i'm a king

Ah...Unbirthday party, so many rules, so many colors, so many Heartslabyul students following the schedule to the letter, but it’s the new guests, the slight loosening of Riddle, the new activities, and the fresh air without a trace of tension or rivalry that makes this party feel more… alive. Loud music blares from someone’s speaker, drinks and sweets, too many sweets, that aren’t written in the beloved “Queen of Hearts’ Rules,” the atmosphere overflowing with camaraderie forged after a completely… catastrophic year. The red roses painted immaculately, students from the famously strict dorm welcoming every guest who wants to join, appreciating all the contributions to make this party feel more like a celebration than just a dorm event.

Trey and Cater busy themselves filling the dessert table, already overflowing with chocolates, strawberry tarts, bowls of plain strawberries, though you leave a pot full of cream for anyone who wants to make their fruit even more delicious. Vil and Rook bring more fresh food, prepared with the best organic ingredients from Pomefiore; even Epel brought several jugs of apple juice.

The atmosphere feels more energized, mixed with that dangerous aura of a bunch of hormone-driven kids with barely controlled magic who want to blow off stress one way or another; even if blowing off stress means eating until bursting, hitting a sugar spike… or getting drunk.

Because yes, this might be the calmest Unbirthday party in terms of rules, but that didn’t mean Ace couldn’t pull something. With a flask in hand and the most smug, mischievous grin that always shows when he knows what he’s about to do could land him in serious trouble, Ace pours the bright amber contents—shining and camouflaged perfectly in the punch, or was it iced tea?—so that no one notices the difference; or maybe they do, but they’re too busy with the food and with breaking more rules.

“If anything happens, blame my brother. His idea” the redhead tells you when you give him a look, though it doesn’t last long because you also want to try the contents of that new, gleaming drink.

Between hands and dancing, what starts as one cup filled to the brim with amber liquid mixed with fruit turns into two, three, even a fourth; it’s so sweet you can’t even taste the alcohol. Your legs, however, do notice, wobbling this way and that when you’re guided through the maze-like garden paths, or when Trey takes you to the lounge to help carry new tarts to the dessert table, him holding one in each hand without trouble.

The celebration that, by habit, usually lasts a couple of afternoon hours stretches longer and longer, the sun dipping below the horizon and the real magic beginning to hum with the moon in the sky. The lights grow sharper, more intimate, some colored, the music louder and the air heavier with sweetness.

You see Jack and Leona having a friendly arm-wrestling match on one of the lounge’s low tables, some betting on Jack, others, too afraid to go against him, on Leona. Jamil sits beneath a great rose arbor, enjoying that for once he doesn’t have to cook, letting Kalim do as he pleases.

Sebek’s constant shouting rings out as several people approach Malleus to strike up small conversations, noticeably affected by the punch enough to lose their fear, and the tall fae letting himself be drawn into countless discussions, most of which he barely understands, yet listening closely and laughing from time to time.

The air grows warmer with every minute as people shed the tension from their shoulders and let the stress dissolve on the improvised dance floor in the middle of the lounge. You feel hands brushing your arms and hips, bodies leaning against you to share gossip or simply mess with your hair or your reactions, someone placing a liquor-filled chocolate against your lips, waiting for you to bite so they can eat the other half.

Vague, sensory memories linger in your mind like small flashbacks: fingertips brushing the skin of your neck, a whisper in your ear, your back arching slightly thanks to the garden breeze over your nape freed from your hair. Someone moving your hair from your face and lips brushing your forehead before lowering to yours. Memories of your vision blurring and spinning and glowing while the noise of the party scatters, as if the crowd were drifting away, or maybe it’s you who’s drifting. The coldness of the wall against your back and a warm body against your chest.

Hands roaming your sides, tongues licking your thighs, a bed falling apart with every movement of both bodies; a rough gasp against your neck, teeth nibbling your earlobe, skin burning and the delicious anticipation of desire sliding between you. Words barely whispered or spoken through laughter, sometimes said with need, other times with pure overflowing desire, promising an endless night meant only for you.

Morning light pushes in annoyingly through the window, preventing you from opening your eyes to face the new day. A headache drills from behind your eyes and your body aches and feels heavy, and you’re unable to move without your legs feeling numb, like a pair of gelatin molds with a liquid center slowly pushing through and melting the outer layer.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Cater

Waking up feels like you survived a tornado of sugar and bad decisions. Your head is pounding like it’s about to explode and your mouth is ridiculously dry. When you open your eyes, the first thing you notice is a trail of…

Glitter?

Well that’s new

You also notice the pillow is way too soft, much softer than yours at Ramshackle, and it smells like citrus mixed with both sweet and spicy.

You stretch, your body aching in a sharp way but also with a pleasant sensation between your legs and in your thighs, and your hand bumps into another body.

You bump it again… and again… and again.

Your hand keeps colliding with what seems to be a bare chest.

You hear a low, satisfied hum, look to your side, and find Cater’s awake face, hair a mess, phone in hand.

And the camera is pointed straight at your wrecked face.

“Morning, cutie~!” his voice far too energetic for this hour.

He flips the phone around and shows you the very lovely, very disastrous photo of your eyes barely open in the first morning light.

You look like absolute hell, sweetheart

“#GoalsIRL, am I right?”

“Delete that right now, Cater!”

He just laughs, tossing the phone onto the pile of discarded clothes at the foot of the bed—and by pile I mean a couple of your things and his, let’s say some shirts and a pair of pants.

Because the rest of the clothes… are everywhere.

Your panties are even hanging from the bedpost.

“Relax, babe, that one’s just for my private collection,” his mischievous eyes travel over your body, biting his lip. “Unless you want me to show the world the absolute snack I had last night”

You follow the line of his gaze and realize your chest is uncovered, bits of glitter stuck to your skin. Your eyes return to Cater, noticing his chest is also bare and covered in glitter.

You pull the sheets up to your chest, but you can’t help wanting to look underneath them. Very timidly you lift them and, to your not-so-surprise… yes, you’re naked; you clutch the fabric tighter around yourself and sit up slowly.

“We…?”

Cater gives you the most shameless grin. “Oh, we definitely did, cutie~” He winks and his voice drops into a wicked whisper. “Didn’t know you had what it takes to keep up with me. Didn’t peg you as someone so… insatiable”

Fragments return in chaotic bursts: his hands around your waist while he made you dance to a song neither of you was really listening to; his lips at your ear whispering all the things he wanted to do to you after the party.

His lips never leaving yours when he couldn’t wait until the end, whispering he needed you now, carrying you to his room while holding you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping your ass.

The moment he tossed you onto the bed and didn’t waste a second before pressing his lips back to the skin of your neck, undoing every button he found in his path and stripping you in record time. His mouth biting you with each piece of clothing freed, leaving reddish marks on your collarbone, your breasts, your thighs. “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look like this?”

His hands spreading your legs as he lowered his head, licking and sucking without restraint, growling in pleasure every time you moaned loudly. His tongue teasing your clit, sucking when he felt you getting desperate; his fingers sliding inside, first one then two, bringing your first orgasm of the night.

You remember riding him, your hands on your chest, his cock opening your wet cunt with every drop of your hips, your hair loose and eyes half-closed while your clit rubbed against his pelvis. Cater simply admiring your body moving deliciously, your breasts bouncing up and down.

His big hands holding one while the other gripped your hip firmly. “Come on, baby, move more, I want you to cum with my cock buried deep inside you”

The flash of his phone when he snapped a ridiculously shameless photo, the camera aimed right where his cock was driving into you, maybe even recording a short video; you managed to snatch the phone and throw it into a corner just as he smacked your ass hard.

The way he kept turning you and switching positions at will: your ass fully on display when he flipped you and kept you riding him, holding onto his legs; fucking you against the wall, his fingers sliding between your legs to play with your clit while he sucked your nipples.

Though his favorite position was missionary, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt already drenched from so many orgasms… while your mouth was also being used by one of his clones. “Keep moaning. I want the whole dorm to know who’s fucking you this good”

You remember feeling more than a couple of hands wandering over your body, gripping your hips, spreading your legs wider and keeping you from closing them, palms over your breasts playing with your nipples; and one particular hand gripping your throat so you could feel his cock sliding below.

“So delicious… you like it when I fuck you with my clones, baby? Hm? Want us inside everywhere?” your moans mixing with his breathless laughter as he thrust faster and faster until he spilled inside.

The moment he pulled out slowly, watching his semen slide from your pussy; his fingers gathering it and pushing it back in. “We’re not wasting a single drop, right cutie?” and before you could answer, he was already pushing back in, his cock hard again to start thrusting once more.

“You okay, baby? No regrets, right?” His words pull you out of the endless spiral of filthy, indecent fragments.

His thumb is working over a sore muscle in your back, slowly easing the tension. His gaze expectant and a bit nervous about whatever words you might say next.

“No regrets, Cay-Cay.” He smiles, satisfied—hearing that seems to free him from needing to hide under the biggest rock in society.

“…but you’re deleting everything you took yesterday.”

“Awww~ you’re so mean,” but there’s no offense in his tone.

Cater rolls onto his back, stretching, and you can’t help noticing the faint marks along his neck: hickeys, scratches, spots where you dug in your nails; he shows them like a supermodel.

“Wanna go for another round? Or need a second to catch your breath?”

You push his chest, though without much force and even less conviction. You let out a small laugh and he pulls you close, your body fitting perfectly at his side.

The warmth of his body wraps around you and for a second… you can set the headache aside.

Ruggie

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that your mouth is so dry it feels like the savanna itself, your head pounding a thousand miles an hour and an overwhelming, absolute need to chug a galleon of water.

You turn over, hoping to fall back asleep or at least find a position that might ease the drumming in your skull; you reach for the nearest thing to hug, thinking the soft pillow under your head might have a twin.

And you did find something, yes. But it’s not a pillow you’re hugging so tightly.

It’s something solid, hard, and a bit lean… and it’s alive.

You hear a yawn near your ear, followed by a soft chuckle. Something soft moves above your head.

A pair of ears twitch in time with your breathing.

…ears

You open one eye and find Ruggie’s messy hair, his gray-blue eyes looking at you from the next pillow over.

“Morning, sunshine—”

You don’t let him finish.

Still disoriented and a little sleepy, you grab the pillow under you and smack it straight into his face.

“AHHHHH… RUGGIE WTF?!?”

“Hey! Hey! Don’t hit me!”

Ruggie dodges a second strike by hiding under the sheets and peeking out with a wicked grin. He’s still laughing hard, coughing a bit from the intensity of that wake-up. “You’re more violent than a female hyena after mating”

“Ma-mating?!”

Your wide eyes take in Ruggie’s figure, only now barely covered; his torso is bare, a few scratches across his shoulders and pecs, a purplish hickey on his neck.

You glance down and see your own chest just as bare, covered in bite marks and a couple of hickeys along the curve of your breasts.

You clutch the pillow to you like a shield, covering your chest. “What…? Did we…? What happened?”

Ruggie props himself on one shoulder and starts counting on his fingers. “Let’s see… we danced a few songs, you stole a sweet straight outta my mouth, I got it back by kissing you, you asked me to teach you how the ‘wild animals of the savanna’ end the night… and I guess we got a little outta control, huh?”

The memories come in flashes: Ruggie’s hands on your hips while he spun you around again and again until you got dizzy. His wild laugh when you chased him down corridor after corridor, stumbling over your own feet, until you caught him and kissed him in the darkness of an empty hallway.

Wild, hungry kisses, little bites along your neck and collarbone. A particularly mischievous nip at your hip when he yanked your underwear down with his teeth; his hands positioning you on your back, one on your hip and the other lifting your leg, presenting you open for him.

His quick, skillful fingers moving nonstop inside your cunt while his tongue slowly licked your clit. “Fuck, best meal I’ve ever had” Your back arching when he found your most sensitive spot and hit it again and again and again, making you see stars and moan nonstop.

The way he bent you over, half your body on the bed, the other with your feet on the floor, your ass raised high so he could knead it, squeeze it, smack it.

The fast, eager rhythm of his thrusts, his hips slamming relentlessly into your backside, making it bounce. “Look at it move” His chest against your back, gripping your hips tight so you wouldn’t collapse.

His cock opening you inch by inch, trying to go deeper and harder, pinching your nipples so you couldn’t help but moan for him.

The way he sat you on top of him, Ruggie perfectly level with your breasts, squeezing and massaging them while you dropped down on him again and again. Your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance so you could move faster and keep your clit rubbing constantly against him.

His dirty words in your ear when he felt your spongy walls tighten, knowing you were about to cum. “C’mon, pretty, cum for me. I want you screaming for me”

Ruggie’s name on your lips when you cum hard, collapsing onto him, your nipples brushing his chest, already so sensitive and abused by his fingers and teeth; his reaction to having you squeeze him so tight, now moving you at his rhythm, fast and feral again.

“Ruggie! I-I’m sensitive!” him just moving you faster until you cum again, him chasing his own orgasm.

The moment Ruggie spilled outside, splattering your stomach with his seed. “I know you’ve got more in you, sunshine. ’Cause I’m nowhere near satisfied”

You groan, hiding your face behind the pillow, the fragments painfully vivid even with your eyes closed. “Oh Seven… really?”

“Yeah, pretty. And you were loud… pretty sure we didn’t let anyone in the dorm sleep.”

That does not make it better!!

Ruggie’s now stretched on his back, arms behind his head, the picture of satisfaction. You can’t help tracing his naked body with your eyes, every mark, every scratch, every hickey… drifting lower and lower, seeing the outline of his barely-awake cock under the sheets.

Ruggie’s eyes are up there, you know?

Your cheeks flush red and you look up at the ceiling, a mix of embarrassment and lingering arousal settling in your stomach and between your legs.

Ruggie stretches a hand toward your face, a finger tapping your nose. “You okay? No regrets?”

“I think… I think I’m okay.” You look back at him. “Just… wow.”

His grin now shows nothing but fangs and he sits up until your noses touch. “Just wow? Guess I’ll have to try harder then”

You shove him with the pillow and he catches your wrist, pulling you until you end up half on top of him. “You looked so happy last night, I wanna do it again”

His lips find yours, slow, almost a brush. His hand slides up your arm until he pulls away the pillow that so shamelessly hides the beautiful sight of your breasts marked by him.

“And if you’re in the mood, maybe I can make breakfast too… but only if you pay me in kisses.”

You settle more comfortably over him, wrapping both arms around his neck. Your cunt perfectly positioned over his throbbing, hungry cock, eager to sink back into you.

“Deal, hyena”

Jack

There’s a strong, solid, enveloping heat pressing you from all sides, keeping your back glued to a body much larger than yours, two limbs holding you tightly, wrapping around your waist from both sides.

You open your eyes, confused, and notice those limbs are two arms, huge and muscular, hugging you and keeping you firmly trapped.

And on top of that… you also feel something furry and fluffy tickling your leg.

…You lift the sheets.

It takes you a moment to register that: you’re naked, there’s a silver tail over your leg, the sheets aren’t yours, the bed isn’t Ramshackle’s… it goes without saying the room isn’t yours either.

Someone’s warm, light breathing prickles the skin of your neck. You turn your head slightly and see silver strands, adorned with two relaxed ears, barely twitching with each breath.

Jack huffs softly against your hair, his chest vibrating with his deep breathing. You feel his nose brush your nape and, with a low growl, he pulls you even closer, pressing your ass against his hip.

You feel his cock, hard, throbbing and big, even half-asleep; you hold back a gasp, noticing that small tingle of pleasure mixed with curiosity and the faint suspicion that last night was wilder than you want to admit.

“Jack…” your pulse suddenly races, like you’re running a marathon.

And with this wolf behind you… naked, for the record… there’s a very good chance you already ran that marathon.

You try to move slowly, but his arms tighten a little more, leaving small kisses along your nape.

Memories from the night before hit like lightning: the moment you leaned too heavily against his huge chest, your hands stroking up along his big arms, appreciating his muscles; his own hands pulling you even closer before pinning you against the wall.

His arms lifting you effortlessly—you weighing nothing to him—his mouth devouring yours while he held you snug against his groin. In that position, lifted and pressed between two solid surfaces, he made you feel so small; your cunt already growing wet with anticipation.

You remember the damp heat of his mouth moving down your neck, his tongue heavy with desire, soft bites leaving marks he then kissed tenderly or soothed with his tongue. “Does it hurt?” he’d whisper, and when you shook your head no, he dared to bite a little harder, growling when he felt you tremble beneath him.

The moment he laid you on your back on the bed, his knees between yours, his lips kissing every inch of your chest, licking, sucking your nipples until you were breathless.

His big, calloused hands exploring your body, opening your legs, sliding his fingers inside your more-than-wet pussy, opening you patiently but without hiding his desire, his palm right over your clit. Every time his fingers curled inside you, he stimulated that sensitive bundle at the same time.

His erection, heavy and throbbing, brushing your cunt, rubbing and letting your fluids wet him and make him harder; his tip rubbing your clit, ready to pull another orgasm from you without even being inside yet.

The way he arranged you on your side, lifting one leg and penetrating you slowly, filling you completely. Both your breathing ragged, mixed with gasps. His movements slow at first, sliding in and out, his hand holding your neck so he could bite you freely. “Let me mark you, let the whole world know you’re mine”

When you rode him, his cock sinking deeper, the wetness of your pussy soaking his abdomen and your legs, letting him thrust into you more easily, your hands on his chest, nails digging into his skin. The strength of his arms guiding you up and down, trembling when he felt your walls tighten more and more, cumming with his cock buried deep inside.

The moment you felt him swell at the base inside you, the pressure of his knot beginning to form, Jack gripping your waist to keep you from moving. “If you keep moving that good, I’m gonna cum deep inside you,” you trembled in his hold, his knot stretching you much wider.

The moment you both cum together, him howling your name muffled into your neck, the heat of his seed filling you, his knot firmly seated, keeping every drop from leaving your cunt and preventing you from separating while your orgasm made you writhe from head to toe.

The way he pulled you to him, his knot still deep inside, but his hands soft and protective, stroking your hair and face while you came down from the wave of your climax.

You dare to turn a little more, your memories from last night fresh and very, very hot, when you see Jack open his eyes, still confused and sleepy; his voice rough and deep… if that’s even possible.

“Morning, did you sleep well?”

“I think so… I can’t really feel my body… except my head.”

A small smile slips from him, nervous but sincere. “Didn’t mean to be rough last night.” His fingers trace the curve of your back. “But… I couldn’t stop touching you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, his fingertips along with the growing pressure against your ass. “I can tell”

You hear a growl leave his throat, your back arching as you reach to touch his chest, his shoulders; Jack bites his lip when he feels you press even closer to him. “You’re doing that on purpose”

You laugh at the little self-control he’s battling to maintain… though it makes you squeeze your eyes shut at the sudden stab of your headache. His hands stroke your body slowly so the sudden pain fades a little.

Every brush, every caress, is loaded with that contained animal desire, which finally snaps when he kisses your neck again, hungrier and deeper. Soon, the bed creaks again beneath both your weights, the heat rising between your bodies.

In the morning, all that remains is the murmur of your name on his lips and his arms, steady and strong, settling you beneath him once more, while the sun keeps rising over the horizon.

Azul

For a moment, everything feels too and perfectly still, like a silent cocoon of warmth and luxury. The sheets feel incredibly soft and there’s a scent in the air faintly like sea salt.

Okay… your dorm never smelled like sea salt and you never had sheets this soft.

You open your eyes, blinking slowly against a haze of early light slipping through elegant curtains.

Yep, definitely not Ramshackle.

And this is not your room, much less your bed.

From the décor and the scent in the air… it’s obviously Octavinelle.

Your heart starts hammering, panic rising because you don’t know what the hell you’re doing here, until you feel a weight shift beside you. You turn and see Azul sitting on the bed, already wearing his glasses, hair messy from sleep, reading what you assume are his latest contracts.

He turns his head when he notices you move and smiles at you, a little hesitant but very soft…

Damn, much softer than any smile he’s ever given a client or even his dormmates.

“Ah, good morning” His voice low and honeyed, surprisingly calm for a man who just woke up naked beside you.

Naked

Because yes, Azul’s torso is completely bare, free in all its glory, the sheet very low, too low, barely covering him from the waist down.

And your body is naked too

“Good morning…” is all you manage to say, your voice completely shot, your throat sore.

Your memories come back in swirling flashes: you approaching Azul behind an improvised bar in the middle of the lounge, whispering things to him that obviously had nothing to do with the party and absolutely couldn’t be repeated in broad daylight. His hands guiding you out of the lounge, leading you to his room and devouring your mouth like the hungriest man alive.

His slightly trembling hands stripping you piece by piece, caressing every part he uncovered; the way he adored every curve, the softness of your skin, his mouth lingering with unusual slowness over your chest, his attitude almost devout.

“You’re so soft, so beautiful, it’s… you make me insatiable” his tongue licking your nipple while the other was stroked and lightly twisted by his fingers. Your breasts were the main course for Azul, kissing, licking, biting, every inch of total interest to him.

Your hand in his hair when he moved down to your wet cunt, pulling him closer, asking, begging him to continue, to devour you like you deserved. “More, Azul, please, keep going” The groan he let out reverberated against your clit, his fingers sliding in gently. Your wetness already staining the bed and his face, and like a proper gentleman he didn’t stop until you cum with his face buried between your legs, his tongue cruel on your clit.

His eyes widening when he slided in for the first time, feeling your spongy walls squeeze him everywhere. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands on his back, pulling him toward you to kiss him and let him fucked you however he wanted: slow and deep, savoring every moan, or fast and hard, shouting his name as you cum.

“That’s it, my love, keep going, let me hear how sweetly my siren sings” His cock plunging into you again and again and again, his fluids mixing with yours, bringing you to the next orgasm with his thumb on your clit.

You blush hard, instinctively pulling the sheet up to cover your chest. Azul’s gaze is hungry and devout, but careful. “Are you alright? Are you sore, my siren?”

You open your mouth, only to catch sight of something strange and pink on the skin of your arms, round and vividly colored, like they were made with a lot of pressure and enthusiasm.

You lift your arms, the trail continuing over your chest, shoulders, even down your hips. Beneath the sheets it’s the same—more marks across your thighs. Perfectly scattered, forming a pattern.

The marks are shaped like…

Suction cups?

You look at Azul, who’s gone red with both mortification and fascination. “Uh… those are… yes, they are suction cups.” He brings a hand to his eyes, adjusting his glasses. “My apologies, you were so soft that… I lost control a bit.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or scream from adrenaline.

You choose the first.

A small gasp escapes you, followed by a soft laugh and then a more euphoric one, still not fully processing what’s happening. “You… you marked me? With… your… tentacles?”

HOLY SHIT!!!

More memories crash in like storm waves: Azul holding both your legs with two of his tentacles, spreading you at will, keeping you from closing them while he penetrated you with what you assume was his inseminator tentacle; both coiling over your thighs and squeezing lightly.

The cold, heavy pressure now around your arms, even your neck, as Azul increased the intensity, his tentacle sliding in and out, twisting inside you with inhuman speed. “You look so delicious like this, so helpless, and so mine”

His tongue returning to your breasts while his tentacle curled and explored your interior, tearing scream after scream from you that had to be muffled by another of his tentacles. At first just covering your mouth, but Azul’s gaze when he saw your lips wet from his limbs showed he wanted even more from you.

The wet limb sliding its tip over your mouth, playing with your tongue as if it were another tongue, until reaching your throat and twisting like the one inside your cunt. Both creating waves of pleasure and heat that made you convulse and cum.

“Can you bear it, my siren? I want you to feel what it is to be truly possessed,” the inhuman rhythm as he panted at your ear, his tentacles never stopping, even when you felt him spilled deep inside.

His smile as he watched you tremble, his torso pressed to your back, two tentacles wrapping your waist and keeping you still while he penetrated you again and again, thrusting with undulating movements, the tip of another limb playing with your clit, every contraction pushing your body further past its limit.

“I can give you a cream if you wish,” Azul’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Though you will have to cover yourself quite well for the next few days.”

Still amazed and a bit stunned at what your body endured, you smile, because in the end… your body feels deliciously, painfully satisfied.

You roll onto your side, letting the sheet fall a little more. “I’ll take the cream, but I’m not covering up to my neck.”

“Oh, no?”

“No—” you cough, still feeling the soreness in your throat. “They’re proof the octopus fucked me pretty well.”

He swallows hard, the tips of his ears completely crimson, looking like they might explode.

“Well… if you put it that way… I can’t help but accept that it was a… sublime night.”

10/10

“Impossible not to desire someone like you” His gaze drifts down your breasts, your torso, biting his lip as if wanting to lift the sheet and lose himself between your legs again.

You lean closer, tugging his arm so he falls over you, his glasses crooked on his face. “Impossible not to want you either”

“You are dangerous, you know that? Now it’s going to be impossible for me to concentrate at the Mostro” He kisses you long along the collarbone, his arms wrapping your waist, fingertips stroking your soft skin.

“Oh, poor unfortunate soul~”

You let out a squeak when you feel Azul bite your shoulder.

Kalim

The bright, golden sun wakes you, your eyes opening heavily and almost closing again. Your head hurts like hell and you’re pretty sure that if you move too fast you’ll end up terribly dizzy.

The room smells far too sweet, like coconut, but mixed with spice and turmeric, and the atmosphere is far too soft to be real.

The sheets are just as soft, a kind of silk only found in Arabic countries, accompanied by red and gold accents that definitely don’t belong to your room.

Yeah… you’re in Scarabia.

You stretch and immediately freeze. You feel warmth, but not the kind of warmth from sheets—this is the warmth of another body pressed very close to yours, skin against skin.

And you’re naked and…

OH GOD! The other person is too.

Kalim’s feet, tangled with yours, brush along your legs, waking slowly and pulling you even closer to him.

Your eyes meet his ruby ones and a smile spreads across his face, so radiant and gentle, and he nestles his head even closer to your neck, as if he wanted the two of you to fuse into one.

His hair is completely messy, his skin glowing, and he is absolutely, gloriously, not worried at all about the fact that neither of you is wearing clothes. His hand rests on your hip, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin.

“Oh! Good morning, my love!” he smiles, his voice still a little rough with sleep. “How is the most beautiful desert's flower feeling?”

“Umm, my head hurts a little.”

“Ah! That’s not good, I’ll see if I can bring you something for the pain.” He barely gets up, the sheet sliding down his torso, leaving him in all his glory… and it keeps dropping.

And more… and more… and more… until he stands fully revealed before you, his cinnamon skin shining in the sunlight.

You make a small sound of surprise, half embarrassment, half delight.

Kalim, already out of bed, turns his back to you, letting you see thin red marks trailing from his shoulders down to his hip; the tattoos on his arms, combined with the shine of leftover sweat, make them look a bit more defined.

Wait… leftover sweat… both of you naked…

“Kalim?”

“Hmm?”

“Did we…? Did we sleep together?”

Kalim moves back toward the bed, kneeling so his face is level with yours. “Yes, my love! We were together all night!” His eyes now show a hint of concern. “You don’t remember?”

You blush instantly, memories from last night flickering behind your eyes: Kalim pulling you onto the dance floor, laughing so much he almost dropped you, but his hands—always soft and steady—keeping you close; every spin among waves of color and music making you dizzy with happiness. A stolen kiss in the middle of a turn, then another, and another… until his lips never left yours while he pinned you against a wall to devour you properly.

“Let me show you how much I desire you” he whispered in your ear once you were naked in his bed, his mouth returning to yours but not staying long; his need now to roam your burning skin while his hand wandered over your stomach until reaching your thighs.

His tongue passing over the hollow of your neck, along the side of your breast, licking one nipple with calm devotion, using your moan to slide a finger along your wet folds, discovering step by step what made you moan more sweetly, what made you arch or beg for more, before even pushing inside or circling your clit.

The warmth of his body in sync with yours, watching how much you enjoyed everything he gave you; you were the most beautiful and exquisite sight he had ever seen. “Come on, qalbi, let go for me, I want to see you tremble with pleasure”

The moment he sat you on top of him, wanting to see your face when he slided in, his hands roaming your body, from your shoulders to your thighs, massaging the softness of your abdomen and the roundness of your breasts. He let you control the rhythm, biting his lip as he watched your body bounce and move over him.

“How beautiful you are… I want to see you like this every day” Kalim’s moans and gasps echoed in the room, his head thrown back, feeling your walls tighten every time you sank his cock deep inside.

The wind raising goosebumps on your skin when he held you against the columns of his window, letting the moonlight outline your figure, a drop of sweat shining as it slid between your breasts and Kalim licking it away; his hands holding your ass while his hips struck as he thrust into you again and again and again.

You remember the moment he cummed inside you, the warmth of his semen filling you, his mouth releasing the sweetest, wildest groan you’d ever heard. Your own orgasm followed soon after thanks to his skilled thumb and his fervent need to see you cum with his cock still inside.

Even after he’d finished and you were both breathless, Kalim didn’t want to leave your warmth, moving his hips slightly just so you’d feel him hardening again inside your walls. “I’m not satisfied yet, qalbi, I want more of you”

Both of you in bed, sweaty and panting; Kalim kissing your hands, your stomach, collecting with his fingers the mess sliding from your cunt, staining the expensive sheets, and bringing it to his mouth, looking straight at you as he tasted it.

The heat between your thighs intensifies when Kalim kisses your forehead, realizing you’re getting lost in the indecent memories. “Did I exhaust you?”

“I...I guess...a little, yes.”

“Stay right here, I’ll be back.”

You watch him grab a pair of boxers from the floor and barely pull some pants on before leaving the room. After a little while, he comes back carrying a glass of fruity liquid and something for your headache.

Oh gods, what a sweetheart

Little by little your pain fades and you can melt even deeper into the soft bed; your heart flutters when Kalim lies back down, pulling you close and hugging you as if afraid you might disappear at any moment.

What a pleasant moment…

Your stomach tightens when his hand slides along your inner thigh. “Kalim—”

“You’re so beautiful when you’re nervous, look at you, all flushed! I want you to relax even more, qalbi.”

Before you can answer, his fingers are already brushing your sensitive cunt; you gasp, your hips arching unconsciously.

Kalim’s lips curve into a mischievous, charming smile. “You’re still wet? Did you miss me, my love?”

He kisses you slowly and deeply, his fingers never stopping their soft circles before sliding into your cunt again. You melt feeling him in the morning light, pleasure right at the surface.

Your fingers run through the white strands of his hair, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss, Kalim moans against your mouth and you answer by biting his lower lip.

The whole room seems to turn golden as the two of you lose yourselves in each other again, tangled in the sheets.

Epel

The sweet, fresh smell of apples fills the air, mixed with the warm fragrance of clean sheets and some natural, expensive undertones… You don’t even need to open your eyes to know you’re not in your cold, poorly kept dorm.

The second thing you allow yourself to feel is your dry mouth, your head pounding from every possible angle.

And the third is the brush of a naked leg against your thigh, and uneven breathing behind your neck.

You open your eyes slowly, blinking at the damn light slipping through the light, characteristically expensive Pomefiore curtains, and turn your head. Epel is asleep on his stomach, one hand in his tangled hair; his leg so shamelessly stretched to rest between your bare thighs.

AHHHHHHH BARE!!

Your whole body is naked and if you look at Epel’s body again—especially his chest rising and falling in a quiet breath—you’ll see he’s naked too.

You also notice thin scratched lines, suspiciously like the kind made by nails, and a fairly large purplish hickey in the hollow between his shoulder and neck.

SHIT… Vil is going to kill me

“Fuck…”

It was just a tiny groan, nothing loud, but enough to wake the lavender-haired boy. He opens one eye, and when he sees you looking at him, he jolts, a mix of embarrassment and shock.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Okay, his came out louder.

You both stare at each other, him trying to cover his modesty with the blanket already sprawled across the bed, his face completely red up to his ears; meanwhile, you’re processing the disaster.

“So… we… we did a… thing… right?”

“Uh… I guess? I remember… a couple things…”

Slowly, and with your head still throbbing, the memories return in flashes: the exact moment Epel, already heated by alcohol and excitement, caught you in his arms in the middle of the party, not caring who was watching, and pulled you tight against him, devouring your mouth right on the dance floor.

His audacity dragging you outside the lounge, not giving a damn that Vil was watching from the other end and shouting that “that’s no way to treat a lady”; Epel simply flipping him off while still kissing you and sliding his hand onto your ass, even sneaking it under your pants to pull you closer.

“I’m not stopping, I want you all to myself, now,” the way he slammed you against the wall the second you reached his room, stripping your clothes with trembling hands but completely sure of what he wanted. The desire to have you naked and screaming for him so everyone in the dorm would hear who was fucking you so good.

His hands squeezing and marking with desperate urgency, wanting to feel you arch and tremble under him; his nails scraping your thighs while he spread your legs without asking, his fingers sliding between your cunt.

His digits, at first two, then three, moving in and out with such obscene ease that even the small wet sounds from you didn’t improve your pathetic situation; and on top of that making a mess on the floor with your fluids running down your legs and splashing the carpet.

You remember when he grabbed your waist and spun you suddenly, pressing you face-first to the wall with your ass perfectly positioned for him, his cock entering your cunt in a first thrust that tore a raw, overflowing moan from you.

“That’s it, my häschen, moan louder, let the whole dorm hear you” he fucked you in a frantic rhythm, both hands gripping your hips so hard they left finger marks on your skin, pulling you back into him so his cock disappeared into your wet, spongy walls.

The warmth of his chest against your back when he leaned in to grab one of your breasts and squeeze it, pinching your nipple between his fingers. His pants at your ear, his teeth leaving marks on your shoulder and neck.

The moment your walls tightened harder around him, your orgasm coming, and that same hand dropping to your clit, making fast, merciless circles to push you over quicker. “Yes! Yes, Epel… fuck! Don’t—don’t stop”

The cry of pleasure on your lips when you cum, Epel still buried deep inside you; his thrusts didn’t stop, he kept going to the limit, making you shake and beg. “Gods! Sevens… Epel, give me a sec! I need a sec—”

“No, no, no, beautiful, I’m gonna make you cum again, give me everything, häschen,” his own voice turning rougher and wilder as he fucked you harder and faster.

The way he fucked you not just against the wall but also on the floor, his cock sliding even deeper when he lifted your legs to place them over his shoulders. His pelvis deliciously brushing your sensitive clit.

Epel holding your hips open while the heat of his semen spilled inside your cunt, his teeth biting your shoulder, and in a spasm, your breast.

You return to this morning, Epel avoiding your eyes and curling himself into a small bundle in the sheets. “At least I wasn’t a disaster, right?”

“N-no!! No, you were…”

Great? Amazing? Way bolder than I thought?

“Yeah...yeah you were really bold…”

“…that’s good, or bad?”

“It’s good, Epel!”

The moment is a bit awkward, but sincere and sweet and that’s all that matters.

“Okay, okay, I think I can come out of this victorious”

That’s the spirit

You settle against his shoulder, grabbing the sheet and wrapping it around both of you. It’s warm and he is too; maybe this calm is exactly what you need for your terrible headache.

Though there’s one small problem left to solve.

“OH SHIT!! VIL IS GOING TO KILL ME WHEN HE SEES ME.”

Yup… that little problem.

And let’s be honest, you took the night to “ruin” Epel’s image too with the scratches and the hickey.

Good luck.

Sebek

The first sound you hear when you wake isn’t birds or the sun coming through the window. It’s a crash: a low, guttural groan mixed with the creak of the bed, followed by a snort so loud even the pillow trembles.

You feel the sheet tangled around your waist, your body sticky with sweat, your hair a mess, and a huge hand gripping your thigh so tightly it’s like it wants to hold you forever.

You open your eyes, trying to focus through the sunlight slipping past the curtains into a room… far too dark…

And...gothic? Very refined, actually.

You look down, the sheets just as dark, the structural wood of the bed dark too… it’s like being inside a gothic and rather expensive dream.

Ah, and by the way your torso is bare, the sheets only covering your legs…

And yep, underneath those you’re naked too.

You cover your chest, noticing finger marks, bites, burning skin, and swollen lips (and a bit dry).

You turn your head and see Sebek, eyes wide as saucers, his chest bare too, skin dotted with bites and scratches that who knows where they came from.

Spoiler alert: it was your own nails, during a moment so out of control and pleasurable, that created such a masterpiece.

“AH!” he shouts, voice loud and raw. “W-what…?”

His morning-rough voice comes out with some alarm… only to end in a small howl of pure embarrassment.

You try to speak, but only a hoarse sigh comes out. Your head throbs, your body burns, and your groin pulses and tingles.

Holy… shit…

The silence lasts barely a second before Sebek starts unleashing a torrent of rushed words, practically yelling, red to the roots of his electric-green hair.

A green so intense it hurts to look at right now with this massive headache.

“I-it is not proper for a gentleman! I have committed an unforgivable error! Miss, I swear by the Great Lord Malleus that I would never…!”

“FUCK… DON’T SHOUT SO LOUD!! MY HEAD IS SPLITTING!”

Absolute silence when you bring your hands to your temples, trying to ease the pain by pressing them.

Silence… silence… only silence is needed.

Your memory returns in flashes: you remember pulling Sebek to dance, even if only for a few minutes… or a few songs?… in the middle of the improvised dance floor, though honestly… you weren’t expecting to dance with him, but to feel his big, strong, calloused hands hold your hips while you whispered things to him (things you definitely can’t say out loud), watching him blush.

The moment Sebek, also weakened by the alcohol, lifted you into his arms without any care, as if you weighed no more than a feather. His heavy, loud breathing at your neck while he kissed you, his long, powerful strides taking you out of the lounge and into the darkness of his room.

“I cannot stop, this is not the conduct of an honorable knight… but I desire you too much,” those same hands roaming every part of your body almost desperately, squeezing, scratching, leaving red marks on your thighs and sides, unable to measure his strength.

The moment you took his hands and placed them on your breasts, teaching him how to touch you, how to make you arch and moan and gasp under his touch, Sebek learning like a proper knight and like the lover he wanted to be for his sweet maiden, feeling your warmth beneath his fingertips.

The same happened when you guided his hand to your stomach, sliding it slowly so he could feel you tremble when his fingers found your clit. “You need to do it slowly first, feel how I get wet when you touch me like that” Slowly, learning, feeling his fingers grow slick while he brushed your wet folds uncertainly.

You remember his clumsy but very hungry mouth moving down your breasts, biting your nipple until you moaned and kissing the mark when he released it, then doing the same to the other.

The moment you sat astride him, positioning your wet cunt over his already painfully hard, needy cock. Your hand sliding down his broad chest, over his stomach, which tensed when he felt your nails scrape his skin; the warmth of your hand when you wrapped it around his cock and stroked him.

His eyes barely open as you moved your hand up and down over him, watching shamelessly as he melted beneath you, barely holding back before finishing in your hand.

The moment you rode him, at first slowly, your nails digging into his chest, Sebek’s muscles tense and his mouth open, moaning louder than you thought possible. “Oh, seven… more—don’t stop! Please, don’t stop!”

The wild rhythm of your hips slamming against his, both bodies colliding hard, the mattress squealing; your drops so rough you could feel him deep inside, his cock deliciously opening you, your own body seeking to feel more and more of him.

Sweat running down his neck, so perfect shining in the dim light of the room, that you couldn’t help but lean down and run your tongue over his skin, your clit brushing his stomach, your breasts pressing against his chest. The new angle letting him go deeper and pound your sensitive spot.

“I don’t… I don’t think I can hold on much longer!” and that was the last thing he said before grabbing your hips and moving you at a speed you never could have reached on your own.

The moment you both cum at the same time, so strong and explosive that you simply collapsed on top of him, your clit throbbing against his stomach; Sebek trembling as he spilled inside you, his semen slipping from your entrance down your legs, a nearly beastlike groan and his whole body shaking with pure pleasure.

“We did something… inappropriate… didn’t we?” Sebek’s low, defeated and astonished voice breaks through your indecent memories.

You don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or hide your face again.

“Y-yeah… uh… yeah, we did”

Keep your breathing steady, your head doesn’t hurt as much now, but anything you say could ruin the morning.

“But… I don’t think it was inappropriate”

He stays silent, swallowing. He searches your eyes for any hint of insecurity or regret… and he thinks he finds none.

“Was it… something good? Did I hurt you at any point?”

The unexpected tenderness hits your chest; you take his hand and your fingers squeeze his tightly. “You didn’t hurt me at all… it was just… intense.”

“Intense?”

“Mhm… you left me shaking.”

You see him relax a little… juuust a little, still unable to believe what he just lived through.

Putting the drama aside… it was the best fuck either of you ever had in your lives… and you were his first time.

Congratulations!!

Ruggie:

—Male hyenas are known to repeatedly step towards and step away from their intended mate. They then present their side to be smelled. They may also cross their legs.

“I can’t believe I of all people have to tell you to take a break!” He said, pouting. But he didn’t seem too bothered, content to lounge around in your room.

Ruggie stepped towards you, arm extended.

And then he stepped forward again.

And then, again, he stepped back.

And forward again.

“What are you doing?”

“Forward, Kantokusei-Kun,” he huffed, grabbing your arm.

And then he stepped back onto the bed, crossing his legs as he sat.

“Don’t leave me hangin’ now! Join me,” he said, voice slightly breathy.

…Was this his way of getting you to rest! How considerate! Ruggie really was nicer than he let on.

You sat, and then he-

Stuck out his arm.

“Well?” He said, looking at you expectantly. “Are you gonna do it, or—?”

…

“What are you talking about?”

”What.” All of a sudden, Ruggie was beet red, half angry, half embarrassed. “You never told me you weren’t interested- don’t-“

And then he stood up, plastering a smile on his face.

“Sorry, but I got a bunch of errands to run and- ohlookit’sLeona-sanbye!”

“Wait-“

He bolted out of your room, leaving you far more confused than before.

Floyd:

—Morays often open their mouths wide to signal intent to court. They also partake in a sort of mating dance, wrapping their bodies around one another.

Floyd yawned. Again. He must’ve been getting awfully bored now, huh?

“Sorry, Floyd,” you said. “I know you don’t like hearing me talk, but-“

He yawned again, mouth opened wide to reveal both his sets of jaws.

“What gave you that idea, Koebi-Chan?” He said, giggling. “I love hearin’ you talk! Your ideas are way more interesting than anything all those stupid guppies have to offer.”

But once again, he yawned. Actions spoke louder than words, you concluded.

Seeing you look at him with uncertainty, he grinned.

“I really am serious about this, y’know,” he said. “You’ll stay interestin’ for a long time.”

And suddenly-

“Dance with me, Koebi-Chan.”

He circled around you, grabbing your arms and gracefully moving around you as if he were trying to wrap himself around your body. When you failed to react, he paused, staring at you.

“Well?” He asked.

You just sighed. He must’ve been trying really hard to stop you from rambling.

“If you’re bored, you can just say so.”

Immediately, Floyd recoiled, like he’d been doused in a bucket of water. Or maybe oil. He’d probably like being covered in water since he was a moray, after all.

“What kinda go-good small fry do you take me for?” He huffed, looking downright offended. “This is laaame. I’m leaving.”

And without an explanation, he stormed out, leaving you staring blankly from within the confines of your room, absolutely dumbfounded.

Azul:

—Octopodes often cause appearance and body language to display intent to court, changing color, showing vibrant patterns, and standing tall with their suckers extended. Males will often latch on from behind.

“You have my attention now. You’d best not waste it,” Azul murmured lowly, showing you-

His arm. It was purple. Why was it purple.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You asked. Azul stood tall, leaning in towards you. You were worried for his health by now. His arms kept changing color, and you were wondering if he was being repeatedly beat up or something.

“You know exactly what’s wrong,” he said. “I intended to wait for you to approach, but you’ve been wearing my patience terribly thin.”

What. Was he talking about. Did he want you to offer to take him to the doctor, or—?

“You’ve done your research, I’m certain,” he said. His arm turned another shade, this time a bright blue.

Suddenly, his arm wrapped around your back.

“Tell me how you feel, Kantokusei-San.”

You just stared.

“Do you want me to take you to the doctor’s office, oooor—“

“No need.” For a brief second, Azul looked disappointed, before he covered it up with a smile. “I apologize for acting so foolishly. Goodness, I don’t know what’s gotten into me!”

“What were you-“

“I’ll be going now. Please, think nothing of my sudden behavior! I’ve just been feeling a little under the weather, you see. What I did says nothing about my feelings, I assure you.”

And with that, he was gone.

…

Unbirthday parties at NRC always follow the rules—the oh-so-“questionable” rules of Heartslabyul—but for some reason, whether it’s the music or the sheer number of another dorms guests, the tension released after finals, or maybe just the chaos of other dorms sharing food, sweets, and drinks right in Riddle’s territory, this party doesn’t even feel… unusual anymore.

Maybe it’s also the fact that Ace is way too quiet in the corner, hunched over himself, trying (and failing) to hide a rather large vial in his hand. You know that when Ace has that mischievous smile and not a shred of remorse in sight, nothing good can come out of the redhead; and this occasion won’t be an exception. Especially not after you saw him pour that very vial into the punch bowl.

“Trappola tradition,” you hear him say. It seems his older brother has passed down the baton for the worst prank.

Whatever Ace poured in there, the air gets sweeter, tinged with a rainbow of colors, with that feeling you get when you finally come of age and know exactly what you want and desire, and that hint of something not entirely legal for a school campus.

Someone, probably Floyd, starts chanting, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” and Epel’s already on his second drink, trying to prove he can handle alcohol better than anyone. Grim, meanwhile, is busy fishing out slices of floating fruit, muttering about the injustice of being banned from the dessert table.

Riddle tries to keep his composure, doing his best not to think about the countless rules being broken in his own lounge, but the blush on his cheeks and the way he wobbles from side to side give him away—he’s not immune to the spirit of the party… and maybe he’s already had a taste of the punch.

You try to take it easy, but it’s hard when everyone keeps handing you drinks, plates of fruit, little candies with mysterious fillings. The world feels slow and slippery, like honey running through your veins, and suddenly you’re part of a tightly packed crowd in the lounge, shoulders pressed together, glasses raised, clinking them to the beat of a song nobody quite remembers the words to.

You catch Ruggie stuffing three types of chocolate into his pockets—not before slipping a couple into your hands, though. “Eat up! Or you’ll regret it tomorrow.” Kalim drags you onto the dance floor, his laughter easy, his hands never still, bracelets jingling as he spins you through the crowd.

The drinks get sweeter, the candies and fruits stronger. You lose track of how much you’ve had after the third glass. Laughter floats in the air, yours mixing with theirs.

You remember Vil’s perfume enveloping you as his knuckles brush along your cheek, making you shiver. “Having fun, darling?”

You just nod before walking to the other side of the room to separate Ace and Deuce—apparently both are on the verge of causing nuclear disaster in the middle of the lounge over who can fit more marshmallows in their mouth. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Leona sprawling even lazier than usual across the sofa, and Malleus… well, laughing and making the air tremble a little.

Everything that came after you remember in lazy waves: laughter blooming warm in your chest, the tickle of someone’s breath on your ear; someone tucking a wildflower behind your ear—was it a white or red rose? It doesn’t matter, 'cause seconds later someone else snatches it away with their teeth and a grin that’s barely even trying to be subtle.

The music pounds in your ears until, at some point, everything settles and you’re wrapped in silence. You remember flashes in that quiet: lips tasting of chocolate pressed to yours, teeth biting your throat, hands brushing your skin under your clothes, laughter melting into moans.

Your hands are everywhere, entwined with someone else’s, tangled in soft strands of hair, clutching a shirt as you fumble with the buttons, at a belt, at the bedsheets, everything is heat, color, and taste. The world tilts and spins and you let go, trusting in the madness of it all, in the hands gripping your waist, in the mouth claiming you, in that lovely sensation of being wanted, claimed, and utterly ruined all at once and in every possible way.

When you finally wake up, the light is all wrong and comes in without asking permission, your thighs feel heavy and there’s that pleasant tingle between them, something itches at your neck, and you’ve got hair in your face.

Your head hurts—no, scratch that, your head is pounding and trying to open your eyes is a very bad idea right now. You take a deep breath and the pain’s still there, hammering away, demanding you face the day.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Trey

When you slowly turn your head, you find Trey sleeping on his stomach, one lazy arm under the pillow, hair a mess but annoyingly attractive. You assume his glasses are on his nightstand, the sheets dangerously low over his hips.

His hips… bare.

His chest is bare too.

You look down at your own body and—bingo—you’re naked too.

And these aren’t your sheets, this isn’t your pillow, and obviously, this isn’t your dorm bed.

Holy… fuck.

You try to remember, even with the pounding headache, half mortified, half… half what, exactly? Surprised? Embarrassed? Or just utterly satisfied to have such a god lying next to you?

Flashes hit you without warning: the warmth of Trey’s hand guiding you away from the crowd, his soft laughter by your ear, both of you laughing at some joke only the two of you found funny, stumbling together until you crashed into bed.

The taste of icing and the sweetness of strawberries on Trey’s lips when he kissed you fiercely; did he feed you with his fingers, or did you steal the flavor right from his mouth?

His hands roaming every inch of you, his palms warm; his tongue scandalous, licking you slow and deep, teasing your clit, sliding between your wet folds, holding your hips so you couldn’t escape.

Him straightening up, wiping his mouth with his thumb, looking you right in the eyes.

You felt the tip of his cock pressing against your wet pussy, sliding in slowly, panting against your lips, deep strokes, but completely sensual.

“You like how I fill you up, right? You’re so wet, so beautiful,” he’d murmured against your ear, holding one of your legs up over his shoulder to push even deeper.

The way he held both your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half, thrusting over and over, deep, hitting your sweet spot, probably making you scream.

Trey’s name on your lips when he made you cum, slipping two fingers inside you to stretch you even more while his cock was still buried deep.

The moment he held you after it was all over, the fingers of one hand tangled in your hair and the other lazily drawing circles on your back.

Trey shifts, stretching and opening one eye, still half-asleep. He gives you a small, crooked smile when he sees you—serene… and breath taking.

“Good morning.”

Goddamn, even his voice is too sexy...add that rough, low tone and you’re already wet again.

“Did you sleep well? Headache?”

Is it that obvious?

“Uh… yeah, yeah, a little.”

Trey sits up and the sheets slide dangerously lower, lower, on his hips. You try not to look… but fail.

Obviously you fail, who are we kidding? The view of this man’s torso alone is enough to make you start drooling. Those strong arms from all that kneading, the abs, the broad shoulders, and…

Marks?

He has marks on his neck?

Some are obviously hickeys… others look like the start of scratches that trail down his back.

You bite your lip, desperate to look at his back, to see the scratches you obviously left, and see how strong his muscles are there.

“Did we…?” It’s a dumb question—you obviously had sex—but you need to hear it from him.

“Yup… several times, actually.”

The heat that rushes to your cheeks is uncontrollable, almost the same shade of red as his bed curtains.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“Are you regretting it?”

Please, this man can’t be any sweeter or he’d cause diabetes.

Trey kisses your temple when he realizes there’s not even a hint of regret, or fear, or doubt.

Then, he gets up and starts looking for something to wear before going to get breakfast.

OH MY GOD THAT BODY!!!

And the scratch marks from your nails down his back, and his ass… and his cock, half-hard.

Trey notices you’re basically devouring him with your eyes… “Do you want breakfast, or do you want me to jog your memory with another round?”

He winks at you before pulling on his glasses, boxers and uniform pants and leaving the room to get you something to eat and something for your hangover.

Ah… you could die peacefully in that bed.

Leona

It’s the heat that you notice first—something heavy and solid pressing against you from behind, half-sprawled over your side, as if you were a possession. His possession

Your nose fills with a musky, warm, spiced scent, with hints of something… wild. It’s accompanied by the soft, steady sound of breathing.

You try to open your eyes, but the light only makes things worse, so you’re forced to rely on your other instincts and sensations.

You feel something wrapping around your leg, something soft, moving, tickling you lightly with part of its fur.

Wait… fur?

Is he holding you with a tail?

A TAIL?!

You force one eye open and the first thing you see, in all its glorious splendor, is Leona’s bare chest pressed against your back, one arm wrapped around your stomach.

You follow the line of that arm and realize you’re naked too…

You lift the sheets. Yep. Very naked.

Your skin tingles and your hips ache, your thighs feel like jelly, clear evidence that the bed wasn’t used just for sleeping.

You try to move, but Leona’s arm is like an iron bar, stopping you from even sitting up, his fingers tightening possessively on your hip. A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his tail slide upward, his ears twitch.

“Going somewhere, little mouse?” His voice is deep and rough right by your ear.

You turn your head and meet the lion’s wide green eyes, far too awake for this early in the morning. He gives you a half-smile, one fang showing, dangerously smug and a little arrogant… well, very arrogant.

That look is unmistakably that of a predator about to pounce on its prey.

You pull the sheets up to cover yourself a bit more, as if there were any way to hide a nakedness that had clearly already been explored hours ago for… quite a while.

“What happened last night?” Your mind is racing and your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest.

Leona growls softly, though he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest that you’re covering your “modesty.”

“After how loud you were all night, I figured you’d remember at least something.”

Your face goes nuclear red. You clutch the sheet tighter, but it’s useless. You’re in his bed, in his territory.

“Did we… sleep together?”

“Sleep?” You hear a low, amused scoff from his chest. “Oh, we did more than sleep… want me to remind you?”

He doesn’t need to. Your body does it for him.

Not only do you feel the dampness between your thighs, but there are bite marks along them, already starting to bruise, traitors that reveal just how intimate last night was.

You can feel a few on your neck and collarbone too; they don’t hurt, but you know they’re going to be bright red well into the morning.

Your own memories begin to surface: your hands in his hair as you both devoured each other’s mouths in the hallway, his low, rough voice murmuring when he finally pulled back, “Do you want me to take you to my bed, or do you want me to wreck you right here in the hallway?”

His lips moving from your shoulder down to your breasts, massaging one with his large palm while he trapped your nipple between his lips, licking it and making you arch your back.

“Say my name, again. Do it again” every time you moaned with each thrust. Your face buried in the pillow while he took you from behind, relentless and unhurried, panting heavily over you.

His hands roaming your entire body, strong, confident, taking what he wanted without asking; his teeth grazing your neck. Was it just one bite he left, or several?

His name on your lips every time he made you cum, even when he was nowhere near finishing himself. Pride mixing with hunger as he felt you clench those soft walls around his cock.

The boldness in your voice when you begged for more and more. “Please, harder… harder, Leona” How could he possibly say no?

You remember being on top of him, legs spread wide as you rode him desperately, thighs shaking; him leaning back, hands behind his head, enjoying his private show.

His strong hands on your ass, “helping” you move faster, impaling you with every thrust.

Leona coming inside you, holding you tight against him. “That’s it, little mouse, fill yourself up with me”

“You were wild—I barely managed to get your clothes off,” Leona pulls you out of your thoughts as he props himself up on one arm without a hint of shame, his body fully on display.

“Not that I’m complaining. You were pretty insistent when you rode me and asked for a second round. And a third.”

You let out a small squeak and cover your face with both hands. “Please, stop.”

Leona straightens and takes your hands in his, pinning them above your head against the pillow; he flips you onto your back with ridiculous ease, looming over you with a feral grin. You’re caged, completely at his mercy.

And gods, his body lit by the morning sunlight is far too delicious.

“You look incredibly tempting.” His gaze roams over your face and body, barely covered by the sheets.

He gives your shoulder a small bite and laughs when you let out a little yelp. “Want another round? Or breakfast so you don’t pass out on top of me?”

You glare at him, cheeks burning; you want to strangle him. Or kiss him. Possibly both.

“Breakfast… then we’ll see.”

He pecks your lips softly. “Good girl.” And then he gets out of bed without the slightest bit of modesty, tail swaying, letting you admire the scratch marks trailing down his back.

Jade

Why does the silence feel like you’ve been swallowed by the sea?

And why does it smell like seawater? And sea salt?

The room is so dim that the few rays of light filtering through the curtains make strange patterns on the bed.

And it’s a kind of dimness you haven’t seen in Ramshackle for a long time… which means, this is not your room.

Everything hurts; your throat is raw, your lips are swollen, your body heavy, like something squeezed you until there was nothing left.

You try to move but there’s a hand on your belly, a thumb lazily drawing small circles on your bare skin.

Bare skin…

BARE SKIN?!?!

You sit up—and it’s a very bad idea. The hangover slams into your head and you bring your hand up to your temple.

“Ah… looks like you’ve got a hangover, and considering how eager you were last night…”

You turn your head to find Jade’s smile—small and polite, but absolutely terrifying.

“Does my pearl need something to make her morning… more productive?”

“Jade…” your voice comes out hoarse and rough, and you cough, trying to clear the discomfort.

“Ah, I warned you I might wear you out. Seems I was right, hm?”

The memories hit you so hard they make your headache worse:

Jade pulling you away from the party, an astute glint in his eyes and his voice serene yet venomous, coaxing you into the comfort of his room—his bed.

His hands stripping away every piece of clothing until you stood naked before him, his fingers mapping your sensitive skin, anticipating every tremor, seeking out what made you sigh, moan, or arch.

Your boldness as you made him sit and you knelt in front of him, your lips around his cock, trying to take him deeper and deeper. His praises made your pussy wet and made you want to do better, his hands in your hair guiding you, helping you choke on him.

Your eyes brimming with tears when you looked up and saw him smiling, pleased, fingers caressing your cheek before plunging you into a fast, unkind rhythm, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

Your own mouth screaming in pleasure as he took you from behind, you on all fours on the bed, ass up, completely at the mercy of his hands and hips.

“Come on, little pearl, cum for me” the authority in his voice, impossible to resist, every word a praise tangled with a command.

Your climax hitting so hard it left you sprawled on the bed; Jade grabbing your head so you couldn’t move, your screams muffled by the pillow as he found a better angle to fuck you, making you cum again.

The taste of his cum when he made you take him back into your mouth and spill inside.

You swallow, trying to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky, ruined, “holy shit”

He runs his thumb over your hip bone, where the bruise from his grip is already fading… only to grab you there again, just as hard as you barely remember.

“Overwhelmed, maybe? Though I must say… you were so hungry for me you nearly made me mistake you for a predator.”

Jade sits up and the sheets slide even lower on his hips. He’s so tall it feels like he could cover you completely. He admires the bites and marks he left all over your chest, shoulders, and neck.

You’re his own personal canvas, and the fact that there are still places left unmarked… it’s intoxicating to him.

He pushes you back, slipping between your legs again, hands running along your sides before gripping your thighs and positioning them around his hips.

“Dare to tell me you regret it, little one.” When you shake your head, terrified but just as aroused, he adjusts your legs around his hips, letting you feel how half-hard and hungry for you he still is.

“Excellent,” he kisses the tip of your nose before rolling his hips, brushing against your clit. “So, do you want another round or some tea for that poor throat?”

You shiver, completely lost to his movements and the pleasure slowly building inside you.

“I won’t let you surface just yet, my pearl”

Jamil

For a few blissful seconds you think you’re safe in your own bed, within the walls of Ramshackle… until the scent of countless spices fills the air. Clove, cinnamon, something deep and intoxicating, spicy.

Yeah… you’re not in Ramshackle.

Is it wise to open your eyes with the sunlight filtering in through the window? Unfortunately, you’ll have to.

Eyes open and a hammering headache, you recognize the décor: elegant, gold details, Arabic architecture… Looks like you ended up in Scarabia.

Okay, one problem solved; now… who’s breathing against your neck, slow and steady?

You turn just enough to see the mess of dark tousled hair belonging to Jamil, splayed across the sheets and pillow. He’s on his stomach, facing you, eyes closed but with a small smile on his lips; his arm stretched out across your hips, giving you slow, gentle caresses.

You blink—once, twice, three times.

One more, just to give your brain a chance to process that his torso is bare and the sheets are dangerously low.

You freeze, memories hitting you in dizzying flashes through your hangover: his eyes shining in the half-light, pinning you with his gaze from across the lounge, like he was drawing you to him with nothing but his eyes.

Your body pressed to his while he whispered something in your ear that had nothing to do with the party, but still made your cheeks flush… more than they already were from the punch.

His hands, so careful with everything he handles, guiding you into a different kind of dance—one that didn’t need music or an audience; your laughter mixing with his before finding your lips, his mouth hungry.

The taste of spicy spices, and a hint of mint, with every kiss and stroke of his tongue across your skin, intoxicating and making you shiver.

Jamil kneeling at the edge of the bed, grabbing your feet and pulling you toward the edge so he could run his tongue along your soaked folds and slip it inside. Sucking on your clit until you were shaking.

The cry of his name when he made you cum with his fingers inside, curved and massaging your most sensitive spot.

His voice in your ear, soft but commanding, ordering, “Look at me, habibti” every word coaxing you closer to the edge. Sharp images of your wrists pinned above your head by his hands, of how he made you arch for him, Jamil’s long hair falling over your face as he watched you from above, his pupils blown wide and a bead of sweat trailing down his neck.

Your legs shaking, the pressure of his hand on your throat while he pounded into you again and again, his hips driving hard, his abs rubbing against your belly; his movements calculated, slow when you were desperate, brutal when you begged.

You let out a whimper, and that’s when Jamil opens his eyes. He blinks, then his gaze sharpens, lazy and sly.

“Morning”

Your mouth is dry, cheeks blazing. “Oh my Sevens… what happened last night?”

Jamil kisses your shoulder, moving up to your collarbone, your neck, up to your jaw before giving you a little bite.

“You don’t remember anything?”

“Fr-fragments.”

You feel his hand sliding down your thigh… and realize you’re also naked under the sheets.

Okay, yep, we fucked… got it.

“You were bold. Even eager.”

His hand slides up, up, reaching the wetness between your legs. Your skin lights up and a jolt runs down your spine.

“I regret not doing this sooner,” is all he says before claiming your lips again, his fingers slipping inside.

You moan into his mouth, biting his lower lip, heart stumbling—but all you care about is melting in Jamil’s arms.

“Let me take care of you, habibti,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll make you forget about your hangover”

And when Jamil pulls you back under the sheets, you’re pretty sure you don’t want to remember anything but this.

Idia

The silence in the room is so intense it feels like you can hear your own breathing and heartbeat.

The first thing you notice is that the bed feels… off—not the pseudo-comfort you remember from your bed in Ramshackle.

Second, your head is about to explode; third, you’re naked and there’s a chill in the air, as if warmth doesn’t exist, making every hair on your body stand on end.

You crack one eye open, grateful that the blue light is diffuse and not too harsh, though it still hurts to look at.

Blue light… you turn your head and see a glowing skull. On the other side, way too many monitors crammed onto a single desk, one of those screens has thirty code windows open.

You bolt upright when you realize you’re not just in Idia’s room… you’re completely naked in Idia’s room.

There’s a groan beside you, the creak of bedsheets, and movement.

You turn around; a chaos of blue hair, pale bare shoulders, and a pair of yellow glowing eyes blinking at you from behind a curtain of messy hair.

Idia stares at you, mouth open, emitting a high-pitched, static-like whine; the ends of his blue hair turning pink, then pure red from embarrassment.

There’s a sound like a computer blue-screening right before Idia lets out a strangled squeak, scrambling backwards to put distance between you...then promptly falls off the bed with a loud crash.

“HOLY SHIT, IDIA!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“N-NO!! I’M NOT OKAY!! Wh-what did we do last night? Ohgodoh godohgodohgod—”

Idia grabs a pillow, but no matter how hard he tries, he’s bigger and taller than it.

He’s about to combust

“I died last night and on my way to the dorm something hit my head and I died again, and got isekai’d to some forbidden erotic world…”

You reach over and pinch his arm hard to bring him back to reality. “Ow!”

“This is real, Idia! We actually had sex!”

Heat rushes up your neck as flashes of last night come back: your hands on his, surprisingly warm, pulling him close to you in the middle of the party. Shy smiles, nervous giggles.

Idia’s inexperienced lips on your neck, his hands awkwardly squeezing your hips until you taught him how to hold you right.

His monotone voice now a whisper, full of need and want, “Are you sure? I-I’ve never—” and yours, suddenly bold, telling him you want him now.

The blue fire of his hair lighting up the darkness of his room and the naked skin of you both; the nervous way he looked at you and touched you, learning with every move of your hands over his on your hips, your breasts.

His eyes going wide as you guided his fingers to your clit and whispered in his ear how wet you were for him; his long, slender fingers working magic between your folds, barely realizing what he was doing.

Idia stammering as he tried to put on the condom backwards and failed—twice—begging you for help between gasps and awkward laughter. “Why is this so complicated? This… never happens in doujins…”

The exact moment he entered you for the first time, his breath hitching, a sharp, surprised moan as he felt himself inside you—slick and completely ready for him to go deeper, harder; to be entirely his.

Him finishing ‘embarrassingly’ fast (according to him). But all it did was make you want another round, and another, and another.

His lips traveling down your neck and, in a moment of sheer daring and lust, squeezing your breasts together to suck and bite your nipples at the same time, making you arch your back to give him more and more.

The way he moaned your name when you rode him for the first time, desperate not to finish too soon again, but absolutely mesmerized by the sight of your body so free and needy for him.

You taking complete control, hands on his chest, grinding your hips to rub your clit against his pelvis and clench your soft walls around his cock.

Idia groans with embarrassment, interrupting your lascivious memories.

“I-it’s not like… I mean, I’m not complaining or anything, it’s just… this is… max difficulty! Like, y-you’re like a goddess… most beautiful OP character… y-yeah and I—”

“And you’re Idia… was it at least good for you?”

His voice turns to static and he locks eyes with you in a rare burst of confidence.

“Good?! It was… it was overlord level. Uh. You were… really… really—”

Another memory hits: Idia clutching the sheets with every roll of your hips, moaning in time with you. His hands grabbing your hips, squeezing your thighs and holding on to you like his life depended on it.

After a while, still avoiding your gaze, Idia returns to the bed, hiding behind the pillow again. It’s almost cute...

No, it’s very cute. And funny.

You take the pillow away and let him curl up beside you again. For now, both of you log out of reality outside his room and let Idia melt under your touch.

Game over for virginity, am I right?

Silver

You wake up with the weight of an arm draped across your waist and the warmth of a body pressed against your back. The bed is way too comfortable, and your body… way too happy, though aching and with a hangover that could flatten you in the sun.

Little memories float to the surface: lights, very loud music, punch spiked with alcohol, a whirlwind of colors… and something silver blurring your vision.

Silver’s hair between your fingers as you kissed, his eyes—clear and bright—locked on yours in the middle of the chaos, giving you a look that told you both to take this moment somewhere else.

The feel of soft, sweet sheets on your bare skin stops your thoughts in their tracks, making you open your eyes and turn your head to the side.

Girl… you’ve got Silver, completely naked, behind you. His strong, well-trained arm pinning you against his chest.

Ahhhh… his chest; bare, rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He’s beautiful in that fairytale way that only storybooks promise.

How can someone, even while asleep, look so utterly tempting?

Why is there a tingling between your legs? And why can’t you feel them? Or rather… why do they feel so wet?

Your heart skips several beats. Holy. Shit.

I slept with Silver. I slept with Silver.

You can’t stop staring at the perfect physique of the man beside you, so muscular, drinking in the view, flashes of the night before returning in blinding white bursts:

Your laughter muffled against his shoulder in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, his voice low but steady whispering sweet things—and something that made your pussy throb, needy and expectant. The warmth of his hand on your waist as he led you to a deserted hallway to devour your mouth right there.

The taste of his lips, sweet and a little shy at first, but no less hungry and full of desire, his tongue sliding into your mouth and both hands gripping your thighs to lift you up and pin you to the wall.

His fingers playing with every button and fold of your clothes, peeling you out of each layer until you were completely exposed for him; the pressure as they slipped inside you and a moan escaped your lips.

His warm, solid body over you, until he sat you on his lap; face to face, your breasts pressed to his chest, your nipples rubbing against his skin as you bounced with each thrust of his hips, his arms holding you tight against him.

Gentle, noble kisses on your cheeks, your shoulders, even your knuckles; kissing you softly, slowly, savoring you and making you feel wanted and loved.

His cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy with ease, not too fast, not too slow, wanting to set a pace that could last all night.

But your moans and pleas for him to go faster—“More, Silver, please, more”—made it a little difficult.

“I’ll give you everything, beautiful, just hold on tight”

And you did; to his shoulders, his arms, even to the sheets themselves when the pace sped up, laying you down on the bed, your legs thrown over his shoulders, the new angle making you cum again and again and again, so easily it was almost ridiculous.

You feel the tingling intensify down low and you shift.

Silver stirs and blinks awake. A few seconds of confusion before he notices your face, your bare shoulders, the way you’re clutching the sheet… adorable.

“Good morning beautiful”

And he says it with the most natural, gentle tone in the world.

“Are you alright?” he squeezes your waist and pulls you a little closer.

Boom, straight to the heart.

For a moment, he hesitates, thinking maybe… maybe, there’s regret in your eyes, maybe even shame.

Finding none, he gives you a soft kiss on the forehead and settles you against his chest; he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You look so beautiful in the morning, I want to wake up like this every day”

A soft kiss on your cheek, then another on your nose, then one more on your neck.

And, to finish, one slow, sweet kiss on your lips—savoring the promise of more in the future.

“If you want me to stop, just tell me.”

Anticipation shivers under your skin.

“Don’t stop”

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Ace … and ... Deuce

You wake up with the worst hangover of your life—moving is a lost cause and opening your eyes isn’t even an option. You feel like you might throw up at any second and then just go back to sleep.

There’s a pounding behind your eyes, the kind that makes you swear you’ll never drink punch again… never drink punch that’s been tampered with by Ace; hell, you’ll never go to another party again.

You roll over and two things hit you: first, you’re naked, like, obscenely naked; second, someone is snoring rudely right in your ear.

A sharp flash stabs through your skull. You remember being squished from all sides while dancing, multiple hands on your waist, and two pairs of lips on your neck.

Turning left, you see Ace waking up. Looks like the hangover is killing him too. He grabs his head as he sits up, elbow propped on the mattress, lets out a heavy sigh and tries to open his eyes—and they lock with yours.

God knows how, but this bastardly redhead manages to give you the cockiest, most infuriating grin that makes you want to punch him right in the face.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty”

“Call me that again and I’ll shove your uniform shoe up your ass, Ace.”

Ace just grins wider and lets out a little laugh… followed by a pained groan as he closes his eyes, keeping the pain under control.

You smack his arm to wipe that smile off his face...and realize he’s just as naked as you.

“Ace… what the hell did you do?”

You blush, covering yourself with the sheets as much as you can, actually, even more. All that’s left is to cover your face and you’d be a mummy.

“Aww, don’t make that face, you’re the one who climbed on top of me after the punch.”

“You’re the one who spiked it!!”

“Didn’t hear you complaining when you were begging us for more—”

You smack him on the head with a pillow; your shrieks and his, plus the loud thump of the pillow, echo through the whole room.

“What the fuck… why are you two so noisy?”

Deuce’s voice sounds from behind you, raspy and just as hungover as you two.

You look at him… he looks at you… his eyes travel down to his own equally naked body… Confusion turns to horror, horror into high-pitched groans.

“What happened? What did we do? Why are we naked?!”

Between the throbbing headache and Deuce’s panicking, you try to remember a little more of this… wild rebellious night.

You remember being with the dynamic duo on the dance floor, Ace whispering dirty promises in your ear, Deuce pulling you closer to him. Then both of them trapping you between them.

Their taste—Ace like candy and mischief, Deuce like cinnamon and adrenaline.

The three of you running through Ramshackle’s halls, stumbling, sometimes collapsing in a tangle of laughs, hands, and feet.

The bed—Sevens, the bed. Sheets scattered everywhere; Ace’s mouth on your neck, Deuce’s trembling hands pulling off your clothes, both fighting over who would take off the last piece.

Spoiler: both of them did it with confident hands before lunging for your lips, your breasts, your legs.

Kisses mixed with laughter, limbs tangled, the chemistry between these two as they made you cume; sloppy at first, then more assured.

The pressure of one sliding between your legs, spreading you open and burying himself deep; the other opening your lips to take him in your mouth. Both working as a team, building a rhythm, admiring how your body adapted to being fucked from both ends.

“Look how we’re breaking you, baby. You’re so wet… I could drown in here,” Ace groaning, rough and loud, grabbing your hair and pushing you down on Deuce’s pelvis with every thrust.

“That’s it, pretty, just like that, don’t stop, swallow it all,” Deuce murmuring as his cock slides down your throat, robbing you of breath for a few delicious seconds.

The way they took turns—one in your pussy, the other in your mouth… but you also remember a sharper pressure at your ass.

The moment when they both wanted to be in your wet pussy together; when one pulled out, the other pushed in, stretching you until you screamed their names, rubbing together inside your softest, most sensitive spot.

The moment you didn’t just cum with both their cocks inside, but, thanks to the pressure and the delicious way they filled you...you squirted, soaking the bed, your belly, and probably Ace’s too.

You moaned, screamed, writhed; the boys turned on by seeing you so free, so full of them, Ace twisting your already-sensitive nipples, Deuce running his tongue over your dripping pussy.

Dizzy flashes of being held in the air, legs around Deuce hips, hands and arms held by Ace, your arms wrapped around his waist too. Each of them fucking you from a different end, watching your tits bounce with every thrust; a mess of spit, sweat, tears, and their cum leaking from both your holes.

The three of you collapsed in bed, panting; Deuce’s arm wrapped around your waist, Ace curled around your chest, fondling your extra-sensitive tit in a playful way—until he switched to gentle caresses. Both seeking your warmth and your touch.

Your breath catches with all the memories. The heat rises not just to your cheeks, but a lot, lot lower.

“I’m never drinking your punch ever again,” Deuce growls, holding his head.

“Don’t you wanna know how good we are at sharing this pretty princess?”

Deuce tosses a pillow at him, but with no force, Ace catches it with one hand, laughing.

The redhead just gets cockier, trapping you in his arms, your back pressed to his chest. You feel his lips leaving little kisses on your nape and cheeks.

Deuce, still hungover and dying of embarrassment, scoots in front of you, wrapping you up with one strong… very strong… arm.

Both of them attack you with twice as many kisses.

Finals season is close, too close, and the stress piled up over the entire year, stacking arguments, controlled and uncontrolled magic, fights, exams, and practical tests on top of each other, has left everyone’s brains practically melted. The unbirthday party of this day, or rather, this night, pushes aside the comfort zone and Riddle’s beloved (though often questioned) rules and simply… lets itself be felt. Even Crowley pretends not to notice that Heartslabyul is far too alive and awake for this hour, that several dorm mirrors glow constantly as students come and go, drifting in and out of the Queen of Hearts’ dorm.

Candles float above the rose gardens and over your head, music makes the walls tremble, and a dessert table stands proud enough to embarrass most royal banquets, most of the sweets provided by Trey and the Octavinelle staff.

The whole place vibrates with that untamable energy, the complete opposite of what once was the most structured and rigid dorm on campus. Now the aura of the lounge and the rose maze hums faintly dangerous, the kind of thing that happens when you gather a crowd of magically inclined, hormone-fueled students buzzing on caffeine and tell them, “Have fun!... responsibly, please.”

You’re not sure who decided that “responsibly” included spiking the punch, but judging by how Ace guards the bowl like a dragon protecting its treasure, wearing a suspiciously smug grin he shares with Cater, it’s no longer just fruit juice and sugar in there.

“Family tradition,” Ace whispers, pouring the contents of a flask into the bowl. Judging by the amber liquid with bright undertones, it’s probably not something that should be on campus.

Deuce trails behind him, muttering something about decency and morning-after regret, while the rest of the crowd already lines up for a taste. Even Jade watches the punch as if he’s about to inspect it in a laboratory. Meanwhile, Kalim dumps, again, maybe for the second or third time? A bag full of sweets and chocolates straight from his homeland onto the dessert table because, in his words, “everything tastes better when chaos is shared.”

You know you should pace yourself, but there’s something about the way the punch glows under the colored lights, mingling with the scent of roses from the maze, the rich, indescribable fillings of chocolates from the Scalding Sands, and the way the air hums with anticipation that makes you feel euphoric just by breathing. One glass becomes two, then three. You lose count of how many times you laugh until your sides ache, or how many times you feel an arm draped around your shoulders.

You see Floyd dragging people into a conga line that ends with someone accidentally knocking over a lamp and Riddle shouting at the next person in sight. Jade and Azul pretend to “sample” desserts, only to linger near the table and overhear the arguments and troubles of potential new unfortunate souls.

A hand grabs your wrist to pull you onto the improvised dance floor: was it Epel? Or maybe it was Ruggie before he taught you that wild Savanaclaw-style drinking song?

You remember Cater snapping an immeasurable amount of photos, surely for Magicam; or perhaps, in the darker corner of your mind, to stockpile enough blackmail material to make even Azul blush.

From the lounge window, you can see Lilia floating over the rose bushes, plucking roses to assemble a suspiciously beautiful bouquet, mixing red and white. A moment later, he sweeps inside and scatters them everywhere, like confetti made of nature itself.

Everything is too bright, too warm, spinning slightly off-axis. Someone brushes your rebellious hair away from your face, their thumb lingering a second too long against your cheek. You feel a body press behind you, bold hands resting on your hips, the brush of lips against your ear whispering words that make your heart race. The party fades into the background, dissolving into murmurs as you slip away with that person down a dim hallway, stumbling over your own feet, more intoxicated by touch than by alcohol.

The small details stay on your mind and on your skin: a door closing behind you, laughter turning into something softer, slower, more dangerous. The taste of something sweet on your lips before being coaxed onto your tongue; the sensation of arms boxing you in, a faint scratch trailing down your back, the way your body arches toward that contact almost automatically. A gasp, a shiver, the delicious ache of desire.

The night dissolves into fragmented images: a moan—yours or theirs—muffled laughter against your collarbone, cool air on overheated skin, need melting into satisfaction. Words are whispered, some too soft to understand, others too bold to repeat in the daylight.

And then… nothing.

Morning arrives with a pounding headache. You can’t even open your eyes because the sun—so warm and ever-present, usually there to comfort and burn in equal measure—is now your natural enemy. Your body feels heavy and sore in places you didn’t even know existed, and trying to move is like trying to shift a boulder. Your legs are jelly, and there’s a sweet, buzzing sensation between them.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Riddle

It’s the annoying knocking against the door that wakes you, not the pounding in your head, although that is definitely there, and with every knock, knock, knock the pain increases.

You don’t want to get out of bed, but the more the knocking continues, the more your head throbs. You groan in frustration and roll over in bed, every muscle sore, your skin tingling from somewhere deep in your bones. You force yourself to get up, eyes squeezed shut against the sunlight.

Your feet touch the cold, hard floor and, with the muscle memory of a half-asleep zombie, you shuffle forward. You slam your shin hard against a heavy piece of furniture...a piece you don’t remember being there. “Fuck!” you hiss, hopping forward, and your foot lands on something soft and suspiciously like clothing.

…weird.

You keep walking with your eyes closed and reach the door still wrapped in a fog of sleep. You try to find the doorknob, which you’ve opened thousands of times in a dreamlike state, except today it’s strangely difficult to locate. The knocking continues.

You open the door, squinting, and find Trey standing there, perplexed, his eyes trailing down your body before quickly snapping upward toward the ceiling.

Why? Simple… because you’re naked from head to toe.

Wait… this isn’t your dorm, this isn’t your furniture, this isn’t your door…

You’re in one of Heartslabyul’s many gravity-defying hallways.

You look down and notice your nudity and do what any rational person would do… you shriek and slam the door in his face. You step back, tripping over a bundle of red and white clothing scattered together with pieces of your uniform.

The memories hit you like a bucket of cold water: Riddle’s cheeks slightly flushed, already affected by the punch, his lips swollen from kissing you so much, stammering your name in the middle of the crowd.

His nervous, sweaty hands when you led him upstairs to his room during the party, both of you slipping away from the others’ vulture-like gazes. Ace shouting in the background that Riddle was finally going to “get his dick wet” The forbidden thrill when he whispered as you reached his room, “This breaks several rules…” only to pull you closer and kiss you with intensity and nerves.

The way his fingers trembled when he touched you, soft but urgent, as if memorizing every curve, as if you were a new book he was desperate to dive into, his breathing shaky as he undressed you.

The scent of freshly cut roses and strawberries on his skin when you leaned down to kiss him again and again and again, trailing from his sweet, soft lips to his neck, collarbone, and chest.

His eyes widening when you straddled him, brushing your wet folds against his half-hard cock. The back-and-forth motion, rubbing your clit against him, letting your slick coat him and grow harder against you.

“Let me take care of you, Riddle,” you whispered before taking his cock in your hand and guiding it to your entrance, sliding down slowly; his body rigid, unsure where to place his hands, losing control as pleasure pushed him beyond every rule and ounce of self-control.

You remember taking his hands in yours and placing them on your breasts, teaching him how to touch you, massage you, even pinch your nipples. Your movements starting slow, but with every moan, yours and Riddle’s, turning into desperate bounces, feeling your spongy walls tighten around him more and more.

Fragments of his choked voice, nearly pleading, “Don’t stop… don’t… please, don’t stop,” his tone thick with desire and a hint of shame, biting his lips when you moaned too loudly, as if afraid of being heard but unable to ask you to quiet down. Your clit constantly rubbing against his pelvis, making you see stars as you cum around him with Riddle’s name on your lips.

His hands, now free from yours, still uncertainly massaging one breast while the other gripped your thigh, moving you harder and more desperately; his cock finishing inside you after a few more thrusts, filling you with him. “No… I’m not finished with you,” his words dissolving into a soft groan before flipping you onto your back and hovering above you.

His desperate mouth seeking yours, sloppy, clumsy kisses, his body pressed against yours as he started another round, messier, letting his semen spill from your cunt and soak his sheets.

The memory of his face afterward, undone and exhausted, eyes shining with satisfaction; his soft voice whispering against your hair, “I’ve never… felt something so delicious,” gently stroking your cheek with fingers still damp with your slick.

Your heart pounds rapidly in your chest.

Fuck… FUCK!

On the bed, covering his “indecencies,” sits Riddle, hair messy, mouth hanging open as if it might hit the floor. His eyes trail over your body, his face turning red, pale for a second, then red again… much redder.

“You just… opened the door? Like that?” His face matches his hair, arguably even redder.

He clutches the sheets, pulling them up to his chin with both hands, eyes now fixed on the ceiling, on his books, anywhere but your body out of mortification.

You, meanwhile, cover your face with both hands. “I just exposed myself in front of Trey!!… oh fucking hell.”

A muffled sound escapes Riddle’s lips… followed by a small laugh, very unlike him. You peek through your fingers; his blush spreads down his neck, his shoulders trembling slightly with laughter.

He seems… lighter… a little shy.

“You’re not… upset? Oh… well, upset might not be the right word.” If you start rambling, this won’t end well. “…What I mean is… did we do something you’re not happy or comfortable with?”

Please say no, please say no, please!!!

“Upset? No… I don’t think so.” Riddle is so shy he can barely meet your eyes. “Embarrassed, yes. Very… too much.” There’s a small pause that eats at you from the inside. “But I don’t regret anything.”

OH THANK SEVENS!!!

A wave of warmth rushes through you. Despite the humiliation, the chaos, there’s something strangely thrilling about waking up beside Riddle, seeing the strict prefect undone, hair messy, eyes soft just for you. You climb back into bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin and settling beside him, your head resting on his shoulder, feeling your pulse pounding in your throat.

“We’ll have to face Trey at some point.”

Riddle smiles and runs a hand over your hip.

“Yes, but perhaps… not yet.”

Floyd

Your head is a mess of fog and sharp pain, your body heavy with sweet exhaustion and tingling vibrations. You’re tangled in something soft; sheets, maybe. All you know is that you’re far too warm and every muscle feels deliciously worn out.

You try to move, but your legs are firmly trapped, wrapped and knotted in the sheets as if you’d fought a kraken in your sleep. You struggle to free yourself, throwing an arm toward the edge of the bed for support. You grab something solid and pull… and suddenly you’re on the floor.

The world spins, your shoulder slams against the ground, and a dead weight collapses on top of you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

You squeeze your eyes shut, too stunned to process the impact and the weight pressing down. A rough, sleepy, almost dangerous, growl reaches your ears, and you freeze. A hand plants itself beside your head, warm breath brushing your cheek.

Floyd is sprawled on top of you, one knee between your thighs, heavy and naked… oh sevens, he’s really naked.

And he is very, very close.

His eyes are half-lidded, sharp teeth peeking through a slowly spreading, wicked smile. “Heeey ~ Shrimpy~”

His husky voice sends a current down your spine, igniting places it shouldn’t. He shifts, pressing you harder into the floor, and you glance down to where his knee presses, realizing you’re just as naked as he is.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

Floyd is on top of me. Floyd is naked. I’M GOING TO DIE.

SHIT!!!

“Hehe, you’re so cute when you’re scared.”

He leans down, rubbing his nose against your cheek, his hair falling over your face. You try to squirm, the sheets still tangled around your legs. “Floyd, get off—”

“Nah, you should’ve stayed in bed, Shrimpy~”

You’re painfully aware of every place your bodies touch: his hot skin, his muscles shifting as he stretches a little more over you, the sweet scent still lingering on his lips.

Your mind spins as blurry, burning memories resurface: Floyd dragging you away from the chaos of the party, his arm over your shoulders. “The party’s boring, let’s make our own.”

His kisses tasting like peppered chocolate, his teeth biting until you gasped, his laughter vibrating as he pushed you against the wall, taking you farther and farther and farther until your body ended up shoved toward a pool.

You resurfaced, gasping for air; Floyd diving in after you, his greedy, skilled hands catching you underwater, leaving you unable to move. His teeth sinking into your thigh, making you moan and writhe.

Floyd not stopping at one bite, peeling your soaked clothes from your skin with clumsy speed; every exposed patch of skin marked: inner thighs, collarbone, lower back, the curves of your ass. “You like it when I bite you, huh? Look at how your body trembles”

You remember his fingers finding your clit easily, his legs spreading yours, keeping you open for him. His lips, teeth, and tongue playing with your neck, sometimes kissing your pulse, other times biting until you whimpered.

The water and reflected light leaving your breasts on display, capturing your nipples in his mouth while he slid two fingers inside your cunt; just as you were about to cum, he stopped you with a hand at your throat while his fingers kept thrusting hard and fast. “Not yet, Shrimpy. I want to see you cry for it”

Floyd’s hips slamming into you the second he penetrated you, not letting you adjust properly. Sometimes he thrust so hard water splashed everywhere, other times he’d stop abruptly just to watch you, toying with your bruised nipples until you begged. “Floyd! Please… k-keep going!”

“Ask me better, Shrimpy, or I’ll twist your nipples until you cum from overstimulation,” resuming his movements painfully slow until tears ran down your face, mixing with the pool water; your pleas growing louder, shouting dirtier obscenities without shame.

“Please, please! Floyd!! Faster, I need you to move your cock faster! Deeper—play with my nipples if you want, but MOVE!” your hips grinding with his, trying to rub your clit against him; his hands gripping your hips hard and moving you with incredible strength.

The orgasm hitting like a blow, trembling from sheer excess; him not stopping, riding the wave with you, spreading your legs wider and thrusting deeper, his fingers playing with your clit before slipping two—maybe three—inside your wet cunt.

At some point in the night, ending up in his room, droplets of water trailing down your body while Floyd made you sit on him, lifting your hips easily, squeezing your thighs, your ass, smacking it; making you bounce on his cock at his rhythm, occasionally changing speed, laughing if you cried or moaned too loudly. “Does it hurt or do you like it, my little Shrimpy? I won’t spill inside until I break you.”

Back in the present, his smile sharpens even more—if that’s possible—while he studies your face from above. “You look dizzy, little Shrimpy.”

You squirm, half terrified, half something entirely different while his knee remains between your legs. You try to slide away across the floor, but Floyd won’t have it; he pins your hands on either side of your head, sliding his knee higher until it rests against your wet lips.

“You’re very tasty, hehe~ So messy, so mine… maybe we should stay like this all day.”

Your heart pounds, adrenaline buzzing, but your body shudders at his words, your wetness dampening his leg.

“Floyd…”

“Aww, don’t get shy now. Let me hear you beg again…”

Vil

You wake wrapped in a cocoon of silk, the light filtering in soft and golden through elegant curtains that definitely do not belong to your dorm room. There’s a sweet scent, like wild violets and expensive perfume… very expensive. Everything feels like a dream—the sheets perfectly folded, the sunlight gleaming over the wood, the sound of someone humming in the distance, a steady, low melody that is both comforting and majestic.

And the moment you move, that perfection collapses, because your entire body aches in the most deliciously possible… and mortifying way.

You shift a little more, settling into those noticeably expensive and sinfully soft sheets, and notice warm skin against other warm skin… yours; fingers tracing your hip and sliding up along your sides, the sensation relaxing yet faintly ticklish.

You open one eye and Vil gives you the softest smile you’ve ever seen him offer anyone. Radiant even in the morning, his hair spread across the pillow like a golden cloud, every perfect inch of him serene beneath the pleasant (and detestable to the eyes) sunlight.

Your heart nearly stops… how did a mere mortal like you achieve this? How did you end up in Vil Schoenheit’s bed?

“Good morning, Liebling.” Can someone’s voice truly sound velvety at this hour? Apparently his can. “Did you sleep well?”

You try to speak, but all that escapes your dry, over-kissed lips is an embarrassed sound. His, meanwhile, remain immaculate, curving further into a private smile just for you. He sits up and the sheets fall enough to gift you the sight of the delicate lines of his chest and shoulders.

Even after a wild party, he looks almost untouched, glowing under the soft light. You, on the other hand, feel disheveled, painfully aware of your state: smeared makeup, tangled hair, and a bewildered expression.

Vil brushes a strand from your face. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, darling. In fact…” He leans closer, stroking your cheek with his fingertips. “You’re dazzling like this… honest, real.”

Your cheeks burn as fragments of the previous night spiral back: his long, slender hands guiding you away from the chaos into a secluded room, the world fading as he tucked a rebellious strand behind your ear. “May I?” His kiss, light at first like the touch of a feather, then deepening until you melted in his arms.

You remember his skilled hands exploring every part of you, undoing button after button, exposing you freely before him. His fingers making you feel beautiful and desired, even as you stammered and trembled beneath their heat. His lips mapping every inch of revealed skin, describing what he found beautiful in each place.

The intensity of his focus, his eyes locked on yours while he drew every sound from your lips, making you feel like the center of his universe; his tongue on your neck, descending to your chest, tracing you with slow, controlled movements, his hand on your throat to keep you still as he circled a nipple with his tongue and captured it between his lips.

“Don’t move… I want to see you perfect, even undone,” his authoritative voice in a soft whisper as he moved lower and lower, across your stomach and abdomen until reaching your obscenely wet cunt, giving it a lick that left his mouth slick and stained.

The way he held your hips while thrusting into you from behind, in front of his massive mirror. You felt his cock sliding into you again and again and again, his hips striking your ass, admiring how it bounced against him. One hand pinning both of yours behind your back, the other gripping your hair, pulling your head back so you could see yourself in the reflection.

Your moans filling the room as he began to fuck you harder, your body pressed tighter to the mirror, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, barely holding yourself upright, tears filling your eyes as you met his gaze in the glass.

The ease with which he turned you, lifting one leg over his hip, pressing your ass against the mirror—surely leaving a sweat mark—and pushing harder and deeper. “You are a beautiful mess.”

The way he denied you over and over, promising that when he finally allowed you at the end of the night it would be the strongest, most powerful thing you’d ever feel. And it was; one final burst and the orgasm exploded between you, making you tremble from head to toe for several seconds while you felt him finish inside your tight walls, drawing even more spasms from you.

You remember how Vil cleaned you with care, combing your hair with his fingers. “You are the most beautiful of all sins.”

Intense doesn’t even come close to describing the blush that so beautifully paints not only your cheeks but your entire body.

“Are you regretting it?” The softness of the question strikes your heart like an arrow, squeezing so tightly it almost hurts.

“No! No, no… not at all.”

Ahhhh, how could anyone regret sharing sheets with Vil?

“It’s just that… how? Why?” You don’t finish the sentence, but the questions linger: how did you manage this? Why you among so many other marvels?

Vil lifts your chin with his finger and makes you look at him, no trace of harshness in his expression, only tenderness. “Is it so hard to believe that I desired you as well?”

Direct and sincere.

Vil leans in and kisses your lips slowly and sensually, then your cheeks and your bare shoulders. He draws you closer, his hand resting on your lower back, his perfume flooding your senses once more.

Wild violets, mixed with chocolate, sweat, and sex. “I want you like this, without filters.”

Vil rises to put on his splendid silk robe, intent on bringing something fresh for you both to eat and something for your headache, leaving you alone for a moment tangled in his sheets and his bed…

Was the bed always this big?

Rook

You open your eyes slowly, breathing in the sweet scent of wildflowers and fresh grass, the room dimly lit enough that you can open your eyes a bit more without your head hurting too much.

The sheets cover you like a soft mantle, brushing against sore muscles you didn’t even know could ache. Out of the corner of your eye you notice a patch of blond hair very close.

…That same patch is staring at you.

Intently.

Rook is lying beside you, propped on his elbows, eyes shining in the faint morning light, wearing a wide smile that is as beautiful as it is slightly unsettling. One hand rests on your abdomen, his thumb tracing distracted circles over marked skin.

Naked skin, to be clear.

You look where he’s touching you, look at his bare arm, and follow upward… higher and higher…

Rook is naked too.

“Bonjour, mon trésor…” His voice this early still sounds just as melodic and bright… though a little reverent and husky.

“What a spectacle, the dawn upon your bare skin. Ah, what art we created, what music your cries composed.”

“My… my cries?”

“Oui! A splendid ballad after such a feverish hunt.”

You jolt, and the ache between your legs makes your memory return in flashes: walking through Heartslabyul’s rose maze when you felt a presence behind you, tall, dense, and very, very hungry; Rook’s breath against your neck, his hands barely brushing your throat and waist. A hunter about to chase his prey.

“Mon petite proie, let me hunt you properly” The game of hunter and mouse through the immaculate rose bushes, past mirrors and through the exquisite halls of Pomefiore, until Rook caught you, pinning you against the wall and devouring your mouth.

His lips on your neck, his hands on your hips, unbuttoning your shirt, your pants, leaving a trail of clothing on the floor until reaching his room. How those clothes reached his bedroom floor unseen by other students? You couldn’t care less, not when his fingers slipped inside your cunt to curl and strike your sensitive spot.

His tongue licking and moving in small circles over your clit, fingers curving, sliding out and back in, in a delicious rhythm. Your own hand in his golden hair, pulling him closer. “Keep going… yes, yes, like that, don’t stop” Rook moaned hearing you so needy for him.

His expert fingers never leaving your pussy, carrying you to pleasure again and again and again. Maybe he made you cum three times, or was it five? Maybe he drew micro-orgasms from you with only his fingers and tongue.

You remember being arranged on your side, one leg lifted and draped over his shoulder, him savoring the feel of your thigh, your abdomen, your belly. Rook sliding slowly, the tip of his cock opening you inch by inch, your spongy walls already soaked yet tightening deliciously around him.

“Mon trésor, you are the perfect image of desire… let me admire your beauty as I make you mine,” the beginning of a slow, unhurried rhythm, admiring how your body moved with each thrust of his hips; your hand over his where he held your leg, your breasts moving freely, your eyes meeting his as the frenzy gradually intensified.

The way Rook moaned as much as, or more than you, describing how beautiful and “alive” you looked while sinking inside you, his thumb pressing against your clit so your walls would tighten more around him.

Your back against his chest when he made you kneel before him, one hand on your hip, the other moving your hair aside to kiss your spine before penetrating you from behind again. Your ass moving with each thrust, deliciously round and perfect for his hands. “Let me hear my muse scream”

The strong orgasm around his cock, held firmly, Rook deep inside you, restraining himself from finishing at that very moment; he wanted to enjoy you more, if possible, for the rest of the night; moving again once your wave ended, harder and deeper, using your breasts as leverage.

The heat of his semen when he spilled inside you, biting your neck and shoulders. “I want to adore you more, ma chérie, until I lose myself completely in your body”

A second, third, even a fourth round, all ending the same way: with Rook deep inside you, his seed spilled within and sliding down beneath your legs to the sheets.

The lascivious memories still swirl in your mind as you glance down at your body; a map of devotion, dotted with small bruises (surely from his fingers gripping you tightly while thrusting), bite marks, and the occasional hickey.

And also a lipstick mark on your thigh and hip.

Oh. Shit.

“Rook… did we… actually fuck?”

“Oui, ma chérie.” His laugh purrs beside your ear.

You try to cover yourself with the sheets, but Rook is already kissing your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone again. Slowly he finds your fingers, intertwining them with his.

“Never have I contemplated a beauty so sublime, so wild beneath me, crying out my name with every climax”

His breath brushes your skin and you shiver, a strange mix of vertigo and desire coiling in your abdomen. Rook pulls you even closer, his thigh sliding between yours. His kisses are more reverent, almost devout.

“I wish to hunt you again, every night, mon trésor,” he promises, fierce and determined, before pressing his lips to yours.

Malleus

The air is dense, the scent of rain and something sweetly electric wrapping around you. The headache feels like a minor nuisance at the back of your skull, as if the world itself were lulling you to calm down and keep resting. Immersed in that blessing, you let yourself float, feeling the aftershocks still running through your bones, the lazy ache in your thighs.

You shift between impossibly fine sheets… very elegant to the touch… cool and soft…

Okay, you’re not in your dorm

You open one eye, then the other. Dark, baroque furniture greets you. Definitely… this is not your bed.

You look down to where you feel a heavy weight, inhumanly heavy, resting over your abdomen. Long fingers, nails slightly elongated and black, belonging to Malleus’ arm and shoulder behind you.

His hair is messy and wild over that same bare shoulder, barely pushed back to reveal the scales on his forehead. Your gaze trails lower; his chest is bare, and the sheets cover just enough over both hips. Carefully, you lift them slightly and steal a furtive glance beneath, heart racing.

Ditto, you’re naked and so is he…

You blink.

That… can’t be.

You lower the sheets for a moment, close and open your eyes a few times. You lift them again and that, or rather those, are still there.

Between Malleus’ thighs, framed by the sculpted, pale lines of his hips, rest two semi-thick, awakened cocks against his abdomen. You stare at them, unable to process.

Holy shit. He has two…

HE HAS TWO AND THEY’RE HUGE!

Is this another dragon fae trait?

A nervous little sound slips from you, barely a small whimper, honestly a bit embarrassing, and Malleus’ eyes open slightly, narrowing, a nearly mischievous smile curving his lips. “Is something the matter, my treasure?”

My treasure…

The mental fog clears and the images of last night strike you like lightning: Malleus whispering things in your ear in the middle of the crowd that had nothing to do with the party, words you didn’t even know he knew, sweet and scandalously explicit. His large, calloused hand over yours as he guided you through the halls of Diasomnia to his own room.

Both hands roaming over your body, his claws tracing lines along your hips and waist. His figure over yours made you feel so much smaller, so tiny that when he placed a leg between yours he lifted you from the floor effortlessly. His palms on your hips as he rocked you over his thigh, your covered cunt already beginning to soak.

The way he prepared you with his fingers, long and cool, sinking deep, moving in and out, curling to find your most sensitive spot and stimulate it quickly and firmly. Your legs spread, one of his hands holding one up so you couldn’t close them while he ran his tongue over your clit.

That same forked tongue sliding along your wet folds, curling as if it had a life of its own, much longer than any human’s. The combination of his wet length and fingers made you cum with his face buried between your legs, your hand gripping his hair to make him suck harder.

And still he continued; opening you more and more, one orgasm after another after another until you could no longer feel your legs.

You remember the first time you touched one of his cocks: so large, fully awake, thick and ready to enter your small cunt. You couldn’t even close your hand around it, stroking and pumping with difficulty. His groan when you tried to go faster, using both hands, the second cock free and resting against your thigh.

“So small and yet willing to take me whole, even while trembling” his words filled with adoration but tinged with filth. His large hands spreading your legs and the tip of one cock brushing your pussy.

The way he folded you in half, placing your legs over his shoulders and impaling you deep, inch by inch. You were so, so full you could barely breathe, his chest so close to yours. “I want you to see… I want you to see how deeply you take me”

His movements confident and sensual at first, slicking his cock with each thrust, your cunt spasming as you felt the ridges rubbing against your spongy walls.

The second pushing in slower, making you scream in pleasure, completely open, dripping and barely able to move or form words. “T’ much… Fuck! That’s too much, Malleus!”

“Like this, my treasure, let me fill you,” Malleus thrusting deep, both cocks striking everywhere, the exquisite pressure and stretch sending shocks through your abdomen. You could only moan and cry his name over and over.

Malleus pressing you into the mattress to take him even deeper, placing you in a mating press that made the angle deliciously intense. His tips kissing your cervix, you could swear you felt them push past when he delivered a devastating thrust that made you cum instantly.

The sensation of overwhelming heat and overflow when he spilled his seed inside you, both cocks pouring semen in uncontrolled, inhuman amounts, sliding from your pussy and pooling on the bed.

Being fucked not only in bed but lifted against the wall, your legs barely wrapped around him as he held you effortlessly, slamming you harder into the cold stone with each thrust. Your breasts pressed against his chest, hands gripping his shoulders, gaze unfocused.

“No one will fill you like I do, my treasure,” he whispered in your ear, finishing for who knows what time. “I won’t stop until you’re completely full.”

Where the hell did he learn all that?

You blame Lilia. Yes, definitely him.

Slowly, very slowly, you sit up, lascivious thoughts still circling in your mind, unable to process. You pull the sheet up to your chest.

Malleus extends a hand and strokes your back, a shiver running down your spine. “Did you sleep well?” You can only nod, your cheeks ready to ignite.

I don’t know how I’m going to sleep again after this.

“My little one, you seem somewhat… distracted. Do you feel unwell?”

Damn it, this man is going to make me explode!!

“Malleus… you…” how do you even say this? “You… you have… two.” You even lift two fingers for emphasis...

THIS MAN HAS TWO HUGE COCKS THAT REARRANGED YOUR INSIDES.

“Ah, so that is what occupies your mind.” He strokes your cheek with his thumb. He shifts, letting the sheet fall from his hips, fully revealing his magnificence; impossible not to look.

“I hope I did not cause you harm, though I could feel you enjoyed it all night. And again, just before dawn.”

He leans down and brushes your mouth, soft at first, then deeper, more demanding; his tongue teasing, tasting, swallowing a moan before it escapes.

“Are you in need of anything? Water, a bath, tea to ease your soreness?”

You cling to him, still clutching the sheet to your chest, the scent of his body intoxicatingly close. “I need… a minute… maybe two.”

He releases a playful chuckle. “Take all the time you need, my treasure. I am very patient. And very, very eager.”

He wraps you in his arms, pulling you against his chest; for now you simply breathe, letting him hold you… until you feel his lengths pressing against your stomach.

Lilia

The hammering of your heart against your chest is what wakes you. Your body aches with a dull sensation in every muscle, your head feels ready to explode, and there’s a vague sense of having survived a natural disaster… or perhaps having caused one. Your skin tingles, sensitive and overstimulated, as if you’d been struck by lightning and put back together...more than once.

The sheets smell of night-blooming flowers and something sweet and smoky that makes you dizzy, too luxurious and heavy yet somehow light at the same time. You try to move, but a warm, inhumanly strong weight holds you with predatory ease.

Something brushes your leg—skin, warm and sensitive.

A foot? A leg?

You feel a hand, nails, grazing your inner thigh; it tickles until you sense where it’s headed, up, up and up, almost reaching your pulsing, expectant center.

Your eyes snap open, the world still blurry, the faint light slipping through the curtains making you squeeze them shut again as you inhale sharply against the pain.

“Oh, you’re awake already~ Good morning, darling.”

When you open them again, Lilia’s crimson eyes gleam in the dimness, a wide and dangerously playful smile on his face.

You jolt upright halfway...on a bed that isn’t yours, in a room that isn’t yours, and in nonexistent clothing.

Wrong pillow, wrong bed, dark decor, naked…

NAKED!

You look down, your body scandalously covered in marks: hickeys, finger bruises, scratches…

Is that a bite on your thigh?

Another one almost beside your pussy?

Lilia shifts, just as naked as you, resting on his side with his chin in his hand, eyes sparkling with amusement; as if the night hadn’t left him tired or hungover in the way mortals usually are.

He looks… energized.

“What… did we do last night?” your voice comes out hoarse, mouth stiff.

“I think the correct question is what didn’t we do last night, little one.”

…what?

“You don’t remember?” His hand is only an inch away from your wet folds and his body barely brushing yours.

Memories arrive in bursts: Lilia hovering over you, playing with your hair before descending to grab your hand and pull you away from the party, his laughter making your whole body vibrate. The heat of his mouth on your neck, his fangs grazing your pulse and a small bite on your collarbone.

His hands everywhere: soft and careful yet wild and playful, always one step ahead, drawing small moans and sighs from you each time his fingertips traced your bare skin.

The vertigo of being lifted as if you weighed nothing and tossed onto the bed. His laugh at your little yelp when you were airborne for a second before he captured your lips again in a passionate, hard, deep kiss; his tongue playing with yours while his hands roamed your sides.

The glint in his eyes when he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand while the other stimulated your clit, slow circular motions as he watched your face reflect pleasure and hunger for more. His laugh against your neck when he slid a finger between your wet pussy. “You’re so soaked and I barely touched you.”

A muffled gasp when he pushed in a second finger, then a third, his thumb following to claim your clit, sometimes pressing, other times moving fast and cruel or slow and careless. Your legs trembling, wanting to cum, but Lilia not letting you until your fluids stained the sheet and left your thighs slick and sticky.

His cock, hard from watching you writhe and hearing your sweet moans, sliding between your breasts, his hands squeezing them firmly so he could glide and feel their softness envelop him; the tip brushing your lips. “Come on, little one, open for me.” Lilia gripping your head to tilt you forward so your lips barely kissed and sucked him.

You remember the heat of his semen when it shot onto your face, other streams into your open mouth, landing on your tongue; droplets splattered over your breasts, Lilia spreading them with his hands, coating your skin before pushing his fingers back into your already oversensitive cunt.

You remember how he gripped both your thighs, placing them over his hips to thrust into you again and again and again, his cock reaching deeper than you thought possible, your spongy walls tightening around him. His hand between your legs to keep stimulating you until you cum around him.

The force with which he flipped you over, belly down, lifting your ass and penetrating you again, your face pressed into the pillow; Lilia going so deep and fast it felt like he was stealing the air from your lungs.

The moment he spilled inside you, but it wasn’t enough. Lilia kept fucking you, your walls making obscene sounds, both your fluids running down your open legs. He didn’t take you once or twice or three times—he took you on every surface that could hold you: the bed, the desk, against the window, on the floor.

“So small… and yet you take me so well. Want more, sweetness? Want me to fill you so completely you’ll feel me for days?” His words grew dirtier with each new round. Your cunt no longer just wet and oversensitive but red and raw from overuse, every touch making you scream, tears in your eyes as you experienced what must have been the tenth orgasm of the night.

The end: your body exhausted, trembling, covered in marks, tongue sore, legs spread and your pussy burning from delicious abuse. Lilia licking your tears and sweat with fierce tenderness. “You’d better rest, little one, because you’ve become my favorite dessert… and I very much intend to have seconds.”

Holy hell

It’s like you ascended and saw God in person.

You pull the sheets to your chin, completely red from head to toe. Lilia’s smile widens, fangs fully on display. “Embarrassed now, my little one? After everything last night… how adorable~”

This old man really knows how to move.

“You were insatiable. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that much fun.” He moves closer, his fingers playing with your wet lips.

“Did you… actually… fuck me like that?”

A sincere laugh escapes him and he kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth; when his fangs brush your neck again, an electric tremor runs down your spine.

What better moment to slide his fingers back inside you, hm?

“Don’t pout, darling, I’m not done savoring you yet~”

It goes without saying that, for Lilia, the morning sun simply means round… two?

Finals season is close, too close, and the stress piled up over the entire year, stacking arguments, controlled and uncontrolled magic, fights, exams, and practical tests on top of each other, has left everyone’s brains practically melted. The unbirthday party of this day, or rather, this night, pushes aside the comfort zone and Riddle’s beloved (though often questioned) rules and simply… lets itself be felt. Even Crowley pretends not to notice that Heartslabyul is far too alive and awake for this hour, that several dorm mirrors glow constantly as students come and go, drifting in and out of the Queen of Hearts’ dorm.

Candles float above the rose gardens and over your head, music makes the walls tremble, and a dessert table stands proud enough to embarrass most royal banquets, most of the sweets provided by Trey and the Octavinelle staff.

The whole place vibrates with that untamable energy, the complete opposite of what once was the most structured and rigid dorm on campus. Now the aura of the lounge and the rose maze hums faintly dangerous, the kind of thing that happens when you gather a crowd of magically inclined, hormone-fueled students buzzing on caffeine and tell them, “Have fun!... responsibly, please.”

You’re not sure who decided that “responsibly” included spiking the punch, but judging by how Ace guards the bowl like a dragon protecting its treasure, wearing a suspiciously smug grin he shares with Cater, it’s no longer just fruit juice and sugar in there.

“Family tradition,” Ace whispers, pouring the contents of a flask into the bowl. Judging by the amber liquid with bright undertones, it’s probably not something that should be on campus.

Deuce trails behind him, muttering something about decency and morning-after regret, while the rest of the crowd already lines up for a taste. Even Jade watches the punch as if he’s about to inspect it in a laboratory. Meanwhile, Kalim dumps, again, maybe for the second or third time? A bag full of sweets and chocolates straight from his homeland onto the dessert table because, in his words, “everything tastes better when chaos is shared.”

You know you should pace yourself, but there’s something about the way the punch glows under the colored lights, mingling with the scent of roses from the maze, the rich, indescribable fillings of chocolates from the Scalding Sands, and the way the air hums with anticipation that makes you feel euphoric just by breathing. One glass becomes two, then three. You lose count of how many times you laugh until your sides ache, or how many times you feel an arm draped around your shoulders.

You see Floyd dragging people into a conga line that ends with someone accidentally knocking over a lamp and Riddle shouting at the next person in sight. Jade and Azul pretend to “sample” desserts, only to linger near the table and overhear the arguments and troubles of potential new unfortunate souls.

A hand grabs your wrist to pull you onto the improvised dance floor: was it Epel? Or maybe it was Ruggie before he taught you that wild Savanaclaw-style drinking song?

You remember Cater snapping an immeasurable amount of photos, surely for Magicam; or perhaps, in the darker corner of your mind, to stockpile enough blackmail material to make even Azul blush.

From the lounge window, you can see Lilia floating over the rose bushes, plucking roses to assemble a suspiciously beautiful bouquet, mixing red and white. A moment later, he sweeps inside and scatters them everywhere, like confetti made of nature itself.

Everything is too bright, too warm, spinning slightly off-axis. Someone brushes your rebellious hair away from your face, their thumb lingering a second too long against your cheek. You feel a body press behind you, bold hands resting on your hips, the brush of lips against your ear whispering words that make your heart race. The party fades into the background, dissolving into murmurs as you slip away with that person down a dim hallway, stumbling over your own feet, more intoxicated by touch than by alcohol.

The small details stay on your mind and on your skin: a door closing behind you, laughter turning into something softer, slower, more dangerous. The taste of something sweet on your lips before being coaxed onto your tongue; the sensation of arms boxing you in, a faint scratch trailing down your back, the way your body arches toward that contact almost automatically. A gasp, a shiver, the delicious ache of desire.

The night dissolves into fragmented images: a moan—yours or theirs—muffled laughter against your collarbone, cool air on overheated skin, need melting into satisfaction. Words are whispered, some too soft to understand, others too bold to repeat in the daylight.

And then… nothing.

Morning arrives with a pounding headache. You can’t even open your eyes because the sun—so warm and ever-present, usually there to comfort and burn in equal measure—is now your natural enemy. Your body feels heavy and sore in places you didn’t even know existed, and trying to move is like trying to shift a boulder. Your legs are jelly, and there’s a sweet, buzzing sensation between them.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Riddle

It’s the annoying knocking against the door that wakes you, not the pounding in your head, although that is definitely there, and with every knock, knock, knock the pain increases.

You don’t want to get out of bed, but the more the knocking continues, the more your head throbs. You groan in frustration and roll over in bed, every muscle sore, your skin tingling from somewhere deep in your bones. You force yourself to get up, eyes squeezed shut against the sunlight.

Your feet touch the cold, hard floor and, with the muscle memory of a half-asleep zombie, you shuffle forward. You slam your shin hard against a heavy piece of furniture...a piece you don’t remember being there. “Fuck!” you hiss, hopping forward, and your foot lands on something soft and suspiciously like clothing.

…weird.

You keep walking with your eyes closed and reach the door still wrapped in a fog of sleep. You try to find the doorknob, which you’ve opened thousands of times in a dreamlike state, except today it’s strangely difficult to locate. The knocking continues.

You open the door, squinting, and find Trey standing there, perplexed, his eyes trailing down your body before quickly snapping upward toward the ceiling.

Why? Simple… because you’re naked from head to toe.

Wait… this isn’t your dorm, this isn’t your furniture, this isn’t your door…

You’re in one of Heartslabyul’s many gravity-defying hallways.

You look down and notice your nudity and do what any rational person would do… you shriek and slam the door in his face. You step back, tripping over a bundle of red and white clothing scattered together with pieces of your uniform.

The memories hit you like a bucket of cold water: Riddle’s cheeks slightly flushed, already affected by the punch, his lips swollen from kissing you so much, stammering your name in the middle of the crowd.

His nervous, sweaty hands when you led him upstairs to his room during the party, both of you slipping away from the others’ vulture-like gazes. Ace shouting in the background that Riddle was finally going to “get his dick wet” The forbidden thrill when he whispered as you reached his room, “This breaks several rules…” only to pull you closer and kiss you with intensity and nerves.

The way his fingers trembled when he touched you, soft but urgent, as if memorizing every curve, as if you were a new book he was desperate to dive into, his breathing shaky as he undressed you.

The scent of freshly cut roses and strawberries on his skin when you leaned down to kiss him again and again and again, trailing from his sweet, soft lips to his neck, collarbone, and chest.

His eyes widening when you straddled him, brushing your wet folds against his half-hard cock. The back-and-forth motion, rubbing your clit against him, letting your slick coat him and grow harder against you.

“Let me take care of you, Riddle,” you whispered before taking his cock in your hand and guiding it to your entrance, sliding down slowly; his body rigid, unsure where to place his hands, losing control as pleasure pushed him beyond every rule and ounce of self-control.

You remember taking his hands in yours and placing them on your breasts, teaching him how to touch you, massage you, even pinch your nipples. Your movements starting slow, but with every moan, yours and Riddle’s, turning into desperate bounces, feeling your spongy walls tighten around him more and more.

Fragments of his choked voice, nearly pleading, “Don’t stop… don’t… please, don’t stop,” his tone thick with desire and a hint of shame, biting his lips when you moaned too loudly, as if afraid of being heard but unable to ask you to quiet down. Your clit constantly rubbing against his pelvis, making you see stars as you cum around him with Riddle’s name on your lips.

His hands, now free from yours, still uncertainly massaging one breast while the other gripped your thigh, moving you harder and more desperately; his cock finishing inside you after a few more thrusts, filling you with him. “No… I’m not finished with you,” his words dissolving into a soft groan before flipping you onto your back and hovering above you.

His desperate mouth seeking yours, sloppy, clumsy kisses, his body pressed against yours as he started another round, messier, letting his semen spill from your cunt and soak his sheets.

The memory of his face afterward, undone and exhausted, eyes shining with satisfaction; his soft voice whispering against your hair, “I’ve never… felt something so delicious,” gently stroking your cheek with fingers still damp with your slick.

Your heart pounds rapidly in your chest.

Fuck… FUCK!

On the bed, covering his “indecencies,” sits Riddle, hair messy, mouth hanging open as if it might hit the floor. His eyes trail over your body, his face turning red, pale for a second, then red again… much redder.

“You just… opened the door? Like that?” His face matches his hair, arguably even redder.

He clutches the sheets, pulling them up to his chin with both hands, eyes now fixed on the ceiling, on his books, anywhere but your body out of mortification.

You, meanwhile, cover your face with both hands. “I just exposed myself in front of Trey!!… oh fucking hell.”

A muffled sound escapes Riddle’s lips… followed by a small laugh, very unlike him. You peek through your fingers; his blush spreads down his neck, his shoulders trembling slightly with laughter.

He seems… lighter… a little shy.

“You’re not… upset? Oh… well, upset might not be the right word.” If you start rambling, this won’t end well. “…What I mean is… did we do something you’re not happy or comfortable with?”

Please say no, please say no, please!!!

“Upset? No… I don’t think so.” Riddle is so shy he can barely meet your eyes. “Embarrassed, yes. Very… too much.” There’s a small pause that eats at you from the inside. “But I don’t regret anything.”

OH THANK SEVENS!!!

A wave of warmth rushes through you. Despite the humiliation, the chaos, there’s something strangely thrilling about waking up beside Riddle, seeing the strict prefect undone, hair messy, eyes soft just for you. You climb back into bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin and settling beside him, your head resting on his shoulder, feeling your pulse pounding in your throat.

“We’ll have to face Trey at some point.”

Riddle smiles and runs a hand over your hip.

“Yes, but perhaps… not yet.”

Floyd

Your head is a mess of fog and sharp pain, your body heavy with sweet exhaustion and tingling vibrations. You’re tangled in something soft; sheets, maybe. All you know is that you’re far too warm and every muscle feels deliciously worn out.

You try to move, but your legs are firmly trapped, wrapped and knotted in the sheets as if you’d fought a kraken in your sleep. You struggle to free yourself, throwing an arm toward the edge of the bed for support. You grab something solid and pull… and suddenly you’re on the floor.

The world spins, your shoulder slams against the ground, and a dead weight collapses on top of you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

You squeeze your eyes shut, too stunned to process the impact and the weight pressing down. A rough, sleepy, almost dangerous, growl reaches your ears, and you freeze. A hand plants itself beside your head, warm breath brushing your cheek.

Floyd is sprawled on top of you, one knee between your thighs, heavy and naked… oh sevens, he’s really naked.

And he is very, very close.

His eyes are half-lidded, sharp teeth peeking through a slowly spreading, wicked smile. “Heeey ~ Shrimpy~”

His husky voice sends a current down your spine, igniting places it shouldn’t. He shifts, pressing you harder into the floor, and you glance down to where his knee presses, realizing you’re just as naked as he is.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

Floyd is on top of me. Floyd is naked. I’M GOING TO DIE.

SHIT!!!

“Hehe, you’re so cute when you’re scared.”

He leans down, rubbing his nose against your cheek, his hair falling over your face. You try to squirm, the sheets still tangled around your legs. “Floyd, get off—”

“Nah, you should’ve stayed in bed, Shrimpy~”

You’re painfully aware of every place your bodies touch: his hot skin, his muscles shifting as he stretches a little more over you, the sweet scent still lingering on his lips.

Your mind spins as blurry, burning memories resurface: Floyd dragging you away from the chaos of the party, his arm over your shoulders. “The party’s boring, let’s make our own.”

His kisses tasting like peppered chocolate, his teeth biting until you gasped, his laughter vibrating as he pushed you against the wall, taking you farther and farther and farther until your body ended up shoved toward a pool.

You resurfaced, gasping for air; Floyd diving in after you, his greedy, skilled hands catching you underwater, leaving you unable to move. His teeth sinking into your thigh, making you moan and writhe.

Floyd not stopping at one bite, peeling your soaked clothes from your skin with clumsy speed; every exposed patch of skin marked: inner thighs, collarbone, lower back, the curves of your ass. “You like it when I bite you, huh? Look at how your body trembles”

You remember his fingers finding your clit easily, his legs spreading yours, keeping you open for him. His lips, teeth, and tongue playing with your neck, sometimes kissing your pulse, other times biting until you whimpered.

The water and reflected light leaving your breasts on display, capturing your nipples in his mouth while he slid two fingers inside your cunt; just as you were about to cum, he stopped you with a hand at your throat while his fingers kept thrusting hard and fast. “Not yet, Shrimpy. I want to see you cry for it”

Floyd’s hips slamming into you the second he penetrated you, not letting you adjust properly. Sometimes he thrust so hard water splashed everywhere, other times he’d stop abruptly just to watch you, toying with your bruised nipples until you begged. “Floyd! Please… k-keep going!”

“Ask me better, Shrimpy, or I’ll twist your nipples until you cum from overstimulation,” resuming his movements painfully slow until tears ran down your face, mixing with the pool water; your pleas growing louder, shouting dirtier obscenities without shame.

“Please, please! Floyd!! Faster, I need you to move your cock faster! Deeper—play with my nipples if you want, but MOVE!” your hips grinding with his, trying to rub your clit against him; his hands gripping your hips hard and moving you with incredible strength.

The orgasm hitting like a blow, trembling from sheer excess; him not stopping, riding the wave with you, spreading your legs wider and thrusting deeper, his fingers playing with your clit before slipping two—maybe three—inside your wet cunt.

At some point in the night, ending up in his room, droplets of water trailing down your body while Floyd made you sit on him, lifting your hips easily, squeezing your thighs, your ass, smacking it; making you bounce on his cock at his rhythm, occasionally changing speed, laughing if you cried or moaned too loudly. “Does it hurt or do you like it, my little Shrimpy? I won’t spill inside until I break you.”

Back in the present, his smile sharpens even more—if that’s possible—while he studies your face from above. “You look dizzy, little Shrimpy.”

You squirm, half terrified, half something entirely different while his knee remains between your legs. You try to slide away across the floor, but Floyd won’t have it; he pins your hands on either side of your head, sliding his knee higher until it rests against your wet lips.

“You’re very tasty, hehe~ So messy, so mine… maybe we should stay like this all day.”

Your heart pounds, adrenaline buzzing, but your body shudders at his words, your wetness dampening his leg.

“Floyd…”

“Aww, don’t get shy now. Let me hear you beg again…”

Vil

You wake wrapped in a cocoon of silk, the light filtering in soft and golden through elegant curtains that definitely do not belong to your dorm room. There’s a sweet scent, like wild violets and expensive perfume… very expensive. Everything feels like a dream—the sheets perfectly folded, the sunlight gleaming over the wood, the sound of someone humming in the distance, a steady, low melody that is both comforting and majestic.

And the moment you move, that perfection collapses, because your entire body aches in the most deliciously possible… and mortifying way.

You shift a little more, settling into those noticeably expensive and sinfully soft sheets, and notice warm skin against other warm skin… yours; fingers tracing your hip and sliding up along your sides, the sensation relaxing yet faintly ticklish.

You open one eye and Vil gives you the softest smile you’ve ever seen him offer anyone. Radiant even in the morning, his hair spread across the pillow like a golden cloud, every perfect inch of him serene beneath the pleasant (and detestable to the eyes) sunlight.

Your heart nearly stops… how did a mere mortal like you achieve this? How did you end up in Vil Schoenheit’s bed?

“Good morning, Liebling.” Can someone’s voice truly sound velvety at this hour? Apparently his can. “Did you sleep well?”

You try to speak, but all that escapes your dry, over-kissed lips is an embarrassed sound. His, meanwhile, remain immaculate, curving further into a private smile just for you. He sits up and the sheets fall enough to gift you the sight of the delicate lines of his chest and shoulders.

Even after a wild party, he looks almost untouched, glowing under the soft light. You, on the other hand, feel disheveled, painfully aware of your state: smeared makeup, tangled hair, and a bewildered expression.

Vil brushes a strand from your face. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, darling. In fact…” He leans closer, stroking your cheek with his fingertips. “You’re dazzling like this… honest, real.”

Your cheeks burn as fragments of the previous night spiral back: his long, slender hands guiding you away from the chaos into a secluded room, the world fading as he tucked a rebellious strand behind your ear. “May I?” His kiss, light at first like the touch of a feather, then deepening until you melted in his arms.

You remember his skilled hands exploring every part of you, undoing button after button, exposing you freely before him. His fingers making you feel beautiful and desired, even as you stammered and trembled beneath their heat. His lips mapping every inch of revealed skin, describing what he found beautiful in each place.

The intensity of his focus, his eyes locked on yours while he drew every sound from your lips, making you feel like the center of his universe; his tongue on your neck, descending to your chest, tracing you with slow, controlled movements, his hand on your throat to keep you still as he circled a nipple with his tongue and captured it between his lips.

“Don’t move… I want to see you perfect, even undone,” his authoritative voice in a soft whisper as he moved lower and lower, across your stomach and abdomen until reaching your obscenely wet cunt, giving it a lick that left his mouth slick and stained.

The way he held your hips while thrusting into you from behind, in front of his massive mirror. You felt his cock sliding into you again and again and again, his hips striking your ass, admiring how it bounced against him. One hand pinning both of yours behind your back, the other gripping your hair, pulling your head back so you could see yourself in the reflection.

Your moans filling the room as he began to fuck you harder, your body pressed tighter to the mirror, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, barely holding yourself upright, tears filling your eyes as you met his gaze in the glass.

The ease with which he turned you, lifting one leg over his hip, pressing your ass against the mirror—surely leaving a sweat mark—and pushing harder and deeper. “You are a beautiful mess.”

The way he denied you over and over, promising that when he finally allowed you at the end of the night it would be the strongest, most powerful thing you’d ever feel. And it was; one final burst and the orgasm exploded between you, making you tremble from head to toe for several seconds while you felt him finish inside your tight walls, drawing even more spasms from you.

You remember how Vil cleaned you with care, combing your hair with his fingers. “You are the most beautiful of all sins.”

Intense doesn’t even come close to describing the blush that so beautifully paints not only your cheeks but your entire body.

“Are you regretting it?” The softness of the question strikes your heart like an arrow, squeezing so tightly it almost hurts.

“No! No, no… not at all.”

Ahhhh, how could anyone regret sharing sheets with Vil?

“It’s just that… how? Why?” You don’t finish the sentence, but the questions linger: how did you manage this? Why you among so many other marvels?

Vil lifts your chin with his finger and makes you look at him, no trace of harshness in his expression, only tenderness. “Is it so hard to believe that I desired you as well?”

Direct and sincere.

Vil leans in and kisses your lips slowly and sensually, then your cheeks and your bare shoulders. He draws you closer, his hand resting on your lower back, his perfume flooding your senses once more.

Wild violets, mixed with chocolate, sweat, and sex. “I want you like this, without filters.”

Vil rises to put on his splendid silk robe, intent on bringing something fresh for you both to eat and something for your headache, leaving you alone for a moment tangled in his sheets and his bed…

Was the bed always this big?

Rook

You open your eyes slowly, breathing in the sweet scent of wildflowers and fresh grass, the room dimly lit enough that you can open your eyes a bit more without your head hurting too much.

The sheets cover you like a soft mantle, brushing against sore muscles you didn’t even know could ache. Out of the corner of your eye you notice a patch of blond hair very close.

…That same patch is staring at you.

Intently.

Rook is lying beside you, propped on his elbows, eyes shining in the faint morning light, wearing a wide smile that is as beautiful as it is slightly unsettling. One hand rests on your abdomen, his thumb tracing distracted circles over marked skin.

Naked skin, to be clear.

You look where he’s touching you, look at his bare arm, and follow upward… higher and higher…

Rook is naked too.

“Bonjour, mon trésor…” His voice this early still sounds just as melodic and bright… though a little reverent and husky.

“What a spectacle, the dawn upon your bare skin. Ah, what art we created, what music your cries composed.”

“My… my cries?”

“Oui! A splendid ballad after such a feverish hunt.”

You jolt, and the ache between your legs makes your memory return in flashes: walking through Heartslabyul’s rose maze when you felt a presence behind you, tall, dense, and very, very hungry; Rook’s breath against your neck, his hands barely brushing your throat and waist. A hunter about to chase his prey.

“Mon petite proie, let me hunt you properly” The game of hunter and mouse through the immaculate rose bushes, past mirrors and through the exquisite halls of Pomefiore, until Rook caught you, pinning you against the wall and devouring your mouth.

His lips on your neck, his hands on your hips, unbuttoning your shirt, your pants, leaving a trail of clothing on the floor until reaching his room. How those clothes reached his bedroom floor unseen by other students? You couldn’t care less, not when his fingers slipped inside your cunt to curl and strike your sensitive spot.

His tongue licking and moving in small circles over your clit, fingers curving, sliding out and back in, in a delicious rhythm. Your own hand in his golden hair, pulling him closer. “Keep going… yes, yes, like that, don’t stop” Rook moaned hearing you so needy for him.

His expert fingers never leaving your pussy, carrying you to pleasure again and again and again. Maybe he made you cum three times, or was it five? Maybe he drew micro-orgasms from you with only his fingers and tongue.

You remember being arranged on your side, one leg lifted and draped over his shoulder, him savoring the feel of your thigh, your abdomen, your belly. Rook sliding slowly, the tip of his cock opening you inch by inch, your spongy walls already soaked yet tightening deliciously around him.

“Mon trésor, you are the perfect image of desire… let me admire your beauty as I make you mine,” the beginning of a slow, unhurried rhythm, admiring how your body moved with each thrust of his hips; your hand over his where he held your leg, your breasts moving freely, your eyes meeting his as the frenzy gradually intensified.

The way Rook moaned as much as, or more than you, describing how beautiful and “alive” you looked while sinking inside you, his thumb pressing against your clit so your walls would tighten more around him.

Your back against his chest when he made you kneel before him, one hand on your hip, the other moving your hair aside to kiss your spine before penetrating you from behind again. Your ass moving with each thrust, deliciously round and perfect for his hands. “Let me hear my muse scream”

The strong orgasm around his cock, held firmly, Rook deep inside you, restraining himself from finishing at that very moment; he wanted to enjoy you more, if possible, for the rest of the night; moving again once your wave ended, harder and deeper, using your breasts as leverage.

The heat of his semen when he spilled inside you, biting your neck and shoulders. “I want to adore you more, ma chérie, until I lose myself completely in your body”

A second, third, even a fourth round, all ending the same way: with Rook deep inside you, his seed spilled within and sliding down beneath your legs to the sheets.

The lascivious memories still swirl in your mind as you glance down at your body; a map of devotion, dotted with small bruises (surely from his fingers gripping you tightly while thrusting), bite marks, and the occasional hickey.

And also a lipstick mark on your thigh and hip.

Oh. Shit.

“Rook… did we… actually fuck?”

“Oui, ma chérie.” His laugh purrs beside your ear.

You try to cover yourself with the sheets, but Rook is already kissing your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone again. Slowly he finds your fingers, intertwining them with his.

“Never have I contemplated a beauty so sublime, so wild beneath me, crying out my name with every climax”

His breath brushes your skin and you shiver, a strange mix of vertigo and desire coiling in your abdomen. Rook pulls you even closer, his thigh sliding between yours. His kisses are more reverent, almost devout.

“I wish to hunt you again, every night, mon trésor,” he promises, fierce and determined, before pressing his lips to yours.

Malleus

The air is dense, the scent of rain and something sweetly electric wrapping around you. The headache feels like a minor nuisance at the back of your skull, as if the world itself were lulling you to calm down and keep resting. Immersed in that blessing, you let yourself float, feeling the aftershocks still running through your bones, the lazy ache in your thighs.

You shift between impossibly fine sheets… very elegant to the touch… cool and soft…

Okay, you’re not in your dorm

You open one eye, then the other. Dark, baroque furniture greets you. Definitely… this is not your bed.

You look down to where you feel a heavy weight, inhumanly heavy, resting over your abdomen. Long fingers, nails slightly elongated and black, belonging to Malleus’ arm and shoulder behind you.

His hair is messy and wild over that same bare shoulder, barely pushed back to reveal the scales on his forehead. Your gaze trails lower; his chest is bare, and the sheets cover just enough over both hips. Carefully, you lift them slightly and steal a furtive glance beneath, heart racing.

Ditto, you’re naked and so is he…

You blink.

That… can’t be.

You lower the sheets for a moment, close and open your eyes a few times. You lift them again and that, or rather those, are still there.

Between Malleus’ thighs, framed by the sculpted, pale lines of his hips, rest two semi-thick, awakened cocks against his abdomen. You stare at them, unable to process.

Holy shit. He has two…

HE HAS TWO AND THEY’RE HUGE!

Is this another dragon fae trait?

A nervous little sound slips from you, barely a small whimper, honestly a bit embarrassing, and Malleus’ eyes open slightly, narrowing, a nearly mischievous smile curving his lips. “Is something the matter, my treasure?”

My treasure…

The mental fog clears and the images of last night strike you like lightning: Malleus whispering things in your ear in the middle of the crowd that had nothing to do with the party, words you didn’t even know he knew, sweet and scandalously explicit. His large, calloused hand over yours as he guided you through the halls of Diasomnia to his own room.

Both hands roaming over your body, his claws tracing lines along your hips and waist. His figure over yours made you feel so much smaller, so tiny that when he placed a leg between yours he lifted you from the floor effortlessly. His palms on your hips as he rocked you over his thigh, your covered cunt already beginning to soak.

The way he prepared you with his fingers, long and cool, sinking deep, moving in and out, curling to find your most sensitive spot and stimulate it quickly and firmly. Your legs spread, one of his hands holding one up so you couldn’t close them while he ran his tongue over your clit.

That same forked tongue sliding along your wet folds, curling as if it had a life of its own, much longer than any human’s. The combination of his wet length and fingers made you cum with his face buried between your legs, your hand gripping his hair to make him suck harder.

And still he continued; opening you more and more, one orgasm after another after another until you could no longer feel your legs.

You remember the first time you touched one of his cocks: so large, fully awake, thick and ready to enter your small cunt. You couldn’t even close your hand around it, stroking and pumping with difficulty. His groan when you tried to go faster, using both hands, the second cock free and resting against your thigh.

“So small and yet willing to take me whole, even while trembling” his words filled with adoration but tinged with filth. His large hands spreading your legs and the tip of one cock brushing your pussy.

The way he folded you in half, placing your legs over his shoulders and impaling you deep, inch by inch. You were so, so full you could barely breathe, his chest so close to yours. “I want you to see… I want you to see how deeply you take me”

His movements confident and sensual at first, slicking his cock with each thrust, your cunt spasming as you felt the ridges rubbing against your spongy walls.

The second pushing in slower, making you scream in pleasure, completely open, dripping and barely able to move or form words. “T’ much… Fuck! That’s too much, Malleus!”

“Like this, my treasure, let me fill you,” Malleus thrusting deep, both cocks striking everywhere, the exquisite pressure and stretch sending shocks through your abdomen. You could only moan and cry his name over and over.

Malleus pressing you into the mattress to take him even deeper, placing you in a mating press that made the angle deliciously intense. His tips kissing your cervix, you could swear you felt them push past when he delivered a devastating thrust that made you cum instantly.

The sensation of overwhelming heat and overflow when he spilled his seed inside you, both cocks pouring semen in uncontrolled, inhuman amounts, sliding from your pussy and pooling on the bed.

Being fucked not only in bed but lifted against the wall, your legs barely wrapped around him as he held you effortlessly, slamming you harder into the cold stone with each thrust. Your breasts pressed against his chest, hands gripping his shoulders, gaze unfocused.

“No one will fill you like I do, my treasure,” he whispered in your ear, finishing for who knows what time. “I won’t stop until you’re completely full.”

Where the hell did he learn all that?

You blame Lilia. Yes, definitely him.

Slowly, very slowly, you sit up, lascivious thoughts still circling in your mind, unable to process. You pull the sheet up to your chest.

Malleus extends a hand and strokes your back, a shiver running down your spine. “Did you sleep well?” You can only nod, your cheeks ready to ignite.

I don’t know how I’m going to sleep again after this.

“My little one, you seem somewhat… distracted. Do you feel unwell?”

Damn it, this man is going to make me explode!!

“Malleus… you…” how do you even say this? “You… you have… two.” You even lift two fingers for emphasis...

THIS MAN HAS TWO HUGE COCKS THAT REARRANGED YOUR INSIDES.

“Ah, so that is what occupies your mind.” He strokes your cheek with his thumb. He shifts, letting the sheet fall from his hips, fully revealing his magnificence; impossible not to look.

“I hope I did not cause you harm, though I could feel you enjoyed it all night. And again, just before dawn.”

He leans down and brushes your mouth, soft at first, then deeper, more demanding; his tongue teasing, tasting, swallowing a moan before it escapes.

“Are you in need of anything? Water, a bath, tea to ease your soreness?”

You cling to him, still clutching the sheet to your chest, the scent of his body intoxicatingly close. “I need… a minute… maybe two.”

He releases a playful chuckle. “Take all the time you need, my treasure. I am very patient. And very, very eager.”

He wraps you in his arms, pulling you against his chest; for now you simply breathe, letting him hold you… until you feel his lengths pressing against your stomach.

Lilia

The hammering of your heart against your chest is what wakes you. Your body aches with a dull sensation in every muscle, your head feels ready to explode, and there’s a vague sense of having survived a natural disaster… or perhaps having caused one. Your skin tingles, sensitive and overstimulated, as if you’d been struck by lightning and put back together...more than once.

The sheets smell of night-blooming flowers and something sweet and smoky that makes you dizzy, too luxurious and heavy yet somehow light at the same time. You try to move, but a warm, inhumanly strong weight holds you with predatory ease.

Something brushes your leg—skin, warm and sensitive.

A foot? A leg?

You feel a hand, nails, grazing your inner thigh; it tickles until you sense where it’s headed, up, up and up, almost reaching your pulsing, expectant center.

Your eyes snap open, the world still blurry, the faint light slipping through the curtains making you squeeze them shut again as you inhale sharply against the pain.

“Oh, you’re awake already~ Good morning, darling.”

When you open them again, Lilia’s crimson eyes gleam in the dimness, a wide and dangerously playful smile on his face.

You jolt upright halfway...on a bed that isn’t yours, in a room that isn’t yours, and in nonexistent clothing.

Wrong pillow, wrong bed, dark decor, naked…

NAKED!

You look down, your body scandalously covered in marks: hickeys, finger bruises, scratches…

Is that a bite on your thigh?

Another one almost beside your pussy?

Lilia shifts, just as naked as you, resting on his side with his chin in his hand, eyes sparkling with amusement; as if the night hadn’t left him tired or hungover in the way mortals usually are.

He looks… energized.

“What… did we do last night?” your voice comes out hoarse, mouth stiff.

“I think the correct question is what didn’t we do last night, little one.”

…what?

“You don’t remember?” His hand is only an inch away from your wet folds and his body barely brushing yours.

Memories arrive in bursts: Lilia hovering over you, playing with your hair before descending to grab your hand and pull you away from the party, his laughter making your whole body vibrate. The heat of his mouth on your neck, his fangs grazing your pulse and a small bite on your collarbone.

His hands everywhere: soft and careful yet wild and playful, always one step ahead, drawing small moans and sighs from you each time his fingertips traced your bare skin.

The vertigo of being lifted as if you weighed nothing and tossed onto the bed. His laugh at your little yelp when you were airborne for a second before he captured your lips again in a passionate, hard, deep kiss; his tongue playing with yours while his hands roamed your sides.

The glint in his eyes when he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand while the other stimulated your clit, slow circular motions as he watched your face reflect pleasure and hunger for more. His laugh against your neck when he slid a finger between your wet pussy. “You’re so soaked and I barely touched you.”

A muffled gasp when he pushed in a second finger, then a third, his thumb following to claim your clit, sometimes pressing, other times moving fast and cruel or slow and careless. Your legs trembling, wanting to cum, but Lilia not letting you until your fluids stained the sheet and left your thighs slick and sticky.

His cock, hard from watching you writhe and hearing your sweet moans, sliding between your breasts, his hands squeezing them firmly so he could glide and feel their softness envelop him; the tip brushing your lips. “Come on, little one, open for me.” Lilia gripping your head to tilt you forward so your lips barely kissed and sucked him.

You remember the heat of his semen when it shot onto your face, other streams into your open mouth, landing on your tongue; droplets splattered over your breasts, Lilia spreading them with his hands, coating your skin before pushing his fingers back into your already oversensitive cunt.

You remember how he gripped both your thighs, placing them over his hips to thrust into you again and again and again, his cock reaching deeper than you thought possible, your spongy walls tightening around him. His hand between your legs to keep stimulating you until you cum around him.

The force with which he flipped you over, belly down, lifting your ass and penetrating you again, your face pressed into the pillow; Lilia going so deep and fast it felt like he was stealing the air from your lungs.

The moment he spilled inside you, but it wasn’t enough. Lilia kept fucking you, your walls making obscene sounds, both your fluids running down your open legs. He didn’t take you once or twice or three times—he took you on every surface that could hold you: the bed, the desk, against the window, on the floor.

“So small… and yet you take me so well. Want more, sweetness? Want me to fill you so completely you’ll feel me for days?” His words grew dirtier with each new round. Your cunt no longer just wet and oversensitive but red and raw from overuse, every touch making you scream, tears in your eyes as you experienced what must have been the tenth orgasm of the night.

The end: your body exhausted, trembling, covered in marks, tongue sore, legs spread and your pussy burning from delicious abuse. Lilia licking your tears and sweat with fierce tenderness. “You’d better rest, little one, because you’ve become my favorite dessert… and I very much intend to have seconds.”

Holy hell

It’s like you ascended and saw God in person.

You pull the sheets to your chin, completely red from head to toe. Lilia’s smile widens, fangs fully on display. “Embarrassed now, my little one? After everything last night… how adorable~”

This old man really knows how to move.

“You were insatiable. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that much fun.” He moves closer, his fingers playing with your wet lips.

“Did you… actually… fuck me like that?”

A sincere laugh escapes him and he kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth; when his fangs brush your neck again, an electric tremor runs down your spine.

What better moment to slide his fingers back inside you, hm?

“Don’t pout, darling, I’m not done savoring you yet~”

It goes without saying that, for Lilia, the morning sun simply means round… two?

Unbirthday parties at NRC always follow the rules—the oh-so-“questionable” rules of Heartslabyul—but for some reason, whether it’s the music or the sheer number of another dorms guests, the tension released after finals, or maybe just the chaos of other dorms sharing food, sweets, and drinks right in Riddle’s territory, this party doesn’t even feel… unusual anymore.

Maybe it’s also the fact that Ace is way too quiet in the corner, hunched over himself, trying (and failing) to hide a rather large vial in his hand. You know that when Ace has that mischievous smile and not a shred of remorse in sight, nothing good can come out of the redhead; and this occasion won’t be an exception. Especially not after you saw him pour that very vial into the punch bowl.

“Trappola tradition,” you hear him say. It seems his older brother has passed down the baton for the worst prank.

Whatever Ace poured in there, the air gets sweeter, tinged with a rainbow of colors, with that feeling you get when you finally come of age and know exactly what you want and desire, and that hint of something not entirely legal for a school campus.

Someone, probably Floyd, starts chanting, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” and Epel’s already on his second drink, trying to prove he can handle alcohol better than anyone. Grim, meanwhile, is busy fishing out slices of floating fruit, muttering about the injustice of being banned from the dessert table.

Riddle tries to keep his composure, doing his best not to think about the countless rules being broken in his own lounge, but the blush on his cheeks and the way he wobbles from side to side give him away—he’s not immune to the spirit of the party… and maybe he’s already had a taste of the punch.

You try to take it easy, but it’s hard when everyone keeps handing you drinks, plates of fruit, little candies with mysterious fillings. The world feels slow and slippery, like honey running through your veins, and suddenly you’re part of a tightly packed crowd in the lounge, shoulders pressed together, glasses raised, clinking them to the beat of a song nobody quite remembers the words to.

You catch Ruggie stuffing three types of chocolate into his pockets—not before slipping a couple into your hands, though. “Eat up! Or you’ll regret it tomorrow.” Kalim drags you onto the dance floor, his laughter easy, his hands never still, bracelets jingling as he spins you through the crowd.

The drinks get sweeter, the candies and fruits stronger. You lose track of how much you’ve had after the third glass. Laughter floats in the air, yours mixing with theirs.

You remember Vil’s perfume enveloping you as his knuckles brush along your cheek, making you shiver. “Having fun, darling?”

You just nod before walking to the other side of the room to separate Ace and Deuce—apparently both are on the verge of causing nuclear disaster in the middle of the lounge over who can fit more marshmallows in their mouth. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Leona sprawling even lazier than usual across the sofa, and Malleus… well, laughing and making the air tremble a little.

Everything that came after you remember in lazy waves: laughter blooming warm in your chest, the tickle of someone’s breath on your ear; someone tucking a wildflower behind your ear—was it a white or red rose? It doesn’t matter, 'cause seconds later someone else snatches it away with their teeth and a grin that’s barely even trying to be subtle.

The music pounds in your ears until, at some point, everything settles and you’re wrapped in silence. You remember flashes in that quiet: lips tasting of chocolate pressed to yours, teeth biting your throat, hands brushing your skin under your clothes, laughter melting into moans.

Your hands are everywhere, entwined with someone else’s, tangled in soft strands of hair, clutching a shirt as you fumble with the buttons, at a belt, at the bedsheets, everything is heat, color, and taste. The world tilts and spins and you let go, trusting in the madness of it all, in the hands gripping your waist, in the mouth claiming you, in that lovely sensation of being wanted, claimed, and utterly ruined all at once and in every possible way.

When you finally wake up, the light is all wrong and comes in without asking permission, your thighs feel heavy and there’s that pleasant tingle between them, something itches at your neck, and you’ve got hair in your face.

Your head hurts—no, scratch that, your head is pounding and trying to open your eyes is a very bad idea right now. You take a deep breath and the pain’s still there, hammering away, demanding you face the day.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Trey

When you slowly turn your head, you find Trey sleeping on his stomach, one lazy arm under the pillow, hair a mess but annoyingly attractive. You assume his glasses are on his nightstand, the sheets dangerously low over his hips.

His hips… bare.

His chest is bare too.

You look down at your own body and—bingo—you’re naked too.

And these aren’t your sheets, this isn’t your pillow, and obviously, this isn’t your dorm bed.

Holy… fuck.

You try to remember, even with the pounding headache, half mortified, half… half what, exactly? Surprised? Embarrassed? Or just utterly satisfied to have such a god lying next to you?

Flashes hit you without warning: the warmth of Trey’s hand guiding you away from the crowd, his soft laughter by your ear, both of you laughing at some joke only the two of you found funny, stumbling together until you crashed into bed.

The taste of icing and the sweetness of strawberries on Trey’s lips when he kissed you fiercely; did he feed you with his fingers, or did you steal the flavor right from his mouth?

His hands roaming every inch of you, his palms warm; his tongue scandalous, licking you slow and deep, teasing your clit, sliding between your wet folds, holding your hips so you couldn’t escape.

Him straightening up, wiping his mouth with his thumb, looking you right in the eyes.

You felt the tip of his cock pressing against your wet pussy, sliding in slowly, panting against your lips, deep strokes, but completely sensual.

“You like how I fill you up, right? You’re so wet, so beautiful,” he’d murmured against your ear, holding one of your legs up over his shoulder to push even deeper.

The way he held both your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half, thrusting over and over, deep, hitting your sweet spot, probably making you scream.

Trey’s name on your lips when he made you cum, slipping two fingers inside you to stretch you even more while his cock was still buried deep.

The moment he held you after it was all over, the fingers of one hand tangled in your hair and the other lazily drawing circles on your back.

Trey shifts, stretching and opening one eye, still half-asleep. He gives you a small, crooked smile when he sees you—serene… and breath taking.

“Good morning.”

Goddamn, even his voice is too sexy...add that rough, low tone and you’re already wet again.

“Did you sleep well? Headache?”

Is it that obvious?

“Uh… yeah, yeah, a little.”

Trey sits up and the sheets slide dangerously lower, lower, on his hips. You try not to look… but fail.

Obviously you fail, who are we kidding? The view of this man’s torso alone is enough to make you start drooling. Those strong arms from all that kneading, the abs, the broad shoulders, and…

Marks?

He has marks on his neck?

Some are obviously hickeys… others look like the start of scratches that trail down his back.

You bite your lip, desperate to look at his back, to see the scratches you obviously left, and see how strong his muscles are there.

“Did we…?” It’s a dumb question—you obviously had sex—but you need to hear it from him.

“Yup… several times, actually.”

The heat that rushes to your cheeks is uncontrollable, almost the same shade of red as his bed curtains.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“Are you regretting it?”

Please, this man can’t be any sweeter or he’d cause diabetes.

Trey kisses your temple when he realizes there’s not even a hint of regret, or fear, or doubt.

Then, he gets up and starts looking for something to wear before going to get breakfast.

OH MY GOD THAT BODY!!!

And the scratch marks from your nails down his back, and his ass… and his cock, half-hard.

Trey notices you’re basically devouring him with your eyes… “Do you want breakfast, or do you want me to jog your memory with another round?”

He winks at you before pulling on his glasses, boxers and uniform pants and leaving the room to get you something to eat and something for your hangover.

Ah… you could die peacefully in that bed.

Leona

It’s the heat that you notice first—something heavy and solid pressing against you from behind, half-sprawled over your side, as if you were a possession. His possession

Your nose fills with a musky, warm, spiced scent, with hints of something… wild. It’s accompanied by the soft, steady sound of breathing.

You try to open your eyes, but the light only makes things worse, so you’re forced to rely on your other instincts and sensations.

You feel something wrapping around your leg, something soft, moving, tickling you lightly with part of its fur.

Wait… fur?

Is he holding you with a tail?

A TAIL?!

You force one eye open and the first thing you see, in all its glorious splendor, is Leona’s bare chest pressed against your back, one arm wrapped around your stomach.

You follow the line of that arm and realize you’re naked too…

You lift the sheets. Yep. Very naked.

Your skin tingles and your hips ache, your thighs feel like jelly, clear evidence that the bed wasn’t used just for sleeping.

You try to move, but Leona’s arm is like an iron bar, stopping you from even sitting up, his fingers tightening possessively on your hip. A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his tail slide upward, his ears twitch.

“Going somewhere, little mouse?” His voice is deep and rough right by your ear.

You turn your head and meet the lion’s wide green eyes, far too awake for this early in the morning. He gives you a half-smile, one fang showing, dangerously smug and a little arrogant… well, very arrogant.

That look is unmistakably that of a predator about to pounce on its prey.

You pull the sheets up to cover yourself a bit more, as if there were any way to hide a nakedness that had clearly already been explored hours ago for… quite a while.

“What happened last night?” Your mind is racing and your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest.

Leona growls softly, though he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest that you’re covering your “modesty.”

“After how loud you were all night, I figured you’d remember at least something.”

Your face goes nuclear red. You clutch the sheet tighter, but it’s useless. You’re in his bed, in his territory.

“Did we… sleep together?”

“Sleep?” You hear a low, amused scoff from his chest. “Oh, we did more than sleep… want me to remind you?”

He doesn’t need to. Your body does it for him.

Not only do you feel the dampness between your thighs, but there are bite marks along them, already starting to bruise, traitors that reveal just how intimate last night was.

You can feel a few on your neck and collarbone too; they don’t hurt, but you know they’re going to be bright red well into the morning.

Your own memories begin to surface: your hands in his hair as you both devoured each other’s mouths in the hallway, his low, rough voice murmuring when he finally pulled back, “Do you want me to take you to my bed, or do you want me to wreck you right here in the hallway?”

His lips moving from your shoulder down to your breasts, massaging one with his large palm while he trapped your nipple between his lips, licking it and making you arch your back.

“Say my name, again. Do it again” every time you moaned with each thrust. Your face buried in the pillow while he took you from behind, relentless and unhurried, panting heavily over you.

His hands roaming your entire body, strong, confident, taking what he wanted without asking; his teeth grazing your neck. Was it just one bite he left, or several?

His name on your lips every time he made you cum, even when he was nowhere near finishing himself. Pride mixing with hunger as he felt you clench those soft walls around his cock.

The boldness in your voice when you begged for more and more. “Please, harder… harder, Leona” How could he possibly say no?

You remember being on top of him, legs spread wide as you rode him desperately, thighs shaking; him leaning back, hands behind his head, enjoying his private show.

His strong hands on your ass, “helping” you move faster, impaling you with every thrust.

Leona coming inside you, holding you tight against him. “That’s it, little mouse, fill yourself up with me”

“You were wild—I barely managed to get your clothes off,” Leona pulls you out of your thoughts as he props himself up on one arm without a hint of shame, his body fully on display.

“Not that I’m complaining. You were pretty insistent when you rode me and asked for a second round. And a third.”

You let out a small squeak and cover your face with both hands. “Please, stop.”

Leona straightens and takes your hands in his, pinning them above your head against the pillow; he flips you onto your back with ridiculous ease, looming over you with a feral grin. You’re caged, completely at his mercy.

And gods, his body lit by the morning sunlight is far too delicious.

“You look incredibly tempting.” His gaze roams over your face and body, barely covered by the sheets.

He gives your shoulder a small bite and laughs when you let out a little yelp. “Want another round? Or breakfast so you don’t pass out on top of me?”

You glare at him, cheeks burning; you want to strangle him. Or kiss him. Possibly both.

“Breakfast… then we’ll see.”

He pecks your lips softly. “Good girl.” And then he gets out of bed without the slightest bit of modesty, tail swaying, letting you admire the scratch marks trailing down his back.

Jade

Why does the silence feel like you’ve been swallowed by the sea?

And why does it smell like seawater? And sea salt?

The room is so dim that the few rays of light filtering through the curtains make strange patterns on the bed.

And it’s a kind of dimness you haven’t seen in Ramshackle for a long time… which means, this is not your room.

Everything hurts; your throat is raw, your lips are swollen, your body heavy, like something squeezed you until there was nothing left.

You try to move but there’s a hand on your belly, a thumb lazily drawing small circles on your bare skin.

Bare skin…

BARE SKIN?!?!

You sit up—and it’s a very bad idea. The hangover slams into your head and you bring your hand up to your temple.

“Ah… looks like you’ve got a hangover, and considering how eager you were last night…”

You turn your head to find Jade’s smile—small and polite, but absolutely terrifying.

“Does my pearl need something to make her morning… more productive?”

“Jade…” your voice comes out hoarse and rough, and you cough, trying to clear the discomfort.

“Ah, I warned you I might wear you out. Seems I was right, hm?”

The memories hit you so hard they make your headache worse:

Jade pulling you away from the party, an astute glint in his eyes and his voice serene yet venomous, coaxing you into the comfort of his room—his bed.

His hands stripping away every piece of clothing until you stood naked before him, his fingers mapping your sensitive skin, anticipating every tremor, seeking out what made you sigh, moan, or arch.

Your boldness as you made him sit and you knelt in front of him, your lips around his cock, trying to take him deeper and deeper. His praises made your pussy wet and made you want to do better, his hands in your hair guiding you, helping you choke on him.

Your eyes brimming with tears when you looked up and saw him smiling, pleased, fingers caressing your cheek before plunging you into a fast, unkind rhythm, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

Your own mouth screaming in pleasure as he took you from behind, you on all fours on the bed, ass up, completely at the mercy of his hands and hips.

“Come on, little pearl, cum for me” the authority in his voice, impossible to resist, every word a praise tangled with a command.

Your climax hitting so hard it left you sprawled on the bed; Jade grabbing your head so you couldn’t move, your screams muffled by the pillow as he found a better angle to fuck you, making you cum again.

The taste of his cum when he made you take him back into your mouth and spill inside.

You swallow, trying to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky, ruined, “holy shit”

He runs his thumb over your hip bone, where the bruise from his grip is already fading… only to grab you there again, just as hard as you barely remember.

“Overwhelmed, maybe? Though I must say… you were so hungry for me you nearly made me mistake you for a predator.”

Jade sits up and the sheets slide even lower on his hips. He’s so tall it feels like he could cover you completely. He admires the bites and marks he left all over your chest, shoulders, and neck.

You’re his own personal canvas, and the fact that there are still places left unmarked… it’s intoxicating to him.

He pushes you back, slipping between your legs again, hands running along your sides before gripping your thighs and positioning them around his hips.

“Dare to tell me you regret it, little one.” When you shake your head, terrified but just as aroused, he adjusts your legs around his hips, letting you feel how half-hard and hungry for you he still is.

“Excellent,” he kisses the tip of your nose before rolling his hips, brushing against your clit. “So, do you want another round or some tea for that poor throat?”

You shiver, completely lost to his movements and the pleasure slowly building inside you.

“I won’t let you surface just yet, my pearl”

Jamil

For a few blissful seconds you think you’re safe in your own bed, within the walls of Ramshackle… until the scent of countless spices fills the air. Clove, cinnamon, something deep and intoxicating, spicy.

Yeah… you’re not in Ramshackle.

Is it wise to open your eyes with the sunlight filtering in through the window? Unfortunately, you’ll have to.

Eyes open and a hammering headache, you recognize the décor: elegant, gold details, Arabic architecture… Looks like you ended up in Scarabia.

Okay, one problem solved; now… who’s breathing against your neck, slow and steady?

You turn just enough to see the mess of dark tousled hair belonging to Jamil, splayed across the sheets and pillow. He’s on his stomach, facing you, eyes closed but with a small smile on his lips; his arm stretched out across your hips, giving you slow, gentle caresses.

You blink—once, twice, three times.

One more, just to give your brain a chance to process that his torso is bare and the sheets are dangerously low.

You freeze, memories hitting you in dizzying flashes through your hangover: his eyes shining in the half-light, pinning you with his gaze from across the lounge, like he was drawing you to him with nothing but his eyes.

Your body pressed to his while he whispered something in your ear that had nothing to do with the party, but still made your cheeks flush… more than they already were from the punch.

His hands, so careful with everything he handles, guiding you into a different kind of dance—one that didn’t need music or an audience; your laughter mixing with his before finding your lips, his mouth hungry.

The taste of spicy spices, and a hint of mint, with every kiss and stroke of his tongue across your skin, intoxicating and making you shiver.

Jamil kneeling at the edge of the bed, grabbing your feet and pulling you toward the edge so he could run his tongue along your soaked folds and slip it inside. Sucking on your clit until you were shaking.

The cry of his name when he made you cum with his fingers inside, curved and massaging your most sensitive spot.

His voice in your ear, soft but commanding, ordering, “Look at me, habibti” every word coaxing you closer to the edge. Sharp images of your wrists pinned above your head by his hands, of how he made you arch for him, Jamil’s long hair falling over your face as he watched you from above, his pupils blown wide and a bead of sweat trailing down his neck.

Your legs shaking, the pressure of his hand on your throat while he pounded into you again and again, his hips driving hard, his abs rubbing against your belly; his movements calculated, slow when you were desperate, brutal when you begged.

You let out a whimper, and that’s when Jamil opens his eyes. He blinks, then his gaze sharpens, lazy and sly.

“Morning”

Your mouth is dry, cheeks blazing. “Oh my Sevens… what happened last night?”

Jamil kisses your shoulder, moving up to your collarbone, your neck, up to your jaw before giving you a little bite.

“You don’t remember anything?”

“Fr-fragments.”

You feel his hand sliding down your thigh… and realize you’re also naked under the sheets.

Okay, yep, we fucked… got it.

“You were bold. Even eager.”

His hand slides up, up, reaching the wetness between your legs. Your skin lights up and a jolt runs down your spine.

“I regret not doing this sooner,” is all he says before claiming your lips again, his fingers slipping inside.

You moan into his mouth, biting his lower lip, heart stumbling—but all you care about is melting in Jamil’s arms.

“Let me take care of you, habibti,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll make you forget about your hangover”

And when Jamil pulls you back under the sheets, you’re pretty sure you don’t want to remember anything but this.

Idia

The silence in the room is so intense it feels like you can hear your own breathing and heartbeat.

The first thing you notice is that the bed feels… off—not the pseudo-comfort you remember from your bed in Ramshackle.

Second, your head is about to explode; third, you’re naked and there’s a chill in the air, as if warmth doesn’t exist, making every hair on your body stand on end.

You crack one eye open, grateful that the blue light is diffuse and not too harsh, though it still hurts to look at.

Blue light… you turn your head and see a glowing skull. On the other side, way too many monitors crammed onto a single desk, one of those screens has thirty code windows open.

You bolt upright when you realize you’re not just in Idia’s room… you’re completely naked in Idia’s room.

There’s a groan beside you, the creak of bedsheets, and movement.

You turn around; a chaos of blue hair, pale bare shoulders, and a pair of yellow glowing eyes blinking at you from behind a curtain of messy hair.

Idia stares at you, mouth open, emitting a high-pitched, static-like whine; the ends of his blue hair turning pink, then pure red from embarrassment.

There’s a sound like a computer blue-screening right before Idia lets out a strangled squeak, scrambling backwards to put distance between you...then promptly falls off the bed with a loud crash.

“HOLY SHIT, IDIA!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“N-NO!! I’M NOT OKAY!! Wh-what did we do last night? Ohgodoh godohgodohgod—”

Idia grabs a pillow, but no matter how hard he tries, he’s bigger and taller than it.

He’s about to combust

“I died last night and on my way to the dorm something hit my head and I died again, and got isekai’d to some forbidden erotic world…”

You reach over and pinch his arm hard to bring him back to reality. “Ow!”

“This is real, Idia! We actually had sex!”

Heat rushes up your neck as flashes of last night come back: your hands on his, surprisingly warm, pulling him close to you in the middle of the party. Shy smiles, nervous giggles.

Idia’s inexperienced lips on your neck, his hands awkwardly squeezing your hips until you taught him how to hold you right.

His monotone voice now a whisper, full of need and want, “Are you sure? I-I’ve never—” and yours, suddenly bold, telling him you want him now.

The blue fire of his hair lighting up the darkness of his room and the naked skin of you both; the nervous way he looked at you and touched you, learning with every move of your hands over his on your hips, your breasts.

His eyes going wide as you guided his fingers to your clit and whispered in his ear how wet you were for him; his long, slender fingers working magic between your folds, barely realizing what he was doing.

Idia stammering as he tried to put on the condom backwards and failed—twice—begging you for help between gasps and awkward laughter. “Why is this so complicated? This… never happens in doujins…”

The exact moment he entered you for the first time, his breath hitching, a sharp, surprised moan as he felt himself inside you—slick and completely ready for him to go deeper, harder; to be entirely his.

Him finishing ‘embarrassingly’ fast (according to him). But all it did was make you want another round, and another, and another.

His lips traveling down your neck and, in a moment of sheer daring and lust, squeezing your breasts together to suck and bite your nipples at the same time, making you arch your back to give him more and more.

The way he moaned your name when you rode him for the first time, desperate not to finish too soon again, but absolutely mesmerized by the sight of your body so free and needy for him.

You taking complete control, hands on his chest, grinding your hips to rub your clit against his pelvis and clench your soft walls around his cock.

Idia groans with embarrassment, interrupting your lascivious memories.

“I-it’s not like… I mean, I’m not complaining or anything, it’s just… this is… max difficulty! Like, y-you’re like a goddess… most beautiful OP character… y-yeah and I—”

“And you’re Idia… was it at least good for you?”

His voice turns to static and he locks eyes with you in a rare burst of confidence.

“Good?! It was… it was overlord level. Uh. You were… really… really—”

Another memory hits: Idia clutching the sheets with every roll of your hips, moaning in time with you. His hands grabbing your hips, squeezing your thighs and holding on to you like his life depended on it.

After a while, still avoiding your gaze, Idia returns to the bed, hiding behind the pillow again. It’s almost cute...

No, it’s very cute. And funny.

You take the pillow away and let him curl up beside you again. For now, both of you log out of reality outside his room and let Idia melt under your touch.

Game over for virginity, am I right?

Silver

You wake up with the weight of an arm draped across your waist and the warmth of a body pressed against your back. The bed is way too comfortable, and your body… way too happy, though aching and with a hangover that could flatten you in the sun.

Little memories float to the surface: lights, very loud music, punch spiked with alcohol, a whirlwind of colors… and something silver blurring your vision.

Silver’s hair between your fingers as you kissed, his eyes—clear and bright—locked on yours in the middle of the chaos, giving you a look that told you both to take this moment somewhere else.

The feel of soft, sweet sheets on your bare skin stops your thoughts in their tracks, making you open your eyes and turn your head to the side.

Girl… you’ve got Silver, completely naked, behind you. His strong, well-trained arm pinning you against his chest.

Ahhhh… his chest; bare, rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He’s beautiful in that fairytale way that only storybooks promise.

How can someone, even while asleep, look so utterly tempting?

Why is there a tingling between your legs? And why can’t you feel them? Or rather… why do they feel so wet?

Your heart skips several beats. Holy. Shit.

I slept with Silver. I slept with Silver.

You can’t stop staring at the perfect physique of the man beside you, so muscular, drinking in the view, flashes of the night before returning in blinding white bursts:

Your laughter muffled against his shoulder in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, his voice low but steady whispering sweet things—and something that made your pussy throb, needy and expectant. The warmth of his hand on your waist as he led you to a deserted hallway to devour your mouth right there.

The taste of his lips, sweet and a little shy at first, but no less hungry and full of desire, his tongue sliding into your mouth and both hands gripping your thighs to lift you up and pin you to the wall.

His fingers playing with every button and fold of your clothes, peeling you out of each layer until you were completely exposed for him; the pressure as they slipped inside you and a moan escaped your lips.

His warm, solid body over you, until he sat you on his lap; face to face, your breasts pressed to his chest, your nipples rubbing against his skin as you bounced with each thrust of his hips, his arms holding you tight against him.

Gentle, noble kisses on your cheeks, your shoulders, even your knuckles; kissing you softly, slowly, savoring you and making you feel wanted and loved.

His cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy with ease, not too fast, not too slow, wanting to set a pace that could last all night.

But your moans and pleas for him to go faster—“More, Silver, please, more”—made it a little difficult.

“I’ll give you everything, beautiful, just hold on tight”

And you did; to his shoulders, his arms, even to the sheets themselves when the pace sped up, laying you down on the bed, your legs thrown over his shoulders, the new angle making you cum again and again and again, so easily it was almost ridiculous.

You feel the tingling intensify down low and you shift.

Silver stirs and blinks awake. A few seconds of confusion before he notices your face, your bare shoulders, the way you’re clutching the sheet… adorable.

“Good morning beautiful”

And he says it with the most natural, gentle tone in the world.

“Are you alright?” he squeezes your waist and pulls you a little closer.

Boom, straight to the heart.

For a moment, he hesitates, thinking maybe… maybe, there’s regret in your eyes, maybe even shame.

Finding none, he gives you a soft kiss on the forehead and settles you against his chest; he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You look so beautiful in the morning, I want to wake up like this every day”

A soft kiss on your cheek, then another on your nose, then one more on your neck.

And, to finish, one slow, sweet kiss on your lips—savoring the promise of more in the future.

“If you want me to stop, just tell me.”

Anticipation shivers under your skin.

“Don’t stop”

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Ace … and ... Deuce

You wake up with the worst hangover of your life—moving is a lost cause and opening your eyes isn’t even an option. You feel like you might throw up at any second and then just go back to sleep.

There’s a pounding behind your eyes, the kind that makes you swear you’ll never drink punch again… never drink punch that’s been tampered with by Ace; hell, you’ll never go to another party again.

You roll over and two things hit you: first, you’re naked, like, obscenely naked; second, someone is snoring rudely right in your ear.

A sharp flash stabs through your skull. You remember being squished from all sides while dancing, multiple hands on your waist, and two pairs of lips on your neck.

Turning left, you see Ace waking up. Looks like the hangover is killing him too. He grabs his head as he sits up, elbow propped on the mattress, lets out a heavy sigh and tries to open his eyes—and they lock with yours.

God knows how, but this bastardly redhead manages to give you the cockiest, most infuriating grin that makes you want to punch him right in the face.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty”

“Call me that again and I’ll shove your uniform shoe up your ass, Ace.”

Ace just grins wider and lets out a little laugh… followed by a pained groan as he closes his eyes, keeping the pain under control.

You smack his arm to wipe that smile off his face...and realize he’s just as naked as you.

“Ace… what the hell did you do?”

You blush, covering yourself with the sheets as much as you can, actually, even more. All that’s left is to cover your face and you’d be a mummy.

“Aww, don’t make that face, you’re the one who climbed on top of me after the punch.”

“You’re the one who spiked it!!”

“Didn’t hear you complaining when you were begging us for more—”

You smack him on the head with a pillow; your shrieks and his, plus the loud thump of the pillow, echo through the whole room.

“What the fuck… why are you two so noisy?”

Deuce’s voice sounds from behind you, raspy and just as hungover as you two.

You look at him… he looks at you… his eyes travel down to his own equally naked body… Confusion turns to horror, horror into high-pitched groans.

“What happened? What did we do? Why are we naked?!”

Between the throbbing headache and Deuce’s panicking, you try to remember a little more of this… wild rebellious night.

You remember being with the dynamic duo on the dance floor, Ace whispering dirty promises in your ear, Deuce pulling you closer to him. Then both of them trapping you between them.

Their taste—Ace like candy and mischief, Deuce like cinnamon and adrenaline.

The three of you running through Ramshackle’s halls, stumbling, sometimes collapsing in a tangle of laughs, hands, and feet.

The bed—Sevens, the bed. Sheets scattered everywhere; Ace’s mouth on your neck, Deuce’s trembling hands pulling off your clothes, both fighting over who would take off the last piece.

Spoiler: both of them did it with confident hands before lunging for your lips, your breasts, your legs.

Kisses mixed with laughter, limbs tangled, the chemistry between these two as they made you cume; sloppy at first, then more assured.

The pressure of one sliding between your legs, spreading you open and burying himself deep; the other opening your lips to take him in your mouth. Both working as a team, building a rhythm, admiring how your body adapted to being fucked from both ends.

“Look how we’re breaking you, baby. You’re so wet… I could drown in here,” Ace groaning, rough and loud, grabbing your hair and pushing you down on Deuce’s pelvis with every thrust.

“That’s it, pretty, just like that, don’t stop, swallow it all,” Deuce murmuring as his cock slides down your throat, robbing you of breath for a few delicious seconds.

The way they took turns—one in your pussy, the other in your mouth… but you also remember a sharper pressure at your ass.

The moment when they both wanted to be in your wet pussy together; when one pulled out, the other pushed in, stretching you until you screamed their names, rubbing together inside your softest, most sensitive spot.

The moment you didn’t just cum with both their cocks inside, but, thanks to the pressure and the delicious way they filled you...you squirted, soaking the bed, your belly, and probably Ace’s too.

You moaned, screamed, writhed; the boys turned on by seeing you so free, so full of them, Ace twisting your already-sensitive nipples, Deuce running his tongue over your dripping pussy.

Dizzy flashes of being held in the air, legs around Deuce hips, hands and arms held by Ace, your arms wrapped around his waist too. Each of them fucking you from a different end, watching your tits bounce with every thrust; a mess of spit, sweat, tears, and their cum leaking from both your holes.

The three of you collapsed in bed, panting; Deuce’s arm wrapped around your waist, Ace curled around your chest, fondling your extra-sensitive tit in a playful way—until he switched to gentle caresses. Both seeking your warmth and your touch.

Your breath catches with all the memories. The heat rises not just to your cheeks, but a lot, lot lower.

“I’m never drinking your punch ever again,” Deuce growls, holding his head.

“Don’t you wanna know how good we are at sharing this pretty princess?”

Deuce tosses a pillow at him, but with no force, Ace catches it with one hand, laughing.

The redhead just gets cockier, trapping you in his arms, your back pressed to his chest. You feel his lips leaving little kisses on your nape and cheeks.

Deuce, still hungover and dying of embarrassment, scoots in front of you, wrapping you up with one strong… very strong… arm.

Both of them attack you with twice as many kisses.

“Because I haven’t seen our treasure since early this afternoon,” Mihawk told him, “And I don’t know about you, but things are quiet.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Mihawk,” Crocodile let it go, “You’re overthinking.”

“I don’t think I’m overthinking,” Mihawk put the pieces together, “Because it’s quiet, Crocodile.”

“So, what?” Crocodile tapped his ashes on the floor, much to Mihawk’s dismay, “We don’t have Marines on our ass.  The Strawhats are leaving us alone.  As far as I’m concerned, that’s a win in my book.”

“Under any other circumstances, I’d agree with you,” Mihawk admitted, “But…Aren’t we usually a trio?”

“And we haven’t seen the pain in the ass clown either,” Crocodile tipped his hook, to Mihawk, “Hot damn, it’s a good day.”

“And,” Mihawk realized he had to spell it out for him, “We don’t know where the treasure is.”

And that’s when it hit him, “Oh, shit.”

“Oh, shit is right,” Mihawk scoffed, “Now, am I still overthinking?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Crocodile bit the inside of his cheek.

And Mihawk stared blankly back at him, “Did you even believe that when it came out of your mouth?”

“No.  Not a word.”

“Now,” Mihawk got up from his chair, “What do you think our next plan of action should be?”

Crocodile put out the rest of his cigar in the arm of Mihawk’s chair to join the collection of all the others.  Again, much to Mihawk’s dismay, “We need to find that fucking clown.”

Meanwhile, in a much more secluded corner of Mihawk’s castle, Buggy holed himself up with that precious treasure that the whole Cross Guild wanted kept as safe as possible.  However, Buggy grew jealous.  He didn’t get nearly as much time with it as Crocodile or Mihawk.  And he just wanted some quality time with it, too.  Was that a crime?  Of course, it wasn’t.  He just wanted some time alone with their greatest treasure…You.

“You do know,” Perona floated above you both, “If either Crocodile or Mihawk find you two up here, you’re screwed, right?”

“Ahh…” Buggy brushed her off, “What are they going to do?  It’s me!  They need me.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Perona teased him.

“That’s not nice,” Buggy pouted, sending his foot to chase after her, “Besides, it’s not like I held a gun to your head and forced you up here, right, doll?”

“Of course.” Ever since the Cross Guild found you washed onshore on the beach outside the castle, it was Mihawk who fought to keep you around.  There was something he found strangely interesting about you, but he could never put his finger on it.  Even after being with them for the last six months, he still didn’t know what clicked in his brain to make him want to keep you.  Perhaps it was that pretty face.  Perhaps it was the bite in your voice when you tried to tell him you’d rather die than be forced to collude with pirates.  And yet, those particular pirates…You grew attached.

“That’s the spirit,” Buggy sat down with a big case next to him and a brush in his hand.  And his foot reattached.  You would be his greatest canvas, “You’re just jealous, ghosty.  You wish you were down here with me instead.”

“Please,” Perona rolled her eyes, “I’d much rather go through death several times over than have to deal with you.”

“Ouch,” Buggy clutched his chest, “Hurtful, Perona.  Hurtful.  I do have feelings.”

“And you seem to be under the impression I care about them,” Perona brushed him off.

“Alright,” Buggy pushed your hair out of your face and skimmed for a pallete, “Where were we?”

“We were playing fuck, marry, kill.” You remembered.

“That’s right,” Buggy nodded, “Alright…I got nothing.”

“I got one!” Perona chirped, “Fuck, marry, kill.  Mihawk, Crocodile, Buggy.  Go.”

“Oh, come on, Perona,” you whined, “That’s not fair!”

“Why’s it not fair?” Perona teased you.  Because she knew far too much, “It’s just a simple hypothetical.  I’m sure you can handle that much.”

“And…” You knew this couldn’t end good.  You had fallen in love with each of them for their own different reasons.  To rank them in something even as simple as a hypothetical felt wrong, “This is purely hypothetical?  And won’t make anything weird?”

“Oooh!” Perona sang, “It’s going to be good!”

“Buggy,” you glared in Perona’s direction, “Can you send your foot after her again?”

“Of course, doll,” Buggy sent off his right foot and let it chase after Perona again.

“What the hell, clown?!” Perona ran off from Buggy’s foot, “I didn’t ask for this!”

“Ok,” you decided, “And no hard feelings?”

“Not one,” Buggy promised, “You could do no wrong, doll.  You’re good.”

“Come on, YN,” Perona’s persistence wasn’t exactly your favorite sometimes, but you had gotten used to it.  It was just the way she was, “You’re avoiding the question.”

“It’s alright,” Buggy let it slide, “I think I know which way you’re leaning.  Shut your eyes for me.”

“Alright,” you did as he asked hand braced yourself for what came next.  And it wasn’t just Buggy lining your eyes, “Fuck Crocodile, marry Mihawk, kill Buggy.”

“What the fuck?” Buggy squeaked, “What did I do?”

“Interesting,” Perona laid on her belly, her feet in the air…much like the rest of her, “I’m going to need an explanation.”

“Me, too!” Buggy whined.  You could feel him painting little x’s next to your eyes.  You knew he wouldn’t do anything stupid.  That meant bringing down Mihawk and Crocodile’s combined wrath. And the fist of God was not something Buggy wanted today.

“Alright,” you began, “We’ll start with fucking Crocodile.  Tell me you wouldn’t.”

“He’s definitely not the worst looking creature on the face of this earth,” Perona agreed, “I mean…What that hook do?”

“Take it from someone who’s ridden that ride,” you flashed Perona a mischievous little grin, “That hook do plenty…That cold metal in the right spots…Fuuuuuuuck, it does something for me.”

“Ooh!” Perona clutched her chest, “YN, you kinky little minx.  Just when I think I can’t love you more.”

“And that’s before the main event,” you swooned, “That man makes a horse feel inadequate.  To use the baby’s arm holding an apple analogy doesn’t come close.  And he knows just how to use it.  You get fucked by Crocodile, you don’t forget it.  But getting fucked by Crocodile could also induce amnesia.”

“Fair,” Perona allowed, “Alright.  Marry.  Go.”

“Mihawk,” you went on, “Marry Mihawk.  Hundred percent.  And with Mihawk, it comes down to more than just sex.  Not that I doubt Crocodile’s ability to take care of me, but Mihawk could probably take better care of me than Crocodile.  And the sex between them?  Crocodile is like a once, maybe twice in a lifetime fuck.  Crocodile is the birthday, Christmas, Valentine’s Day fuck.  Those three times a year and I’m good.  Mihawk?  Mihawk is the most incredible and gentle lover.  And when it comes down to it, sweet, sweet love from Mihawk is going to keep me going longer than a down and dirty fuck from Crocodile.”

“And yet,” Buggy stared you down.  He didn’t want to admit it, but he was a little hurt.  However, it was Buggy.  He knew how to turn it around, “You’ve slept with all three of us and you’re still going to pick the others over me?”

“Sorry, Buggy,” you wrapped your legs around Buggy’s waist, hoping a little grinding in his lap would make things better, “You just got caught up in the crossfire.”

“So,” Buggy wondered, balancing you on his lap, “How would you do it?”

“What?”

“How would you do it, doll?” Buggy asked, pushing your hair out of your face, “You said you’d fuck Hooky, marry Hawkeyes, and kill me.  So, how would you kill me?”

You knew Perona liked to call you a kinky minx, but you knew who the real kinky one was here.  You knew Buggy was into some things.  And that was his business…Until he made it your business.  So, you knew the more details you could put into it, the better, “Hmm…That’s a good question.  It all boils down to if I want to get away with it or not.  Because I could just go the easy, boring route and say I’ll throw you to the sea and let her take you.  But that’s the boring way.”

“And I know,” Buggy cradled your cheek in his palm, “My little doll knows better than that.  If I’m going to go out and at your hand, no less, I better go out spectacularly.”

“Depends,” you thought, “Would you be putting up a fight or would you accept your death execution style?”

“I’d be accepting of my death,” he decided, “Now, what should I be expecting?  Because I’ve always thought an electric chair would be a fun way to go out.  Sparkling until the end.”

“Sparking until the end, silly,” you giggled, your head on his shoulder, “How would I kill you…?  I think I’d start with slow torture.  You on the rack…My knives on your body…”

“Those aren’t going to work, sweetheart,” Buggy teased you.

“Just the skin,” you went on, “I’d leave so many pretty little cuts on you…But then, because I know damn well I can’t cut you up without you reforming, I think I’d be merciful.  A hand on your throat while I ride you until your heart stops.”

“My, my, YN,” Buggy blushed a bit, “You spoil me.  Really?  All that for little ol’ me?  Death by sex?”

“Erotic asphyxiation,” you left a kiss on his cheek, “What a beautiful way to go out.”

“Way to have your cake and eat it too,” Buggy left a little trail of kisses down your neck, “You get to fuck me, then kill me.”

“I kill you by fucking you,” you clarified.

“Alright, before I hurl,” Perona rolled her eyes, “Is that good enough?  Did you get what you wanted?”

“I think so.”

“Wasn’t talking to you, YN,” Perona sighed out, “Are you going to keep standing in the hall, Mihawk, or are you going to come in?”

“Might as well come in,” Mihawk came into the room with Crocodile behind him, “So, this is where you two ran off to.”

“And here I thought we were going to have a quiet day,” Crocodile groaned, “YN, come here…”

“Hey…Croccy…Hawky…” Buggy suddenly got nervous, “We were just having a little fun…”

“I see that,” Crocodile pulled you into his side, “You alright, princess?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Crocodile kissed the top of your head, “Mihawk, go get her cleaned up.  I’ll deal with Buggy.”

“And…And…” Buggy wondered, “How are you going to do that?”

Crocodile grabbed Buggy by his wrist, making sure he couldn’t separate and take off, “Golf clubs.”

“Come on, YN,” Mihawk took you out of the room, “Perona?”

“Yes, Mihawk?” Perona raced to Mihawk’s side, “Did you need something?”

“Were you aware of the clown’s poor life choices?”

“I…” Perona knew she had an ass chewing coming her way, “I might have.  He just wanted to play with her, too, Mihawk.”

“I know,” Mihawk brought you down the hall to his bedroom.  And then, to his bathroom, “Is everything alright, darling?”

“Everything’s fine,” you promised, “It was just Buggy and me talking.  And he wanted to do my makeup a little.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.”

“Alright,” Mihawk sat you on his bathroom counter and started to clean off your face.  He was so methodical about it and careful to not get anything in your eyes.  Those were his favorite, “So…You’d marry me, would you?”

“How much did you hear?” your face immediately went red.

“That I’m a gentle lover,” Mihawk finished up, “And that apparently, Crocodile’s dick could probably demolish a building.”

“It is a battering ram,” you admitted.

“Well,” Mihawk decided, scooping you off the counter, “While Crocodile is out taking Buggy’s head to the back nine, why don’t I show you just how gentle of a lover I can be for you?”

Riddle Rosehearts

He reaches for your hand without thinking. Even in the middle of lecturing someone or walking across campus, he’ll suddenly realize his fingers have interlaced with yours. He does it like it’s instinctive.

He softens his voice only for you.Everyone gets the sharp, precise tone. You get the gentle one he doesn’t even notice he uses. He’ll say your name with a tenderness that surprises even him. Ace thought you used some kind of black magic on him.

When he’s stressed, the air feels tense… until you touch him. Then it eases instantly. He doesn’t realize he leans into your touch every time.

Leona Kingscholar

He uses his tail to pull you closer. Half asleep? Tail finds your waist. Sitting beside him? It wraps around your ankle. It’s basically his second hand of affection.

He always steps between you and danger without hesitation. Not in a dramatic way. More like a casual “stay behind me” mindset. Even if it’s just a ball flying through the hallway.

He tugs you onto his chest when he’s napping. He won’t admit he sleeps better when your weight is on him but every time when you with him he feels more relaxed and even nightmares avoids him. His hand automatically slides up and down your back.

He keeps your favorite snacks hidden in his room. He pretends they’re for him, but he always pushes them toward you first.

Azul Ashengrotto

He adjusts your clothes, jewelry, and hair without noticing. A gentle fix of your collar, moving your hair behind your ear, straightening your tie. All done with soft concentration.

He memorizes your preferences. Not as a contract. Purely because he cares. He’ll order your drink before you arrive, pick routes that avoid things you dislike, and arrange schedules that suit you better.

He praises you softly when he thinks you can’t hear.

“You’re so perfect...” He murmurs it to himself with a shy smile. But if you ask what did he just said he just avoid it like nothing happened.

Jamil Viper

He cooks exactly how you like. You don’t even need to speak. He notices your expressions, your cravings, your habits. Food appears before you ask for it. You watched a food video on magicam? He will save it and make it for you later.

He puts himself between you and uncomfortable social situations. Crowds? Loud people? He naturally steps in front of you and handles them while you relax behind him.

His voice softens when he’s talking only to you. Everyone else gets sarcastic, cool Jamil. You get warmth, tension melting out of his tone. The other scarabia students often ask you how you do it.

He rubs circles on your hip when he’s near. A tiny, unconscious motion that says “I’m here. Please stay with me”

Vil Schoenheit

He caresses your cheek with his thumb while he’s doing your makeup. It’s automatic, like he’s admiring something precious.

He buys things that are your favorite colors. Ribbons, makeup, decor… All matching your preferences, even though he insists it’s “coincidence.”

He massages your hands without thinking. He’ll take them gently and rub circles into your palms while talking or reading.

Idia Shroud

He leans into you like a cat. Barely even aware he’s doing it. Your shoulder? He’s resting on it. Your lap? He’s sprawled over it.

He sends you memes that match your mood. He tracks your feelings like a scientist without even realizing it. You sigh? Ten seconds later you get 12 memes and a cute cat gif.

He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb when you hold his hand. It calms him. His hair turns soft pink every time.

Malleus Draconia

He lowers his height to match your eye level. Without kneeling. He simply leans down, gaze softening as if the world shrinks to just you.

His hand always finds the small of your back. Guiding you. Guarding you. Protective without controlling.

He says your name like it’s sacred.Slowly, carefully. As if tasting every syllable. He isn’t even aware how gentle he becomes.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

You work long shifts at a cramped little gallery café in Hongdae. Your boss forgets to pay you on time. Rent’s due. Your roommate’s a ghost (figuratively). Your family doesn’t call.

It’s not tragic. Just quietly heavy. Most days are filled with the same mundane routine. The stress of adulting weighs in on you most nights making you feel more fatigued than you should.

Your art is the only thing that feels like yours—until it doesn’t. Lately, even your sketches look like someone else’s memories. The past few weeks of downtime have been spent sketching images you vaguely recognize from dreams you forgot you even had. 

You walk through life like it’s background noise.

Then, one afternoon, on the way to grab milk and instant ramen…you hear music on the street.

Lugging your grocery trolley (because god knows you don’t have the strength to carry a week’s worth of grocery bags on your arms), you spot that a crowd has gathered in the plaza. The atmosphere buzzes with excitement. People are pushing each other to get a view of whatever it was that was making the crowd go nuts.

Curiosity gets the best of you, and next thing you know you’re walking towards the center of the square. Grocery trolley rolling behind you. Someone steps on it, warranting a quick “Sorry” and they scurry to the front. You turn your head forward to see whatever it was they desperately wanted to see.

You stop.

Up on a raised platform, five boys move like a single body—synchronized, supernatural, magnetic. Their colorful outfits shimmer under the lights, a kaleidoscope of sugar-rush perfection. The crowd is screaming, but all you hear is the song—“Soda Pop”—sickeningly sweet and pulsing like thunder in your chest.

You don’t recognize them.

Were they new? A secret debut? A niche group you missed? 

And then you see them.

The Saja Boys. Five gorgeous faces, carved out of dreams and danger, singing like they already know you.

Your heart stutters.

Front and center is the one with the jet-black hair and fire behind his smile. His eyes sweep the crowd like he owns it—until they lock on you. And then it’s like the world tips sideways.

You can’t breathe.

Something ancient uncoils in your ribcage—a thread pulling taut, like it’s found its anchor.

The stage beneath them morphs—no, rises—into a giant soda can, and the absurdity nearly makes you laugh, but the pressure in your chest is louder.

The song ends. The crowd erupts. They strike their final poses like gods frozen mid-conquest. And still—he’s looking at you. Right at you.

He lifts a hand, brushes off his shoulder like he’s dusting you into place. “That’s it for now,” he says to the crowd.

His speaking voice slides down your spine like silk dipped in fire. Familiar. Impossible.

“See you tonight on everyone’s favorite variety show…” His gaze doesn’t waver.  “Saja Boys love you!”

You don’t know how you’re still standing. The other members turn too—one by one, their expressions shifting. Eyes no longer playful. They’re looking at you like they remember something you haven’t yet.

And then—pink smoke.

They vanish.

You’re left in a sea of people, lungs hollow, skin prickling like it’s just been marked.

You don’t know who they are. You don’t know what just happened. But your hands are shaking on the trolley handle. And you’re sprinting home like something inside you just woke up and started screaming.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

They apparated back into the apartment in a burst of cold smoke.

Jinu collapsed first.

Not into a chair. Not onto the couch. He sank straight to the floor.

Hands tangled in his hair, breath shallow. Like the air couldn’t reach deep enough. Like he’d been holding it for centuries. His voice cracked like something ancient being unearthed.

“It’s her.”

Romance was already pacing the length of the living room, long strides restless, fingers tugging at his shirt collar like it was choking him. “I—I thought I was hallucinating,” he muttered. “Some kind of cruel glamour. A mirage. But the bond—” His voice shook. “The bond snapped tight.”

Abby dropped into the couch, the cushions barely softening the weight of his frame. His knuckles were white, gripping his thighs. “I felt her heartbeat.” He looked up, dazed. Wild. “During the bridge—our hearts matched. I know it was her.”

Mystery hadn’t moved. He stood near the window, face shadowed, fists clenched so tight his nails carved into skin. His lips were moving in a near-silent whisper—over and over like a broken prayer.

“She’s scared… she doesn’t remember… but she felt it. She felt it.”

Baby sat furthest from them all, on the floor beside the armchair.  Blood dripped from his palm—he didn’t seem to notice. Eyes wide. Hollow. Haunted.

Like seeing you broke the silence inside him. Like he’d finally found the ghost that’d been crawling under his skin for lifetimes.

No one breathed. The room felt cracked. Like a single touch would shatter it.

Abby ran a hand down his face. “What do we do?” He was still staring at his hands. Still disbelieving. “Is this a trick? Is Gwi Ma playing with us again? Using her face to haunt us?”

Jinu looked up slowly, lashes damp, lips pale. He bit the nail of his thumb, the taste of anxiety sharp on his tongue.

“We wait,” he said softly. “We plan.”

Romance scoffed, but there was no humor in it. He was trembling as he smiled.

“We charm.”

Mystery let out a low snarl. “We go to her. She’s alone. She’s hurting. I can feel her.”

And then—finally—Baby spoke. Just one line.

Quiet. Final. Unshakable.

“We take her back.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You curl up on your couch with a microwaved dinner, phone propped up on a cushion. You don’t normally watch idol shows. But…

You press play.

They’re charming. Playful. Competitive. Too beautiful. Too perfect. You watch them struggle with the hot sauce challenge, lips curling upwards at some of the boys’ faces. 

Your chest aches.

You don’t know them. But you can’t look away.

When they joke, you laugh. When they flirt with the camera, your stomach flips. When Baby stares dead into the lens, you freeze. 

You watch as Baby wins the spicy challenge, somehow a part of you knew he would. You couldn’t explain why. You watch as Huntrix makes a surprise appearance. You weren’t a crazed fanatic or anything, but you did enjoy their music. When they bowed at each other, a part of your chest ached. You don’t know why, but something didn’t sit well with you seeing the boys interact with the girl group. Why? You had no claim over them. You felt like you were going crazy.

You don’t sleep that night.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Later that night, after filming wraps…

The Saja Boys find themselves ambushed by Huntrix—Rumi, Zoey, and Mira—demon-hunting girls who are too fast, too smart, and too close to the truth.

The boys run, Jinu being caught into a fight with Rumi which leads to him finding out her secret. A Hunter who’s part demon. He gives it some thought as he walks out of the bath house. Then, his thoughts shift to you.

Did you watch the show tonight? What were you doing right now? Did you remember him at all?

Then suddenly he’s pulled into Gwi Ma’s chamber.

Smoke. Fire. Screams locked in stone. The demons are cheering for the boys, now in their demon forms. Gwi Ma sings the chorus of Soda Pop. 

“It’s catchy” 

He brings up Rumi- the hunter who bears his mark. He tells Jinu he has no control over her. Jinu remains curious, telling him that he can find out her shame and use it against her to bring the Hunters down. 

Then, Gwi Ma’s flames rise. The tension in the air thickens as the four other boys on the ground below are brought to stand next to Jinu before the Demon King.

“However, I sense that you’ve lost your focus,” the Demon king hisses. His flames grow —and conjures a mirage image of you, asleep in bed, cheek pressed to your pillow. The boys tense at the sight of you. 

Their anger rises. They don’t like that you’re being presented to them like this- in front of all demons to see. Of course- everyone else in the Demon realm had an inkling- an idea of what you were to the five. It was unspoken, a rumor that spread throughout the years - that they had tied their ancient souls to a human hundreds of years ago. But no details of that pact had been known. And now, the boys were livid as every demon knew your face.

Abby grit his teeth, immediately standing and stepping forward. He didn’t want any other demons seeing you, gazing at what was his. “Don’t-!”

Jinu grabbed his shoulder back, willing his friend to calm down, even though he was struggling to contain his own anger. 

“That girl... is she going to be a problem? A… distraction?” His voice was teasing. A sickeningly playful tone meant to mock them.

The boys bristle, their jaws clenched as they see the demon king’s image of you. You- who was so precious to them. Jinu steps forward, eyes hard. “She is ours. You made it so. The pact cannot be undone.”

Gwi Ma’s image of you faded and the boys all visibly relaxed, though still tense.

Gwi Ma spoke once again, voice teasing. “You remember, don’t you, Jinu? How you came crawling to me, weeping like a child the moment she died in your arms.”

Jinu’s eyes widened, haunted at the memory.

Gwi Ma continued. “You begged me to bring her back. But I gave you something better.

A deal.

Bind four others to her soul. Trap their power. Anchor her across lifetimes—and I’d let her return.

And you did it.

You found them. Broken little things. Monsters like you. You forced the bond. You made her the center of your madness.

You cursed her to be wanted. Needed. Torn apart by obsession.

All for what?

To share her?

To watch her slip through your fingers again and again?”

The boys visibly grew more tense with every word he uttered. Romance grit his teeth, and Baby’s nails dug so deep into his palms they began to bleed again. They were monsters who desperately clung to the only light they had. Demons who tainted the purest thing they had ever laid eyes on. The guilt. The shame. All weigh heavy on their hearts, but not as heavy as their deep desire for you. 

Gwi Ma continued. “No matter how close she gets… she’ll never truly be yours.

But if you succeed—if you finish what I told you to—maybe I’ll give her to you.

All of you.

For good.”

Their heads snapped up at that. Disbelief and false hope gleaming in their yellow demon eyes. 

Gwi Ma’s flames shift to a smile as he saw their non-subtle desperation. “Then here’s my offer.”

“Succeed. Harvest the souls before the Honmoon seals, bring down the hunters. Do your job. And I’ll let her live.”

“Fail… and I rip her from the cycle. She’ll never be reborn again.”

The boys snap their heads up. Shock, desperation, and fury ablaze on their faces. He wouldn’t dare. The boys don’t speak. But silent thoughts race through their heads. They wouldn’t have to wait centuries for you? All the endless years of loneliness and suffering… if they succeeded, they’d be gone. And you would be theirs. Fully. No more dying, no more waiting. Theirs, for all eternity. 

The offer was weighing heavy in their minds. But it wasn’t even a question. How far would they go to have you? The answer was that there were no limits. No lines they wouldn’t cross. No world they wouldn’t burn to keep you.

They just kneel, a silent agreement. 

They’ve waited centuries. They can wait a little longer.

But this time, they won’t just protect you.

They’ll possess you.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The boys apparated back to their apartment in silence.

No music. No lights. Just the faint, cold glow of Seoul’s skyline spilling through the penthouse glass like a wound that never closed.

They didn’t speak. They couldn’t. The memory of Gwi Ma’s offer still echoed like ash in their throats. The price was steep, yes—but the reward?

You. Untouched by his claws. Unwatched. Unmanipulated. Free.

If they could ensure your soul was yours—and theirs—forever… they would pay that price a thousand times over. So they agreed. Without hesitation. Without question. Now they sat in the dark, five demons and the shape of a girl in their hearts.

It was Abby who cracked first. “She looked cold,” he muttered.

His elbows rested on his knees, large hands clenched together so tightly the skin over his knuckles had gone pale. He wasn’t looking at the others. Just the floor. Somewhere past it. Somewhere where you had been.

“She looked cold in that vision. Like she hadn’t been held in years.” He swallowed thickly. “I’d keep her warm. She’d never feel cold again. Not even for a second.” His voice broke near the end.

“She should’ve been with us.” Romance was standing by the tall windows, framed in moonlight, arms crossed tight like he was holding his chest together. “She doesn’t even remember us,” he said softly. “We’re strangers again.”

He tried to sound nonchalant—but his voice cracked on ‘again’.

Baby didn’t move from the couch. His legs were crossed, jaw tight, nails digging crescent moons into his thigh. “Then we make her remember.” He looked up. Eyes black.

“Tie her down if we have to.”

No one told him to take it back. Because all of them had thought it.

From the corner, curled on a throw blanket like a resting animal, Mystery breathed out a long, aching sigh. He was clutching something close to his chest. Your scarf. One from a lifetime ago. The threadbare edges frayed, carrying a scent only he still recognized. He’d stolen it then, kept it hidden through each century. He never let it burn.

“She cried last night,” he whispered. The room went still. “I felt it.”

They turned.

“She misses us,” he said. His voice was too soft for the size of his pain. “Even if she doesn’t know why. Even if her brain doesn’t remember—her soul does. She sees us in dreams. She reaches out.”

No one doubted him. Mystery had always been the tether. The first to feel you across lives. The first to know. He curled tighter around the scarf like it could bring you back. “She reaches,” he whispered. “But we’re not there.”

Silence again.

Then Jinu stood. The weight of four centuries in every breath he took. He moved like a monarch of grief—shoulders squared, spine straight, eyes dark and steady.

“We need a plan,” he said. The words dropped like stone. “No chaos. No claiming. Not yet.” His gaze passed over each of them, firm.

“We woo her. Win her. Make her feel safe.”

Abby let out a bitter snarl. “I don’t want to pretend. I want to take her.”

Jinu’s jaw tensed.

“So do I,” he said. “But not if it means she runs. Not if she thinks we’re monsters.”

“Are we not?” Baby asked coldly. But it wasn’t really a challenge. It was despair.

“We’re hers,” Jinu replied. “That’s all that matters.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was thick with agreement. Each boy looked down. And one by one, they nodded. For now, they’d wait. But not forever.

You would remember.

You would come back.

And when you did— You’d never be allowed to leave again.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You didn’t know why you were out this late.

You told yourself it was for a snack. The cold night air. The glow of convenience store signs. But the truth was burrowed beneath your ribs—tight, restless, and waiting. Something inside you itched, tugged. Like an invisible string pulling you down familiar streets.

You turned the corner and froze.

“Y/N?”

A voice. Soft, velvety, soaked in a sadness you didn’t understand. You looked up.

Jinu.

Standing beneath a flickering streetlight like a secret carved out of the night. Hoodie loose over his frame. Hair tousled, moonlight catching in the strands. His eyes locked with yours. 

Your breath caught.

He took a step forward, hands raised slightly—like approaching a wounded animal. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said gently. “I just… recognized you.”

Recognized? Your heart began to pound. Hard. “How do you know my name?” you asked.

Jinu smiled. But it wasn’t cocky or flirty. It was aching. “Because it’s the only name that ever mattered to me.”

And that’s when it happened. A flicker behind your eyes. No—it wasn’t a flicker.

It was a memory. A feeling. A lifetime cracking through your skull like thunder.

You saw him.

Not here. Not in this hoodie, not on this street. But in crimson silk beneath a palace moon. A hanbok embroidered in gold, eyes lined with kohl. He reached for you across a garden of foxglove. Your name spilled from his lips like scripture.

And then—

“Y/N.”

Another voice. Close. Too close. Romance stepped beside you, holding a book. One from your wishlist. The exact one you’d looked at two days ago online and never bought.

You took it in trembling hands. His voice dropped to a murmur. “Because I’ve been whispering it for hundreds of years.”

The world spun.

Another vision. His fingers on yours. A past version of you, crying. Him kissing your knuckles in the candlelight.

“Because I’ve never stopped saying it,” Abby said now, appearing at your side, holding— Your scarf. The one that went missing days ago. “Even when you weren’t alive to hear it.”

FLASH. There was blood on his hands. A blade meant for you. Abby standing between it and your body, screaming your name.

Your knees went weak. You staggered. The breath in your lungs turned jagged. 

A gentle touch. Behind you.

Mystery. Quiet. Wide-eyed. Fingertips brushing the sleeve of your coat like he was afraid you’d dissolve.

“I’ve known your name longer than you have,” he whispered.

You blinked—

And you were in the mountains. Your hands small. Younger. A fox curled against your legs. You were humming. He was warm. It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

Across the street— Baby. Still. Watching. Eyes black as obsidian. And then—

The fire.

A palace burning. Bodies. You, screaming. Baby dragging corpses away with one hand while shielding you with the other.

You gasped. Your vision blurred. Your hands shook. You didn’t know if you were crying. But you felt like you were breaking.

Romance reached out, arm around your shoulders, steadying your frame.

“She’s remembering,” Mystery said, voice trembling. “She’s starting to remember.”

You didn’t hear them clearly. Your ears rang. Your body pulsed like a struck bell. Romance’s forehead pressed to yours, voice like velvet and ashes. “We missed you,” he breathed. “So much it drove us mad.”

Abby was pacing now, unable to stay still. His eyes burned. “You smell like home,” he choked. “I forgot what that felt like.”

Baby hadn’t moved, but he looked like he might lunge. His fists were clenched. His shoulders tight. His jaw locked.

His eyes were nothing but shadow.

He wanted you.

Jinu stepped forward, palm raised like a commandment. “Stop,” he said. Sharp. Firm. “She’s scared.”

He was right. You were. Tears blurred your eyes. The world spun again. “Who… who are you?” you asked, barely a whisper. “What do you want from me?”

Abby took one step. “We’re yours,” he said, voice low.

Jinu caught his arm. “Abby—”

“You were ours,” Romance added, lips brushing your temple. “You will be again.”

“No—no, this isn’t real—this can’t be—” You backed up. “You’re crazy.”

You looked into their eyes for the first time. And your blood ran cold. 

Not human.

They were glowing. Amber. Topaz. Garnet. Glasses of gold and rage and want. 

You didn’t think—you ran. Your footsteps slammed into the alleyway pavement. Breath heaving. Vision swimming. You ran like your soul was on fire.

And behind you— They didn’t follow.

They stood, the five of them, like statues in mourning. Longing. Rage. Grief. Hunger.

Mystery whimpered once.

Baby’s fists dripped blood from his own grip.

“We scared her,” Jinu muttered, teeth grit. Shame painting his face. “We were supposed to make her feel safe.” His voice was raw.

“She looked at us like we were monsters.” Abby slammed a fist into the wall. “She didn’t even recognize me.” 

Romance still watched the alley’s end where your shadow had vanished. His lips curled into something bittersweet. “Not yet,” he said. “But she will.”

The other boys turned. He smiled wider. Devastating. Determined. “Now?”

His voice dropped.

“We seduce her.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You don’t remember getting home. One moment you were running. The next, your apartment door slammed shut behind you. You locked it. Bolted it. Double-checked it.

Then you fell.

Not gracefully—like a collapse, like a marionette whose strings had been severed. You’re curled on the floor now, your fingers tangled in the hem of your clothes, your back pressed to the side of the bed. Shaking. Silent. Your chest is heaving, but the air doesn’t reach your lungs. You’re not crying because you’re sad.

You’re crying because you’re losing your mind. Every time you close your eyes… they’re there.

Jinu in royal silk, kneeling in the blood-soaked courtyard of a Joseon palace—his eyes hollow, your lifeless hand in his lap.

Romance cradling your head by a lake turned black from poison—screaming into your mouth like he could breathe life back into you.

Abby roaring over a field of corpses—his armor cracked, clutching you as smoke swallowed the sky.

Mystery baring his fangs at priests dragging you away—his form shifting between beast and boy, voice howling your name like a prayer.

And Baby—oh god.

Baby in a burning chamber, crawling toward your corpse through ash. His smile was carved wrong, twitching, shattered—his arms cradling your body like a doll as fire devoured the world around him.

You cover your ears. You curl tighter. Your bones ache. “These aren’t mine,” you whisper. “They aren’t mine—”

But they feel like they are.

The grief. The rage. The longing. The love. Too much love. It presses against your ribs like a dam waiting to crack. And deep—deep—within your chest… something stirs. Something ancient. Something hungry.

You drag yourself under the blankets. Trembling. Numb. You don’t sleep. Sleep claims you.

And you never hear the figures outside your window. Five of them. Silent on the balcony.

Jinu’s hand is on the glass, forehead pressed lightly to the cold. His eyes are shut, breath fogging the surface. He had to see you. Just once more. Even if it killed him.

Romance stands beside him, one hand in his coat pocket, the other pressed to his lips like he might say something—but doesn’t. He just watches. Unblinking.

Abby paces behind them, boots scuffing against concrete. Every noise inside your room makes his head whip toward the door. He wants to kick it down. Drag you into his arms. Keep you warm. Keep you close.

Mystery is curled beside the potted plants. His ears twitch. His claws dig into the concrete. He hears your breathing. He knows when your sleep shifts. He knows you’re dreaming.

And Baby— Baby stands furthest from the glass. He doesn't move.Just stares at your sleeping form through the sheer curtain. His eyes are too wide. His hands are in his pockets, but the blood dripping from them gives him away. He clenches his jaw. He had wanted to go after you. To hold you. To punish anyone who scared you. But Jinu made them promise.

No chaos. Not yet. They all told themselves they were here to make sure you got home safe. But deep down, none of them believed that. They were here because they needed to see you one last time. Because you were in their veins now.

Because the bond was waking.

And soon—you’d be theirs again.