Rony_Macarony

The ground is slick from the heavy rain, dried leaves and muck clinging onto your pants as you tumble to the ground—chest heaving, vision swimming. You shouldn’t have provoked Rook. What began as a careless game twisted into something far more primal, fear was slowly—gut-wrenchingly clawing up your throat. You could feel his presence looming over you, breathing the same air like he owns it, like he owns you.

It’s almost laughable how a joke of yours turns into something serious.

“I bet I could elude your arrows with ease, Rook.” You taunt, propping yourself against a massive tree, voice defiant and careless. He turns to you—silent for a heartbeat too long, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. When he speaks, it’s in a soft, almost mocking tone. “Is that so?” He cooed, his fingers swiftly tie up his hair, his gaze never leaving you. “Perhaps we should test that theory out.”

You should’ve known better, agreeing was a mistake. Now, you’re in a vulnerable position against an adept hunter.

You don’t know where he is—or if he’s right behind you, silent and beaming in the darks of the forest. You scramble to your feet, heart pounding in your chest. You can’t tell which way you’re going anymore, the dense forest swallows you whole, surrounding you with its dark, nerve-wrecking presence. Every tree, every shadow looks the same—and it leaves you utterly disoriented. You struggle to catch your breath as the damp, earthy scent surrounds you like a suffocating shroud. 

But that doesn’t matter, not right now. All that matters is that he’s out there somewhere, stalking your every move like a hunter tracking its prey. Lungs heaving, you drive yourself to run, shoes squelching in the sodden ground as mud splatters up your legs. 

The sun bled low on the horizon, spilling orange and blood-red light across the treetops, painting the forest in false beauty. But you can’t stop to admire it—not when every breath you take is ragged, not when your feet are stumbling over roots and branches. You couldn’t afford to stop even for a second, to admire a sky that felt like it was watching you get eaten alive.

There’s no path to follow anymore. No direction. Just endless trees closing in around you like a cage. Any wrong turn, any hesitation could bring Rook even closer to you.

40 minutes of endless running, 40 minutes of pure terror. You press your back into a tree trunk nearby, chest heaving, lungs burning as you try to catch what little breath you can. Your body aches, your limbs trembling from the effort of running through thick foliage and muddy terrain. But worst of all is the uncertainty, the fear and adrenaline of what awaits once Rook inevitably catches you.

Then—a sound, too far, but too fast. You turn just a second too late.

Thwack.

The arrow embeds itself in the bark beside your head with a sickening crack. The force rips a thin line across your cheek—skin splitting, heat flaring, blood beads instantly as the pain blooms down the side of your face. 

He missed on purpose, he’d never actually try to harm you. That’s what makes this exciting.

The forest suddenly falls eerily silent, a heavy anticipation hanging in the air. Then, his voice rings out around you, echoing through the vast expanse of the forest like an ill omen. “I can see you, mon chérie.” He purrs, his tone sending chills racing down your spine. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart hammering in your chest.

You turn, eyes locking with his, and there he is. Perched on a thick branch like a hawk, bow in hand, breath visible in the cooling air. Sweat glistens along his neck as he watches you. His lips curl into a smile, but it’s different. Cold, predatory. It’s as sweet as poison, like a predator toying with its prey. 

“There’s nowhere you can hide my lady.” His voice a deep purr as he drops down from the branch, approaching you with slow, deliberate steps. Your body seizes with panic.

Now. Run now.

You scramble up, legs trembling and weak before breaking into another desperate sprint. The direction doesn’t matter, you just need distance, need to buy yourself just an ounce of time.

Every step you take is a gamble, a desperate attempt to outwit Rook.

As the light in the sky continues to fade, your body hits its limit—legs collapsing, lungs seizing. You stumble, dropping down to your knees next to a nearby bush. Gasping for breath, you try to fill your lungs with air, desperate for just one more minute of rest. But Rook doesn’t give you that luxury.

As you lift shaky hands to wipe the sweat from your face, you hear the sound of rustling leaves, and a shadow slowly closes in.

He’s there.

Towering over you with a feral smile tugging at his lips, like he was a wolf cornering a frightened rabbit.

Startled, your hand slips on the wet ground, propelling you to the ground with a rough thud. Rook swiftly moves, straddling you, his knee presses firmly between your thighs, pinning you in place as his palms frame your face—leaving you with no room to move. “I’ve caught you now mon amour.” He purrs in your ear, voice low and thick with possession. His breath is hot against your skin, too close, intimate and threatening all at once. You tremble beneath him not just from fear, but from the terrifying thrill of being caught by him.

Accepting defeat, you let out a shaky laugh, trying to mask the lingering fear. “Alright, alright, you’ve won. What do you want as your prize?” you say, voice wavering with forced playfulness.

But Rook doesn’t seem amused. He watches you—silent, unreadable eyes boring into yours before that slow, knowing smile of his returns. He props himself up first before extending his hand for you, and you take it. You take it on instinct and pull yourself up; your legs give way instantly under the strain of exhaustion and fear, but before you can stumble to the ground again, Rook catches you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Careful mon chérie,” he murmurs, his forehead pressed gently against yours for a breathless moment before pulling back, leaving your face flushed, your pulse fluttering beneath your skin. 

As you both walk back toward Ramshackle in the dimming light, Rook deliberately steps into your path. You’re forced sideways, shoulder slamming hard against a nearby tree trunk. “Rook—Hey!” You protest, but it’s cut off almost instantly as he closes the distance between you. His lips crash onto yours—hungry and unrelenting, his hands sliding from your waist down to grip your hips tight. Holding you exactly where he wants you.

His tongue drives into your mouth with desperate need, relentless and deep. You attempt to push him back, desperate for air, but he doesn’t let you. Not right now. He holds you closer, knee pressing against your clothed heat, the friction driving you wild. You feel him hitch, a soft whimper escaping his lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He’s so close that you can feel the heat between you growing more and more intense. His body against yours as he continues to dominate your senses. Every part of him consuming you entirely.

A thin, glistening strand of saliva lingers for a breath between your lips before it snaps. “...Hah—Rook, we can’t—not here-” You stammer, but he pulls you closer against him, one hand sliding to the small of your back while the other dances on the skin of your thigh. His fingers trace slow paths up and down your spine.  “My prize, mon chérie, my patience is already wearing thin.” He whispers, voice laced with quiet hunger.

He tugs at the hem of your shirt before hiking it up, baring your skin to the cool evening air. His palm glides over the soft skin of your stomach up to your side. With practiced ease, he unfastens the clasp of your bra with one hand then tugs it down. A soft sob escapes you, trembling in your throat as Rook watches every flicker of emotion on your face, his gaze dark and unwavering—possessive, consuming even.

He drives his knee upwards, the sudden pressure against your heat makes you dizzy with desire. Gosh this man. His tongue trails over the hollow of your neck, leaving a path of glistening saliva in its wake. You gasp involuntarily as he leans down, sinking his teeth into your flesh with just enough force to drive you wild. The sharp, intense yet sweet pain sends your mind reeling, making you whimper in pleasure. Then he sucks on your skin, hard enough for you to feel the sweet pain, hard enough that it’ll leave a mark you won’t be able to hide.

You can barely walk the next morning. The forest fallen eerily silent, the night before feels almost like a delirious dream—but the marks and bruises left on your skin tell a different story. Rook had slipped away while you were asleep, deciding to take a shower. Though he still is taking a shower, the sound of running water echoing faintly. Your body aches all over, you can’t help but wince as you shift slightly on the bed. Your limbs are heavy, weary, and trembling with the aftermath of what occurred. As you try to stand up from your bed, you find yourself stumbling, your body weak and uncoordinated.

Damn you, Rook Hunt.

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?