath the water, sliding up your ankle, along the expanse of your shin, and higher. With a trembling hand, you brought your champagne glass to your lips and took a long sip, relishing in the cool, bubbling liquid that flowed down your throat.

The moment you pulled the glass away, Bradley gently turned your face to his, taking the opportunity to kiss you, all while delving his tongue into your mouth to taste the champagne you’d just consumed. Natasha was soon joining him, letting him break the kiss before she touched your face and nudged you towards her, connecting her rosy lips to yours. She, too, slipped her tongue into your mouth. However, her kiss felt so much different than Bradley's. It was softer, in a way. More delicate. At the feeling, an entirely new rush of emotions and sensations bubbled to life within you. Or maybe that was the alcohol.

The two of them, paired with the calming hot water, and the champagne, all had you relaxing rather quickly, drifting into a state of unadulterated bliss. Bradley’s hand came up to cup your breast, squeezing and massaging. Phoenix went back to kissing your neck, sliding her hand up your naked body. Then, for just a moment, she pulled away, and looked at the man beside you. She lifted her glass, tilting it towards your chest, and he picked up on what she was about to do. He nodded silently, raising his own glass and tilting it with her, letting the golden liquid fall onto your bare chest.

You gasped at the cool feeling, previously shut eyes fluttering open to take in what they were doing. Natasha was the first to put her mouth on your chest, flattening her tongue against your feverish skin and trailing it upwards, tasting the alcohol. Bradley followed, and with both of them doing so at once, you whimpered deeply, shuddering when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, and she mirrored his action. You swore you'd die.

"Mm," Rooster hummed, coming up to kiss you, mouth still against yours as he spoke. "Being so good for us."

"So good,” Phoenix echoed. Their voices swirled through your head like the swirling bubbles around you.

"P-please." You didn't know what you were asking for. But you did know that you were burning up, that an ache had blossomed to life between your legs, and you needed someone's, maybe both of their, fingers inside you.

"What is it, pretty girl?" Phoenix murmured huskily in your ear. "Tell us."

You could only moan, shuddering yet again. "I..." Your words. Where had they gone? They were dying in your throat, forgotten as overwhelming need took over your brain. You let out another moan, though it came out as a soft whimper, a desperate little mewl. Bradley was watching closely through hazy eyes, taking in the way you were squirming within the water.

"Be patient, baby," he said, kissing your cheek. "Just let us take care of you."

He reached back for the bottle of champagne, contemplating refilling his glass. But, instead, he tipped it, letting it spill over your breasts again. The two of them lapped at it, hot tongues dragging over skin that was just as warm, probably warmer. Your head was spinning, chest heaving. A desire unlike any other was roaring to life within you, almost painful.

Rooster tugged at your nipples just the way you liked, Phoenix sucked on your neck, ran her hands over your body, worked you like a musical instrument. You were delirious, warm, wet (in more ways than one), hot, hot, hot. "Roo, please," you begged, shifting beneath the water. “‘m so wet.’

You could feel him, against you. He was hard, had been the moment he saw you in such a state of pleasure. You wanted him inside you, wanted her against you, against your mouth. You were sure she tasted good. Sure she was soft, juicy as a summer peach, pretty and pink.

"I think we should take care of our girl, what do you think?" Natasha looked up at Bradley, and he nodded.

"I guess we should. We've teased her enough."

It all went by in a blur. Bradley rose from the tub, and set the champagne down. He went to grab some towels while Natasha helped you stand on wobbly legs. "I've got you," she assured you, holding on tight. You knew she did. She slipped an arm around you, and Rooster approached, towels in hand. They both took the time to dry you off, and you felt so loved and cared for in the best way. You were led back into the room then. Or rather, carried. Bradley pulled you into his arms and carried you to the bed.

Phoenix trailed closely behind, sitting on the edge of the bed as she waited for him to get you situated. He took your face in his big, gentle hands. "You're going to sit in my lap, and Phoenix is going to eat your pretty little pussy until you come. And when she’s finished, I'm gonna fuck you. Is that okay?"

You nodded without hesitation, eager to feel good. “Yes, please,” then, “I...I wanna taste her pussy,” you admitted.

"You can, baby. Just let her make you feel good first. This is all about you, yeah?"

You hummed in response, and he then climbed onto the bed, taking a moment to lean back against the pillows. He pulled you against him, and you could feel his hardness against your back, cock straining with need. But he didn't mind one bit. His own pleasure would come soon enough. Now it was about you. He secured his burly arms around your body, leaned his head down, and said, "spread your legs for her."

You obeyed, parting your legs wide. You were met with the sight of Phoenix crawling towards you, and it sent a delicious shudder through you. She settled with her head between your legs, nudging them just a bit further apart. Her hands trailed up the insides of your thighs, moving closer, and closer, and closer to where you were aching, dripping, pulsing. She kissed everywhere but there. Nipped, sucked, touched everywhere but there.

"What do you say?" She piped up, eyeing you, looking for manners. She knew you were growing impatient by the petulant whine you let out.

"Please."

"Please what?"

Your heart fluttered in your chest at her tone, and the way she was looking at you. "Please put your mouth on my pussy. I...I'm so wet..."

She smiled, a predatory one at that, like she was a cat who’d caught an unassuming little mouse. Her fingers danced over your center, and you jerked at the touch. Then the digits began to cover more ground. She slid them downwards, straight through your wetness, and she gasped, looking up at you. "You are soaking wet, pretty girl. I bet you taste divine."

And then, she dove right in, sweet mouth connecting with you. You moaned out loud, leaning back against Rooster and rocking your hips as she went on. He held you securely, tenderly kissing your shoulder as he watched Phoenix pleasure you. An odd feeling was stirring deep within him. He loved the fact that you were being pleasured, but the sight of someone else doing it, instead of him, suddenly sent a brief pang of jealousy seeping into his veins. But he did nothing about it. This was about you, not him. He wasn't about to ruin your fantasy.

You were already overwhelmed. Her mouth was so warm and wet, her touch so delicate, yet deliberate. She lapped and sucked at your clit, and spread her tongue over the expanse of your center, tasting you fully. When her fingers slid into you, you couldn't help the yelp that sounded from you. Instantly, she stopped, looking up at you. "Are you okay babe?" She asked.

"Y-yes," you gasped, nodding vigorously as Bradley tightened his grasp on you. "Fuck, don't stop."

She went right back in, mouth reattaching to you, fingers ducking into you. She picked up the pace, moving faster, going deeper. Those slender fingers brushed up against that spot inside you, the spot that made you tighten and throb and gush around her.

All while this was taking place, Bradley was bringing his fingers to your mouth, tapping your lips gently. "Open," he instructed, and you did so. He placed his fingers in your mouth, his pointer and index. "Get them nice and wet for me, baby."

Once you'd complied, he brought his hand down to your chest, circling a nipple with his wet fingers, then moving on to the other to do the same. You gasped, and he leaned over to blow cool breath across your nipples. Goosebumps crawled over your skin, and you whined, entirely overwhelmed. You were ashamed of how close you were already, and you had barely even started. But two beautiful creatures working your body over had you plummeting towards the edge at a ridiculous pace. You were writhing, grinding, trembling.

Rooster held you, kissed your skin, whispered in your ear, praised you for being such a good girl. Phoenix curled her fingers faster, deeper. You were making a mess of yourself, arousal was soaking her fingers, dripping down onto the bed. Bradley’s hand squeezed at your breasts, his teeth dragged against your neck. You could feel the tears well up in your eyes, it was all too much, you could hardly handle it.

"Mm," the feminine hum filled your ears. "you're tightening up around me, are you going to come for me?"

You couldn't answer, you could only keen, throwing your head back against Bradley’s firm chest. You were shuddering almost violently, all while Natasha kept her fingers steadily curling in and out of you. "Breathe," Bradley reminded you, "deep breaths, baby. You're okay."

You sobbed, breathless and deep, grabbing for something, anything, to anchor you. Natasha took one of your hands, and Bradley took the other. She brought her mouth back to where it had been, against your warmth, your wetness. You let your mouth fall open, no longer shy about the sounds you were making. You gasped, you cried, you groaned. A delicious, white-hot sensation was gathering in your lower abdomen, a coil ready to come unraveled. Your muscles were clenching around her fingers in such a way that she could hardly move them, but she tried anyway, wanting you to experience as much pleasure as she could give.

When your back arched, and your chest heaved, and you began to stutter, "I-I'm...I...oh, fuck," she knew you were right there. Rooster was the one who pushed you over the edge.

"C'mon baby," he breathed raggedly against your neck, "come for her."

With one final sob, you let go, tensing up just before the mind-numbing, earth-shattering pleasure crashed onto you. You screamed, deep and loud, convulsing in Bradley’s arms, bucking against Natasha’s mouth. She continued her administrations until you fell still, sweaty, spent, and shaking. She pulled away then, emerging from between your legs and immediately kissing you, letting you taste yourself. "Good girl," she praised.

You could feel Rooster shifting behind you, slowly rising to stand, despite your whines of protest. You collapsed against the mattress, unable to move. He reached down, turning your head towards him. The look in his eyes caught your attention - he was in awe. "So good..." he echoed Natasha’s words, fingers brushing against the side of your face.

You attempted to sit up then, letting out a breath. You looked over at the girl, suddenly feeling a little shy as you uttered your next words. "Can I taste you now?"

She smiled. "Of course you can, pretty girl."

You watched as she moved to sit where Bradley had just been moments earlier. The aforementioned gently grabbed your face, looking deeply into your eyes. "Are you alright?" You nodded your head, placing your hand over his. He spoke again, before you could. "Are you ready for my cock?"

"Yes sir."

"Okay. Here's what I want you to do. You get on all fours, and stick that pretty ass up for me. Taste her pussy while I fuck you."

He didn't have to tell you twice. You were quick to comply, situating yourself so your head was between Phoenix’s thighs, and your bottom was in the air, where Rooster could easily access it. You were suddenly a little apprehensive, worried that you might not be able to pleasure her the way she deserved. Phoenix seemed to notice this, and she gave you a bright, reassuring smile, reaching down to run a hand through your hair. "You'll be fine, just go for it, babe."

Breathing out through your nose, you paused a moment before finally connecting your mouth to her warm, wet, so fucking wet, core. The sigh she let out sent your head spinning. As you began to slowly trail your tongue over her, Bradley got behind you, groaning at the sight of you before he reached a hand down to spread you open for him. Still so wet, glistening in the low light.

Nimble fingers wrapped around hard flesh, offering a few tugs, grunting before he aligned himself with you, gliding in with ease. He sighed in satisfaction, and you whimpered, though it was muffled. Bradley offered you a moment to get comfortable before he began to move, slow, deep, deliberate thrusts. You could hardly handle it. She tasted so good, he felt so good. You were making a mess. Sloppy, wet, drippy, fingers prodding into her slick opening, tongue swirling around her bud of nerves. She was moaning, so soft and pretty. She tasted...saccharine.

She encouraged you the entire time. "That's it, good girl. Oh, right there."

Rooster was fucking you harder now. Faster. At this angle, it was all so intense. He was brushing right up against your spot, and you were clenching and pulsing around him each time. His large hands gripped your hips, and he jutted into you just a little faster.

Natasha was falling apart above you, grinding against your mouth, head thrown back as she gasped out your name, genuine cries clawing their way up from her throat. It was all so incredibly erotic. The feeling of being filled, and being enveloped in someone else, was indescribable. A beautiful woman was falling apart because of you, and a man, just as beautiful, was also falling apart, because of you. He growled above you, thrusting deeply, roughly, jarring your entire being. Your cries were muffled, and you were having trouble keeping your rhythm. But you tried your best, wanting nothing more than to bring Natasha to her end.

She continued to praise you, to grind and shake and writhe. She found purchase in your hair, holding on gently as she looked down, taking in the sight of your face buried between her thighs, devouring her. "Faster," she breathed, "move your fingers faster."

You complied, soon fucking her harder, deeper, your mouth sucking at her swollen clit relentlessly. You could tell she was close by the way her muscles tightened around you, and the way she began to move against the bed. You relished in the way she shook, the sound of her desperate voice. It didn't take much longer to push her over the edge, and she came crying out your name, wetness spurting against your mouth. You stayed there, lapping at her center, tasting all of her.

Her legs began to tremble as she slowly came down, and with a whimper, she gently pushed your face away. "That was…fuck, that was good," she told you, still out of breath. Before you could utter a reply, Bradley was pulling out of you, flipping you over onto your back before filling you again. Positioning himself properly, he began to pick up the pace, soon building up to the speed he'd just been fucking you at.

During this, Natasha settled beside you, nuzzling close as she watched you come apart beneath your lover. She kissed the side of your neck repeatedly, mumbling sweet praises. You were overwhelmed again, eyes rolling back in your head, whimpering pathetically.

Rooster’s hand came down between your legs, fingers pressing into your clit. "I want you to come again for me," he gritted out, "come all over me."

Phoenix’s fingers toyed with your nipples as he spoke, and you swore you'd pass out. Your eyes never left Rooster’s in the process, and suddenly, it all became so much more intimate. You were holding onto him, arm hooked around his shoulders, fingernails scraping against his skin. You were sweaty, you both were. Skin against skin, bumping, grinding, shifting. Your stomach was twisting into knots. You were almost there.

Phoenix brought her mouth to your ear then, tongue brushing over your skin. "Do it," she whispered, all while you plummeted to the edge all over again. "Come for him."

And then you were done for, engulfed in euphoria as your second orgasm washed over you. You lost yourself in the pleasure, convulsing beneath Bradley, crying out his name loud enough for everyone in the whole building to hear, it seemed.

Somewhere along the lines, he stumbled over the edge, too, and he buried his face against your neck, growling deeply as his own release shuddered through him, filling you with his warmth.

He stayed inside you for a few more moments, catching his breath, kissing your face. You could only lay there motionless as he eased out of you. Hands skated across heated flesh. Not his hands, familiar and strong, but Natasha’s - soft and delicate. You didn't bother moving as they both began cleaning you up. You relished in the care, feeling entirely too fucked out to do anything else but let them do as they pleased. You were adorned in kisses, gentle touches, swipes of damp cloth against your most sensitive parts.

"Sit up for me babe," Natasha spoke, and you did so, allowing her to slip on the white plush robe provided by the hotel. She looked into your eyes then. "Do you need some water?"

"Y-yes."

Bradley, who'd already gotten dressed - partially, anyway, back into his boxers - was on top of things, getting you a cup of water the second her heard Natasha offer it to you. He handed it to her, and she placed it in your hands, smiling softly and stroking your cheek as you sipped on the cool liquid.

He climbed onto the mattress with you, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head. You sighed, resting against him. Then, you looked up. "Can we go back in the hot tub?" You asked.

He smiled, and nodded. "We sure can."

And so, you did. The three of you headed back outside, into the warm water. The rest of the champagne was polished off, and lighthearted conversation and laughter rang through the night air as you interacted with one another, comfortable, relaxed.

After a while, the warm water got to you, and you were beginning to feel rather drowsy. When Bradley noticed this, he knew it was time to get you to bed. "I'm gonna get her out," he mouthed to Natasha while you were nearly dozing against his shoulder.

She nodded, and followed suit, climbing out with both of you. You let Bradley dry you off and put you in your pajamas, entirely too exhausted to be of any assistance. He gently placed you in bed, and you fought to stay awake, watching as Phoenix began to gather her things.

As you drifted in and out of a sleepy, half-drunk haze, you could hear their quiet voices, the sound of rustling fabric, a goodbye whispered in your ear, and lips against your forehead. And then, silence. Rooster padded over to you then, coming into view. He smiled at you, a smile full of only kindness, taking a seat next to you on the bed. You reached for him, and he pulled you into his arms, cradling you against him. "You did amazing, baby," he praised.

You looked up at him, trying to mirror his smile, but only coming up with tears, brought on by the alcohol and your over-tiredness after such an eventful night. "Thank you. I…I really liked that.”

"Maybe we’ll do it again one day," he mused. But you were already fading fast, and could hardly utter a reply.

All you could do was curl into his arms, wrapping yourself around him. He didn't mind in the least, he let you snuggle against his body, and pressed kisses to the top of your head. "I love you, baby," he whispered.

But you were already fast asleep.

@halfway-happyyy @natasharomanoffisbaebby @oliviabelova @robertbobfloydlover @supernaturaldawning @marrianena @mys2425 @n3ssm0nique @ice-mans-world @lovemesomevesey @straightforwardly @mochi-de-bisou @christinafaucher @emmmaturtle @fantasias-creativebubble @worldmadeofmemories @tarohemianrocketmanapsody @m0chac0ffee @not-leaprvt @i-simp-much @soaharleys @colorfultyrantearthquake @obxsuperfan07 @juniebugg @marchingicenotes7 @airedale17 @jamiedontbeacracko @monosjoons @dilfsandtherapy

#rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw imagine #phoenix trace #phoenix trace x reader

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dawnagustd · 2 years

Text

demon time || pjm (18+)

❃ Festivaled Away: Wine & Spirits Festival hosted by @bangtanbathhouse

⤞ Ticket: Celebratory Drinks ⤞ Main Event: Drinking Games ⤞ Games: Body Shots | Threesomes | Strangers | Sex Tape | Stripper Reader

Main Masterlist | Read on AO3

“Hello?”

Jimin’s phone rings as soon as he steps out of the shower. He wraps his towel around his waist and walks over to the sink to see who it is. To his surprise, it’s you.

Pink tracksuit girl.

He doesn’t know you that well. Only your place of work, your first name, and that you’re in a shitty relationship.

He met you randomly, leaving the downtown area one night. You were walking down the dark streets, looking upset and angry. Jimin isn’t anywhere near a gentleman, but he wouldn’t want someone he cared about walking alone like that, especially at night.

You were hesitant initially but accepted a ride from him after his persistence.

Upon first glance, he could guess your profession. Glitter-streaked hair, a medium-sized black duffel bag, a pink suede tracksuit covering your nearly nude body—definitely a stripper.

After the third run-in, you told him you worked at the Penthouse, a strip club just three blocks away from his nightclub on Main Street. Quite often, your girlfriend would fail to pick you up—that’s how you’d end up in the passenger seat of his Ferrari that night a few months ago.

It was always the same issue each time. Even now, Jimin wonders why you were still with her. However, he isn’t one to pry into other people’s business. You’re an adult; you can handle whatever choices you make. He’s got his hands full with his personal life anyway.

He’s never too busy to lend a helping hand, though. That’s why he gave you his number, so you can call whenever you need a ride—or if you ever decided that you’d like to ride him.

“Hey, Jimin. It’s me. The girl that works at the Penthouse—”

“Yeah, pink tracksuit.” A tired yawn accidentally escapes him while stating your real name. “Damn. My bad. But I know who you are, sweetheart. What’s up?”

He hears the sound of traveling vehicles and knows you’re walking somewhere. It’s only 10 PM, so he wonders if something happened at work. Guys can be pigs in those places, and he can only imagine how uncomfortable that would make you. Judging by your demeanor, he can tell you’re pretty introverted despite the expectations listed in your job description.

“Everything's okay, huh?” he checks.

His gut tells him something’s off, and your exasperated sigh lets him know he isn’t wrong.

“I’m okay, but they decided to send us home at the last minute… Said that the weather wouldn’t bring in many customers. My shift ended an hour ago,” you answer.

Jimin nods before putting his phone on speaker and setting it on the counter. He’s already getting dressed before you can ask him for a ride because it’s already raining, and your apartment is on the other side of town. No way you’d make it in these conditions, and he doesn’t want you to run into any trouble on the way there either.

“Yeah, it’s about to get nasty out there. I shut down for the weekend because there’s supposed to be some flooding downtown,” Jimin mentions as he pulls up his sweats. “Do you need a ride home? I can come and pick you up—”

“No, no. It’s fine. I was going to ask, but you seem really tired, so no worries.”

Jimin scoffs. “Are you crazy? It’s pouring down out there. Where are you?”

Eventually, you answer, “At the bus stop on third. I was trying to wait out the rain, but.…”

“Yeah, I’m on my way.”

He grabs his phone and steps into his room to slide on some shoes. You start apologizing over the phone, but there’s really no need. Jimin’s not a saint—however, he has a mom, a sister, and maybe he’ll even have a daughter someday—he’d want someone to do the same for them if he wasn’t around to do it himself.

“Jimin, I am so sorry. I hope I’m not ruining your plans or anything. I had to cover all of the rent for this month, but once I can work a full night, I’ll repay you—”

“You’re good, babe. I’m not doing anything tonight.”

Well, besides his “Friday night” a little later but nothing important.

“Sit tight. I’ll be there in like seven minutes,” he promises, then heads out the door.

He ends up staying on the line with you for the entire duration of his journey to be safe. Usually, downtown is just filled with nightlife and club hoppers. Still, it does have its shady areas like any other part of the city. Your job puts you at a greater risk of harm.

He’s never visited the Penthouse, but after hearing his colleagues talk about it, he’d sure like to someday. Maybe even get a lap dance or a private show from his favorite dancer—which would be you, of course.

Jimin’s not blind. Even those loose-fitting pants you wear can’t hide a nice ass.

You’re sculpted, that’s for sure, and pretty. Fuck, you’re so pretty.

He has to remind himself to be respectful constantly when you’re in his car. Mainly because he doesn’t want a slap in the face. He also prefers his women to be single and able to give him their undivided attention. The last thing he wants is to be in the middle of some drama.

You don’t even seem like the type to step out. No matter how much this woman has put you through, you’re still loyal to her when you could have so much more.

There are people out there who don’t mind your kind of work and would still respect you more than your girlfriend does. Hopefully, you’ll someday realize that and end that toxic relationship you’re currently in.

He can see how tired you are when he pulls up beside you, not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. He doesn’t get the hype of being committed to someone when you’re not even happy. Is monogamy so vital that you lose yourself and your sense of happiness to meet society’s opinion of what is right?

It doesn’t seem worth it to him.

“Get in!” he yells while you’re standing outside of his car digging in your bag. “You’re getting soaked.”

You mention something about finding a jacket, so you don’t ruin his seats, and he waves you off.

“Babe, don't worry about my seats. Get in before you get struck by lightning or something,” he says with urgency.

The rain’s coming down pretty hard, and he needs to get off the road before it starts flooding.

“Sorry about that,” is the first thing you say when you enter the warmth of his luxury sports car.

“You’ve worked customer service your whole life, haven’t you?” Your reaction tells him he worded that completely wrong. “Uhh… I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I have to; that’s how I know,” he explains.

He feels relieved when you nod and relax in your seat. As he drives away from the curve, he continues.

“I only said that because you always apologize even though some things are out of your control. You have that common courtesy flowing through your veins. It’s an asset to have in our professions.”

Jimin steals a glance at you once the car stops at a red light, but you’re too busy scrolling through your phone to notice. The light from your screen illuminates your skin, and he can easily make out your puffy eyes and the redness on the tip of your nose.

“Rough night, huh?” he asks you, unsure of what else to say. He’s the worst at comforting people. That’s probably why he isn’t considered “boyfriend” material.

His only solution for a bad day is some nasty sex and his strongest bottle of alcohol.

You snap out of your trance once you hear him clear his throat. To his surprise, you were paying attention. He can see the bit of embarrassment behind your tight-lipped smile.

“My bad,” you whisper, putting away your phone. “Yeah, I’ve been working since I was sixteen. Dancing since I was twenty.”

“You must be exhausted,” he comments, and he hears a scoff.

“That’s one word I would use.”

A warm feeling forms inside of him when he hears your laugh. It’s very small, but it’s the first time he’s ever heard that sound come from you and the first genuine smile he’s ever seen on your face.

You’re pretty. “So fucking pretty,” he has to repeat to himself.

Jimin’s staring makes you shy, and he can only imagine what kind of look he has on his face. He scolds himself and makes an oath to keep his eyes on the road from this point on but still struggles to tear away.

“The light’s green,” you mention, shifting your focus to your hands. The ghost of your smile still lingers, but Jimin decides to let the moment fade away. He doesn’t want to make it weird, but the urge to tell you that you’re attractive is strong.

Quickly, he changes the topic before he goes too far.

“So, home or…?”

You shake your head.

“Would it inconvenience you to take me to the motel over on Jefferson? I know it’s out of the way, but—”

“Hell no!”

Jimin’s face contorts with disgust.

“No, that place is filthy. Why are you going there?” he asks, gripping the wheel tighter. His mind instantly goes to everything he’s heard about that place, and his eyes widen. “Wait. Are you…”

You give him the same shocked expression as he’d given to you.

“Oh god, no. I just need a cheap place to stay for tonight,” you assure him. Your voice is slightly raised and high-pitched. “I can’t be at my place when she comes home from work or whatever it is she’s doing. She knows you’re giving me a ride, and you know how that will go.”

“Well, let me take you somewhere nicer, at least. I’ll cover it.”

He tries to offer you a better hotel room at his expense, but it’s not a shock that you decline.

“Jimin, I appreciate you, really. But I don’t feel comfortable; it’s too much. I know you’re only being kind, but.…”

Jimin nods, understanding where you’re coming from.

“I get it.”

However, that still leaves an option he’s not satisfied with either. He can’t just drop you off at a place like that and leave you for the night. It’s like throwing you in a shark tank with an open wound. There’s got to be another way.

“You have heard about that place, though. Haven’t you?” he asks.

You’re gazing out of the window now, looking back at a restaurant as his car passes by it.

“Are you hungry?”

Shaking your head again, you speak to him as you transfer your attention to your phone.

“No, I was just checking something out…but yeah, I know. I don’t have any other options, though,” you shrug.

“Stay at my place,” he blurts out before he changes his mind. Thankfully, you don’t ask him to stop and let you out for his outburst. He jumps on the opportunity to reason with you before you can shut him down entirely. “...And before you say no, hear me out.”

You don’t say anything, so Jimin tries again.

“Please?”

You sigh heavily. “Okay, Jimin.”

He’s relieved, but he knows he still has to convince you before he allows himself to get too excited.

“I have a huge house with two extra bedrooms. One of them even has its own bath. It’s at the end of the hall, far away from my room,” he explains.

“Okay?”

“All I’m saying is you can go in there, lock the door, and come out whenever you’re ready. I promise I won’t bother you. Have I ever bothered you?”

Your fit of laughter catches him off guard again. He takes his eyes off the road momentarily to watch you giggle, but he’s also curious.

“What’s that?” he scoffs with a slightly lopsided grin. Your head shakes, and you turn towards the window again to his disappointment. “Come on…Tell me.”

When you look at Jimin, he can’t help but feel shy suddenly now that he has your undivided attention. Your presence impacts him differently now that you aren’t tucked away in his passenger seat, feeling down and miserable. He feels like you’re reading every thought that runs through his mind.

The intensity of your lingering gaze has him shifting in his seat.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” is what you say finally, and Jimin tries to keep his growing smile hidden.

“W-What?” he chuckles nervously.

“You’re cute, and sweet. The world needs more people like you, Jimin,” you elaborate.

Your words warm his heart but humble him at the same time. He doesn’t remember the last time he was put in the friend zone, probably because it’s never happened.

His elementary school teachers used to call him cute. Not one of the hottest women he’s ever laid eyes on.

The sting is manageable because he’s so fond of you and respects your opinions. It still doesn’t erase the slight bruising of his ego. But he can’t win them all, he figures.

He gives you a smirk to mask his conflicted feelings.

“Not everybody is cut out for this, babe. It’s not as easy as I make it look,” he replies.

Your giggles fill up the car for a moment before they are replaced by a heavy silence. You stare ahead for a while, and when he approaches the traffic light, the one that can lead to his home or to that shitty hotel—you finally respond to his question.

“If I come home with you, will you tell me a little more about your life?”

Jimin’s perplexed but not against it. He’s got nothing to hide.

“You don’t have to—”

“No, I don’t mind. I just don’t know why you wanna talk about me. I’m pretty boring,” he tells you.

He sees your head tilt out of his peripheral.

“Boring?... A nightclub owner driving a damn Ferrari?”

“That’s not fair,” he argues, whining.

“Well, you didn’t make sense just now.”

He nods. “I guess you’re right.”

“I know I am,” you conclude proudly, your smile growing wider.

After a few seconds, you speak again. “I’d just like to hear about you. You always listen to me go on and on. Isn’t there something you want to talk about?”

“Well…”

There isn’t really much to tell. He really has a simple life aside from the club and hooking up. Jimin grew up in a middle-class family, and when he turned 18, he moved out, got a job serving tables, and lived the party life instead of going to college. For his 21st birthday, he dropped four quarters in the slot machine and hit the jackpot on the first spin. It was sheer luck.

He got sevens across the board, so he decided to name his club after that number. They changed his life and opened a new world for him. Financially secure, he prefers tending to his business and getting laid. Occasionally, enjoying the fruit of his labor as a reward for his hard work. There really isn’t anything special about him.

“I just need a distraction, I guess,” you add.

Jimin nods his head as he turns onto the freeway. “That I can be,” he mumbles and proceeds to drive you both to his house.

The next four minutes are spent recalling short stories from his past—parties, wild sex that occasionally still happens, and everything else he could think of. But what truly intrigues you is his love for dance and how you share the same passion.

By the time you enter his home, he’s discovered that your backstory is quite similar to his. But instead of riches, the universe dealt you a bad hand. You left home and tried to chase your dreams but what you thought was love got in the way. That’s how you ended up in this situation; she was too important for you to just leave her behind.

What pisses him off is that she’s ungrateful and often accuses you of fucking him. You’ve made it clear to him from the jump that you’re committed to your relationship and have no plans on cheating, no matter how rough it gets. The woman doesn’t deserve you; that he knows for sure. Unfortunately, he’ll probably never get to tell her that to her face. And maybe that’s for the best.

“You’ve got a nice place.”

Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He turns around and finds you checking out his home with admiration in your irises. You’re impressed, and that fills his chest with a bit of pride.

“Thanks, love. Sorry about the boxes. I’m moving to another place, and I wanna take some things. If you want, I can show you to your room, or I can give you a tour,” he offers.

“A tour sounds fun, but is it okay if I shower? I’m tracking up your floor with my wet socks.”

Jimin looks at the floor and notices your sodden, dirty socks. He grimaces because they look cold and uncomfortable; he can only imagine how badly you want to get out of those things.

“Sorry, I’ll clean it. I left my sneakers outside to dry, but these are still soaking,” you add, and Jimin waves for you to follow him.

“No, I’m sorry for standing here like a dumbass. You must be freezing,” he says as he leads you to a guest bedroom. “It’s this one right here. I keep it stocked with towels and things, so help yourself to whatever. Do you need some more socks?”

You shake your head and thank him.

“No, I’m good. I keep everything I need in this thing, just in case.” You point to your bag with a smirk.

“Of course, you’re prepared,” he thinks to himself.

“But thank you. I really appreciate this.”

“Don’t mention it. I don’t mind at all,” he answers truthfully. “And if you’re bored or hungry, feel free to look in the fridge or watch tv…make yourself at home.”

“Jimin, you’re too sweet. I’ll have to pay you back someday,” you insist, but he refuses.

“That isn’t necessary. I’m just doing what I’d want someone to do for me if I was in the same situation,” he assures.

You nod as you step into the room, but you pause just before closing the door, making him freeze in place.

“Seriously, I feel like I owe you a lap dance or something, but if you insist….”

Jimin’s eyes widen as he scrambles to find his words. The door closes slowly, concealing the growing grin on your face that appears just when he attempts to change his mind.

“Hey,” he calls out, but it’s too late.

“Goodnight, Jimin.”

“But—”

And the door closes in his face.

He stands in his hallway alone, just blinking and staring at the closed door in disbelief. The way you just dropped that on him and bailed was down bad, but what can he say? That was smooth.

He laughs at himself for his reaction. He imagines he looked like an eager virgin perking up to your empty promises. However, he could care less because the idea does send a tingle down his shaft. The only thing softening the blow is knowing that you were joking and probably wouldn’t give him a lap dance if it were a cold day in hell.

He has to shake his head to get those thoughts out of his mind. You’re a forbidden fruit. He shouldn’t even think about you in that way. Though, some things are easier said than done.

Jimin heads towards his kitchen, but the sound of your voice stops him before he can get down the hall. You’re arguing and not just some petty confrontation. You sound hurt, furious, and genuinely exhausted. He feels terrible, but there isn’t much he can do. He’d offer to make it better, but that’d only last for tonight. If it were to happen at all.

Jimin’s not a hero; this isn’t his battle to fight. But at least you wouldn’t have to deal with bullshit if you and he were fucking around.

Making his way to the kitchen, he listens to your faint sobbing until it ultimately stops. He then starts prepping a late-night snack just in case you get hungry before the morning. Afterward, he pours himself a drink and sits on his couch, looking at the city view from his living room, enjoying the sound of the rain hitting his windows.

He pulls out his phone to check his messages and notices something that raises the hair on the back of his neck.

“Aw, shit. This can’t happen,” he whispers, opening his text messages.

10:21PM Friday Night: omw in a few babie

11:01PM Friday Night: open up. i’m in the parking lot.

Before he can think of a lie, his phone rings. As quickly as he tries to ignore it, there’s a knock on his door. He groans as he gets up and goes to see who it is. He already knows, but there’s still a tiny bit of hope that it’s someone with the wrong address.

However, when he swings it open, his fears are confirmed. His shoulders slump when he sighs.

“Leah,” he greets with much less enthusiasm than he usually has for one of the best slices of heaven he’s ever had.

“It’s Layla, asshole.”

Yeah, Layla. That’s it.

He’d only met her a few weeks ago, but the vibe was decent, so she’s become his Friday night entertainment. He’d forgotten he texted her earlier for some rainy night sex.

She invites herself in with a smile, ignoring his awkwardness and nervousness. He wants to tell her to leave, but she looks too damn good to resist.

He’s had a long week, and some pussy would do him just fine right now. Maybe if he can just explain to Layla that he has a guest, so she’ll have to keep it down, then she’ll understand. Or perhaps she won’t because she’s bold and would enjoy keeping someone up all night with her moaning.

Usually, he wouldn’t care either, but you don’t need that right now. You’ve probably already cried yourself to sleep.

“Shit, this floor is slippery. Don’t you know how to dry your feet?” Layla asks, placing her hand on her hip.

She looks around as if she knows something’s off, and Jimin can’t help but feel under pressure. Why are the women running him tonight? He’s got to get it together.

“I uhh—”

“Oh, never mind. I don’t think I want to know what this is,” she replies, face screwed in disgust.

He assures her that it is just water, but she doesn’t buy it.

“Jimin, if your other girl is into watersports, just say that. I don’t care,” she giggles, and Jimin immediately shakes his head.

“No, it’s not what you think—”

His words are cut short once again when your tiny voice calls out for him from the hallway. His eyes grow wider when Layla looks at him with a smirk.

“Ohh, she’s still here,” she points out. Her feet move faster than light across the living room, and Jimin has to jog to catch up with her. “I better go say hi.”

“Layla, just go to my bedroom. She’s just crashing here for tonight, and she’s not in the mood for—”

“Hello!” Layla walks right up to you with a huge smile and an extended hand, leaving him to stand behind her, looking like a deer in headlights. “I’m Layla. Jimin’s other girl. That dick is fire, isn’t it?”

Layla’s thumb points back at him as she speaks. The look on your face is enough to have Jimin intervening immediately.

“Layla, that’s enough. She’s a friend of mine, and you’re about to get your ass kicked out if you don’t leave her alone. Go to my room. I’ll be there in a minute,” he instructs, but she doesn’t budge.

Her long extensions flip swiftly as she whips her head in his direction.

“Jimin, can you go make us a drink or something while we have some girl talk?” she growls. “Why is she crying? Did you come fast or something?”

Jimin’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to respond, but no words come out.

“Why are you still standing here?” Layla asks again sharply.

He looks at you for clarity, and your red eyes silently tell him it’s okay. You also give him a small nod, prompting him to make his retreat to the kitchen.

“Layla, I’m trusting you,” he warns.

The woman scoffs. “Please, there’s no heartbreak I can’t cure. We’ll get her perked up in no time with some tequila.”

Jimin sure hopes she’s right; he never thought he’d ever say this, but you look horrible. Your body language tells the story of someone who could get no lower. He feels bad for not saying anything, but though Layla isn’t the best candidate for an empowerment speech, he feels as though she could deliver better than he can.

If anyone could convince you to let it go for one night, maybe it’s the minx herself. He knows alcohol isn’t a permanent solution, but it’ll at least make you feel good for a little while.

Jimin’s prepping a liquor, snacks, and chaser tray when you both enter the kitchen. He expects to see the same saddened expression across your face as before, but instead, a faint smile greets him as you sit on the bar stool.

“Can I have a shot right now, please?” you ask almost immediately, and his movements halt. He looks at Layla for answers, but she shrugs and sits beside you, requesting one for herself as well.

“Um…yeah, sure. Tequila good?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you sigh, propping your elbows on the counter and resting your chin on your hands. He pours you a shot glass full of Casamigos and continues grabbing things from his mini kitchen bar.

You throw it back graciously and hum as the alcohol tingles on your taste buds, blowing out air to cool the burning sensation it gives you. Layla takes hers after and wiggles her body as the liquid enters her system.

“Everything alright?” he checks, cutting up some limes. You nod before taking the bottle and pouring yourself another.

“Yeah, I’m done. I’m over it,” you respond, bringing the glass to your lips. You take your second dose of amber liquor and set the glass on the counter with a clink.

“Done, like…?”

Your eyes dart in his direction before they look at Layla, who’s busy digging in her purse. You turn back to him, moving your head side to side.

“However you define it, I guess,” is your reply. “I’m just going with the flow.”

“Matching her energy, huh?” Jimin proposes with a lifted eyebrow.

You smirk to yourself. “Some would say.”

“Well, I’m here for it.” Jimin grabs the liquor bottle and pours everyone another round. He raises his glass and says, “Tonight we’re going to celebrate…another free agent for me to—”

“Jimin, just drink the damn shot and sit the fuck down,” Layla chimes in, making you laugh.

He shakes his head at her sassiness. She knows she’s only getting away with it because it’s entertaining to you.

All three of you toast to whatever bullshit that flies out of his mouth. He’s too caught up in your bright smile again to register what he said. He’s glad you’re trying, but he already knows where this is going.

What’s fueling your positivity is scorn, bitterness, and a hunger for revenge. It isn’t a good combination, but he can’t bring himself to stop you. All he can promise is to keep you safe while you’re in the first stages of a messy breakup.

However, he’s got no idea where the night is about to lead you or the world of shit all three of you will be in once it’s over.

He grabs a paper towel, then a pen, and says, “Ay, before we get too drunk, we need to talk.”

Not knowing it’d do little to prepare him for the following series of events.

This is exactly what you needed.

A few shots and two pairs of smooth hands touching all over your body—caressing away all the stress and built-up tension of today.

If you close your eyes and allow yourself to drift away, maybe your problems disappear, and the faint presence of utopia will slowly creep into the horizon.

Sure, there’s a voice in your mind pleading for you to stop for a minute and think about this huge mistake you’re making. But ignoring it for once in your life feels good. You feel entitled to a good fuck up after everything that’s happened, or—just a good fuck.

You know it’s wrong. You know you should have packed your shit and gotten out of here the minute Layla showed up. But how could you?

How could you walk away when so much was going through your mind?

You're so lost, and you know that these two are your only outlet. You had already argued, cried your eyes out, and begged for a bit of trust and compassion from your partner. There’s nothing left for you other than not giving a damn anymore.

You were in so much pain that eventually, you just went numb. Call it shock or the early stages of heartbreak, but you need to feel something regardless of what it is. Anything other than what you’ve been feeling for the past five years.

The universe just took too long and sent you on too many trials for you to have taken another blow tonight. If you wanted the solace you craved, you had to reach out and take it.

You’re exhausted from doing everything to satisfy others. It’s about time you put your desires first while the opportunity sits beneath you. His eyes hazy and low, enjoying the warmth of your bare thighs pressed against his sides.

“Fuck, she’s purring and shit. I like that,” Jimin comments, mocking your sounds of pleasure. “So sexy. We should start calling her Kitty, huh?”

He smirks at you when Layla agrees.

Jimin’s hands wander all over your torso, and his eyes follow them without a blink, eager to get the tiniest glimpse of some skin.

Soft lips trace the shell of your, making you shiver and squirm in his lap, sparking an urge to grind your center against Jimin’s thighs. Tonight, there are no boundaries, so you don’t deny yourself anything you want, and the man below you appears to be supportive of your decision.

“Be careful,” Layla whispers in your ear. “You might make him come in his pants.”

Jimin laughs. “She’s not lying.”

Your head lolls back on her shoulder, opening your mouth to receive more of the vodka-infused whipped cream Jimin brought to the living room. The fluffy substance enters your mouth, and the sweet vanilla alcoholic taste tingles your taste buds.

She turns it to Jimin, who shakes his head.

“Tapping out already?” she asks him.

Never taking his eyes off you, he says, “You know mocha’s my favorite.”

Mumbling words you can’t even register due to the concentration you have put into grinding on Jimin’s lap, she switches cans and feeds him a mouthful of mocha-flavored cream. He consumes it in one gulp, producing a small moan and leaving a little bit behind on the side of his lip and cheek.

His thumb comes up to wipe it off, but you grab his wrist just in time and flatten your tongue against his skin in its place.

The closeness feels better than you expected, and your hands move to tangle in his messy hair, using the grip to pull yourself further onto his lap. He grabs your waist, not wanting to lose momentum, and buries his face within your bosom.

Jimin’s tongue scours over every inch of skin he can access, stimulating you more and more with the silver ball of his piercing. He chuckles because he knows you feel it.

“I can show you what all I can do with it if you want me to, Kitty,” he murmurs, his face nestled into the valley of your breasts.

“You should let him,” Layla chimes in. “He’s nasty as fuck.”

You agree with a hum. “I can believe it.”

Jimin smiles and moves his hands down your body to give your ass a squeeze. Your lips meet for a gentle kiss, exchanging the different flavors of alcohol you consumed before parting and delicately grazing the smooth textured ridges along the skin.

“So, you down?” he tries again.

The playlist switches to one of your favorite songs, momentarily taking you away. Your body moves on its own as your mind absorbs the sultry classic playing through the speakers. You feel Jimin’s fingers digging into your barely covered cheeks as he tries to create a little more friction between you.

Your crotches collide and roll against each other as he joins you in sinful movements that turn into the both of you chasing a carnal desire growing deep within you.

“I used to be scared of the dick. Now I throw lips to the shit,” you mumble the lyrics against his lips, earning a smile from him. He seems to be in awe of you behaving so wildly and carefree. Your hair in disarray, eyes glossed over with lust and the intoxicating glow of alcohol on your skin while you sway with the beat.

Tell me what's on your mind when your tongue’s in the pussy…

The chemistry between you grows, but your head is pulled back roughly by your hair before you can go too far with the agenda you and Jimin silently set.

“Answer him,” Layla’s voice travels through your ear, snapping you out of your trance.

You look between them as her neck cranes from beside you. You’ve already gone this far; you don’t know why they’d think you weren’t going to finish this.

Whatever Jimin’s plan is, you’d like to see it, but you don’t want them thinking the ball’s in their court. Tonight, you’re in charge, and they are the clueless players in your little game of get back.

“Sure,” you purr and grab them both by their shirts. You hear the soft whimper from Layla’s throat erupt and smirk at the reaction. She already has an idea of how this will go, and she’s right to trust her instinct. “But once you’re done….”

Your smile widens at Jimin’s perplexed expression, and you give him a wink.

“It’s my turn to play with him,” you say to Layla.

Her nude shaded lips curve into a smile.

“He’s all yours, Kitty. Slut him out.”

Layla wasn’t lying; Jimin is a freak.

He’s got you sprawled out on his kitchen island, naked from head to toe with tequila threatening to spill from your belly button with each tiny stroke of Layla’s fingertips. You giggle but keep your core tight, thanking all of your years of dancing for your ability to endure the torturous acts.

“Are you even tickling her?” Jimin whines to Layla, who gives him a shrug.

“She’s good,” she replies, still trying to get you to shake hard enough to spill the liquor so Jimin can win his little silly bet. If you spill it, you’re the bottom, and if you succeed, you take the lead.

You’re confident, so the bet doesn’t deter you at all. Layla wanted no parts in whatever this is; she submitted willingly, but you don’t give in easily…you don’t give in at all.

He’ll have to earn that position if he wants it.

“Forty seconds Jimin,” you remind him of his lack of time for chit-chat. He thinks hard for a moment, and Layla whispers something in his ear. He hops on the counter, and you figure she’s given him a different strategy to try.

He hovers over you and uses his lips to trace your bikini line. It’s enough to make your body shiver, but you remain as still as possible so that the liquor doesn’t spill. That’s a sensitive spot for you, so you half moan his name when his teeth slightly graze your skin.

“Jimin, wait—”

The timer goes off just in time, and the victory is yours to claim. You clap your hands triumphantly, chanting over Jimin’s grunts and groans.

“Ha-ha! I won. Yes!”

Jimin rolls his eyes and raises his head, unable to hold back his smile.

“Whatever, cheater,” he mumbles before slurping the golden liquor from your navel.

He chuckles when you squeak and tells Layla to give him another shot.

“Ohh, I found something she likes. Pour us another shot, sweetheart.”

They both take turns drinking from your body, making you squirm and giggle. Not an inch of your body is left unscathed by their greedy tongues by the time they’re done. You sit up when the moment presents itself and motion for Jimin to come closer with your finger.

“I haven’t forgotten,” you remind him, and he nods with a grin. “Get on the fucking table.”

You switch positions, so now Jimin is the one on his back. You look at Layla and ask her to take off his pants while you grab the can of Whipped Shots from the counter.

“Take your shirt off, if you aren’t shy.” You both give each other a smirk and Jimin proceeds to pull the fabric over his head.

“You can take the underwear too, babe. I’m not shy at all,” he tells Layla. She hums and slides down his boxers too, revealing a semi hard cock that’s thick and lengthy.

Your mouth salivates but you'll wait for your turn when it’s fully prepared. Instead, you instruct Layla to get it ready for you.

“Suck his dick and make his toes curl, okay?”

She nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

Without another word, she gets to work and so do you. Starting a dotted trail of whipped cream up the center of his abdomen, you pause at his chest to touch the horseshoe shaped piercing on his left nipple.

“See something you like, Kitty?” Jimin muses.

“This is cute.” You toy with it for a moment before squirting some of the cold white fluffiness over his areola. You do the same to the other with a wink. “Can’t forget about this one, huh?”

Setting the can aside, you immediately begin to devour the whipped cream from his torso. You pause here and there to admire the large, gray-shaded Phoenix that covers his entire right side from his pelvis to his chest.

It’s as hot as the spiritual quote crawling down his spine. You want to explore his artwork but there isn’t time for that now.

You tongue swirls around his pierced nipple, licking him clean of the sticky mess you’ve created. You hear a hiss when your teeth gently nibble on the metal impaled flesh before sucking it between your lips.

“Fuck.” Jimin’s sharp whispers cut through the sounds of slurping and smacking, bringing your attention to the woman kneeling between his legs.

Layla gives the tip of his cock small kitten licks and she collects a generous amount of precum on her taste buds. She uses it for lubrication as she lowers her head and begins to take him within the depths of her warm mouth.

Jimin’s teeth clench to bite back his moan but you’re already in his ear, finger swirling around his stiffened nipple, encouraging him to let it out.

“She feels good, doesn’t she?” He nods his head, making you grin and look down at the rise and fall of his chest. His hands are in fists and his abs tense and contort with pleasure. His watery eyes stare back at you begging for more to increase his pleasure. “If you want more you have to ask nicely, baby.”

Your head drops to the crook of his neck where you begin to claim areas of his already reddened flesh. You grab his hair to pull his head away from you, granting you more access to his jawline and his clavicle. His plush lips form an O-shape and he freezes as he tries to get words out.

“G–God, I knew you’d make me suffer,” he groans. “But I’m not too proud to beg.”

You chuckle and reluctantly abandon his soft skin to make your way back down his body. His back arches as you get to his midsection and leave more of your marks over his chiseled abs. He doesn’t know what to focus on, the attention you’re giving to his body or the head he’s getting from Layla.

Once you reach his pelvis area, you and her lock eyes as she’s going down on him. Something takes over you when you see her technique and you snap without warning.

You snatch her up by her ponytail, surprising her momentarily in her lustful state.

“Is that how you suck dick?” you ask, gripping her strands. “Hm?”

“No, ma’am.”

You scoff. “So, why are you acting like a scared little bitch? Look at this pretty fucking cock.”

You order her to stare at Jimin’s length as it sits proud and at attention, using your grip to hover her lips directly over it. Your other hand holds it firmly and starts to move up and down absentmindedly as he moans and curses from your touch.

“You mean to tell me that you aren’t willing to choke on this?...this thick, juicy cock?” you ask her, and she nods.

“I am. I want to,” she responds but she’s going to have to prove it.

“Well, I don’t believe it.” You guide her closer until her lips meet the tip and his seeping seed touches her skin. “Open your mouth and eat that dick up. I know you can do better than that.”

She opens and allows you to push her head down on Jimin’s cock, breathing through her nose like you’re telling her. She gags around him when he reaches the back of her throat but doesn’t tap out; she wants to keep going and show you what she’s made of.

“That’s it. Make him blow his load in that pretty mouth, don’t be shy,” you purr in her ear.

You allow her to come up for air but it’s right back to work when she’s good. Your strength allows you to move her head up and down at your pace. The grip on her hair keeps her in your grasp.

Her spit drips all over his shaft, making it wet and messy, creating the filthiest sounds you could ever hear. You busy yourself with littering Jimin’s lower abdomen with your endless love bites, making him buck off the counter into Layla’s warm mouth.

“Oh, fuck!” Jimin all but yells and your head snaps in his direction.

“You like that, huh?” You speed up her movements and she begins to moan and rub her thighs together. You let her know that it’s okay to play with her pussy since she’s been an absolute doll for you and Jimin can barely keep himself together at the sight before him. “You love some messy head by a pretty bitch, don’t you?”

He nods frantically. “Yes, fuck!”

“You want her to swallow you up until you come down her tight little throat, huh?” you ask him and once again he agrees.

“Please, I’m so fucking close,” he begs, and you let out a cackle.

While you halt Layla’s movements, you pretend to ponder, but keep her lips over his pulsing tip as she suckles on it while she gives you her attention.

“What do you think about that, baby?” you quiz, smoothing her messy hair back and out of her way. “Can Jimin fill you up with his yummy cum?”

She hums around him, sending vibrations down his length and making him squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to hold his orgasm. You smirk at their reactions.

“And you’ll swallow it all?”

“Mhm,” she replies.

“Just like a little slut, huh?” You look at Jimin and wink. “A nasty little bitch, isn’t she?”

“She’s never done it like this before, Kitty,” he grunts, clenching his teeth. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

You laugh at that.

“Oh, I know what it is…” You look down at Layla and shake your head. “She just needed a little…guidance.”

“Kitty, am I going to have to beg?” Jimin asks suddenly, making you giggle.

“Not right now,” you answer. “Let Jimin fill you up, babe.”

Jimin wastes no time after getting permission and ploys himself into Layla’s throat, feeding her his cum and making her gag around his dick. You take it out of her mouth and slap it all over her face, smearing his arousal and spit cover length over her makeup.

Her body starts to tremble, and you realize she’s chasing her high without your approval, making you mildly displeased with her behavior.

You snatch her up quickly, drawing a shriek from her lips.

“I don’t think I gave you permission to come. Did I, Layla?”

She shakes her head best she can with the tight grip applied to her sewn in strands.

“No, ma’am. You didn’t,” she answers.

You tsk. “But you did it anyway?...Bad, bad girl.”

Your other hand moves between her thigh, delivering four quick slaps to her sensitive clit. She winces as her legs tremble, threatening to fail her at any second.

“Take your clothes off and sit on Jimin’s face… Let him clean you up,” you mumble.

While she disrobes, you straddle Jimin’s thighs in a squatting position, spreading wide so he can see your wet pussy. His lust drunk eyes can’t look away as you start running your fingers up and down, parting your glistening folds.

“Fuck, you look hot. Can I touch myself too?” he asks, and you grant him permission.

“Not too fast. I need you to last a little bit longer this time,” you explain.

Jimin hisses once his hand wraps around his cock and he bites his lip to cope with the sensitivity. He makes slow languid strokes at the same pace as you, looking at the site of you pleasuring yourself in awe.

Only when Layla appears do you both realize you’ve been staring for too long and instantly bring your attention to anything but each other so you don’t get too caught up.

“What are you waiting for?” you quiz, and she springs into action. She hovers over him with her rear facing you like you asked and lowers herself on Jimin’s soft lips.

“Oh, shit. Jimin…”

Jimin immediately latches on to her throbbing bundle of nerves. He uses the hand not occupying his hardening cock to hold her in place. Eventually, locking her in with his strong arm.

After a few minutes, you shift gears, dropping to your knees so you can have a seat on his torso. Before you drop completely, you slide his hand from beneath you so he can use that arm to restrain Layla and you place the girth of his shaft in the palm of your hand.

You run your finger over his slit and swirl his precum over the head. You can feel him pulsing in your hand; he’s hot to the touch and eager to feel whatever is yet to come.

Layla’s moaning becomes louder, indicating she’s slipping further out of sensitivity and closer to the pleasure she seeks. You join the chase and gently drop yourself on Jimin’s stomach, wanting to feel some friction against your leaking core.

Using the slopes of his abs, you glide across the expanse of his tummy, clenching each time he flexes beneath you.

Once Jimin’s dick is hard enough to stand on its own, your hand abandons it and your attention shifts to Layla. You grab her hair and her head snaps backward, creating a defined arch in the center of her back.

“Why are you acting so shy now, hm?... Rub that pretty pussy in his face, girl,” you chuckle in her ear.

“But…Oh, fuck!”

“Still sensitive?”

You reach in front of her, pinching her clit. She nods her head as if you’d give her any sympathy but all you do is slap her tit and instruct her to keep going. “It's too bad I don’t care... Get to work, slut.”

Layla squeezes her eyes shut and tries her best to deal with the sensitivity. Your hand slides up her chest and wraps around her throat so you can tighten your digits around her neck, keeping her close to you so you can touch and grope as you please. Her eyes begin to open and roll back when she gets used to the feeling between her thighs.

Jimin’s cock taps your ass as you slide back and forth, reminding you of his needs, so you raise your hips and guide yourself over the thick and seeping head. Your wetness allows you to descend easily and your moans immediately begin to fill Layla’s ear.

“This dick is good. I see why you’re so crazy about him,” you mention, already bouncing on his throbbing shaft. His girth stretches you and fills you to the brim, giving you the fullness you’ve been craving since he whipped it out of his pants.

You can hear his cries of pleasure as he murmurs them against Layla’s cunt and her body shudders from the vibrations traveling to her core.

Both of you ride Jimin like he’s his fancy Ferrari parked outside, having your way with his body as he lies there in bliss below you.

Caught in the moment, you can’t help but admire the softness of Layla’s ass and your palm kneads the flesh.

As the pace quickens, your touch becomes rougher and you encourage her to move faster by slapping the delicate skin until it’s tender and red. The noises she makes tell you that she’s enjoying the feeling and you can’t stop yourself from teasing and taunting her with more.

“You’re freaky too, huh?... What else would you let me do, hm?”

Your middle finger slips between her globes and travels to her rim, making her eyes snap open. “Fuck,” she cries, and you smirk because you know it’s her weakness.

“Such a nasty girl, wanting my fingers buried in her ass. Aren’t you ashamed?” you giggle innocently, but your intentions are anything but.

“Please…”

“Please what, sweetie? Tell me. Jimin isn’t enough for you tonight? You want my fingers, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she admits, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “I need—”

“You need me?... That isn’t a surprise,” you chuckle, finger circling her quivering hole until she’s attempting to push herself back on it. “But unfortunately, I’m all booked for tonight.”

The denial leaves her feelings hurt and disappointed, but you aren’t evil. You’ll let her reach her high one more time, but she’ll have to do it herself.

“Go play with yourself over there and let me show you how to be a whore.”

Layla freezes as your limbs unravel from around her and Jimin seems caught off guard too. However, Layla still obeys and does as she’s told.

“W-Wait. Hold on,” Jimin stammers. “What’s happening?”

He tries to sit up, but you push him back down gently with your palm, pinning him there so you can continue to ride him.

“You don’t get both right now. It’s her…” You point at the woman shifting on the bar stool spreading her legs so you and Jimin can watch her rub her cunt until she comes. “Or me.”

You clench around him purposely and his answer appears out of nowhere.

“Uhh, sorry Layla. Next round, okay?” However, she’s too caught up shoving her fingers in her pussy to reply.

You plant your feet on the cold surface of the counter and proceed to enjoy yourself with Jimin’s cock. Your tits bounce freely with your movements.

Jimin’s eyes don’t know where to look. They switch between staring at your tits and how your pussy is taking in his dick, orbs glistening in the bright kitchen light.

“Fuck, Kitty,” he moans, voice dripping with lust. “You’re so wet, so tight. I don’t think I can last much longer.”

You shake your head as you conjure up your words. “Me either. It feels so good.”

“What, this?”

He thrusts into you from below, nearly knocking you off your feet. You place your hands behind you on the counter to keep yourself up and allow Jimin to fuck you in this position.

“Jimin, I’m—”

“Coming, Kitty!”

Jimin beats you to the punch and you swiftly get off of him and replace his cock with your fingers. Still squatting over him, your digits work until you draw an intense orgasm out of yourself, sending your juices squirting out on Jimin’s stomach.

His cock dispenses loads of his seed, mixing with your arousal and coating his abs. You hear Layla’s sounds of pleasure as well, indicating she’s also reached her peak and allowed her orgasm to burst through the seams.

You tell her to join you on the counter again, so you can lick the mess off Jimin’s body.

“Girls, you don’t have to—”

“Hush!” Layla tells him and he shuts up immediately.

You grab her phone and you both take turns filming each other cleaning and taking more shots from Jimin’s belly.

He lays there smirking, feeling like a king in the hands of two beautiful women.

“Fuck, both of you are hot,” he comments. “I’m spent.”

“You’re done?” you ask him with a puzzled face.

Jimin laughs hesitantly. “You want another round?”

You and Layla look at each other and then back at him.

“I mean…you can go to bed if you want,” she suggests and Jimin sits up immediately.

“Nope. I’m good, I’ve let you both run this show for too long…Who’s first for backshot?”

All of you hop off the counter and make your way to his room.

“Um, that would be me,” you speak up with a raised hand.

When you approach the bedroom door, you turn to Layla and whisper drunken words to her.

“I hope you’re having fun because I sure am.”

When morning arrived, so did the pounding and intense headache that you could barely stand. With shaky legs you made your way to Jimin’s living room, where your mind began to replay the blurry events from last night.

The longer you sit on his couch, face buried in your palms, the clearer it all becomes, and regret slowly creeps up from the box you figuratively stuff it in. So does your shame and rational thinking.

You didn’t just fuck up. You fucked it all up.

You embarked on a downward spiral that led you to the only destination that route can take you.

Revenge is sweet but the crash that follows isn’t worth the temptation. You wish that you’d taken that into consideration last night.

Your phone pings and pings with hundreds of messages—from her, social media, your boss. Everyone’s seen them and has had their say by the time you’re aware of their existence. The lump in your throat swells with each comment you read.

What was meant to be your little moment of selfishly claimed happiness, was taken and flipped to make you out to be a monster. A low down, cheating girlfriend who craves attention from men when she’s supposed to be in a committed relationship with a woman.

The caption reads, “Did she ever love me?”

Sad part about that is, you did. You gave her so much love until the tank ran empty. All that was left was the small amount of self-love you had remaining. Last night you had a choice—give it to her or keep it for yourself.

And so, for the first time in a long time you did what you wanted to do. Unfortunately for you, it came with many consequences.

You won’t feel bad about it, though. You’re sure no one else does. Only a small part of you wonders why the universe can be so cruel. How is it that this person can put you through so much and get away with it but the moment you break the rules punishment is waiting around the corner.

By now, you’ve given up on what’s right or what is wrong. Both sides haven’t been kind to you, so you figure there’s no point in trying to differentiate the two. You'll be fine if you can just get through the rest of your life without another shitty relationship.

So lost in thought, you almost forget where you are.

Jimin’s fuzzy slippers drag across the floor as he appears from the hallway. You part your fingers slightly to take a peek and find him wearing nothing but a robe and his boxers, abs littered with the trail of dark blooms as evidence of last night’s festivities.

He mentions something about Layla being gone already and comes into the living room to join you. You don’t say a word until he speaks.

“So,” he plops down on the couch beside you, blowing out a puff of air as he does, “how’s it going?”

Pulling away from your hands, you turn in his direction to look at him.

“I lost my mind, my girlfriend, and my job in one night. What about you?”

Jimin huffs a fake laugh briefly before answering.

“Aw, it can’t be that bad, huh?”

Both of you stare at each other for a moment before he finally realizes you aren’t joking.

“Oh, shit,” is what he replies when it all dawns upon him. “What the fuck did we do last night?”

You grab your phone and open your Instagram app, clicking on the user’s story from the previous night. You hand it over to Jimin who immediately recognizes the trio and looks on with wide eyes.

“I’m ruined,” you comment.

Jimin finally tears his eyes away after some minutes and looks at you.

“Why is it still up? You should just delete it,” he suggests.

“That isn’t on my account, Jimin.”

“Well, it mentioned something about a breakup, so I assumed…” His face is etched with confusion as he takes another look at the profile. His brows gradually raise at the hundreds of photos posted by a familiar face.

“Layla?” he calls out, mostly to himself.

You hum as you straighten your posture. Jimin is still utterly lost but that isn’t a surprise.

“Why would she...Fuck, I’m sorry. I’ll call her right now. I don’t know why she would do that. She’s not like that,” he tries to assure you, but you already know better.

“Because she’s a bitch and she’s definitely like that. She’s been planning this,” you inform, and you can see the wheels in his head turning, trying to search for the missing piece he’s sure is there.

“Babe, I’m still swimming in tequila, can you please fill me in. Why does my Friday night care about what you and your girl have going on?”

He cards a hand through his hair and lies back on the couch as if that’ll make the throbbing in his head disappear. However, your next statement is sure to leave it spinning.

“Because your Friday night is my girl, smartass.”

Jimin jolts up faster than you’ve ever seen anyone move.

“You’re lying. Tell me you’re fucking kidding,” he begs, fists full of his strands.

You snatch your phone from his lap and switch from Instagram to your photos. You allow him to see everything, pictures, videos, nudes…your private sex tapes. As much of your five-year long relationship he can absorb before he’s had enough.

Jimin stares ahead, unsure of what to say. You know the look of regret when you see it, so you save him the challenge of issuing the proper apology. You understand that sometimes remorse is hard to put in words.

“It’s okay, Jimin. You’re good. You didn’t know,” you tell him, rubbing his back with soothing circles. You feel horrible because he was dragged into this by the both of you.

Layla thought she was getting even by sleeping with him despite hating his guts and all you wanted to do was use him as a pawn. He didn’t deserve any of that and it’s probably why your plan backfired.

Jimin’s such a good person. You and Layla never deserved to have him enter your lives.

“So, let me get this straight because this is the only logical, if I can even say that, explanation I have for this.” He turns to you, and you have enough respect for him to look him in the eyes while he speaks.

“Layla is your girlfriend?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“And she threw herself at me a few weeks ago so she could fuck me to get back at you, who she thought was fucking me?”

Once again, you nod your head.

“Mhm.”

His brows knit together as he pieces together the rest and when he does, he continues.

“And last night when she came here you didn’t leave because you wanted to get her back?” he questions, and you agree. “So, you just used me to teach her a lesson?”

“Jimin, I’m sorry—”

“That’s so fucking hot,” he commends, catching you off guard.

You blink and look around the room as if he could be speaking to someone else. “What?”

“I underestimated you. I mean…you’re like a silent assassin or some shit. That was insane.”

Jimin goes on and on about how impressed he is and how Layla got what she deserved and it kind of cheers you up a bit. You’re grateful for his sportsmanship and his support. However, when the moment fades and silence falls the reality sets in. You realize that everything is not all good.

“Yeah, I’m still out of a job, though. That club’s pretty strict, we can’t have sex tapes going around. According to our manager, it ‘takes away our value’ or whatever…”

Jimin hums but doesn’t say anything. However, you know there’s something on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m not going to be your sugar baby, Jimin. So before you go there—”

“I wasn’t going to…! I swear!” he promises, holding up his hands. “I did have a proposition, though?”

“Dude, I literally just got dumped, exposed, and fired. I know that look. I swear if it’s wild I’ll punch you,” you threaten him.

“Alright, I get it. No violence, woman.” He laughs but then his expression turns serious. “You’re a great actress, you know that?”

“How else would I make money?” you quip.

“But it’s not good to bury those emotions. Eventually they’ll bubble to the surface,” he continues.

You frown. “What are you hinting at, Jimin?”

“Would it be safe to say that you’re my friend?” he asks you.

He’s your only friend. You don’t know why it wouldn’t be safe.

“Yeah, of course.”

Jimin hums as he ponders over his words. “And friends…help each other?”

“They do,” you sigh.

“Well, what if you helped me? Would you let me help you–ow!”

“Jimin, I told you—”

“I was just going to offer you a job at another spot I’m opening,” he whines, clutching the arm you jabbed.

Oh.

“Well, you were beating around the bush.” Your arms fold but eventually your hand reaches out to caress his arm. You barely touched him, but he acts as if you’ve broken a bone.

“What is it? Another nightclub?”

He nods. “Yeah, but I’d like to have bottle girls and other entertainment. There will be bouncers and security but if something were to go down, I think they’d feel more comfortable giving a statement to another woman instead of huge scary guys, you know?”

That is true. At the Penthouse, you’d have to tell bouncers or your male manager how some creep tried to touch you, making you feel even more uncomfortable. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to other than your equally gross manager and the cold bouncers who were just there for their checks.

“So, you want that person to be me?” you ask him.

“Yeah. There will be other job duties, of course. That’ll keep you busy throughout the week, but it won’t be too stressful and I’m always here to help.”

He stares at you with puppy eyes, trying to charm you and you can’t help but smile as you look away.

“So, what do you say?”

“Jimin, I would. I really would because I need the money. I don’t have a car, or a home now that I’ve been kicked out,” you admit with a small scoff. “I need those things before even considering accepting a job.”

However, Jimin is a quick thinker and isn’t letting up so easily.

“Then rent this place.” He gestures around to his current home before shrugging his shoulders. “I haven’t put it on the market yet.”

“I can’t afford this place—”

“You can at the rate I’m going to pay you. My businesses are picking up, babe. I need help. I need people. Hustlers, like you.” The more Jimin runs his mouth, the more convinced you become. He’s definitely a businessman because he makes everything sound promising. “Besides, I know another way we both can profit off of this…scandal. And the only way we can pull it off is if we keep in touch.”

You look over at him with squinted eyes.

“You’re the devil on my shoulder,” you tell him.

“An angel, actually.”

“Same thing,” you retort.

Eventually, the banter ends with a long sigh, and he finally lays it all on the table.

“Give me an hour to call my attorney. I’ll ask him to type up a contract and we can negotiate on what stays and what goes. If we can agree on the terms, we sign it and go from there,” he states.

“Why do I feel like there is more to this than becoming your tenant and working at your club? What are you up to?”

Jimin smirks, slinging his arm over the couch behind your head. He leans closer and whispers in your ear as if he’s telling his biggest secret. What he begins to tell you is wild, unbelievable, but surprisingly one of the best ideas you’ve heard.

“Ever heard of OnlyFans?” he asks you.

Two years later...

The clinking plates and silverware are the only thing you can focus on in the dimly lit restaurant. You’ve always hated public places, so becoming a stripper is still something you cannot believe you pulled off.

12: 23 PM Jimin: you good? i’m right outside if you need me.

Nervousness resided within you early on while you were waiting alone. The anxiety fade when the same woman you looked in the eyes nearly two years ago sits across from you.

You realize she’s the same as before; nothing has really changed but her appearance. Her eyes still hold no remorse for what she did. She only regrets how she wasn’t able to have the upper hand in the end.

Her jealousy and selfishness still linger in her aura, and you’re reminded of what drove you away. You aren’t just good. You’re great.

“Hi,” she says as soon as she’s situated in the booth.

“Hi, Layla,” you respond, setting your phone on the table before taking a sip of water. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine. What do you want?”

You aren’t fazed by the rudeness in her tone. You glance at her as you dig in your purse. You pull out the velvet box and set it between you, confusing your ex-girlfriend with its appearance.

“And what is that?” she asks bluntly, not even reaching out for it.

You look at the box and then back at her. “Open it.”

She grabs it on your command and lifts the top, eyes displaying a small glint when the diamond-encrusted ring appears. You shake your head at the scowl she gives you.

“I’m not about to clear up any rumors about those videos. You can save the bribery. I can’t be bought like you,” she spits out.

It doesn’t create the sting she was hoping for. It only makes you chuckle at her bitterness.

“You did nothing but make my life easier. Why would I ask you to reverse it? You think I care how people feel about my career?”

She scoffs at the mention of your “career,” but you ignore her and continue.

“I just wanted to give you that because it’s yours. I have no use for it.”

“And what would I do with it? I don’t want it,” she argues.

“I don’t care what you do with it. Pawn it, throw it away…doesn’t matter. All I know is that I bought it for you, so it’s yours.”

Layla drops the small box on the table and leans closer to you, narrowing her eyes as if you’ve actually done her something.

“Why would I want anything you bought with money you earned while laying on your back?” she grits.

Your head shakes from side to side slowly, thinking about how she still doesn’t see how much you cared after everything.

“You know I tried with you, Layla. I gave you my all.” You shoot Jimin a quick text, letting him know you’ll be outside in a minute before finishing. “I bought you that ring nearly two years ago in the pouring fucking rain. I worked my ass off for it and still barely had enough.”

The thick tears finally begin to pour, and your mind travels back to what Jimin told you about burying your emotions. You never doubted that they’d force their way out. You just didn’t know when.

“I earned it by cleaning that nasty strip club floor every night after work because I knew you hated stripper money. I wanted your ring. Your engagement ring…to be special, something you could be proud of.”

Her features remain hardened, but you, of all people, know it’s a mask. She was broken long before your relationship ended, and instead of allowing you in to help her, she pushed you away.

“Imagine how I felt passing the restaurant you worked at and not seeing your car after you told me you couldn’t pick me up because you were working late. Or seeing you stroll inside the man’s house you accused me of cheating on you with not to confront me but to admit to me that you’re fucking him behind my back,” you continue.

You don’t even care about the few pairs of eyes on you. This needs to be said so you can move on.

“Or imagine, waking up to an internet full of people telling you that you’re the bad guy because you were tired of doing right by someone who never appreciated you. That’s how I hit rock bottom, Layla. And you were nowhere to be found.”

“You never needed me,” she comments.

“No, I didn’t!” Your fist slams on the table, rattling it and startling some guests. “But I wanted you, and I wanted you to love me like I loved you.”

Her expression finally loses its tension, and her features begin to droop. She stares blankly into space, allowing the air to settle around you.

“You weren’t fucking him, were you?” her small voice asks.

You give her a pitiful look. You can’t help but feel bad for her because, just like you, she hasn’t had it easy. However, you never lost sight of being a good person like her, which was her biggest downfall.

A warm feeling creeps up your body as you dry your eyes with a small napkin, thinking of the man she just mentioned. “I am now,” you confirm.

Slinging your purse on your shoulder, you place a hundred dollar bill in the center of the table.

“You’re leaving?” she asks, and you let her know you have to prepare for a baecation with Jimin. She looks shocked by your statement. “So, you and Jimin…your relationship isn’t fake?”

You get up from your seat and give her a pat on her shoulder before you depart.

“Layla,” you sigh. “I think you should stop jumping to conclusions so much, babe.”

“I’m sorry,” she admits, and all you can do is offer a sympathetic smile.

“Use that ho money and order you some lunch. And take that ring so you can pay those legal fees for not making rent after you kicked me out,” you say to her and proceed to walk away.

However, you almost forget about the apology she’d given you and turn around to tell her one more thing.

“Also, here’s to your apology. Don’t choke on it like you were choking on Jimin’s dick,” you shout, giving her the finger.

You find Jimin waiting at the door, trying to persuade security not to escort you out. He looks at you with wide eyes when you approach him.

“Are you crazy?” he laughs nervously, silently praying that he isn’t banned from his favorite restaurant.

“A little bit. But I always wanted to do that,” you giggle as his arm slips around your waist to move you to the other side of him.

“Are you okay?”

You answer with a nod and begin to walk with him down the street to the parking garage, getting all those “cute couple” stares from random people.

Becoming a fake couple just to sell content on OnlyFans is something you never imagined doing. Still, Jimin and his persuasiveness wore you down. However, it proved to be one of the best decisions you ever made. Subscribers sometimes pay just to watch you make Jimin dinner.

All you have to do is show him affection and love while you’re doing it. These days, however. No acting is required. Fake dating was fun while it was fresh, but being Jimin’s actual girlfriend is much better.

Small conversations continue as you step onto the garage’s elevator. No one is around to hop on with you, so Jimin closes the door and punches floor seven with his knuckle. Not even three seconds go by before the lights flicker, and it stops, indicating some sort of malfunction or outage.

Jimin’s short temper gets the best of him only moments after, and he grabs his hair with a slight bit of frustration.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jimin states while he looks around as if the answers lie within the walls. However, he finds nothing to determine the cause.

“Didn’t I say let’s take the stairs?” You chuckle, watching him pace back and forth.

He looks at you like you’ve just cursed him.

“I wasn’t about to climb the stairs in these,” he cries, pointing at his shoes.

Your eyes roll.

“Jimin, you’re wearing Crocs.”

“That’s the point! They aren’t made for climbing stairs,” he explains with a high-pitched voice.

“You’re being dramatic,” you sing.

“And you’re being mean.”

His fake pouting amuses you as he walks over to the call buttons, pressing random floor numbers to see if anything will happen. He finally gives up when it proves to be no avail and goes for the emergency call button.

“Wait!” You stop him just as his finger hovers over it, and he pauses momentarily to turn around and answer you.

He hums, eyebrow lifting with interest because the growing smirk is evident on your face.

“We aren’t in a rush, are we?”

Jimin shrugs. “Not really, I guess.”

He returns to his place in front of you and folds his arms over his chest.

“I thought you wanted to play around before work, though. We probably won’t have time now—”

“Let’s do it here,” you suggest. Jimin’s widened eyes make you giggle. “If you’re down with it. I know we’ve never done it in public before.”

Suddenly, you begin to feel shy, and you try to retract your idea.

“Or maybe we can just do it another time.…”

You look away, but the tip of his finger turns your head gently, shifting your focus back to him. He greets you with a devilish grin and sinful eyes, mischief swirling within the depths of his brown orbs.

“So, you wanna fuck right here?... On an elevator?”

You answer him with a nod, and he scoffs a laugh. “We could get caught,” he mentions.

“I don’t care. I’ve been horny since this morning,” you inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I was waiting for the right moment.” You pull him closer, blocking his hands as they try to reach out and grab your waist and then bring yours to his shoulders in the same motion.

“And which moment is that?” he questions, upset because he’s not permitted to touch you.

Your smile widens. “This one.”

Using the wall behind you for extra support, you lift your leg and slowly get into a heel stretch position, replacing the hand that was resting on his shoulder with your calf and ankle. Your hand brings his face closer so your foreheads touch. You can smell the minty freshness of his gum and the faint scent of his cologne within the close proximity.

You breathe him in blissfully as you speak. “And I’m not wearing panties.”

Jimin grips onto the railing a little harder after hearing this information.

“So I can just whip it out and.…”

“Fuck me right here,” you finish.

His hand finds his zipper instantly and drags it down. He reaches inside and pulls out his stiffened shaft, stroking it a few times before he inches closer to your cunt.

“We should probably film this… For later.” You wink.

He quickly grabs his phone from his back pocket and searches for the camera. You hold onto your own leg while he makes a hasty dash to place it on the floor beneath you—front-facing activated and already recording.

You look down and notice that it has a clear view of where your bodies will meet, making you excited to view and edit it later. You may even decide to keep this one for yourself instead of uploading it.

Jimin sighs through his nose while he spreads your folds with the head of his cock, running up and down your slit to both stimulate you and coat his length with your juices.

You gasp when he slides into you, and a hand comes over your mouth quickly, a finger to his lip silently instructing you to keep your voice down. After you nod your head, he removes his hand and places it on your calf, wrapping his ring-clad fingers around your leg to keep it where it needs to be.

You only succeed in staying quiet for a few seconds, so Jimin has to kiss your lips so he can conceal your desperate moans. Despite all the noise you’re making, he makes no effort to switch up the pace and continues to fuck you without holding back. The entire elevator rocks with each powerful thrust due to him slamming into you so violently.

Your ass slaps against the cold metal railing but does nothing for the scorching heat radiating from your skin. Soon even Jimin’s thick plush lips aren’t enough to keep your cries of pleasure from escaping, and he has to bring his hand to your mouth again.

“Be quiet, sweetheart,” he whispers, but there’s no way you can when the pleasure is so intense.

Sweat begins to form on your body, and the small space becomes stuffy and humid. Chatter from the outside only heightens the thrill of being in here so exposed and open for anyone to see. Your nails dig into Jimin’s shoulder to stop yourself from floating away in your euphoric state.

“I’m trying,” you mumble into his palm, shrieking and sobbing as tears roll down your cheeks. “It’s so good. Jimin, I—”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. It’s okay,” he coos.

Jimin shushes you as you’re trying to get your words out and lodges himself deep into your womb while he speaks to you.

“I wish you knew how good this pussy feels,” he moans, snapping his hips in an upward motion to repeatedly bury himself in your guts. “I can’t believe this is all mine.”

“Jimin…” you cry out his name, attempting to warn him about the pressure building inside you, but the words get caught in your throat. Fortunately, he knows your body well enough to sense when you are close.

“Do it. Come on my dick, Kitty.”

Your body reacts on his command, and your orgasm ripples through your body. Jimin keeps you up with his strength because the one foot planted on the ground is matched with a shaky leg.

Moments after your intense wave of pleasure, Jimin removes his cock and shoots his cum all over your pussy. Your name leaves his lips as the thick ropes of his seed squirt out on your skin. Your bodies slump over each other, and heavy breathing fills the elevator.

After you’ve calmed, Jimin retrieves the phone, so he can zoom in on his cum covering your center. He smears it with his fingers and chuckles while he records.

“So pretty, and all mine.”

Banging interrupts your post-orgasmic moment, and a man’s voice erupts from the other side of the door.

“Open up, you heathens! We have places to be!”

Jimin’s eyes find your face immediately.

“You knew we were stuck on the first floor, didn’t you?”

You shrug. “Maybe…”

You bite his earlobe and whisper, “Why? Wanna punish me later?”

And you already know for a fact that he does.

#jimin x reader #bts x reader #jimin smut #bts smut #bts angst #jimin angst #bangtanbathhouse #festivaledaway #btsdreamcourt #bangtansorciere #bts fanfics #jimin fanfics #bts imagines #sugakookitty

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yutasbellybuttonpiercing · 2 years

Text

Foreign Feelings - N.YT

Pairings: Nakamoto Yuta x f!reader (she/her pronouns), Lee Donghyuck/ Haechan x reader, mentioned Lee Donghyuck x Moon Taeil

Word count: 12.001 words (damn...)

AU/Genre: (strangers to) friends to lovers, college!AU, exchange student!AU, smut, fluff, very brief angst, slow burn, humor (hopefully)

Other characters: mentioned Jo Haseul (LOONA)

General warnings: daddy issues, smoking (cigarettes), reader gets nipple piercings (descriptive), yuta has a whole lot of piercings, too many sexual jokes, everyone in this is bisexual, internalized homophobia, Pepero game

Smut warnings: masturbation (f, twice, once wihth Yuta in the same room), dirty talk, mentioned porn, fingering and oral (f receiving), daddy kink (I'm sorry, it slipped), Haechan has a big dick (wbk), making out, nipple play, praising, creampie

Summary: Yuta quickly becomes your best friend, but what if he's more than that? He certainly lights your private parts on fire (in a good way), but the general problems of exchange students stand grandly in the way of you daring to admit your crush to yourself and him. A series of unfortunate events of your typical friends to lovers drama.

A/n: I usually try not to go into detail about the reader's origins, but since it's needed for the plot (kind of), reader is a foreigner studying in Korean, just like Yuta. FYI: "Would you like to eat ramen with me" can be used as general slang to indicate sleeping together. It could be translated with "Netflix and Chill". I'm not an expert tho.

A/n 2: I started writing this a year ago, forgot about it, and then found it again. Yes, this is the fic that inspired the name of this account. Yes, it's a shame that I only finished it now.

Foreigner. Sometimes, you really felt like one.

It’s been about two years since you had moved to Korea to follow up on your studies there instead of your home country. It had been hard in the beginning, but after two years you had grown accustomed to your new home, slowly getting the hang of how things worked. The hardest part must have been learning the language because even though your studies were in English, you had to use a lot of Korean in your daily life. And sometimes, when all of your friends joked around, throwing in puns in Korean that you didn’t understand, you felt like an outsider.

Well, that was until he came.

He, Nakamoto Yuta, is an exchange student from Japan. One day you had been sitting in your Social Economics Class, doodling along on your notepad waiting for the professor to start the lesson, when suddenly a voice had asked if the seat next to you was already occupied.

Your first reaction had been to jump. It had been early in the morning (you can’t remember why you had decided on joining an 8am class that semester) and you hadn’t expected having to talk to anyone beside your friend Haseul who would pick you up for a cigarette break two hours later.

As you had turned your head towards the culprit who almost made you lose your favorite pencil to the steep slope of the lecture hall, already afraid it would be that one creep who seemingly couldn't get the hint that you were not interested in the contents of his pants. Instead, you had been stunned. The stranger had stood there in all his glory, a few strands of his dark brown, wavy hair hanging down to his shoulders as they had loosen from his ponytail, full, plush lips slightly parted as his big brown eyes stared down at you while he awaited an answer.

He was probably the most gorgeous thing you had ever had the honor of laying your eyes upon.

“N-no.” You had hurried to grab your stuff that you had spread over the entire table to make space for him, “please, sit down.”

“Thank you.” He had smiled as he sat down and put his jacket next to himself on another empty seat. You still hadn’t gotten used to his appearance, the way his jawline curved so prettily towards his fully pierced ear, his gentle eyebrows hanging lower as he concentrated on the lecturer in the front preparing his presentation, the perfect curve of his nose complimenting his slender face even in profile. Your eyes followed the roundness of his prominent Adam’s apple, which bopped as he swallowed his own saliva, then down over his sculptured collar bones into the low hanging neckline of his black shirt, granting enough view on his muscular chest to still leave some of it to the imagination, but gave a good idea of what was lying underneath, almost begging to be unwrapped.

He was breathtaking.

“I’m sorry if it’s weird that I’m just sitting down next to you. I’m just new and you looked friendly.”

“Huh?” You had blinked twice as you realized that he was indeed a real person and not just a piece of art to admire – a sculpture curving before your eyes almost sensually – and he must have taken your stares as a question as to why he had to sit down next to you, and not what they really were: you checking him out. Actually, that was still an understatement.

“Oh, no, really, it’s fine. No problem. Can I ask what your name is?” You had tried to start a normal conversation.

“Ah, I’m Yuta. Nakamoto Yuta. And you?” He had smiled brightly, probably relieved that you didn’t hate him for sitting down and invading your personal space. And you had smiled back, giving him your name. His smile had been the most healing thing you’ve ever seen. It seemed as if nothing bad could ever happen as long as he’s around.

And that still hasn’t changed.

The two of you had talked until the lecture had started and even then it had been hard for you not to take the conversation further. It had seemed as if you two just clicked. After about two hours of listening to the lecturer (a greying man who sounded like he was a sleeping pill on legs), Haseul had entered the hall, squeezing through piles of students trying to get ahold of a banana milk at the cafeteria before their next lesson, to pick you up to go have a smoke outside, and you had just casually asked Yuta to come join you.

That’s how you became friends with Nakamoto Yuta.

Now, about half a year went by and Yuta made your life at least three times better. He always has brilliant ideas for after-lecture-activities for when you aren’t in the mood to go to the library yet to type away yet another essay in a hurry because you've been procrastinating since last Tuesday. He is also a master in about all of the courses you need help in (and the other way around) which leads to study sessions that are not only fun and interesting, but also helpful.

But most importantly: he is always there with you. When you have to ask the barkeeper for the third time what he said because you can’t understand him over the loud music and your lack of proper Korean, or when you have to pull out Papago-Translator for the seventh time one morning just to decipher where in the world your package has gone missing to. And especially when your friends make those inside jokes for Korean-masters only and you look at him to see that he is about as clueless about what that means as you are.

But somehow, you two just stay friends. Which, don’t get me wrong, isn’t a bad thing at all, but there is no denying that he is absolutely and without a doubt the most beautiful being you had ever laid eyes on, and is a perfect match personality wise and you would literally get on your knees for this man in a heartbeat (to propose, obviously).

There is just always this little thing in the back of your head, holding you back: just like you, Yuta is just an exchange student, he will leave you sooner or later, long-distance never works, and you will only get hurt. At least, that's what you'd learned from the countless failed relationships of your parents.

So you stay friends, the bestest friends. And you still enjoy every second with him, whether you two are studying, laughing, or deep-talking under a full moon.

“Yeah, she’s getting her nipples pierced today.”

“Bro, what, you don’t have to tell everyone,” you pout and nudge his shoulder. He grins and taps the ashes off his cigarette with his freshly manicured (by you) black nails with little drawings on them, the grey clump falling onto the ground of the marked smoking-area.

“I’m sorry, but I’m so excited for you. My bestie is getting perforated for the first time.” He beams, wiggling his eyebrows first at you and then at the poor stranger in front of him who made the mistake of standing in reach of Yuta’s excited voice and making eye contact with him for 0.1 seconds.

“Fifth,” you correct him, pointing towards your earlobes which held exactly four silver rings in them.

Yuta holds up his arms in defeat. To be fair, he hasn’t really told everyone before, but now that you are standing in front of the piercing studio, inhaling the last cigarette before you get your real piercing cherry popped, as Yuta calls it, he gets too excited to keep it to himself. He insists that those regular ear-lobe piercings don’t count as real piercings. He himself has a fair share of real piercings himself, which makes him a self-proclaimed body-hole expert. You had tried to talk him out of this nickname for obvious reasons, but he insisted that the ambiguousness of it makes it even funnier. Two kinds of people, you guess.

Moving on...

From top to bottom, in that order, he has 5 piercings.

Firstly, he used to have an eyebrow piercing, which his friend got him when he was a teenager, but he somehow lost the piercing while sleeping and the next morning the hole was almost healed again, leaving him with nothing but a tiny, circular scar. He still counts it though.

Next is his nose ring which he had gotten only a few days after coming to Korea. You had to drive back to the piercing studio with him three (3) times because it got infected over and over again, but it wasn’t Yuta’s fault, of course, the piercer just sucked ass and apparently messed it up. Ever since, he's kind of reluctant to get his septum pierced as well.

His dermal piercing is next, a small, silver ball with a crystal made of glass which sits just below his left collar bone. He says he is actually surprised that it hasn’t fallen out yet.

Next comes his bellybutton piercing. It had been his first, he got it straight up on his 18th birthday, a shock to his parents, but it was something he had dreamed of for years, and he is still happy with it.

Yuta is strictly against gender norms and wears whatever he finds pretty, not caring if he buys it in the men’s or women’s section or if it is pink or blue or “for girls” and “kind of gay”. He loves wearing crop tops that show off the pretty jewel that adorns his toned stomach, even if people stare. Or maybe because people stare.

Lastly, he has another one, but only God knows what it is and every time you ask, he just winks and smirks and says “you don’t wanna know”. But you want to know.

A few minutes later, you sit inside the piercing studio. An absolutely gorgeous young lady is putting rubber gloves on as you sit and wait for instructions.

“You can take off your clothes now,” she says and nods.

“I- um- should I leave?” Yuta asks, eyes wide and a little nervous, apparently only now realizing that one has to take off their shirt (and bra) for someone to stick a needle through their nipples.

It usually takes very much to get Yuta even the slightest bit flustered so this was kind of new territory for you, seeing Yuta's concerned stare makes him kind of cute.

“Bro, are you joking? It’s not a big deal. I’ve seen you puke and that was probably worse,” you say, pulling your arm through your sleeve to take off your shirt. You glance over at him just to see him gulp, but you brush it off as only a decent human reaction to be somewhat uncomfortable seeing someone else’s boobies for the first time. I mean, you would react like this too if you saw his naked chest.

A few moments later, you lay on your back, tits full on display, the pretty girl had marked your nipples to pinpoint where she would put the needle through, and is now touching around your nipples to get them to harden. In the corner of your eye, you can see Yuta leaning against the wall, eyes focusing a little too much on an unoccupied nail in the wall in front of him.

“Okay, I’ll start with the left one, okay? I’ll count to three and then pierce through it. Are you ready?” the piercer asks you. You nod at her and try to relax. You are nervous, like, really nervous since this is probably going to hurt like hell.

“One, two.”

A stinging pain rushes through your nipple and makes you hiss, an almost embarrassing sound of pain squeezing out of your throat, a tear threatening to creep its way out of your eye and down your cheek. That fucking hurt. As you look down, you see it. There is a needle stuck through your nipple, both ends of the sharp object peeping out on both sides. Inevitably, panic arises in you.

“What happened to three??” You exclaim, trying to breathe through the pain as she replaces the needle with a barbell piercing. Fucking hell, it feels like your nipple will just spontaneously combust.

“I wanted to surprise you.” She smirks. “Alright, ready for the other?”

“No, no, no, no,” you laugh awkwardly. You aren’t ready. You really aren’t. You are honestly just scared, and your body doesn’t want to go through that pain again.

“Come on, you can do it. Why don’t you ask your boyfriend to hold your hand, maybe that’ll help?” She suggests, smiling over at Yuta, who looks like the poster on the wall showing a burning skull is the most interesting thing he's ever seen in his life.

“We’re actually just friends.”

“Ouch,” she says, and you think that’s funny. And kinda true.

“She’s a strong girl, she can handle it,” Yuta says, the big vein on his neck looks like it’s about to explode and cover the whole room in a fountain of blood as he tries to focus on deciphering the interesting writings on the sanitizer bottle, which judging by the incredible concentration he puts into it must have a great storyline and a thrilling twist to it.

“Yuta, I don’t think she can,” you admit and intend on stretching your arm out to make a grabbing motion with your hand, but moving your arm moves your boob and your boob protests against the sudden movement by sending waves of pain through your body which makes your groan. “Please?”

He takes two deep breaths, then walks over to you, reminding himself to only look at your face. He leans down, taking your hand into his and starts to stroke the back of your hand with his thumb. Noticing the fear in your eyes, his features go soft, and he talks to you in a soothing voice and tells you that it’s going to be okay, and sends a smile towards you, making your belly tingle.

You nod. When he’s with you, you can do anything.

“Friends my ass,” the piercer reminds you that you two are, in fact, not alone. She walks around to your right nipple. The sudden movement causing Yuta to lose his focus on your eyes, as they flick over to her for a second, than back to you. But not your eyes.

You catch him staring at your breast. Full on, wide-eyed, his thumb stopping his motions on your hand as he takes you in. How pretty you lay before him. Exposed. Your boobs just out on display, ready for him to grope at them and tease your pretty nipples with his fingers, lips, tongue and teeth. Oh, your nipple, so red and hard and swollen from getting pierced just seconds ago. How he wants to suck on the shiny jewelry once they’re fully healed.

He gulps. He knows he can’t think like this about you. You are his friend. His best friend. He doesn’t want to lose what you have. He is scared that he will hurt you.

The next thing you know is another sharp pain coming from your right nipple, shooting through you and spreading in your body. Your face scrunches and you let out an “ah”-sound, as she quickly replaces the needle with a piercing.

“It’s done. You alright?” She smiles, you nod, and after putting band-aids on your nipples, she heads towards the door. “Just get dressed, be careful though, and come to the front when you’re ready.”

Once she’s gone, Yuta looks at you, amused, like the moment the two of you just had never happened. “You okay?”

You pause and stutter, “h- p- o-okay? Am I okay? Fuck no, there’s fucking holes in my body, please, Yuta, it hurts so bad. Please save me, I will literally die.”

He chuckles at you and acts as if your begging doesn’t have an effect on him. He is glad that he is not wearing grey sweatpants today, but dark jeans and an oversized shirt that will hide anything and everything that happens in his pants.

A few weeks later, you open the door after the doorbell rang, only to find Yuta standing there, a big tote bag in hand and a beaming smile on his face. You notice he dyed his hair. It’s a medium blonde, and he looks breathtaking.

“Uh, what?”

“Hello to you too, bestie. I have brought snacks and movies and hope you will let me come inside.” He blows a strand of hair out of his eyes.

“You know I’d always let you come inside, Yuta.” You grin and step aside so he could enter.

You don’t really remember when it happened, but someday Yuta and you just casually started making sexual comments towards each other, just jokes, just for fun. And it was so much fun, at least until you realized that it's maybe a bit too much for your friendship. And you remember the exact moment you realized just that.

It had been a long day, you had classes until late at night, coming home after someone in the bus literally fell on you and drenched you in your milk tea that cost a shit ton of money, and didn’t taste as good when you had to suck it out of your shirt and hair. All you wanted was to take a long hot shower. So that was what you did.

You had peeled your milky clothes that, apart from the admittedly delicious smell, had been unbearable to wear the whole walk from the bus station to your apartment, off of your body and dumped them into the laundry basket. This was work for another day. You hopped into the shower and let the hot water rinse you of your stress. You washed your hair and body and suddenly, without you realizing it, really, your hand was between your legs, gently massaging your clit that you had completely neglected for the past week because you had a very important presentation to prepare with Yuta.

You thought of the two of you presenting today, your professor clapping afterwards and smiling at you, telling you two you did a great job. You thought of how Yuta had smiled at you and whispered to you:

“You did so good baby girl, how about I reward you after this?”

Which was obviously a joke – clearly – because he had laughed afterwards and smacked your shoulder, but your lady parts didn’t see it as that: a joke.

At least you got bubble tea out of that.

You decided that your fingers weren’t doing enough for you so you grabbed the shower head and brought it down. Excitement shot through you, and you gasped at the feeling the water pressure gave you. Your mind wandered back to Yuta and the many things he’s jokingly said. He was such a tease, probably knowing what his words did to you. Maybe it had always been his plan to rile you up until you couldn't take it anymore and would beg for him to take you, or maybe that was just you wishing.

Your mind showed you your best friend that one time you had asked to get a lick off his popsicle and he decided it was a good idea to almost shove it down your throat and say, “don’t act like this, I know you can take it”.

This was wrong, so wrong, but it felt so good. The stream of the hot water brought you closer and closer to orgasm, the muscles in your stomach clenching to cope with the overwhelming feeling of stimulation that you had lacked for so long.

Trying to pull your mind off of your best friend, you tried thinking about that one girl in her short skirt you saw at the park a few days ago, or the actor in that drama that you found attractive. You tried to imagine him pinning you against the wall and fucking into you from behind, but as imaginary you turned around, you only saw Yuta.

“Cum for me.”

You were close, so damn close you could nearly taste it on the tip of your tongue. Your pussy clenched around nothing, the empty feeling causing you to slide two of your fingers into your hole, massaging your walls and trying to reach as deep as you knew Yuta could. Moaning out, you tried to think of anyone, anything other than your best friend, like that hot video you saw on twitter of two girls 69ing on a couch.

The last thing your mind showed you before your final release was Yuta, kneeling in front of you in the shower, eyes big, round and innocent as he looked up at you, fingers deep in your pussy moving in sync with your real ones, and his tongue lapping on your clit. He looked so pretty underneath you.

“Please, cum for me,” you imagined him saying as your orgasm took over you. It had been so intense that you slid down the shower wall to sit on the ground. Fingers pumping in and out of you slowly to drag your orgasm out as long as possible.

You sighed, thinking about how morally wrong it felt to picture your best friend while getting off, but no matter how hard you tried, Yuta always made his way back into your mind, and seemingly, there was nothing you could do about that.

“Which movies did you bring?” you ask as Yuta unties his Doc Marten’s only to slip into his baby blue bunny-slippers a few seconds later to keep his feet warm around your apartment.

“I brought horror movies.”

You frown. There literally exist 19 other genres which he could have chosen from, but this bitch decides to choose the one you didn’t like. Well, actually you like them, it’s just that you are so easily startled and never able to sleep alone after a horror movie.

“Why?” You whine, but he just looks at you, tells you you would like it and then suddenly kisses you on the cheek before heading deeper into your home.

“Come on, it will be fun!” He exclaims from inside. But you aren’t even able to follow him by how startled you are by his sudden actions. He has never kissed you before. Why did he kiss you? And why did that make your belly tingle and your cheeks flush red. Ah, that's right: because you're crushing on him, but you're not ready to admit that yet.

“Uh- um- y-you know I can’t sleep after watching movies like this,” you stutter instead as you do follow him to sit on the bed next to him. It’s no big deal, you are always chilling on your bed because you are only a student living in Seoul and therefore can’t afford anything bigger than a broom closet. Your apartment consists of your bed, a desk and a closet in one room, and then a kitchen, and a bathroom. Having a separate kitchen is already a luxury.

“Oh, come on. Of course I am prepared.” He holds up his bag from before, suggesting he’s going to spend the night. Which also isn’t a big deal, you shared a bed multiple times, but given the circumstances that he kissed you earlier, you are kind of taken aback.

“Or- do you not want me to?” Yuta asks as you don’t show your usual excitement about getting to spend even more time with him.

Your eyes widen. “Oh, no. I’m just scared that you will punch me in the tits in your sleep and rip off my piercings.” You are actually proud of yourself for coming up with an excuse that fast. And he seems to buy it as he smiles and drops his bag back on the floor.

“Ah, don’t worry I will only be gentle with your nipples.” He winks, then laughs out loud. You wonder what’s up with him tonight.

Later on, you’re about half an hour deep into the movie, and so far you have almost punched Yuta in the face twice because you jumped so hard. And when the screen shows another creepy creature crawling backwards on all fours, you scream and accidentally elbowing him in the ribs, causing an aggressive hiss to hit your eardrums.

Soon, he has enough and pulls you closer, placing you in front of him and holding onto your arms from behind by snaking his arms around your slightly trembling form. “Please, you have to stop hitting me.”

"Funny." Your face drops into a serious expression which he can't even see from his place behind you, a noise that you try to make sound like the fakest of false laughs you can master voicing from your mouth. "If you didn’t want me to accidentally hit you in the face then you should’ve brought another movie," you reason as you feel his hot breath fanning against your ear, making you feel weak in an instant. You shudder as heat rushes downwards, and your heart skips a beat as you feel his hot figure pressed against your back, and his muscular arms hugging around your shoulders. His hands hold onto your wrists, restricting them from moving. It feels just too sexual, but you just let it happen. Partly because you don't want to make it weird by pointing the suggestive nature of your position out, party because you wholeheartedly enjoy his frame behind you.

After him restricting your movements, you don’t really jump anymore, but not because of him holding you down. Well, to be exact, it is because he’s holding you, but indirectly. You see, his too-close presence behind you, his warmth and the way he grabs onto your wrists makes your head spin, your mouth dry and your mind wander – far away from all of the scary things happening on TV.

You really want him to at least let go of your hands. Not because you don’t like the feeling of being bound and restricted, but because you like the feeling of being bound and restricted. You shift, getting uncomfortable as your wetness soaks into your underwear, and at any other given moment you'd be embarrassed of how turned on you are just because someone's holding onto your wrists... Anyway.

You scoot back, probably a little too far back because you can feel your ass hitting against something. Something hard that’s poking right into your backside. Heat rushes over you for a moment, contemplating what it could be.

It's probably his cellphone in his pocket, you decide, not wanting to get further into it, but as you shift further, you're able to feel it again. And not only that, you can hear a silent gasp creeping out of his throat directly into your ear.

You freeze, heartbeat increasing rapidly as it pounces against your ribcage. Is he hard? You shift again and again and again, just to be sure you aren’t imagining things. And every time you draw a little sound from his mouth that gives you goosebumps and goes straight into your core

“You can’t keep shifting like that,” you hear him say, his voice low and breathy and a little desperate.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper, not trusting your voice. You know exactly what he means. He means that if you keep rubbing your round ass over his cock he will bend you over and fuck you until you can’t walk for at least two days – at least that’s what you imagine.

Him rawdogging you from behind, grabbing onto a fistful of your hair as his rock hard cock slams into you, hitting only the right places, then bending over your back, his fingers finding your clit easily, his teeth grazing over your neck and biting down only to leave kisses on it afterwards. Him whispering into your ear what a good slut you are for him, taking his cock so well as he stretches you out. You leaning back into his touch, arching your back only for him to hit deeper inside you, his tip brushing over your cervix multiple times until you squirt all over him-

“You’re sitting on my foot.”

- or not.

Turns out his voice wasn’t “breathy and a little desperate”, he was just in pain because your dumbass sat on his feet. A little embarrassing, you admit later that night, the horror movie long forgotten, you lay awake beside him as he sleeps soundly. Good for him, you think as he breathes steadily next to you while you contemplate your entire existence. Why is he always in your head (sadly not literally) and why are you so turned on by everything he does?

“Probably daddy issues,” you quietly say to yourself, trying to pinpoint the source of all your mental problems on your emotionally distant father. As an answer you only get a low groan from beside you, a noise Yuta often made while sleeping. The first few times you had mistaken it as moans and were a little too cocky about it at the breakfast table the next morning, asking him if he dreamt well as he sent you nothing but looks of confusion.

You sigh. It’s late and the two of you have another project to work on tomorrow, so you decide to try and fall asleep. Which goes all well until Yuta's stirring next to you wakes you up again. Oh no. He’s shifted closer to you, his face only inches away from yours and you can see the distant moonlight illuminating the beautiful features of his face.

And he’s so close right now, his eyelashes are so pretty and long as they faintly brush his cheeks, his nose curved so perfectly and his lips so unbelievably soft and plush to the eye that all you want is to kiss them.

Oh, how badly you want to kiss him.

How you want to kiss him, softly but passionately as you climb on top of him, straddling his waist as you run your hands over his strong chest and his toned abs down to stroke him until he’s fully hard only for him to grab you by your thigh and waist, and turn the two of you around so he's on top, pressing his erection against your center as you make out, tongues dancing together and teeth nibbling on each other’s lips softly. You want him to slowly fuck into you, his forearms next to your head and his fingers playing with your hair as you switch between kissing lovingly and keeping eye contact as he bottoms out over and over again.

At this point, your fingers involuntarily find your clit, your other hand massaging your insides with two fingers in sync with imagination-Yuta and his cock. You’re so riled up from all of the imaginative foreplay that it doesn’t take long until you cum, walls clenching around your fingers as your orgasm crashes over you, right in time as the Yuta in your fantasy whispers into your ear.

“I love you.”

Realization washes over you as you come down: you just masturbated while your best friend is sleeping next to you, thinking of him making oh sweet love to you. This is so, so wrong, especially the slip of the three magic words. To this point, your crush on him had been excusable as being horny or whatever, but now? You're not too sure what to make of this.

There's just one thing clear in your mind: you really need to get laid.

So that’s what you do. Not even 12 hours later, you already download tinder. And not even 72 hours later, you found the perfect man for the job: he’s absolutely beautiful, and doesn’t have anything misogynistic in his bio nor a picture of him posing with a fish he’s caught. How wonderful.

The two of you click right away, it’s clear that both of you only want to fuck, so you agree on a date. He says he at least wants to take you out to dinner like a real gentleman before he “gets down to business” (his words, not yours). That’s how you end up dressing up on a Thursday night, your dear friend Yuta sitting on your bed looking at his phone. He recently discovered TikTok and is officially addicted.

“Okay, what do you think?”

You turn around to face him, presenting your outfit. Yuta looks up, the video on his phone still playing as his eyes take in your figure in that outfit that hugs your curves so perfectly. He takes some time to admire the sight until he raises an eyebrow.

"You look amazing, bestie, but what’s the occasion? I hope you remember I will leave in a few minutes for work so I don’t have time to unwrap you." He grins as his thumb finally tabs the screen to stop his phone from saying "my money don't jiggle, jiggle, it folds" over and over again.

"Actually," you grin back, "I was hoping for you to leave soon because I also have plans for this evening."

"Oh, really? What? Watching porn by yourself again?"

You put on a fake smile, he’s referring to that one time he caught you watching Japanese porn. Well, not really, you just forgot to close the tab in your phone as you asked him to google 'where does the word smut come from' while you were painting your nails. In your defense: you didn’t search for it, it just popped up on the front page and looked interesting.

"Very funny. No, actually, my date’s picking me up."

"Date?" Yuta questions, eyes wide and you think you can see a little bit of disappointment in his face (but maybe that’s just what you're hoping for).

"Yes," you answer proudly and almost as if you had planned it, the doorbell rings, "oh, he’s here!"

"He’s here?" Yuta follows you as you sprint to the door, telling your date that you would come downstairs in just a minute.

"Come on, let’s go!" You almost push Yuta out of the door after grabbing your jacket and purse, and putting your (matching to Yuta’s) Doc Marten’s on.

"And who is this guy?" Yuta asks as you make your way down the staircases and out of the front door of your apartment complex. He doesn’t seem too thrilled about you going on a date with someone he doesn’t know.

"I’m Donghyuck," your date greets and answers Yuta’s question. The man is wearing a black shirt and black pants which would have made him look intimidating if it weren’t for his extremely adorable bear-like features that are only supported by his fluffy light brown hair.

Yuta seems a bit taken aback the cute exterior of your date, as if asking himself if this is your type. Still, he greets back with his name before saying (and hugging you) goodbye.

“And who’s that, your boyfriend?” Donghyuck jokes as he looks back at Yuta who stomps away, not even looking back at you.

“Ah, no, he’s my bestie,” you giggle, a little intimidated by Donghyuck's ethereal beauty, “Hyuck, I have to say: you really are beautiful.”

A few hours later, after you had eaten (and split the bill), you are back at your place. You had learned enough about Donghyuck to trust he wasn’t a murderer (you sent your live location to 3 of your friends just in case though) and let him inside your apartment.

The two of you are heavily making out of your bed, most of your clothing scattered around the room. You’re so turned on, mostly because of Donghyuck's handsome face and the general way he carries himself. He knows he’s sexy, and he makes you feel incredibly sexy too as he’s touching your body and caressing your collar bones with his pouty lips. Plus, he’s funny.

You are also turned on because the distant scent of Yuta’s cologne hangs in the air around the bed where he sat before. But you forget all about that as Donghyuck dips his fingers into your panties, gently touching you.

“Oh, you’re so wet for me baby girl. Have you been waiting for my cock, hm? Have you imagined me pounding your sweet little pussy?” He whispers into your neck and you moan involuntarily at his lewd words. You had always been weak for dirty talk.

“Y-yes, daddy.” You gasp, emerged in the feeling of his finger sliding into you with ease at how wet you were.

“Ooh, daddy, huh?” He chuckles and it sounds so incredibly sexy. He lowers himself to your center and discards of your panties to see your glistering wetness up close, then licks over it. You almost cum right then and there simply because of how hot he looks as he eyes your most private area with so much hunger in his eyes, as if he’s a starved man.

Donghyuck dives back in, his finger almost directly shoved back into you as his tongue finds your clit. You arch your back, his tongue teases your bud as it swirls around it, making you whine. He adds a second finger and pumps them in and out of you as his lips finally hug your clit and suck on it once, harshly, then a little softer, but all you see is stars.

"D-daddy, you’re making me feel so good," you somehow manage to let out in between moans as Donghyuck's tongue and lips work their wonders on your clit. You have your eyes shut tightly as his fingers hit your g-spot repeatedly, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He lets out lewd slurping sounds as he’s eating you out like no man ever did, as if he was born for this.

You are so close to cumming, your walls clenching hard around his fingers, when he suddenly lets go of you. You whine at the loss of contact and stimulation.

"Want you to cum on daddy's cock, baby," he explains and you nod hastily, watching hazily as he pulls down his boxers and puts on a condom in no time. Just like Donghyuck's ego, his cock is huge. And your mouth salivates just from the thought of trying to get your small mouth around it to try and swallow him, but right now all you want is for him to fill your your other hole up real nice.

“Ready?” He asks and looks at your already fucked out face to get your consent – which you give him without hesitation – before he slowly shoves his cock into you. The stretch is so sweet and he glides in easily despite his girth from how wet you are due to his previous ministrations.

Donghyuck doesn’t completely bottom out before he pulls out again until only his tip is inside of you to slam back in, frequently checking for any discomfort on your face. When he’s sure you’re comfortable from how you moan, he picks up his pace, fucking you harder and faster. He gives out the hottest of sounds as he groans before telling you how nice your hole feels.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he leans back a little and changes his angle to aim a little upwards, throwing your legs over his shoulders to hit deeper inside of you and you swear no one has ever touched you as deep inside as Donghyuck.

Before you know it, your walls contract around him as you scream his name while your hands grab onto the sheets to just grab at something. You cum so hard you think you’re going to pass out, but Donghyuck’s here. Donghyuck holds you and slowly fucks you through your orgasm.

When you finally feel like you can think again, you open your eyes just to see Donghyuck towering above you, forehead damp from sweating as his hair sticks onto it, shoulders wide, pecs flexing as he pistons his hips into yours. He looks so sexy like this.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” he tells you, voice raspy and just full of sex and you spur him on with your moans and dirty words (even though you’re not even able to form proper sentences) and his thrusts become a little sloppy until he slams his cock into you one last time as he releases his load into the condom, groaning out.

He quickly discards of the condom and cleans you up with a tissue before lying down next to you. There’s silence for a few minutes as the two of you try to catch your breath.

“Fuck, Hyuck,” is the first thing you say, making him chuckle, “that was literally the best sex of my life. I-“ you pause to smile dumbfounded at the ceiling, “I’ve never cummed like this before.”

"You mean-" he shifts to lay closer to you and strokes your arm with his fingers.

"Only from a dick inside me, yes."

Donghyuck chuckles, and the moment could have been perfect, if only you hadn’t been thinking of a certain someone again, wondering what he’s doing right now, working at the local DVD-rental (you always wonder why it still exists, who rents DVDs nowadays?).

Of course your mind had to go there again, wondering what it could've been like with Yuta right now, how he would be after screwing your brains out. Is he the type for cuddles after sex? What would you do if it was him, would you be able to tell him how you really feel?

"Hope I was a good distraction," Donghyuck kisses your shoulder and you freeze.

"What?"

"Ah, no, it’s really not a problem. I’ve just seen the two of you. You can’t tell me there isn’t something going on between the two of you. Have you seen his face as he saw me? Damn, I thought he was going to knock me out," he pauses to laugh while you stare wide-eyed at nothing. Is it really this obvious?

"I’m sorry," you finally bring out, feeling bad for Donghyuck. It must seem like you were using him.

"Oh, what for? We both agreed on only fucking. And if it bothered me, I wouldn’t have fucked you. You know that, right?"

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It’s strange to you that it doesn’t bother Donghyuck, at all. But maybe that’s just how he is.

After assuring you that it really was okay at least three more times until you finally believe him, the two of you lay in bed a little longer, talking about nothing really and just enjoy each other’s presence. You open up about your possible feelings towards Yuta and it feels good to finally be able to talk about it with someone.

"I get it, you know?" Donghyuck says. "I’ve been in your position before."

"Oh, really?" You raise your head from his chest and he stops playing with your hair as your eyes meet his. You're still shocked to find that you crush on Yuta seems to be so consuming that you're not even feeling the tiniest bit of romantic attraction to Donghyuck, even though he's just been balls deep inside of you, giving you a toe curling orgasm and now looking like he's been sculptured by God's favorite angels. Trying to get Yuta out of your brain, you lay your head back down to the softness of Donghyuck's stomach. "Please elaborate."

"I have this person in my life and I think I like them, but there’s just-" Donghyuck stops to sigh, the movements of his fingers on your skin haltering several times as he speaks, but you don't mind. "There’s a problem and I’m not sure if they even like me back."

"What’s the problem?" You ask, grabbing onto his hand with your own to prevent him from messily stroking and entertain him by playing with his fingers instead.

"Well, the main problem is that he is a guy."

"And?"

"And I’m – obviously – not gay." He motions towards your two naked bodies.

"Oh, Hyuckie." You giggle "Maybe you are a little gay. There’s nothing wrong with that. ‘Everyone’s a little gay’. That’s what my mom always says. Maybe you're bi. Actually, you don’t even have to label yourself, just love who you love, and if it’s a guy, that’s cool."

Suddenly, Donghyuck kisses the top of your head. It’s silent for a good while.

"Thanks," he says, "It’s just that my family and friends back home are pretty religious and stuff and- I’ve only talked about this with one other person – a childhood friend of mine – and he said I should just ignore it, not get into it, boys don’t love boys, and that it’s disgusting. But I think I really like this guy, and I think he likes me, he’s into guys, too."

"I’ve seen him bring someone home before, since we’re roommates, and I really didn’t like it. At first, I thought it was because I didn’t want to have two guys fucking in my own house, but then I realized it wasn’t hatred or disgust, it was jealousy. I hated to see it because I wanted to be that other man. I wanted to be the one who makes Taeil moan like that, make him feel good, and take care of him afterwards… maybe you’re right, maybe I am a little gay."

You smile and hug him tightly. After that, you feel closer to Donghyuck. You talk a little longer until it’s getting late and it’s time for him to leave. You hug him goodbye, and remind him to update you on the roommates-to-lovers situation and Donghyuck smiles and nods, hugging you one last time, really hard, and then he leaves, and as soon as the door shuts, you feel the urgent need to talk to Yuta.

The next time you meet Yuta, it’s at university. You fear he didn’t take your date with Donghyuck well as you walk in and see him sit by a large group of people, chatting, instead of at your designated place. You walk past them to your seat, sit down and unpack your bag until you get startled by a chocolate milk being placed right in front of you. You freeze, raise an eyebrow and then look up to see Yuta, lips shut, but smiling widely.

Your other eyebrow joins the first as you look at him bewildered. "Milk?"

“Yes, your favorite! I felt bad for being like this yesterday, I was just surprised that you were out there dating and stuff, so I might have reacted a little wrong… I’m sorry! Please take this milk as a sign of my deepest regrets." He delivers a 90 degree bow and you can’t help but laugh. Of course you forgive him. You weren’t even mad at him in the first place.

Yuta sits down next to you, you smile, and it’s like nothing has changed. That is until lunch time, the weather is nice and warm, Yuta and you decided to pick up some fried chicken and eat it on the lawn at Han River. Maybe it hadn’t been that good of an idea since Yuta's wearing a skirt which caused the two of you to get a lot of weird stares and a few comments from bypassing strangers.

The whole skirt-thing in general is kind of a problem for you. Not because you think it’s weird or anything, but because it’s short, really short, and exposes the delicate muscle of Yuta’s legs to your eyes and rides up his thighs dangerously high as he sits down, giving you enough room for lewd fantasies and erotic imaginations of what you want to do with said thighs. You just hope he doesn’t catch you staring.

Once you’re finished, it’s almost 2pm and you have to hurry back to make it to class in time. You pack your stuff as a loud dinging noise emerges from your phone. You check the message and smile widely. Donghyuck has send you a picture: he’s lying in bed, hair tousled and without a shirt as he smiles characteristically smugly into the camera. It’s only then when you see what the picture is really about. On his chest, in the right corner of the picture, you can see a boy with short brown hair, eyes closed, a naked shoulder covering most of his face as he’s snuggled into Donghyuck just like you were a few days ago.

"What are you smiling at?" Yuta teases you and tries to catch a glimpse of what’s showing on your screen. You think you locked your phone fast enough before he can see as you answer "Hyuck just send me a picture". For the rest of the day, Yuta is unusually quiet.

After your encounter with Donghyuck, a few weeks had passed without you getting anywhere near railed and to be honest, it showed. Not only did you period end about a week ago – which means you’re ovulating and extremely responsive – and your nipples piercings are now fully healed, but extremely sensitive and easily stimulated. On top of that, for some reason, Yuta’s acting up too. It’s like he can sense your desperate state and decides to be even touchier and closer to you than ever. The worst part are the suggestive comments.

The two of you meet for another movie night, this time at his place. When he opens the door for you, you swear you almost collapse. Yuta dyed his hair again, this time a pretty tone of blood red, he wears it in a half up bun, a few strands falling out into his face and onto his neck. He looks downright delicious.

A few minutes later, Yuta tries to get his "stupid TV" to work, rummaging with the cables as he kneels on the floor, completely bend over in the shortest shorts you’ve ever seen. You stare and it’s almost embarrassing as you almost drool on his couch.

“Oh, fuck me!” He tells the TV – and you almost spit out the sip of water you had just taken to calm down your raging hormones – as he gets up only to kick it. And it works! The screen shows the menu of the movie he’s put in (you genuinely have no clue about what kind of movie it is since you just nodded at everything he said because those shorts aren’t only short, but also really, really tight in the front and you had to invest all of your energy into not looking at his crotch again).

The movie starts and Yuta doesn’t waste any time to sit close to you, once accidentally brushing over your clothed nipple with his arm as he reaches for some snacks. You cry on the inside as you watch him stuff his mouth with Pepero, his lips hugging the slim sticks, his tongue darting out from time to time as he licks at the chocolate coating. This was torture.

Suddenly, Pepero in his mouth, he turns to you, catching you staring. He grins, takes the sweet out of his mouth and holds it up. “Wanna share?”

You feel like someone’s just thrown a billiard table at your face. What’s wrong with this guy? He already has the stick in between his lips again and comes closer, so close, that you don’t even have a chance to flinch away before it hits against your lips. Without thinking, you wrap your mouth around it, eyes wide as Yuta keeps steady eye contact with you as he bites on the Pepero.

He’s getting closer and closer and you feel like your sweating, your heart thumps in your chest and Yuta looks at you so intensely that you feel your core throb. Your eyes widen even more in complete horror. What is he doing? When will he stop? Will he stop at all?

As if reading your mind, Yuta stops. And grins. And then he pulls back.

“Ah, I’m joking, why are you looking at me like that!” He laughs and it takes all of you to not choke him right there. Instead you laugh as naturally as you possibly can.

It gets worse, though. Sometime later and without a warning, Yuta suddenly decides that it would be best to torture you even more and place his head in your lap. You panic a little. It shouldn't bother you, it's nothing unusual, he does it fairly often, but right now, this is the place where you want him to be the most and the least. You can smell his hair, it smells like hair dye and his cologne and it’s enough to get you even more wet than before.

Suddenly, Yuta giggles, “I can hear your tummy,” he says, “are you hungry?” He gets back up to look at you intensely. You gulp. You blush. You don’t know what to say. The only thing in your head right now is how you want him to absolutely demolish you.

“Baby, would you like to eat ramen with me?” He asks you in Korean and right then you know it’s over.

“Yuta, I swear to God, either you stop this right now or-“

“Or what?” he grins. He knows what he’s doing. The shorts, the Pepero game, the touchiness, the suggestive things. He knows what it does to you. He has to know, or else, that would make him to most innocent, naive person on the planet.

“Please, just-“ you don’t dare to vocalize it.

“Tell me what you want baby girl, and I promise I’ll give it to you.”

You look into his eyes and all you see behind the teasing glint is sincerity. Isn't this how love stories work? One gets pushed into a corner and confesses, and the other party magically loves them back? There is so much that you want to tell him, so many thinks that are dancing around the expanse of your brain day and night, about all the things you love about him, about all the dreams and thoughts you've had about him, and all the feelings that bring your heart to pounce like crazy every time he's close to you.

Though nothing comes out. Because as much as you like him, you're just as scared. Scared of rejection and abandonment, and even more scared of a future without him. It's too dangerous to risk everything that you have for, yeah, for what exactly? You're not even sure if he's serious with his constant flirting. Even though almost everything he says is suggestive, for all you know, it could be all bark and no bite. And even if it isn't that, what if that's all he's feeling for you? Wouldn't it be even worse for your poor, strained heart if he'd ask for only your body and nothing more? Plus, the usual problem of being exchange students, whatever you have right now is not going to last forever. And that scares the shit out of you.

So, instead of telling him exactly what you want, you take a deep breath before excusing yourself only to hurry out of his apartment without even putting your shoes on correctly. As soon as you step out of the door the wind blows into your face. You hadn't even noticed the change in weather during your time inside, but somehow the cold splatter of rain that hits you right in the face matches the way you're feeling.

You walk through the rain with fast steps, your heart aching in your chest because as soon as you stepped foot out of the door, you regretted the decision of leaving without saying a word. It's not like you to not be able to talk to Yuta about everything, but how in the world would you explain to him that you're slowly but surely developing romantic feelings for him, not to mention the raging lust you feel whenever he does something remotely sexual, like you want to jump on him and take his cock down your throat-

Anyway.

You don't realize that you start crying (screw your ovulation hormones), but the tears mix well with the rain, the heavy feeling in your chest too much to bear as you think about how your lack of control over your lady parts could mean the end of the best friendship of your life.

It's then when you hear your name being called.

You stop in your tracks, then turn around harshly to see Yuta come to a full stop right in front of you. He's dripping wet as well, the hair dye leaving small red rivers on his cheeks and neck, but he does not seem to care one bit.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," Yuta yells through the loud sound of fat raindrops hitting the concrete, and cars driving in the distance. The scene makes your heart drop. There are tears in Yuta's eyes as well, and you can't stop yourself from hugging him tightly. The warmth of his body provides you comfort, just as his slightly irregular breathing.

Quickly, you pull back. "You didn't," you shout back at him, and a grin spreads over Yuta's face, and it makes your heartbeat increase. "The thing is-"

"I like you."

You blink at him, dumbfounded. "What?"

"I said, I like you."

"I understood, I just don't know what that means."

"I have feelings for you."

A blanket wrapped around your body that's slowly stopping its shivering movements, you stare blankly ahead. Yuta's in the kitchen, making some tea to warm your bodies from the inside, but if you're being honest, your insides are already hot enough. Hot with nervousness, hot with lust, and most importantly: hot with utter confusion.

Yuta having feelings for you sounds so absurd to your ears that you don't even want to think about it. For you, this feels like philosophizing about whether the Tooth Fairy is real or not at the age of 25. Platonic feelings, sure, maybe it's even sexual attraction that he's feeling, but real romantic feelings? It just doesn't seem logical, though this might be the part of you who's pushed your crush on him into the furthest corner of your heart to prevent it from breaking, so who knows if it's plausible or not.

Cutting through your train of thoughts, Yuta enters the room, steaming hot tea inside of cups in both of his hands that he sets onto the couch table, then he sits down next to you.

"Are you sure?"

"Sorry?"

"About your feelings," you say, eyes finally ripping away from the poor section of air you'd previously been staring holes into to look over at Yuta. A breath hitches in your throat at the sight, his red hair wet and messy, as well as his now hair dye stained white shirt that allows you to take in his beautifully sculptured torso.

"I am." Yuta nods.

"How?"

Yuta begins talking, starting from the very beginning. He says that he felt drawn to you ever since your first encounter in the lecture hall, started questioning the platonic nature of his love towards you around the time he first saw your tits, then recalls the sleepless nights he spent thinking about you. A big indicator was when you went on that Tinder date, and he questioned everything about himself for the whole night, questioning whether that's your type, questioning whether he should find this guy, befriend him, and adapt his persona so you'd like him like that too. Or how insanely jealous he felt when he saw Donghyuck's "nude" on your phone screen. The way he initiated sliding so many sexual innuendos into your daily conversation to make you get the hint that he wants you like that, so badly and so desperately, but he's fearing that you don't like him back, or will leave him sooner or later. Just like you. But he felt like never telling you would be worse, especially when you left so suddenly, and he thought he'd never see you again. He just needed to get it out.

After all is said, you stay silent for a hot minute, not believing what he's saying. There has to be something about this that you're not taking into account, but you've checked the date before, it's neither April 1st, nor is it "prank your friend by telling them you're in love with them"-day. Your silence seems to give Yuta a wrong impression as he sighs deeply, his head dropping as he apologizes.

Within seconds, your hands are on his cheeks, holding his face in them as if you'd touch him too roughly, he'd break. You study his face one last time, seeing nothing but genuine feelings of love and fear in the tears brimming in his eyes, so you decide to risk it all and press your lips against his. A little hesitantly, Yuta kisses you back, testing the waters before moving his hands to your hips, gently pulling you closer.

You breathe out shakily through your nose, feeling your heart beating roughly against the inside of your ribcage. The room is silent except for your gentle noises that fill the air as your lips move against Yuta's, getting bolder by the second. You feel a little uneasy, not because you don't like it, but because you're so insanely nervous. It's Yuta, your best friend with whom you've never felt shy ever in the entire time of knowing him, so you're unable to grasp the reason for that feeling. Maybe it's because it is Yuta who's kissing you right now, finally giving you what you've desired for so long. Maybe it's weird because it's the first time.

Your worries quickly fade into the back of your mind until all your senses can take in is Yuta, the sounds of gently humming he's letting out as he kisses you, the intoxicating scent of his cologne and that one special note that is just so Yuta that you don't know how to explain it, and the entirety of the way he feels moving against your body.

Not long after, he's pushed you back on the couch, hovering over your welcoming body. You've spread your legs for him to lay in between them, forming bulge pressing deliciously against your clothed core, but he doesn't rush things, not even when you begin grinding yourself against him.

Yuta wants to make sure you feel safe with him, alas he drags the foreplay out as long as he possibly can, gently touching you all over, kissing you throughoutly and whispering sweet nothings into your neck once his lips detach from yours.

It's you who has to take things further by pushing his shirt up his torso, urging him to push the piece of fabric over his head to reveal himself to you. He does, and it's not the first time you've seen him like this, but never so up-close and obviously never in this type of situation. Right now, his bellybutton piercing just hits different, and you feel the wetness seep into your underwear at how unbelievably hot and beautiful he is.

Yuta notices your staring and grins, gently pushing at your own shirt until you take it off as well. At the sight of your bare breasts, silver barbells adorning both of your nipples, it feels like it's the first time he sees them all over again. He finally manages to pull his eyes off of them, gazing into yours.

"Healed?"

You nod, too overwhelmed to trust your probably shaky voice, and you grab his hands to place them on your tits. Yuta hums out delightfully, kneading your breasts while gently flicking his thumbs over the piercings. You shudder at the touch, moans spilling from your mouth from how sensitive you are. Carefully, Yuta leans forward, sucking a nipple into his mouth and that's where you lose it, hands come flying to his hair to bury your fingers in them, pulling him closer as you feel the hot arousal clouding your senses and bulking up in your lower stomach.

You're sure, if he keeps going, you're going to cum from the nipple play alone.

Though, you want more, want to orgasm once he's inside you. A quivery whine of his name escapes your lips, and without any more words, Yuta understands. He kisses you again, then pulls back, expert fingers pulling your sweatpants off your legs.

"Are you okay with this?" Yuta meets your gaze, and you nod frantically, motioning grabby hands at him to come back into your arms. Yuta grins widely, hands roaming over your thighs on their way up to your panties. With another look seeking reassurance, he finally pulls the last piece of fabric off your body, leaving you bare for his eyes.

You don't even have time to feel insecure or nervous about what's to come as Yuta's all over you again within seconds. His hand strokes his way down between your legs. At the first touch of the pad of his fingertip to your folds, your hips buck against him, a desperate sigh coming out of you, making him smile. He keeps steady eye contact, smile fading into a look of pure lust as he slowly pushes a digit inside of you. Your heartbeat increases rapidly, the action so incredibly arousing that you immediately clench around his finger, eye brows scrunching together above needy eyes.

Gently, his finger feels around your walls, taking in how wet you are for him, massaging into your g-spot with expertise and you feel like cumming all over again. When he pushes another digit inside, your hands claw into his biceps. His gaze doesn't leave yours for even a second as he fingers you open, watching your reactions attentively to pick up on what motions you especially like.

"Does it feel good? You look so beautiful," Yuta whispers and you nod again, whining out desperately.

"Yes, feels so good. I want you in me."

"Want me to fuck you, yeah?" Yuta smiles kissing your cheek as you whine out another 'yes'. He pulls his fingers out of you, but not entirely away, not before he's circled around your clit a few times, riling you up even more.

He then discards of his shorts and boxers, throwing them somewhere into the room. Where exactly, you don't see as you focus on his dick. Your eyes widen, mouth falling agape as you take in the little sliver piercing adorning his tip.

"Dick piercing," you gasp before you can stop yourself, making Yuta laugh out.

"Do you like it?"

"I want you so bad."

"Do you have a condom?"

"No need, and I want you raw."

"Fuck," Yuta drags out the syllable, climbing on top of you once again. You can feel yourself clench in anticipation, spreading your legs even further while simultaneously grinding your hips upwards.

"Please, have me any way you want." That's all Yuta needs to finally push into you, piercing grazing along your walls and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes back at the insane stimulation, not wanting to break the eye contact that Yuta's once again created.

"You're so wet and warm and perfect around me, baby," he gasps once he's fully inside, the stretch having turned you on beyond belief once more, if that's even possible. You switch from his left eye to his right eye and back, trying to grasp the reality of him really, finally, being inside of you.

Slowly, Yuta pulls out, but not entirely, then slams his hips against yours. You cry out in pleasure, eyes closing briefly before you dare to look down between your bodies, watching the way Yuta repeats the action several times, though you get distracted by how absolutely stunning his abs look with the jewel sparkling between them.

"Do you like watching yourself get fucked, hm? I bet you are, you're so wet for me."

All you can do is whine and moan as he pushes your thighs further upwards, almost folding you in half to reach deeper.

"Shit, baby, you're clenching around me so hard. Does it feel that good? Did you want me that bad? You're so fucking sexy, can you imagine all the things I want to do to you? Do you feel it, how fucking hard you make me? All this time, all I wanted was this, and fuck was it worth the wait."

Yuta pounds into you harder, hitting your sweet spot dead on with every stroke, his piercing only adding to the overwhelming pleasure you're feeling. You really want to respond to him, want to tell him that you've wanted him too, so badly, and this is even better than any fantasy you've ever had about him, but all that comes out are broken moans and sobs as you near your high.

"Aw, baby, can't talk? Am I fucking you that good? That's all you, baby, taking me so well. Don't hold back, make as much noise as you want, I want everyone to hear who makes you feel this good, want them to know who you belong to."

"Don't stop- talking-" you manage to get out losing yourself in the craziness of Yuta's gaze, your orgasm so close you can already feel your senses vibrating inside you.

"Oh, you like it, yeah? Fuck, yeah you do, you're clenching around me, making a mess on my cock. So fucking wet, it's everywhere. I love it, God. Do you like it when I'm like this? Possessive of you, wanting everyone to know you're mine and mine only? Shit, I'm going to fuck you so good and so often that you can't even think about anyone else anymore."

"I'm gonna c-" you whimper, scrunching eyebrows giving you an almost innocent look as you hold onto Yuta for dear life, "gonna cum, fuck, you're making me cum."

"That's right, baby, cum for me. Yeah, that's it, fuck, you're clenching so hard you're almost pushing me out, that's so hot, baby. God, feels so fucking good, where do you want my cum?"

You're panting, heavily, trying to come back to your senses after a mind-blowing orgasm, "i-inside."

"You're so fucking dirty, shit," Yuta groans, burying his face in your neck to suck and bite at your skin, making your eyes roll back at the thought of him marking you as his.

"Cum in me, please, I've been dreaming of this for months," you confess, and it doesn't take long until he does, pushing his hips into yours harshly, filling you up nicely with his hot cum.

You lay there, catching your breaths for a second until Yuta lifts his upper body from yours, and you instantly miss his warmth. Though, when you look at him, it's almost worth it with how fucked out he looks, hair messy and cheeks tinted a gentle pink as he smiles at you.

"Fuck, I'm in love with you," you say before you can stop yourself, but Yuta kisses you, hard and desperately, making you grind yourself against him all over again. "Do you think you can go again?"

"With you, I can go on forever."

Playfully, you hit his shoulder, grinning widely. Whatever your worries had been, now you're sure that if you're with him, you can overcome anything. Whatever the future might have in mind for you, you're with him now, and nothing can change that.

417 notes · View notes

valentinoappreciator · 1 year

Text

I DID IT

I finished the Vox fic!

Media: Hazbin Hotel

Rating: E for Explicit

Word count: 9537

Pairing: Vox / Self-Insert (female) Character

Warnings: Referenced / Implied rape, general abuse.

Tags: Valentino being a piece of shit, canon-typical violence, flirty Vox, bisexual Vox, smut (duh), light angst towards the end

Where else to read: AO3; username: TheWeirdDane; title: Tonight I'm Saying Goodbye Valentino

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No one had ever proclaimed that Valentino was a gentle lover and a kind soul. Or, if they had, they had certainly never met him.

“Vox!”

Vox swivelled around in his swivelling chair. He knew that voice all too well, not to mention the tone of it. Valentino was pissed about something, and would no doubt make it Vox’s problem.

“Yes, Val?” he replied, careful to sound respectful and polite.

Not that Valentino showed him the same courtesy. No, instead, he sent a fist through the air and rammed it into Vox’s screen. Seemingly not caring for his own fist getting torn up by the shards, he only cared for hurting for a loudly groaning Vox.

“I thought I told you not to complete the transfer tonight!”

He had fallen out of his chair and now lay on the floor by Valentino’s feet. Lifting a hand to his cracked screen, he groaned in pain.

“Care to explain yourself, Voxy?”

He grit his sharp teeth. Clenched his hands into fists as he got up from the floor. Valentino was a good deal taller than him, but he was determined to look up into his partner’s eyes.

“I thought I would complete the transfer as soon as possible to give us more time to---”

“Don’t think, Vox, that’s my job. Your job is to do what I tell you to. Got it? Or do I need to make you understand?”

Vox was half a breath away from punching those stupid glasses off his face, but thought better of it at the last second. He quite enjoyed being alive, and hurting Valentino was a guaranteed one-way ticket to actual death.

“Got it, Val,” he therefore hissed through gritted teeth.

“Then clean yourself up. I don’t want to be seen with broken merchandise.”

“We’re alone,” Vox exclaimed before he could stop himself, and immediately upon speaking the words, he feared for his life. But Valentino simply stood there, as if waiting for more. “No one is seeing us here, Val!”

Valentino scoffed before turning on his heel.

“You better pray you’re right, Vox. Or I won’t be so forgiving next time.”

It took a few days for his screen to heal. A few days that he spent avoiding Valentino, lest he aggravate the pimp overlord further. However, when he still hadn’t seen Valentino after close to a week, he decided he had had enough.

Valentino was working late somewhere. Not that Vox really cared; Valentino didn’t care for his work, so why should he then care for him?

“Going out. Don’t wait up.”

He knew he didn’t owe Valentino a text, but through all their years together, he had been conditioned into notifying Valentino about every little thing, and as such, he didn’t dare not to text him. At the same time, however, he was scared of the consequences.

He never went out. As in, never. Feeling obligated to be at Valentino’s every beck and call, he felt like he couldn’t allow himself even one evening off.

But not anymore. Tonight, he was saying ‘goodbye, Valentino’!

As expected, Vox didn’t get a text back. He took that to mean that Valentino didn’t care for him tonight, and even though he was used to that, it still made a knot of anger rise into his chest.

Despite never going out, Vox had been eyeing a small bar on the corner of the street where he lived. It was one of the few bars that Valentino didn’t own, and as such, Vox felt safe going there. It was a fairly regular club. Not the kind where pretty girls dance in skimpy outfits for horny sinners, but instead there was live music. Somewhat old fashioned, it seemed perfect to soothe the ache in his soul. Whatever may be left of it.

Dressing in navy blue suit pants and a white turtleneck sweater under a navy blue suit jacket, he went out.

Lesser demons recognised him in the streets, and they all bowed or curtseyed, giving his ego a pleasant boost. His screen may still be suffering slightly from their last scuffle, but it was mostly healed by now. No one seemed to notice the more stubborn, minor cracks, for which he was grateful. As he made his way into the bar, he was formally greeted and shown to one of the front seats, which were reserved for only the most important demons. From here, he had a perfect, unspoiled view of the stage, where a band played soft jazz.

“May I take your order?”

He turned his head. The voice belonged to a short statured, somewhat chubby lesser demon. Her hair was flaming red, her eyes piercing blue. She wore glasses - purple frames - and a kind smile. She had black-and-white horns that curled around her ears.

Vox noted how she hadn’t addressed him by his title, nor by his name, as was customary for overlords. It surprised him; he thought everyone in Hell knew who he was. Seems he was mistaken.

Interesting.

He gave his order, and she scribbled it down on a notepad before bobbing her head in a polite nod, then took the order to the bar. His eyes followed her as she went. There was a spring to her steps, and she giggled at the bartender. Taking a tray into her hands, she walked around amongst the other patrons, until she ended up by his table again.

“And here’s your drink, sir,” she smiled. He didn’t immediately reply. He instead took the glass and swirled it slightly, the golden-brown liquid sloshing around lazily.

“Didn’t you forget something?” he asked, inwardly snickering at the way she instantly panicked. Her eyes widened, and she hugged the now empty tray close to her voluminous chest.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” she said, her voice a tad too high pitched.

“I believe it’s customary to address an overlord by their title,” he explained, speaking slowly and peering into his glass for a long moment before fixing his gaze on her face again. Recognition flashed in her eyes a fraction of a second before sheer terror overtook it. It wasn’t something he should delight in, but decades of working with Valentino seemed to, unfortunately, have rubbed off on him.

“Oh Satan, I’m so sorry, sir, I mean, Mr. Vox, sir,” she whispered, looking mortified. She hugged the metal tray so close to her chest that her knuckles turned white. Her face quickly turned beet-red.

He snickered.

“I-I’m new here. It’s my first day, and I don’t really know how this place works.”

“New to Hell, or new to this bar?” he asked, not quite understanding where the genuinity in this voice came from. He eyed her curiously, taking a small sip of his drink.

“Both,” she replied, a polite but clearly nervous smile on her face. “I arrived in Hell just two days ago, and, well, bills don’t pay themselves. One would think that capitalism was a special sort of hell reserved for the living.”

He let out a sharp, short laugh. That felt... oddly liberating.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

Her nervousness seemed to dissipate a bit when he didn’t rip her a new breathing hole for not immediately knowing who he was.

“But no. Capitalism is a hellscape all on its own. Not reserved for humans, it would seem,” she giggled. The sound was warm and bubbly, and he couldn’t help but glance at her before looking towards the stage again.

“Enjoy your drink, Mr. Vox,” she said with a much more relaxed smile, “I’ll be right over by the bar, when you need a refill. I mean, if you need a refill, of course. I’m not saying you drink a lot or anything! I’m just saying that... uhm...”

She laughed nervously, and all air was knocked out of him.

“I think it’s better to go now before you say something you’ll really regret,” he hummed, swirling his drink while looking at her intently.

“Yes, Mr. Vox, of course.”

She curtseyed and immediately left, her ears about as red as her hair. He looked after her, a lopsided, curious grin on his screen.

Well, wasn’t she an interesting little thing?

He sipped his drink slowly, savouring the taste. It burnt as it trickled down his throat, the sharpness of it ripping into his nostrils. As he drank, it was like his gaze was drawn to her every few minutes. The waitress. He didn’t know her name... yet. There was nothing that dictated that he couldn’t come to know it.

But he had to be careful. He was an overlord; he couldn’t be seen mingling with the lesser demons. However... if Valentino could fuck - more like rape - the girls he employed, what was stopping Vox from enjoying a night with this particular woman?

Finishing his drink, he saw another server on his way to his table, and he bared his teeth, waving him away. The server immediately turned on his heel to serve another table. With a satisfied grin, Vox looked for the waitress. When he finally laid eyes on her, he saw that she was giggling with the bartender again. She even put a hand on her arm, however briefly. It made an unpleasant heaviness settle in his chest, and while he didn’t want to examine it further, he did know why.

Somehow, for some reason, he wanted to bring her home with him. It wasn’t like Valentino ever put out, anyway. Not unless he was in the mood, never caring for Vox’s advances or needs. Suffice to say, he had some itches that needed scratching, and he had a feeling that this particular demon wouldn’t be opposed. But if she was into women... that would be a problem.

Maybe she was into men and women, like himself?

He sighed.

Maybe, if he asked, he would actually know.

So, he got her attention and waved his empty glass. She immediately grabbed the tray, hopped down from the stool, and weaved her way through the crowd to get to him.

“Yes, Mr. Vox, what would you like?”

“Your phone number, please. Along with a refill. As you predicted,” he grinned.

At first, she looked stunned. Her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape, she wasn’t far from a fish out of water.

“My...?” She trailed off.

“Your phone number,” he agreed. “And another drink. The same as before, if you please.”

She blinked rapidly, but then, a second later, it appeared that she got full control of the situation, turning the tables a full one-hundred-and-eighty degrees.

“I’m afraid the best I can do is my name and another whisky, Mr. Vox.”

He grinned widely. She reached for the glass.

“I’m all ears, miss...?”

“Miss Cassiopeia,” she hummed as she bent over to take his empty glass. Vox might not be the most well-versed in waitressing, but he knew that she didn’t need to bend down that far to retrieve it. It did, however, mean that he got a proper eyeful of her cleavage, and if anyone was happy about that, it was him, and his cock.

“Miss Cassiopeia,” he repeated, tasting her name. “A pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Vox,” she practically purred, and once again, all air was knocked out of him.

When she didn’t move back to the bar, he quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

“My drink...?”

“Oh!” She blushed deeply. “Yes, of course, right away, sir.”

She put the glass on the tray and hurried back to the bar. He followed her with his eyes. When he saw that she was glancing back at him, he nodded politely. Even from all the way over here, he could practically feel the heat radiating off of her.

She came back just a moment later, with two glasses on her tray. He sent her a quizzical look.

“This one’s on the house,” she smiled and put one of the glasses on his table.

“And the other?”

“That’s just yours, sir.”

“And here I thought you were buying me a drink,” he said, feigning disappointment. She laughed heartily, and the smile appeared on his screen all by itself.

“Do I need to buy you a drink, Mr. Vox?”

“That all depends.”

She shot him a puzzled look.

“On?” she eventually asked when he didn’t elaborate.

“On whether or not you’re free tonight.”

“Well, no, obviously not.”

He managed to feel deflated for all of four seconds, before she continued.

“I’m working all night, and--- oh! Oh, you meant like...”

She blushed again, and now it was his turn to laugh heartily. He patted her hand without second thought as she moved to put the other glass on his table, but the touch seemed to startle her, because she immediately withdrew her hand. It happened fast enough that she spilled half the contents of the glass all over his pants.

Immediately, that same terrified expression that she had had upon him presenting himself was on her face again.

“Oh! Oh no, Mr. Vox, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, putting the tray down on his table and fetching a bunch of napkins from her apron’s front pocket. She began dabbing at the stains, and, try as he might, Vox couldn’t help but suddenly feel very warm. She was so close, frantically trying to clean out the whisky stains on his pants. He felt like he was paralyzed; he sat completely still, simply looked down at her as she scrubbed so desperately.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered without making eye contact. “I didn’t mean to--- you startled me, sir, and I--- I mean, it’s not your fault, of course, I just--- I’m a bit clumsy, and---”

“Miss Cassiopeia,” he then said firmly, but gently, careful not to raise his voice, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It’ll wash out, and if it doesn’t, I’ll just buy another pair.”

She finally looked up at him, and his heart ached slightly when he saw her eyes getting wet. Poor girl would probably get fired for this if management determined it was her fault.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted, softening his voice. “It happens. It’s just a pair of pants.”

“But they look expensive,” she whispered, looking mortified, and took his hand when he offered it to her to help her to her feet. Although he did like seeing her on her knees in front of him.

“Perks of being an overlord,” he smiled. “You can work off your mistake if you feel so bad about it,” he then added without thinking, or without really wanting to add that. With his tone of voice, plus the insinuation, it was clear as day what he had said between the lines.

Her already big eyes widened even further, and Vox was eternally grateful that he couldn’t blush, because he certainly would have if he could.

“That was a joke, Miss Cassiopeia. Please, don’t take that seriously. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, and although she did look relieved, there was also a part of her that seemed... almost disappointed. He couldn’t tell if it was the sagging shoulders or the downcast gaze, but there were definitely signs.

Highly curious.

An awkward silence stretched out between them, before one of the bartenders screamed out her name.

Cassiopeia startled and quickly grabbed the tray.

“Again, I’m so sorry, Mr. Vox, sir,” she said hastily, returning to the bar. Once more, he followed her with his eyes, and frowned when the bartender looked to be giving her an earful. Cassiopeia nodded fervently, but it was clear that it wasn’t for fun. When she quickly glanced back at him, it was clear as day that she was on the verge of a breakdown.

Vox didn’t really know why he cared. It wasn’t like this woman was anything to him. They didn’t know each other. They were only barely on a first name basis. But something inside him twisted unpleasantly at seeing her being scolded so harshly. It was painfully familiar.

He got up from his chair and strode towards the bar.

“Is there a problem?” he asked the bartender, managing to keep his voice in check.

“Mr. Vox, sir, I deeply apologise about Cassiopeia’s clumsiness,” the female bartender said. He didn’t like her voice, at all. It was way too slick and ass-kissing. She did have some kick-ass ram-like horns though. “It’s her first shift on her own, but she’s clearly not fit for it. I can have her trained further, or even fired if you---”

“That won’t be necessary,” he interrupted. They both stared at him, Cassiopeia with fearful eyes and the bartender with surprised ones. “I overstepped her boundary. That’s hardly her fault.”

“But, with all due respect, Mr. Vox, you’re an overlord, and such behaviour isn’t acceptable when serving someone of your standing.”

“Do you want me to make a big deal out of this?” he asked coolly. “I can take it up with management, but what do you think they will say to you when they hear that you didn’t train young Miss Cassiopeia adequately?”

The bartender suddenly got very pale. She swallowed heavily. Vox could almost hear it, even over the soft jazz that was still playing. He leaned his arms on the counter of the bar, and a frisson of delight ran through him when she took a step back. Everybody here - well, maybe aside from Cassiopeia - knew that he was close with Valentino, and thus, they probably figured that he had the same violent, unpredictable tendencies. He didn’t, but she didn’t have to know that.

“I don’t think they would come for her, but rather for you,” he hummed. “But... I can save you that kind of trouble. I am, after all, an overlord. If I say it’s fine, it’s fine.”

“Y-Yes, of course, sir, Mr. Vox, sir, thank you,” she croaked.

“Good. Now, Miss Cassiopeia,” he said and turned to Cassiopeia, stretching out his hand, “will you do me the honour of sitting with me?”

She was pale, but seemed to liven up at his question. She took his hand, albeit hesitantly.

“Of... of course, Mr. Vox.”

He gently pulled her towards his table where they sat down.

“Whisky?” he offered and pushed the full glass towards her. “It’s on the house.”

She laughed nervously.

“Thank you, but I don’t drink on the job.”

He nodded slowly. He could understand that.

“A wise choice, but you’re not on duty any longer. You can have the rest of the night off. I’ll see to it that your pay isn’t docked.”

She stared at him, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He nudged the glass with an elbow.

“Unless you want a soft drink instead?”

“No! I mean... I mean, no, whisky is perfect, sir. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he smiled, finding that his smile was painfully genuine.

She took the glass and a sip, and grimaced. Vox couldn’t help a soft chuckle.

“Phew, it packs quite a punch, doesn’t it?” she laughed.

“So, what’s your crime?” he eventually asked a few hours later. She was a few drinks in, but didn’t appear intoxicated whatsoever, quite like him.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” she hummed, piquing his curiosity.

“What landed you in the lust circle of Hell?”

She shrugged and took a long swig of her glass of water.

“I was... promiscuous as a human. Worked in a whore house controlled by the mafia. Guess the big guy upstairs wasn’t happy about that.”

Vox snorted.

“What is he happy about, really?”

“Damn good question, Mr. Vox,” she chuckled. “Unconditional loyalty to your fellow humans, I guess? Redeeming qualities? Hell if I know.”

Vox chuckled and sipped his whisky, admiring her. She was awfully pretty, with her chubby cheeks and piercing blue eyes. Her long hair was collected in a high ponytail that she had slung over her shoulder. The tip of the ponytail tickled her cleavage, and although he tried not to be a pervert and a sinner, it was difficult not to look.

It had been a long time since he had been with a woman. The last many years had been spent with Valentino - a man - yet he was confident he knew what to do with a woman’s body. Obviously, a few main parts were very different, but on the other hand, many parts were the same.

He was busy mulling over how to ask her to go home with him, when she gently nudged his am. He looked at her, blinking a few times.

“They’re closing the bar,” she announced. “We have to go.”

Well, wasn’t that convenient timing!

“Would you mind terribly if I took you home?” he asked as they got up. He put down more than enough bills to pay for their drinks; he didn’t like being cheap.

She didn’t immediately answer, instead just stared up at him, mouth agape. He chuckled, gingerly taking her hand. It was so warm and small in his.

“No pressure, of course.”

“No, I would... I would like that, Mr. Vox.”

“Great. I don’t live too far away, it’s easy to walk.”

“Perfect,” she hummed.

Vox sent the bartender a cheerful smile before they exited the bar and walked towards his home. On the way, he slid an arm around her waist. Initially, she tensed, but it only took a fraction of a second for her to relax. Then she even leaned against him, wrapping her own arm around him.

They looked at each other. She was blushing and very warm, even through his turtleneck, and his heart was absolutely hammering. Good thing he wasn’t currently monitoring his heartbeat, lest he alert the entire block about his elevated heart rate.

Was there any way to misinterpret what was going to happen? He hoped not. But on the other hand, he hadn’t picked anyone up in decades. The rules for hooking up could have changed a million times! For all he knew, he could’ve been given off signals of ‘do you want to look at my stamps collection?’ all night. Which, in this case, wasn’t some twisted innuendo.

However, when they reached his apartment, and he opened the door to let them inside, she stayed close to him. Her hand stroked slowly up and down his back, and she only reluctantly pulled away when he turned around to close the door.

“Do you mind if I lock the door? You never know what kind of freaks live around here.”

“And here I thought you could afford to live in a respectable neighbourhood,” she chuckled. “Sure, go ahead. I also wouldn’t want to be interrupted.”

He raised an eyebrow, clicked the lock closed. Now, that was an interesting choice of words.

“What, exactly, would they interrupt us doing?” he asked in a low voice, and oh, her blushing was adorable!

“N-Nothing incriminating,” she quickly replied, looking up at him with wide eyes as he inched towards her. Eventually, he had her pressed back against the door, one hand on each side of her head. His breathing was uneven, but he tried to camouflage it with a hum.

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question, now does it?” he murmured, leaning closer, pressing his lithe body against her more plump frame. “That only makes me think you have something... naughty in mind.”

She choked out an embarrassed sound, averting her gaze, and he laughed good-naturedly.

“Which is exactly what I want as well,” he revealed before pushing off the door with one hand. “So, if I have mistakenly given off vibes of, I don’t know, stamp collections, then now’s the time to bolt.”

“But you locked the door.”

“Guess you’ll have to stay, then. Stamp collections and all.”

She laughed, pushing off the door as well, and suddenly, she was way too close. He could see the small clumps of mascara on her lashes through her glasses. He could see the pores in her skin.

“Good thing I’m into stamp collections, then,” she murmured, and he inhaled sharply.

Please be joking.

“I don’t... actually have a stamp collection,” he confessed, suddenly feeling incredibly warm.

She giggled and swatted his arm gently.

“I’m kidding, you silly! I’m not here for a stupid stamp collection. Not that there’s anything wrong with those, though, of course.”

He drew a deep sigh of relief. If he could sweat, he would’ve wiped his forehead. But her choice of words was, once more, very intriguing.

“Then what are you here for, Miss Cassiopeia?”

She swallowed heavily, the action practically audible.

“I thought that much was obvious, Mr. Vox,” she murmured, her voice wavering slightly, stroking a hand slowly up his arm until she reached his shoulder.

A surge of warm, crackling electricity went through him.

Oh fuck.

She slid her other hand down over his other arm, eventually reaching his hand, where she laced their fingers together.

Oh double fuck.

“Dance with me?” she asked quietly, looking up at him from under her lashes.

Now it was his turn to swallow hard.

“I... don’t dance,” he confessed, his voice a mess of sudden static.

“You could... start to.”

She was already starting to move rhythmically. Very slow, giving him all the time in the world to pull back if he didn’t want to do it. Strangely enough, however, he didn’t move away. Pulling him in the direction of his living room, which was quite spacious, she giggled softly.

“You can’t be a worse dance partner than my ex.”

“Are you willing to bet on that?” he chuckled, tentatively putting his hand on her waist. She shivered slightly, and blushed a beautiful, deep crimson.

“No reason to. I know I’d win.”

He laughed heartily, and it felt good. Liberating. He could laugh with her, and it felt natural. It wasn’t a forced chuckle between gritted teeth, but an actual, warm sound from deep in his stomach, bubbling out from his speakers.

They stood like that for a little while; simply swaying gently from side to side, standing close to one another.

Vox wasn’t used to this. Whenever he was... intimate with Valentino, it was hard and rough, almost violent sex. He had gotten so used to that kind of intimacy that this, what he was currently doing with Cassiopeia, felt alien. Good, absolutely, but alien.

“Do you... want me to put on some music?” he offered after a few minutes. The silence was eating him alive.

“If it’s not too much to ask.”

“I’m the one offering,” he chuckled, riffling through his many, many playlists before finding one fitting for the current scene. Soft jazz, not unlike the music they had been playing at the bar, started drifting from the speakers strewn around the living room.

Being a tech geek had its perks.

Cassiopeia hummed softly along to the music as she swayed her hips, taking a few steps to each side now and again. Vox didn’t know what to do, but he did his best to mimic her.

“And you say you don’t dance,” she giggled, looking up at him.

“Is this considered dancing, though?” he asked with a breathy laugh.

She snickered, and then did something so ballsy that Vox froze for a second; she untangled their fingers so that she could move both arms around his neck, pressing them close against each other. He inhaled sharply.

“I hope this is okay,” she whispered, leaning her cheek against his chest.

He didn’t have the breath to answer.

His hands hovered over her shoulders when she shoved herself against him, before sliding down over her body, eventually settling on her lower back. She exhaled shakily, and he couldn’t help but smile. Seems like he wasn’t the only one affected by this.

The music was soft and gentle. It almost felt like it enveloped them, caressing them tenderly as they moved through the living room at a wonderfully slow pace. Like a lover’s touch.

Vox was completely at a loss for words. Not that he thought this moment needed any words, but he would like to be verbally prepared, just in case she asked him a question or something. He wasn’t used to not having a good comeback, or a witty retort. It was scary, yet he found that... with her, it was okay. He felt safe in assuming she wouldn’t laugh at or mock him. Not unlike some others.

“You’re warm,” she mumbled, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“You’re warm,” she repeated.

It was true; he was incredibly warm. His server must be overheating.

“Maybe you should... undress,” she mumbled, rolling her lower lip between her teeth. He inhaled sharply.

Oh fuck.

“You know, if you want to see me naked, you only have to ask,” he chuckled, stroking her lower back through her dress. Her face went bright red.

“I-I didn’t mean--- that’s not---”

“But, I sense that you’re too innocent and nervous to be so forward,” he teased and pulled back. She put her hands on her face, laughing in embarrassment, but peaked between her fingers when the sound of him shrugging out of his suit jacket reached her ears.

It was so cute and endearing that he couldn't help but laugh as he neatly folded the jacket and placed it over the backrest of the couch.

“Do you think I should take this off as well?” he continued, tugging at the hem of his white turtleneck sweater.

She nodded.

“If you want to ventilate yourself the best, I think it would be the optimal solution.”

With a wide smile, he grabbed the hem and tugged. He struggled slightly with pulling it over his screen, but when he finally succeeded, Cassiopeia stood right in front of him. He jumped slightly.

“Well, hello there,” he chuckled, throwing the sweater over his jacket.

“Hello,” she said quietly, looking up at him. Her arms once more slithered around his neck, pulling them close against each other again. Surely, she would be able to feel his heart throbbing aggressively against its confines when they were this close, and surely, she would think it silly!

But if she did feel it, she said nothing. She instead came closer and closer with her face, until her lips pressed against the edge of his screen. He inhaled sharply and nearly choked on the influx of air. He stood completely still as she kissed the slim edge, barely even breathing. His eyes closed slightly, and subconsciously, he pushed against her lower back, trying to get her closer.

She snickered, but it sounded out of breath.

“Shut up,” he mumbled light-heartedly.

“Not saying anything,” she quipped back.

Well, he couldn’t deny that.

He focused on her lips; soft and warm and perfect, they pressed against every inch of the edge of his screen, until she had covered it all. It wasn’t often that he mourned the fact that he had no physical lips to kiss with, but now was one such time. He found himself longing to taste the sweat on her flesh, the skin of her lips. Longing to kiss her, to feel her heated skin against his own mouth.

But alas, it was part of his punishment, he reckoned.

Each touch of her lips sent a warm crackle through him, leaving him panting like a dog trying to ventilate itself.

“Still feeling too hot?” she asked quietly, and her hands started a slow, achingly slow, descent down his body. Sliding over his arms, they soon touched his abdomen and sides, but when they tentatively, almost hesitantly, began working the belt of his suit pants, he almost blacked out.

He nodded, managing to stay upright by holding on to her.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Yeah, still feeling too hot.”

“You need some proper fans, then,” she murmured, pulling the belt from its hoops and folding it over his turtleneck on the couch. “Maybe some... more air, as well,” she continued huskily, popping the button and pulling down the zipper.

A shudder jerked his body.

“You’re being a tease, you know that, right?” he laughed softly, lifting a hand to the back of her head. Her hair was so incredibly soft. He carded his long, claw-like fingers through it, loving how the strands slithered between his fingers, much like sand.

“I’ve never teased a day in my life,” she claimed, an underlying laugh tugging her voice a pitch higher.

“That’s a bold lie if I ever heard one. You’re a natural at this.”

She giggled, but the sound faded when she reached a hand into his pants and took a hold of him. She gasped softly, whereas he groaned, trying to stifle the sound.

“Oh, it wasn’t just the alcohol that was packing.”

He barked out a nervous laugh and put a hand on his screen.

“Shut up, oh my goodness!”

“Not if complimenting your cock gets me this kind of reaction,” she giggled.

In his mind, he knew that her touches wouldn’t stop at her simply grabbing him through his underwear. Yet, somehow, he had completely thrown the next step out the window. So, when she began stroking him, he could have sworn he blacked out, even if it was just for a second.

“Fuck, Cassiopeia,” he grunted, gripping her hair tightly. She gasped sharply, and he was already letting go again, thinking he had hurt her, when she asked him to please, don’t let go. Quirking an eyebrow, he tryingly resumed the tight grip, and she made the prettiest, most adorable moan he had ever heard.

“How... how far do you want to go tonight? Maybe that’s a good thing to ask before we get too carried away.” Why was his voice so staticky already? She was barely touching him!

“As far as you want. I’m prepared to go all the way.”

Oh fuck. She was going to kill him with this, wasn’t she?

Up until now, he had been a hundred percent convinced that he was primarily into the rough, hardcore BDSM style sex. But, the more they bantered, the more they teased each other, the more he started re-considering that. Maybe he had just thought that because that was all that Valentino had ever shown him?

He needed to get that out. Before it became too obvious, and she would dip.

“I’m... not really good at tender sex,” he blurted out, stroking his claws through her hair once more.

She didn’t bolt. She didn’t look at him weird. On the contrary, she smiled gently, stroking his monitor with her free hand.

“It’s because of Valentino, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice soft.

His eyes widened.

“He doesn’t treat you right, Mr. Vox. I’ve seen your screen. You try to hide it, but I can see the cracks.”

He shouldn’t let her talk to him like that. How dare she! He was an overlord! She was a mere lesser demon! But… she was right, of course. It was because of him.

“Don’t worry,” she continued, retrieving her hand from his pants, “I’ll take good care of you.”

He knew she would. He trusted her, for some bizarre reason. He couldn’t trust anyone, but her… her, he felt like he could spill his soul to.

He let her drag him towards the couch where she made him sit down with a singular, gentle word. Swallowing hard, he looked up at her, his pants and underwear now down around his ankles. She smiled at him before straddling his lap. He groaned softly, automatically putting his hands on her thighs. They were shielded by a pair of tights, and he wished he could touch her skin. He didn’t feel like he could ask that of her, though. Not yet, at least

Her body weight on him felt positively heavenly. He leaned his head against the backrest of the couch, forcing his breath calm and even.

“You don’t have to hold back with me, Mr. Vox,” she whispered, and began rolling her hips down against him. Slowly, as if testing the waters. He inhaled sharply, his claws digging into her thighs, which subsequently made her moan and shudder.

She closed her eyes a sliver, and Vox could’ve sworn he had never seen a more beautiful and alluring demon. Was she, perhaps, an actual succubus? They were as dangerous as they were exceedingly rare, so what was the chance of him meeting one on his first proper night out? It was highly unlikely.

“Cassiopeia,” he groaned, unable to not buck his hips up against her. She gasped softly, then purred, looking down at him.

“Yes?” she asked huskily, stroking the sides of his screen and pressing herself flush against him.

“I wish I could kiss you.” It was true; everything within him yearned to kiss her, make her unravel in his arms.

She smiled and let her fingers dance over his monitor.

“It’s okay that you can’t,” she said, her voice soft and brimming with warmth. Slithering around him, her voice enveloped him in a tight and wonderful embrace. “You can make me feel good in other ways.”

Electricity surged through him, forcing a shudder to jerk his body. Oh that he could, indeed.

Retrieving his hands from her lower back, he put them on her breasts instead. She sighed contentedly, looking at him with half-lidded eyes.

He squeezed her breasts, looking intently at her, and moaned when she once more began rolling her hips against him. His cock bobbed, as if seeking to press itself up into her.

“Cassiopeia,” he groaned again, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples, and despite wearing - presumably - a bra under her dress, he could feel them harden.

“Please, call me Cassy,” she whispered. A slight tremor had taken up residency in her voice. She leaned in over him, her face hovering mere inches from his screen, her hands on the backrest of the couch.

“Is that what your friends call you?”

She smirked.

“Something like that.”

He chuckled, and decided that her clothes had to go. It would only be fair; he was stark naked, after all. Thus, he slid his hands under her dress and to her back where he fumbled with her bra. To her credit, she didn’t laugh at him or make a snide comment about his lack of skill or finesse. She simply looked at him, stroking his screen slowly with her thumbs.

When he finally wrestled her bra open, she slid the straps through the sleeves of her dress before pulling the bra off and dumping it on the couch cushion next to them. He glanced in its direction, noting its purple lace and red floral pattern, and looked back at her.

Despite being naked, he was still very warm. He definitely needed a new ventilation system.

Stroking her breasts under her dress, she mewled softly and craned her neck, leaning her head back. As she exposed her throat, Vox groaned deep in his chest, once more cursing his lack of lips. He loathed his inability to kiss her pale skin, to mark her so prettily.

“It’s okay, Mr. Vox,” she whispered, as if reading his mind. “It wouldn’t be very professional, anyway, to sport love bites at work. People would ask questions.”

“You can drop the title, for now.” Although he did like how it sounded, coming from her lips.

She shuddered, exhaling deeply, and then yelped when he pinched her nipples. Not too hard, of course, but enough to send a shiver through her.

“Now who’s the tease?” she giggled. He smirked.

“Not me.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled warmly all the same.

“Yes, you.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he claimed, tugging at her nipples and relishing the sharp sound she made.

“F-Fuck, Vox,” she gasped, sliding her hands to his body where they grabbed tightly, her nails digging into his bony shoulders.

“Do you like that?”

“Fuck, yeah, I really do.”

Spurred on by her enthusiastic consent, he continued tugging and lightly twisting her nipples for a good while, every now and again squeezing her breasts instead. He made sure to commit every single second to his primary hard drive. Every sound she made, every way she squirmed, every glance she sent his way - it all went to his secret hard drive.

Having paid good attention to her upper body, he was practically desperate to move lower.

“Can I... touch you elsewhere?” he eventually asked quietly, stroking his thumbs soothingly over her perky nipples.

“Please,” she whined, her voice tight.

“Take off your tights, please.”

“So polite,” she said, breathlessly, and got off of him for long enough to roll her stockings down, revealing a pair of panties that matched her bra. It drove him insane, and if he could have drooled, he probably would have.

“Those, too, please.”

She smiled at him through her long lashes, and followed his wish. Putting her tights and panties on the couch, she finally sat back down on him, and he was eternally grateful that he wasn’t the only one who moaned at the intimate skin contact.

She could now slide her slick folds over his hard cock, and she didn’t waste any time in doing so. Promptly, he shuddered and dug his claws into her thighs, leaning his screen back against the couch. She mewled.

“Touch me,” she suddenly whined, and Vox immediately obeyed.

Pushing a hand between their bodies and between her legs, he was careful not to nick her sensitive flesh as he stroked her clit. The second his fingers made contact, she shuddered, squeezing her legs together.

“Vox,” she gasped, opening her legs again. He moved his other hand to her hip, caressing her, while continuing to stroke her clit.

“Is that good?” he croaked, feeling as if he could combust any second.

She nodded eagerly, grinding into his hand while also rubbing her folds over his cock. She was so incredibly wet, and despite his limited knowledge of female anatomy, he knew that was a good thing. A very good thing, even.

“I want you, Vox,” she then whispered, making his heart skip a beat or two. “I want you inside me.” Without wasting any more time, and without waiting for him to make a move, she lifted herself onto her knees, guided his cock to her entrance, and sank down onto him.

The second she engulfed him, Vox moaned throatily. His hand on her hip curled tightly, and he had to move his other hand to her other hip as well, to avoid injuring her private area.

“Cassy,” he gasped, his throat feeling tight and dry. Warmth surged through him, and a shudder made him thrust up into her, subsequently pulling a sharp moan from her lips.

“Vox! Give a girl a warning next time,” she giggled, but then moaned when he did it again, just to tease her. She felt... she felt... oh hell, there were no words, were there? She felt amazing, obviously, but she felt better than amazing. She was drenched, but tight around him, and combined with the warmth of her pussy, he was fairly certain that she had the ability to fry his hard drive, not to mention his servers.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, relaxing his grip of her hips. His cock throbbed repeatedly inside her, and every jerk made a soft mewl escape her. Her eyes were halfway closed, her mouth agape.

“I’m going to move,” he said, fighting to get the words out in the correct order, and she nodded.

“Please do,” she whined.

His mind was reeling. How could a lesser demon feel so good? How could she make him feel better than he could remember ever having felt? Maybe it was the thrill of being with someone new, someone he likely wouldn’t see again. Maybe it was simply because what they were doing was so soft and tender.

Vox kept his promise and began thrusting up into her. Slowly, steadily. Each move, her cunt gripped him like a vice. Each move, his cock throbbed inside her. He could practically feel every inch of her insides pulsate and flutter around him, and it drove him to the edge of insanity.

She grabbed his shoulders tightly, whining needily for every thrust and looking at him through her lashes.

“Fuck, Vox, that feels so good,” she whimpered, clenching around him when he pulled back. As if she didn’t want him to pull back, although they both knew he was going to plunge into her again, and again, and again. There was no way he could stop now.

“It really does,” he agreed with a shaky grunt, squeezing her hips firmly and throwing his screen back in ecstasy when she mewled.

This was insane. How could anything feel this fantastic? It should be a sin! Which, well, it already kind of was...

Good thing he had never really cared about sins or their so-called consequences.

Cassiopeia leaned in over him once more, pressing her lips to his screen over and over again. Each kiss made him more and more aroused, until he couldn’t help but push hard up into her. He had wanted to take it easy, had wanted for this to be soft and tender, but with the pleasure forming tight knots in his stomach, it was getting increasingly difficult.

“You’ll make me come at this rate,” he whispered and laughed breathlessly, pressing her down against his lap while thrusting up into her. Each thrust pulled a sharp moan from her.

“Oh no, what a travesty,” she giggled and began kissing his neck. This made his heart skip a beat. He inhaled sharply, his hips pressing hard up against her. In response, she bit his neck, and he moaned loudly, automatically throwing his head back and thus exposing his throat even further. He was trembling something fierce, his heart beating aggressively.

She quickly pulled back, a deep blush adorning her face.

“I-I’m sorry, Vox, I didn’t mean to--- I doubt Valentino would appreciate you having love bites from someone else...”

“Let me worry about him,” he almost growled. “You just worry about feeling good.”

“That’s not hard,” she smiled, tentatively leaning in to kiss his neck again. He shuddered, and his thrusts became harsh. “Easy, Vox, easy,” she gasped, smoothing her hands over his chest. “We have all night.”

“I-I can’t stop,” he gasped, groaning deep in his chest when she began rolling her hips again, meeting each of his thrusts. Her hands on his chest, and his hands on her hips, they were so close to each other that it was hard to figure out where one started and ended. Her scent was all over him, enveloping and embracing him. It was intoxicating. An expensive perfume, no doubt, that only barely covered her natural aroma, which became more and more prominent as the minutes passed. He could smell her arousal so easily; warm and heavy and heady, it made his head spin.

“Do I feel good, Vox?” she whispered, stroking his nipples and collar bones.

“You feel amazing, Cassy,” he moaned. His orgasm was imminent and inevitable, but he didn’t want it to end already. While knowing that he had several rounds in him, he didn’t know about her. And if there was one thing he didn’t want, it was for this to end prematurely.

She smiled, a dazed, stupid smile that made his heart flutter. Butterflies flapped around in his stomach, and he wanted so desperately to blame it on the alcohol. After all, it had been a while since he had had this much to drink. However, he had a feeling he couldn’t write it off as inebriation.

She then had the audacity to ask a question that very nearly fried his servers and made him shut down.

“Do you think you can come for me?” How could she sound so innocent and soft when asking such a thing?

“Fuck,” he croaked - he couldn’t say much else - and closed his eyes, focusing solely on the way his stomach jumped and pleasure coursed through him. His hips stuttered for a few seconds before pushing ruthlessly up against her, making her gasp.

“Yes! Yes, Vox, that’s it, that’s it,” she cried out, wrapping her arms around his slim neck and pressing herself flush against him. “That’s it, don’t stop, oh fuck!”

Vox didn’t intend to stop. On the contrary. He kept drilling into her, his moans growing louder and louder, sharper and sharper, until he suddenly, without knowing what exactly had been the tipping point, knew that this was the point of no return.

“I’m going to come,” he growled, slamming up into her while at the same time pushing her down on him, eager - no, desperate - to get as deep as possible.

“Yes,” she whispered on a shaky exhale, “yes, come in me, Vox, please, I need it...”

Hearing her voice so tight and laced with wanton need, Vox couldn’t hold himself back.

He shuddered before tensing, his entire body going rigid, and he came in her with a loud, throaty groan.

“Cass--- Cassy,” he groaned as unbelievable, white-hot euphoria sloshed through his cords, making him see binary code that made no sense. His claws dug into her hips, no doubt leaving marks, and he felt light as a feather. He arched his back against her, and despite being so close to her, he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He heard her needy voice, but couldn’t string the words together into something coherent.

And then it was over. Far too quickly, the sensation of weighing the same as a feather was replaced with one of feeling like a slab of concrete dropped into the ocean. He sagged back against the couch, breathing hard and fast.

On top of him, Cassiopeia continued to grind against him, desperately seeking her own release. She was now leaning back, her hands on his thighs for support, rolling her hips desperately.

“Let me help you,” he slurred, reaching a trembling hand down between their bodies, and fondled her clit again. She mewled loudly, and her body went taut for a few seconds before going limp. A loud, high-pitched whine tumbled over her lips, increasing in volume the more he touched her. His other hand’s claws scratched over her thigh, and he watched her face intently as he did so, careful not to be too harsh and tear open her skin.

“Vox!” she suddenly cried out, and Vox knew that she, too, had passed the point of no return.

“I’m here,” he growled, stroking her clit a tad faster and harder. “I’m here, Cassy. Can you come for me?”

“No fucking doubt,” she whispered, and the corners of her lips twitched upwards in a light smile.

“Then do it,” he said, carefully digging his claws slightly into her thighs.

That seemed to be what she needed.

With a gasp, then a long string of something that could potentially have been his name, he felt her cunt clench tightly around him, before fluttering rapidly. She let out a loud whimper, and her body went stiff. Her eyes were closed tightly, but her mouth wide open.

“That’s it, Cassy, that’s it,” he praised, continuing to stroke her through her orgasm, “look at you, being so good for me.”

She sobbed out a sound he didn’t know how to interpret, and thus, he gradually slowed down his merciless stroking, until she grabbed his wrist, jerking his hand away.

“No... no more,” she whispered, out of breath and barely able to get the words over her lips. Yet, she was smiling, and her voice was light and airy.

“Okay,” he whispered, withdrawing his hand to put it on her hip instead. He caressed the flesh soothingly. “You did so well, Cassy.”

Cracking open one eye, she looked at him.

“You did all the work, Vox.”

“It was a pleasure,” he assured her, sending her a warm smile.

She smiled back before slumping against him.

“I could sleep right here, right now,” she proclaimed, already yawning.

He laughed softly, still trying to catch his breath.

“I do have a bed, you know. It’s big enough for the both of us.”

“Hmm, no. No bed. Only couch,” she giggled.

He shook his head with a chuckle.

“We’re going to the bed, whether you like it or not,” he said and gingerly pulled out of her. She whined, and he had to agree; it was so much better to warm his cock in her. But alas, it was necessary to detangle themselves to go to bed.

“Fine,” she whined and was about to get up, when Vox lifted her under the knees and her back. She hummed, nuzzling her face against his chest.

“You’re strong.”

“I’m an overlord, what did you expect?” he chuckled and carried her upstairs to his bedroom. Once inside, he carefully laid her down on the massive bed before snuggling up close to her. She moaned softly and offered no resistance when he pulled her back flush against his chest. She stroked his hand as it lay on her stomach, and sighed deeply.

“That was incredible,” she whispered after a moment of silence.

“Do you think we’re done?”

Another moment of silence, then an incredulous laugh.

“Can you seriously go again already?”

“Again, I’m an overlord. I’m not bound to the same restrictions as you peasants,” he snickered, sliding his hand from her warm stomach and down to her sticky cunt.

“Peasant. Wow, that’s rude,” she giggled, but hummed in pleasure when he began touching her again.

“Like you don’t want another round,” he teased, slowly stroking his fingers over her clit, and relishing the shiver that went through her.

“Easy, Vox, let a girl rest.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice, making him more relaxed about continuing. The more he touched her, the harder he got, until his cock pressed against her lower back, his heart beating incessantly and quickly.

“Rest is for the weak.”

“Well, then I’m the weakest peasant you’ll ever see,” she yawned, but nonetheless turned on her other side to look at him, touching his screen gently. She was smiling; something that made Vox very happy, for reasons he didn’t dare examine.

“Do you want it, though?” His voice was soft, genuine. “I don’t want to force you.”

“That’s very considerate of you, Vox. Yes, I do want it.”

His heart rate picked up as he moved on top of her. She looked at him with those big, gorgeous blue eyes, and suddenly, his throat was tight and dry all over again.

“Tell me if it hurts or anything,” he said quietly, guiding his cock to her entrance. She was still wet - or maybe again? - and as such, it was easy to slide inside her. She moaned softly, closing her eyes a sliver and grabbing the pillow under her head.

“Vox,” she whispered, and there was something in the way she murmured his name that made the breath hitch in his throat. It was so soft and delicate. Intimate in a way he had never heard it said before. It made him swallow heavily.

“Cassiopeia,” he whispered back, smiling when a full-body shudder went through her. She didn’t correct him, didn’t tell him to call her ‘Cassy’ again, and he appreciated that more than he had the words to articulate.

He grabbed her hands with both of his, lacing their fingers together. She moaned softly, closing her eyes fully.

Vox began pushing inside her, as deep as he could, until she made the smallest, softest whimper, and he met resistance. Then he pulled back, slowly, until just the head of his cock was inside her. The way her pussy clenched around him was delicious, and it took all of his self-control not to slam back inside immediately.

“Please, don’t tease me,” she murmured.

“I’ve never teased a day in my life,” he grinned, taking her words from earlier and using them against her, making her snicker.

“That’s a bold lie, Mr. Vox.”

“I’m nothing if not bold.”

“That you are,” she sighed, the sound turning into a pleased whine when he slowly pushed back inside her.

This time, there was no rush. Having gotten the worst craving out of his system, Vox actually managed to take it slow and easy, like they had initially agreed upon. It felt absolutely amazing, and he could’ve sworn that this kind, tender, gentle lovemaking rewired his system in real-time. The only thing he regretted was that he couldn’t kiss her. He wanted to so desperately, but it was impossible with his screen and lack of tongue, not to mention lack of lips.

“You’re amazing, Cassiopeia,” he said softly, rolling his hips gently.

“You are, too,” she whispered, looking up at him with such sincerity in her eyes that it stole his breath away. “I don’t... want tonight to end.”

He swallowed hard. That was the thing, though, wasn’t it? It would have to end at some point, and he would be forced to go back to Valentino and his abuse.

“Me neither,” he mumbled, a thick, sticky ball of emotions lodged in his throat, leaning his screen against her forehead. It was the closest thing to a kiss they could come.

It would have to suffice. For now.

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