“You’re sure you don’t mind having her overnight?” Dennis’ sister-in-law asks, hovering in the doorway of your apartment, eyes trailing over you and your niece. She’s resting on your hip, toying with your necklace, babbling to herself as you give her a reassuring nod. 

“Are you kidding?” You ask. “We love her, and you guys deserve a night off.”

“She’s gonna’ be fine, sweetheart,” Dennis’ brother says, already partially turned away, ready to get to their hotel for the night. “We’re leaving her with the smartest people we know.”

You laugh at that. “We can handle any medical emergencies, I swear.”

“Yeah, okay,” She says, nodding, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her baby’s forehead. “Be good for your aunt and uncle, bye baby! I love you!”

“Say bye!” You exclaim, and she lifts her tiny hand up, waving it back and forth a few times as the door closes. “Okay, monkey, we’re unsupervised. What should we do?”

She stares at you for a few seconds, eyes wide before she breaks into a grin, giggling. You smile too, walking back into the living room, listing options as you go—not that she knows what any of them mean. 

You start getting her ready to go pick Dennis up around six-thirty, hoping that he’ll be off relatively on time tonight. You strap her into her carseat, climb into the drivers side, and pull out of your parking spot. She babbles along to the music you’re playing the entire drive, which is a country playlist of Dennis’, mostly featuring songs his parents listened to when he was a kid that always seem to come on at his family get-togethers. 

You park the car in one of the staff spots, checking the time before twisting around in your seat. “Uncle Den should be done soon, yeah?”

“Den!” She exclaims, and you nod. 

“Exactly,” You say. “Crushed it.”

The first fifteen minutes of waiting are fine, but then she starts to get restless, wiggling in her carseat and pulling on the straps. You try to keep her distracted as best you can, but there’s only so much you can do in a car. She starts to whine, tears pooling in her eyes. 

“Okay, why don’t we go for a walk, hey?” You ask, getting out and opening the backdoor, unclipping the belt and scooping her into your arms. She huffs, and you can’t help but smile. “I know, sorry, I thought he’d be done by now.”

She perks up now that she’s no longer trapped in the carseat, head turning as she takes in the outside of the hospital. You shiver, the temperature having dropped now that the sun is setting, taking her through the front doors and into the main foyer. 

“This is where me and Den work,” You explain, bouncing her a few times. “I usually work upstairs, he works just through those doors.”

You point to the double doors that lead to the ER, and she follows your finger. 

“That’s where he’ll come out,” You add, checking the time quickly. “Soon. Hopefully.”

You walk laps around the main floor for a bit, avoiding getting in anyone’s way, letting her stare at all the paintings on the walls and the people passing by. You circle back to the main lobby at seven fourty-five, your arms growing tired from carrying a one-year-old around for thirty minutes. 

You sit on one of the benches, shuffling her so she’s facing you, putting both hands on her back to keep her upright on your lap. She rubs her eyes, making you frown. 

“Yeah, it’s almost bedtime,” You say, letting her settle against your chest.

The door to the ER swings open a few minutes later, revealing Dennis, Trinity, Cassie, and Dana. Dennis’ face lights up when he sees the two of you, and she lifts her head off your shoulder, sitting up straighter as he gets closer. 

“Hi peanut!” He exclaims, kneeling in front of her. 

“Den!” She says, but in her tired state it comes out a little garbled, sounding an awful lot like ‘dad.’ Neither of you realize, knowing exactly what she said, but Trinity stops dead in her tracks, casting a look over her shoulder to see if Cassie and Dana heard the same thing. 

“Dad?” Cassie whispers, just as Dana’s eyebrows lift, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. Trinity shrugs, mouthing ‘I don’t know?’ in response. 

“How are you, sweet pea?” He asks, lifting her up when she raises her arms towards him, settling her on his hip. She tucks her head into his neck, sighing, tiny fists grabbing handfuls of his hoodie. 

You stand up, smiling at the pair, reaching over and smoothing some of her hair out of her face. 

“Hi,” Dennis says, his attention now on you. 

“Hi,” You echo. “Rough day?”

“Yeah,” He breathes. “Sorry for taking so long, a trauma came in right before seven and Ellis was running late, so-”

“It’s okay,” You promise, eyes finally looking over his shoulder, seeing the three women standing across the foyer, watching you. You lift your hand to wave, but the action is cut short when a sharp cry rings out from your niece.

“Okay, yeah, fair enough,” Dennis says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You actually wave as you and Dennis rush through the doors, leaving them dumbfounded for a few moments. 

“Do they have a fucking kid?” Trinity asks, incredulous.

Dana chuckles. “Seems like they might.”

“Wow,” Cassie says. “I thought they’d only been together for…I dunno’, maybe a few months?”

“The kid was probably a year old,” Trinity adds. “Was she ever on leave or anything?”

Dana shakes her head. “Not that I know of, but she was almost entirely up in the ICU until last year, then she got started on the trauma team by doing the night shift. I didn’t see too much of her.”

“No. Fucking. Way,” Trinity says, laughing in disbelief. “She’s got a kid.”

“You think she isn’t Whitaker’s?” Cassie asks. 

“He only started here, like, a year ago,” She explains. 

“Well, maybe they met before that,” Cassie counters. 

“Who knows?” Dana asks, already walking away. “Good night!”

Cassie leaves too, but Trinity turns right around, heading straight back through the doors to go find Princess and Perlah. 

Robby and Jack finish up with the trauma patient, coming out of the room to see that there’s still a decent portion of the dayshift around, most clustered by one workstation. Princess has her phone out, typing variations of your name into the Instagram search bar, trying to find your account. Perlah, Trinity, and Victoria all hover nearby, tossing out suggestions that she should try.

“Maybe she uses her middle name?” Victoria asks. “Is there a way to find that in the hospital system, or something?”

“We only have doctors middle names,” Perlah says, shaking her head. “What about Facebook?”

“She’s, what, twenty-five?” Princess asks. “She doesn’t have Facebook.”

Jack leans over the desk. “Who are we stalking?”

Trinity says your name, not taking her focus away from the phone. “You know her middle name?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh, no.”

“Why are you looking her up?” Robby questions, taking a spot beside Jack, both attendings now thoroughly invested, even if they’d never admit it. 

“Santos saw her and Whitaker with a baby,” Princess explains. “Said the kid called him dad.”

Robby’s eyebrows shoot up, whereas Jack just leans closer. 

“She never took time off when she worked nights with you?” Victoria asks, having been filled in completely by Trinity. 

“Not that I remember,” Jack says. “How old was this kid?”

“At least twelve months,” Trinity says. “Maybe a little older.”

“So your theory is…what?” Robby asks. “She kept the pregnancy a secret?”

“We’re open to suggestions,” She counters. 

He lifts his hands up with an exaggerated shrug. “It wasn’t their kid?”

“She called him dad.”

Robby sighs, rubbing his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. Jack smirks. 

“Pretty damning evidence,” He says. He knows the two of you don’t have a kid, but he’s not about to ruin the fun—nor give them your Instagram handle, which contains several photos of your nieces and nephews.

“Okay, everyone go home, get some sleep,” Robby says. “You can all hound him about it tomorrow.”

Dennis arrives at the hospital the next morning, gaining the attention of everyone sitting at the central hub. He nods as he walks by, smiling a bit. 

“Morning,” He says, getting various responses back, all of them teetering on the edge of being too enthusiastic. He keeps moving, ignoring the strange behaviour. 

Cassie lands beside him once he’s out of the locker room, both of them looking up at the board. Dennis blinks a few times, vision a little blurry from the lack of sleep he got last night. 

“Tired?” Cassie asks. 

He hums. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, no, not really,” She says. “She sleeping through the night yet?”

He raises an eyebrow, confusion evident. “...who?”

Cassie falters for a second, now equally as confused. “Your daughter?”

“My—my what?” He asks. 

“The baby yesterday?” She questions. “Your daughter?”

Dennis’ eyes go wide with realization. “Oh! Oh, uh, no—that was our niece.”

“Oh!” Cassie exclaims, letting out a breath, laughing. “That…makes more sense. We were trying to figure out the timeline yesterday, and it really wasn’t adding-”

She cuts herself off, finally processing what he said. 

“Wait, our?” She asks

“Uhm, yes?”

“Our niece,” She repeats. 

“Yeah, my brother’s daughter,” He says, the sentence coming out slowly, having no clue where her confusion’s coming from now. “You know…?”

“Your niece, then,” She clarifies, and he shakes his head. 

“No, well, technically yes,” He stutters. “All my nieces and nephews are her nieces and nephews, too. They call her ‘auntie’ and everything.”

Cassie nods, brows furrowing a little. “Wow, that’s…wow. That’s sweet, especially since they haven’t known her all that long.”

“Well, uh, actually they’ve known her for awhile,” He says. “I took her back home when we had only been together for a few months, so, she’s been around.”

She nods. “Right, and how long have you been together?”

“Almost four years now,” He says, as though it’s the most casual answer in the world. “The youngest three hadn’t even been born yet when she visited for the first time.”

“Huh,” Cassie says, too stunned to say much else. “Well, hey, congratulations.”

She pats his shoulder before walking off, leaving Dennis slightly bewildered. 

“Uh, thank you?”

Frank comes out of a room across the department, closing the curtain behind him and walking towards the board. Mel intercepts him on the way, falling in line beside him, hands clasped in front of her. 

“Morning,” He says. 

“How old were you when you had Tanner?” She asks, bypassing the small talk, her eyes trailing after Dennis as he goes to see a patient. 

“Twenty-seven,” He says. “Why?”

She shakes her head, scrunching her face up and raising her shoulders up towards her ears. “I don’t understand having kids in medical school.”

Frank clicks his tongue behind his teeth, chuckling. “Yeah, fair enough. It was pretty brutal.”

“Did, uhm, was Abby working too?” She questions. 

“No, no, her job had decent benefits, she was off for six months,” He explains. “Why?”

She gestures vaguely to where Dennis had been standing. “Just…wondering how they managed.”

“How who managed?”

She says your names. “She never took mat leave, and he would’ve been in his last year of school.”

Frank stops entirely, turning to look at her. “Hang on, they have a kid?”

She nods. “That’s what I heard.”

Robby and Dana are working side by side a few hours later, a rare moment of downtime giving him the opportunity to ask her if she knows anything about yours and Dennis’ supposed child. She smirks, putting her glasses up on her head and leaning back in her chair. 

“Overheard him tell McKay she’s his niece,” She says. 

“So…she didn’t call him dad?”

Dana scoffs, laughing. “Definitely sounded like it.”

The hushed conversations continue for the rest of the day, various theories bouncing around to the point that Ahmad pulls out the betting board, but Dana tells him to put it away before it can go anywhere. Somehow, the story spirals into absolute ridiculousness, with far too many people believing that the niece story was a lie. 

Frank walks out of the ER with Dennis at the end of their shift. 

“It’s a tough age,” Frank says, opening his car door. “Penny barely slept until she was eighteen months.”

Dennis slows, hand pausing on the ‘unlock’ button on his key fob. “She’s not-”

“I know how tough it can be to have a baby during residency,” Frank continues, getting into the drivers seat. “But it's worth it. Hang in there, man.”

He closes the door before Dennis can say anything else.

You laugh so hard you can barely breathe when he relays the story to you later that night. 

Your shifts don’t overlap for a few days after that, but you feel the energy change when you walk into the department for a non-urgent page halfway through the day. Dennis looks up from where he’s sitting, watching you approach the desk wearily. 

“What?” You ask, looking right at Princess, knowing you can get her to talk. 

She smiles. “What?”

You narrow your eyes. “Is this about the kid?”

Her face lights up. “So there is a kid?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No! She’s our niece.”

“Yeah, that’s what Whitaker said,” She counters. “But she called him dad.”

“What?” Dennis asks. “No, she didn’t.”

Princess holds her hands up. “Santos said she did.”

“She definitely called him ‘Den,’” You clarify, grinning. “Not dad.”

Princess processes that for a second, her mouth dropping into an ‘o’ shape. 

“Did you actually think that I managed to hide a pregnancy from the entire hospital?”

A/N - see u all tomorrow for dennis x ballerina!reader happy pitt thursday eve!

tags (not the full list im so sorry i need to go through it and do some reconfiguring lmfao):

—

“fuck… you're killin’ meeee…” ENJIN throws his head back, hands just out of reach of his cock, his tip leaking and thighs shaking as his hips buck into your touch. the ropes around enjin’s wrists and abdomen prevent him from touching himself, fingers just mere inches away from his cock, painfully trying in vain to touch what he can't have.

“please baby… please…” he sobs, throwing his head to the side as you wrap your hand back around him, slowly pumping up and down before your thumb rubs across the tip, sending him into a daze. “god, you're such a fucking— ah!” your thumb rubs across a particular piercing, forcing a moan out of enjin’s mouth before he can bite his bottom lip, whining pathetically.

“let me come baby, please? you've been.. a—at this… f’ hours, can barely feel ‘m legs.” you look up at enjin from where you sat in between his legs, watching him squirm and wiggle helplessly. “hmm… I dunnoooo…” you coo, watching as enjin looked absolutely helpless, like he's lost all hope. that's what really gets you going.

you lift yourself up, slowly crawling on to his lap, watching his head lift up to look at you. blonde hair stuck to his forehead, tears streaming down his cheeks and a small line of drool escaping his lips. “you're breakin’ me… see how— broken I am? for you?”

you can't help but coo, voice dropping with false sympathy as the back of your hand runs across his cheek, down to his chin before tracing the tattoos across his chest. “awh, my poor enjin. I wish I felt bad, I really did, but you've been so full of yourself that I needed to punish you.” you cup his cheek, thumb running across the rough skin. “I'm sure you know the rules already, yeah? who do you belong to?”

enjin takes a small breather, golden eyes staring into your as he nods. “you. belong to you… no one else, you own me.” fuck, you squeeze your thighs at his words, but you keep it to yourself, your thumb moving to run across his bottom lip. “you won't come home late again, will you?” he shakes his head. “you won't come home injured and ignore those injuries again, will you?” another shake of his head. “speak.”

“no! no I won't! won't ignore you ever again! I promise, I promise.” enjin gasps, whines leaving his lips as he panics at your words.

“alright, you can cum.” without warning, your hand tightly grips enjin’s cock, forcing him to choke on a moan, legs trembling and back arching as your pace grows faster, the schlick sound of his pre filling his ears. “k—kiss me, kiss mee… please…” you roll your eyes, your lips connect with his to muffle his whines.

you can tell he's close, hips bucking uncontrollably, hands clenched into fists and his breathing erratic. pulling away from the kiss, there's no thought behind enjin’s eyes as he stares up at you, “love you… love you so m—UCH!” his hips buck up one final time, spilling his cum all over your fingers and his thighs.

hopefully this'll be the last time you teach him to keep his hands to himself.

ZANKA grips his assistaff tightly. just a few more trash beasts left, then he can go home and— and… uh… what did he have to do again? a slash from riyo prevents him from becoming trash beast dinner, knocking him out of his hazy thoughts. he quickly looks up, thanking riyo for the save before he's suddenly to his knees, gasping and whining. his hand comes up to cover his mouth, sweat beginning to pour from his forehead.

the plug inside him is pressing right against his prostate, buzzing just right and hitting all those sweet spots inside him. he's about to come, but he needs to hold it in, needs to be a good boy. and just as he reaches his peak. nothing. the buzzing stops, allowing him a moment of relaxation, but also a brief feeling of disappointment.

hours pass and zanka’s back at HQ, yet he wastes no time, quickly jogging into the building and making his way towards your room. your door slams open, and there you are, resting in bed with a book and the most nonchalant look on your face. your gaze turns up, looking at zanka before a smile stretches across your lips. “zanka. you're back early.”

he's slightly bruised, but that seems to be the least of his problems as he approaches you. before he can peep a word, he's knees first to the floor, hands gripping the tiles as the buzzing starts again. “shit… don't do this to me, I can't— can't handle it…”

zanka arches his back up, gasping and writhing on the floor before the buzzing stops again, just at the edge of his orgasm. ”let me cum… please! please please please!” he sobs, tears running down his cheeks and drool leaking onto the floor. god, he truly is pathetic.

you look up from your book, staring at zanka as he shakes, hands clasped together whilst still begging for release. you sigh, reaching for the remote on the bedside table. the buzzing increases, louder, harsher and brushing right against zanka’s prostate.

his back arches up and down, spine curving and legs clenching closed, but it's zanka, and zanka obviously has the best self control right? he looks up at you from the floor, cheek smushed against the tile, eyes rolling back and teeth clenched so hard he might chip a tooth. yet you watch with mild annoyance, sighing as you close your book, legs lifting off the bed to instead sit on the edge on the bed.

“do you wanna cum, zanka?” your hand reaches for his chin, gripping it tightly to lift his face up to look at you properly. his cheeks are flushed, heavy whines and moans leaving his throat. it takes him a minute to process your words before he's nodding rapidly, arms growing weaker by the second. “then cum.”

zanka opens his mouth, yet nothing comes out, his hips stuttering and stilling, eyebrows furrowing and eyes going cross-eyed before he slowly comes down from his high. zanka looks up at you with adoring eyes, slowly smiling while more drool spills from his lips. “thank… you…”

TAMSY can feel a headache growing, but he shakes it off. he needs to sit perfectly still, needs to learn how to keep balance and control while forcibly hung upside down. you sit in front of him, tokushin in hand, fingers gently running over the yarn which held tamsy up.

tug. it tightens. tamsy bites his lower lip, staying perfectly still. his beige hair falls below him, some sticking to his forehead and temples. there's a vibrator taped right to the underside of his cock, pre-cum leaking from his tip and on to both his chest and the floor below him.

you grab tokushin by its wooden handle, twisting the instrument so it doesn't tug on tamsy as much anymore. the vibrator starts, buzzing right beneath the sensitive tip of his cock. tamsy gasps but doesn't move, chest heaving up and down, an occasional twitch here or there yet not enough to have tokushin tighten its hold on him.

he looks over at you, eyes watering and head thrown back. “trying… so hard… can't hold it.” he whines. “tamsy.” your voice scares the absolute shit out of him. he blinks away the tears, looking at you with the most adorable puppy eyes he could manage. “if you fail, we'll have to do this again, remember?”

tamsy nods in acknowledgment, a soft sob escaping him. “I… I know, just— can't hold it! augh!” tamsy’s legs shift, and tokushin tightens, sending tamsy into a feral haze as his hips buck and pre continues to spill from his tip. “tamsy!”

his whining stops, and so does the vibrator. tamsy sobs into his arm, breath shaky and cheeks flush as tears run off his temples and to the ground below. “you're so mean! so fuckin’ mean!!” he whines. “well you're the one who wanted to train, blame yourself, tamsy.” reset. grab tokushin to untighten the binds once more. and let tamsy relax.

his tip is bright red, legs shaking with the need to release and cheeks flushed from the crying. you stand up from your chair, walking towards tamsy, his face right in front of yours. you lean down, licking up the tears that ran down his face before taking a step back. “do you want to stop?” he immediately shakes his head, “no! no please…” you give a nod, making your way back to the chair, sitting down and crossing your legs once more.

the vibrator starts again, and tamsy lifts his head, but he's quick to keep to himself, keeping himself as still as possible. his gaze is everywhere but you, anywhere but the ticking clock on the wall. it feels like there's a fire burning in his veins, unable to extinguish or keep it down. his breath comes out in heavy pants, hands clenching into fists above his head.

“fuck… ah… shit, shit… can I come, please? please!!” tamsy feels his abdomen tighten, thighs clenching and sight growing blurry. “fuck, fuck… fuckfuckfuck!!” his body moves uncontrollably, back arching, legs twisting, hands grasping for nothing. tokushin reacts immediately, locking tamsy in his awkward position, unable to buck his hips up. “I'm gonna— gonna… cum!” his eyes roll back, spilling all over himself, his seed coating his upper chest and lower face, the sight lewd and embarrassing.

you sigh, disappointment evident as you write down something. gripping tokushin, you release tamsy from the yarn, his body flopping onto the floor. “third attempt failed, take a thirty minute break and we'll try again.”

it's been a long day for you and BRO, taking care of the children and killing trash beasts. you're left bruised and battered as you slump into your shared bed, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as you sink into the sheets. Bro is dead asleep already, laid out as still as a plank, breathing even and body rigid.

you softly giggle at your lover's form, burying your face into your pillow as you do so. your gaze hovers over his form, he's wearing nothing but his underwear, cloth placed on the bedside table on his side. your hand slowly reaches up, fingers starting at his broad shoulders, you feel up the dips and the curves of his skin, nails tracing over his scars.

something catches your attention, and you notice the bulge starting to grow between his legs, his body shifting, head moving to the side and his legs spreading open, almost as if he's calling out for you, begging you to touch him.

your fingers glide across skin, stopping at bro’s chest. your nails flick and slightly tug at his nipples, his back arching in to your touch, yet he doesn't wake, still snoring away as your hand reaches his v-line. you watch as he twitches, bringing his hips closer to your palm.

you start off slow, nails dragging over his bulge and feeling the wetness that already stained his briefs long ago. you squeeze, watching his breath get caught in his throat, legs tensing and hands gripping his pillow tightly.

your hands work expertly, wrapping around his covered cock and rubbing just enough to feel him twitch in your grasp. bro subtly shifts, pushing himself closer against you like he's attempting to have your hand directly on his skin, the lack of skin on skin making his sleeping form ache for you.

slowly lifting yourself up, you straddle bro’s hips, legs on either side of him. your fingers hook into the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down to reveal his leaking cock, the tip flushed red and coated in his pre. you lean down to run your lips across one of the veins on the underside, smiling as an audible gasp escapes his throat.

taking the head past your lips, you're immediately met with an uncontrollable thrust up, pushing half his cock directly into your mouth. you nearly gag on the sudden jerk up, hands placed on bro's thighs for support. blinking away the initial shock, you push yourself all the way down, lips brushing against the base of his cock and nose buried deep in his unkempt hair.

you stay like this for a few seconds, enjoying the way he was buried in your mouth before lifting yourself back up and pulling off with a pop. you can't help but admire your work, bro's cock a deep, aching red, dripping with both pre and saliva, and twitching uncontrollably as the cold air of the room brushes against it.

digging your fingers back into bro's thighs, you take him back into your mouth, your tongue teasing the tip, the salty taste of pre coating your taste buds as you continue. slowly lowering yourself back down, it's not long before bro's hand suddenly comes up, gripping your hair tightly as his hips buck up, spilling himself inside your mouth with a heavy groan.

allowing bro to relax from his orgasm, you slowly pull yourself off, some of his release leaking from the corners of your lips, although you pay no mind to it. taking a second to breathe, you lift your head up to find bro still sound asleep, dick soft and snoring away, you think you should help him sleep like this more often.

you've never seen CORVUS break, never seen him buckle or back down, never seen him lose his temper or keep his emotions out of line. but that changes when it comes to you, he gets so whiney, so desperate for you it's like he's a completely different person.

corvus sits on his knees, peppering kisses all over your bare stomach, arms gripped around your hips tightly like you'd disappear if he let go. your hands come up to grip the nape of his neck and his shoulder, steadying his form.

slowly pulling away, corvus looks up at you, gaze akin to that of gratitude, like he's grateful just to be near you, and by all means he is. you're like a goddess to him, someone who brings him back to reality, someone he can anchor himself with.

“my love.” he croaks, hands moving to hover over the sides of your thighs, an obvious bulge between his legs as he pulls away to show you. you know that look he gives you, a way to beg without using his words, without telling you what he really wants.

you cup his chin, lifting his head to fully look up at you. “words you words arkha, I can't read your mind, you know that.” corvus gulps, hands slowly crawling down to rest at the back of your thigh. “please… let me—” he stops, a rush of embarrassment going through him, swallowing nervously. “let me… grind against you, I don't deserve to taint your perfect pussy.”

a grin stretches across your lips at his words, his cheek against your thigh as he begs for pleasure. “such a good boy arkha, you may.” corvus doesn't waste a second, grinding his cock against your boot, the material of your laces just right against his clothed cock. he whines against your knee, biting his bottom lip to muffle his moans as beads of sweat already form across his forehead.

“my mistress, my perfect woman, I apologize— ngh! deeply… for misbehaving, I know— oh fuck… that you said I should be… wearing m—my choker more, and that… that I should be taking care of myself more.”

a certain thrust of his hips has corvus gasping, the lace of your shoe brushing right against his sensitive tip, pre beginning to leak through his pants and on to your boots. “m—my love, please…” he's unsure of what he's begging for, so many thoughts running through his head he's unsure of what to say first. “‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry,” his teeth bite into his bottom lip, preventing any more embarrassing words from spilling.

“stop.” corvus’s head suddenly snaps up, looking at you with wide, grey eyes, slowly halting his hips, hesitancy written all over his pretty face. you tilt your head, watching the tears as they begin to form in the corners of corvus’s eyes, his breathing heavy, chest heaving up and down.

“I'm sorry ma'am, I'm so sorry, please…” he stops again, burying his face back into your thighs, the wet patch between his legs staining his cleaners uniform. “awh, my poor arkha, you want to come so bad, don't you? feel all that tension inside you just snap, hm?” corvus nods at your words, peeking his eyes out from between your legs. “use your words arkha.”

corvus swallows, adams apple bobbing up and down before he pulls away from your legs, looking up at you with tear stained cheeks, his cock continues to leak, staining his pants. ”please, let me fuck your thighs, I need your warmth, even if I can't be inside you, I need you around me.”

smiling at his words, you nod to corvus, folding your arms as he moves up, towering over your form. ”may I?” he asks, his hands on your thighs. rolling your eyes, you step back, sitting on his desk. corvus grabs your thighs, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulder, before he's slotting his cock between your clenched thighs, already heavily panting as his hips begin to move.

it's not your pussy, neither is it the tight walls of your ass, but the softness of your thighs is enough to break corvus, watching his cock disappear and reappear between them, tip leaking and already spurting small amounts of pre.

his hands grip your thighs tightly, nails digging into your skin and forming small crescent marks, his breath hot against your legs. you watch with a smirk, the boss of the cleaners simply a mess for you, your thighs a sacred haven for him, something that deserves to be worshipped whenever he can.

you can feel corvus’s thrusts grow sloppy, messing up his rhythm with each pump of his hips. you're waiting, waiting for the words to slip from his mouth. “ah— oh, fuck. please.” you still wait, wait for him to break above you. “please. let me… come… please.” there it was, hook, line and sinker. you tilt your head, smirking up at corvus. “what was that?”

corvus whines, growing increasingly impatient, but he obeys, slowing his thrusts to keep himself steady. “please mistress, may I come?”

you chuckle, giving corvus a nod of approval. “go ahead.” he doesn't waste a second, gripping your hips to pull you in closer, his hips thrusting against yours, cock rutting between your thighs. “oh fuck— ah fuck!” throwing his head back, corvus gasps, spilling his release all over your bare stomach, and some even landing on your bra.

“thank you… s—so much… mistress.”

you and GRIS maintained a good relationship. no arguments, no fights, and barely finding yourselves disagreeing on anything. although there was always this misconception. gris was taller, hunkier, and bigger than you. and this made people assume he wore the pants in the relationship, like he was some saviour and you were simply his maiden in distress. of course it wasn't like that, honestly, it was the complete opposite.

you sat in your bedroom, one hand working on notes as the other scrolled through your laptop, taking in account what was on your screen, and gris? well he sat in between your legs, head resting on your thighs, hands desperately gripping your calves. your ignorance made him more desperate, the vibrating dildo inside him just not enough to fully get him off.

“sweetheart, please… I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, you know that.” gris whines, pulling himself closer to you. you're not wearing any panties, and your slick cunt is right in front of him, teasing the ever living shit out of him. you look down, watching gris as he stares up at you with those puppy eyes he's mastered. lifting your pen up to your lips, you take a bite of the tip, pretending to think about your answer.

earlier, gris was seemingly flirting with one of the other cleaners, yet you knew that couldn't be true, gris was a gentleman who simply couldn't reject someone, so he let that woman flirt, let her touch him all over and down, but you could never take that lightly, so this is his punishment. the dildo inside him vibrating enough just to feel something but not enough to make him cum.

pulling the pen away, you simply shrug, going back to taking notes, the hand on your laptop coming down to curl through his hair. “hmm, I'm not sure baby, you know I don't like it when you let others do stuff like that to you.” gris whines again, leaking cock pushing against your shin, coating your skin in pre release. “I'm so sorry sweetheart, I'm so sorry! just please… please let me taste you!”

you love it when he begs, so whiny and desperate. with a sigh, you spread your legs, pulling up your skirt to reveal what gris was just so desperate for. “fine, but remember, no coming before me, that'll be extra punishment.”

gris nods enthusiastically, his hands gripping on to your thighs to pull you closer. diving into you, his tongue runs across your cunt, flicking against your clit and pushing right inside you. your hand reaches for a small remote. pushing one of the buttons, gris suddenly jolts up, feeling the vibrations inside him intense, and buzzing right against his prostrate.

he can't come, not before you, but fuck it's becoming impossible, gris can easily cum by simply eating you out, but adding these vibrations? he's already on the edge.

you feel a warmth spread across your thighs, and you turn your head to look down at gris. warm tears run down his cheeks, thighs trembling and tongue becoming sloppy as he runs his head to look up at you. you simply smile, noticing the small pool of pre-cum on the floor between his knees. “I can't do… I can't do this, I'm gonna cum baby, I'm gonna cum, I can't—” he's so desperate, desperate for both you and a release.

clicking the button on the remote once again, gris wails, pulling away from your cunt to rest his forehead on your chair, his breath heavy as his orgasm is stripped away from him. “I'm so sorry baby, m’ so sorry! please, please…” he doesn't know what he's begging for, unable to decide between stopping and continuing, all he wants is to taste you on his tongue.

gripping gris’ hair, you pull him back towards your cunt and with no hesitation, he's immediately back on you. your legs are on his shoulders, and his hands are gripping your thighs so desperately it's nearly pathetic. the vibrations start again, yet gris doesn't falter. it's not long before your legs are squeezing his head, your own release just around the corner.

one specific flick to your clit has your back arching, the heels of your foot pressing against gris’ back to push him closer. you up the vibrations, watching gris crack underneath you. your hand in his hair is his breaking point. and as you reach your limit, so does gris, coming exactly with you. he spills all over the floor, whining and gasping against your clit, your juices coating his chin and stubble.

as you come down from your high, you push your head forward, looking down at gris as he's sat between your legs. tears stain his cheeks, drool runs down the sides of his chin along with your own slick, and he looks absolutely pathetic. your hand reaches to grab his chin, thumb wiping over his swollen bottom lip. gris simply stares, barely able to think as he mutters gibberish against your skin.

AUGUST’s fingers gripped his pillow tightly as your hands wrapped around his throat, choked moans and sobs leaving his lips while your hips smack against his, his leaky cock throbbing and twitching inside your perfect pussy. “what's wrong august... can't speak?” you coo, voice dripping in false sympathy as august drools beneath you.

it was a stupid bet he made, a bet between you and gris on who could get more knockouts while out in the field. you weren't a giver, a supporter who sidelined with gris when things were gonna get extra heated. “here's a bet, you rock some shit out there and beat gris, you can choke me out for tha’ night! howsat?” august offered with a cheeky grin, constantly pointing his big fat gloved finger into your face.

the score came out to a whopping 53-47, with you in the lead you came back home in a victorious mood. and showing august your score is how he landed in this exact spot.

“speak to me baby, I can't understand you.” your tone turns condescending, hands gripping august tighter around his throat, watching him squirm as he attempts to both speak and wiggle away from you. “fuck. wanna come… please?” his head lowers, watching the way his cock disappears and reappears inside you, his thighs coated with previous releases, though it seems you've changed your mind, not allowing him any sort of relief at all.

august throws his head back, blonde hair scattered everywhere, hips bucking up and hands lifting up to grip your wrists. you stop, and august whines, panting and trembling underneath you. just as you're about to move your hips again, a knock at the door catches your attention. “yo august, got a moment?” it's enjin, seemingly annoyed and almost irritable.

you turn your attention back to your boyfriend, he's in no situation to talk, your hands wrapped around his neck, face flushed and tears running down his cheeks. “the hell you want enjin!? august ain't here right now!” you call out. “woah, sorry miss sassy supporter, need my full face fixed, it's got a hole and I'd rather not sniff any of the bad stuff through it.”

you silently groan, of all times enjin has an inconvenience it's when you're fucking the absolute daylights out of your man. clearing your throat, you wave off of the older cleaner. “well, august said he's gonna go visit alice, go bother her ass about him.” you hear enjin groan, inaudibly mumbling something before walking off.

turning your attention back to august, he's got a smug grin on his lips, tears dried yet stained as he looks up at you. “saved my ass, didn't you sugar?” giggling, you loosen your grip, pulling august into a kiss, his mouth moving desperately against yours. his hands move from your wrists to your hips, gripping tightly as they continue to work.

“you— ah, fuck! you edged me back there…!” august gasps, spit caught at the back of his throat as he hits that spongey spot inside you. raising a brow at him, august continues. “I was…— just about to cum… then enjin— ah! knocked! n’ then you stopped, it hurt so fuckin’ much…”

smiling down at august, you purr at his form, the back of your hand running down his cheek to wipe away the new tears that ran down. “awh, my august…” leaning down, you press your lips against his neck, feeling his body twitch and shake beneath you. “yer’ breakin’ me.” august whines, whimpers growing louder and tears fatter as your hips never stop slapping against his pelvis, your walls gripping him tightly like he'd leave if you let go.

“I'm about to come baby, let me? pleasepleaseplease!” he begs and begs, voice cracking against the walls as he throws his head back, waiting and waiting for your approval. “come for me sweetheart.”

and that's all it took, your hand quickly coming up to cover august’s mouth as he releases himself inside you, cock spurting endlessly and hips uncontrollably pushing himself deeper into you, milking himself for all he's worth. as august calms down, he's already melting into his pillow, snoring away beneath you, leaving you to giggle at your lover's sleeping form.

FOLLO gasps as your stocking-clad feet run up his chest, the ball of your foot pushing up against his jacket before catching the zipper between your toes, pulling it down to reveal his skinny chest. sweat runs down his skin, gasps and whines leaving his lips as the tips of your toes brush against his v-line.

“why are you so nervous, follo? I'm just touching you.” your voice is laced with false sweetness, like there's something beneath that's waiting to bite into him. he looks up at you, gasping as one of your feet slides beneath his chin, like you're feeling him up without actually using your hands.

you drag follo closer, his hands gripping your ankles to stabilize himself against you. “please stop teasing.” he whines, feeling your feet run back down his chest to slowly hovering right above his bulge. “are you seriously hard from my feet?” a cackle leaves your lips, follo’s cheeks beginning to turn visibly red, the humiliation making him even more hard.

“take them off.” follo doesn't hesitate, his gloved hands moving to unzip his pants, pushing them down to his thighs, just enough to release his leaking cock, tip bright red and dribbling with pre-cum. follo turns his head to look at you, like he's waiting for some sort of approval or praise. “‘m so hard for you, I'm aching, please fuck me.” he whines, hips lightly thrusting in the air, humping against nothing for some sort of relief.

watching the pathetic sight has you amused, the shy and quiet supporter truly does have a freaky side. you push yourself closer, the arches of your feet wrapping around follo’s cock. he gasps softly, hands moving to grip your ankles once again. “go on, fuck yourself against my feet, dog.” the name has follo’s cock twitching, his hips slowly move, allowing himself to adjust to the material of your stockings, the nylon is rough against him, creating extra pleasure against his sensitive cock.

follo slowly gains more confidence, hands now gripping your feet to keep them steady as he ruts against you, although he refuses to lift his head, refuses to make eye contact with you. he can feel his orgasm growing closer, thrusts sloppy and whines growing louder by the second.

“‘m gonna— f-fuck!” you pull your feet away, watching follo grab you to bring you back, but he's just not fast enough, his cock an angry red and coated tip to base in his slick. “n—no, wait, come back!” he wails, tears running down his cheeks and on to the floor below him.

“awh, poor follo, what's wrong baby, upset that you can't come?” your tone is condescending, venomous in sympathy as you watch follo sob into his arms. “please mistress, let m—me come, I'll be a good boy, you know that I'm your g—good boy!” he mewls. “oh follo, you are my good boy, but you remember the rules, don't you?”

he lifts his head, making eye contact with you. “always k—keep my eyes… on you.” you nod. “that's right, so let's start this over, okay?”

follo nods, watching your feet wrap around him once more. he grips the floor beneath him instead of your ankles, keeping his eyes on your own as he begins to thrust up against you, groaning as the warmth of your nylon rubs against him.

“ugh— ngh fuck… love… it so much, mistress, you make me feel s—so fuckin’ good.” follo sigh, hips slowly increasing in pace, his hips slamming against your ankles as he nears his orgasm once more. “‘m close, ‘m so close mistress. mistress, can I come? can I come please??” he's desperately begging, already broken from being denied, and even more desperate than before. “please, I've been your good boy, your only good boy!”

your finger taps your chin, pretending to think about whether to allow follo his orgasm or not. turning back to him, you simply nod, running your thumb across his cheek to wipe away the tears that ran down. “come for me baby.”

that's all it takes before follo’s wailing, hips stuttering as he cums all over your tights, cock rubbing mindlessly against your feet to milk himself for all he's worth. as he comes down from his high, follo slumps against your legs, mumbling sweet nothings and thank you’s against your legs. ”mffhh… love you… s’ much, thank you…”

SEMIU was tasked with one thing, shopping for the cleaners with you by her side. and of course when you join semiu on anything, you can never do it normally.

you're grabbing items off the shelf, a mix of ingredients and items the cleaners had asked for. semiu’s behind you, gripping the trolley handle tightly. she can feel the beads of sweat running down her forehead, quickly using the back of her hand to wipe them away.

she looks up at you, watching you ignore her, and continuing to fill the cart before you finally catch her from the corner of your eye. “semiu.” you smile, although it's not a full smile, it's something more sinister. semiu’s knees buckle, forcing her to lean against the cart. “[name]... you're real mean, sugar.” she sighs, the vibrator inside her buzzing just right against that spongey spot inside her.

“oh semiu, I'm not mean, far from it really.” you giggle, watching as semiu’s face twisted between pleasure and an attempt to hide it. you walk down one of the isles, noticing the lack of customers around. a perfect opportunity.

turning around, you grab semiu by her shoulders, pushing her up against one of the shelves. your hand gently cups her clothed cunt, feeling the hardness of the vibrator against her clit. “my god semiu, you're so fucking wet, I can feel it through through your pants.” you giggle again, fingers slowly reaching up to dip them past the waistline of her pants, your fingers teasing the edge of her panties.

“you gonna come, semmie?” the nickname has her groaning, her head nodding at your words as she brings her hand up to bite down on her knuckles, muffling the moans that left her lips.

grabbing semiu's wrist, you pull her hand away, leaning in closer before your lips meet hers in a hard kiss, teeth clashing and tongues battling for dominance. she lets you win, always has, your tongue pushing past her own, exploring every inch and crevice before pulling away, a string of saliva connecting the both of you.

you quickly look around the isle once more before grabbing semiu by the wrist and dragging her to the nearest bathroom. the door slams open, your gaze checking every corner before closing the door behind you. “c’mere.” your hands grip semiu’s shoulders once again, pushing her up against one of the sinks as your lips are back on hers.

yours hands reach for semiu’s belt, unbuckling the leather and allowing it to fall to the ground with a clank. your lips leave semiu’s, moving down her chin, to her neck, before stopping at the cleavage of her breasts.

you reach up for the zipper of her tank top, pulling it just enough for her breasts to spill out, the coldness of the bathroom hardening her nipples.

your tongue brushes across her skin, the heat sending shivers down semiu’s spine, before your lips suckle gently on her tits. semiu throws her head back, gasping at the sensation of your tongue against her sensitive skin.

your hand snakes back down to her pants, the tips of your fingers pushing past the waistband and rubbing against her sensitive clit. semiu arches into your touch, her hands gripping the sink behind her, manicured nails digging into the porcelain.

you can feel the plastic of the vibrator, pulling it away from semiu’s clit, an almost sigh of relief leaving her lips before it's replaced by a whine instead, the pleasure escaping her body. “don't worry semiu, I've got you.” your voice catches her attention, your lips off her tits and stretching into a grin below her, fingers gently rubbing her clit, coating them with her slick.

you delve your fingers into her cunt, feeling semiu clench around you as you slowly push further and further inside, before your fingers reach knuckle deep.

semiu muffles her moans against your lips, gasping with each plunge of your fingers in and out of her. “shit, you're gonna— mfh! make me… come..” you simply chuckle at her words, the noises of her slick and your thrusts growing louder with each pump, semiu’s back arching into your touch and thighs tensing up.

“that's it, come on my fingers, be a good girl for me semiu.” you hum, feeling semiu’s hands reach to wrap around your neck, nails digging into your scalp before her back arches harshly, cunt spasming around your fingers.

semiu collapses against you, whining as your fingers fish out the last of her pleasure, her body slowly relaxing as you pull out. you blink, allowing yourself to bask in the moment before a thought interrupts you. “there's probably people waiting outside to be let in.” semiu lifts her head, looking at the locked door of the bathroom, before the both of you burst into giggles.

JABBER whines as you grab him by the locs, lifting his face off the ground. he's covered in bruises and marks, blood dripping down his forehead and chin. he smiles up at you, pushing himself further against your touch. “c’mon, I ain't even feel that, hit me harder!”

you don't hesitate, lifting your foot to collide your boot against jabber’s face, watching as he flies across the room, giggling and moaning at the impact. “awh man… ‘m so goddamn hard, but I just ain't there yet.” turning around, jabber looks at you as he shifts, resting on his elbows, legs spread to reveal the erection right between his legs.

he doesn't need to speak, you already know what he wants. walking up to his form, you lift your foot, stepping directly on his cock, a loud moan leaving jabber’s throat, the roughness of your boot grinding harshly against his hard on. “oh— fuck me! goddamn girl, you really know not to hold back… huh?” he's breathless, softly moaning as he grinds himself against your foot.

you dig your sole further into him, the heel of your boot digging right against his balls, the tip of it just beneath the head of his cock. “auggnnghhh!! so— so rough… so fucking hot. need more of ya…”

fuck, he looks absolutely gorgeous, a trail of drool running down his chin, locs splayed across the ground, his mankira glinting just right against the light above the both of you. shit, you just wanna ruin him, maybe ride him until he can barely think, or perhaps peg him until the only thing he can remember is your name.

snapping back to reality, you watch as jabber continues to writhe beneath you, his pupils blown wide and his hands reaching for anything to grip before settling on the floor. jabber manages to pull from your grip, crawling away with no effort, like he wants you to capture him.

you grip jabber by the ankle, dragging him across the floor before your fingers find his jacket hoodie, pulling just enough the collar wraps around his throat, cutting off a section of his air supply. “h—holy fuck. i’m… ‘bout to come…”

your grip loosens, causing jabber’s face to splat against the floor, a groan of disappointment leaving him. “awh, come on! I was about to reach the best part!” you look down at him with an unreadable expression, a shiver running down his spine as he stares back at you. “don't look at me like that…. ‘s makin’ me feel things…”

jabber sighs, a longing in his eyes akin to obsession, he wants you so damn bad, wants you to break him and build him back up again with only your words. you say jump and he asks how high, you ask him to kill, he does so with no hesitation, he's yours, from physically to emotionally.

he slowly crawls towards you, climbing up your body like some sort of jungle gym, before he's face to face with you, his busted up face right against your untouched one. he's quick to act, grabbing you by the shoulder, his lips meeting against yours in a sloppy, unskilled kiss.

you don't hesitate to give him that attention back, “kissing you… like this— s’ enough to get me even more rock hard.” chuckling, you pull jabber away, smiling at his fucked out expression, drool running down his chin and blood leaking from his temples. “oh jabber,” you cup his clothed cock, watching him throw his head back. one squeeze and he's broken. so that's exactly what you do.

your hand is rough, gripping jabber tightly, your thumb managing to rub against the tip of his cock just right. jabber throws his head back, going cross-eyed as his hips buck up into your touch, the dampness of his release coating your palm.

jabber slowly comes back to reality, lolling his head to the side to look at you. “c’mon, give me another, until ‘m pumping out nothin’ anymore.” how could you deny him? especially when he asks so sweetly.

FUU gags as you push your fingers further into his mouth, your knuckles pushing past his swollen lips, his eyes lidded as he pushes his head further, a loud gag escaping his lips before he pulls back, heavy gasps leaving his lips as he looks up at you.

“fuu, if you can't handle my fingers, I don't think you're ready for my cock.” your spit coated fingers run across the leather of your strap, the material shining against the light above you.”

fuu’s eyes widen at your words, nonono, he's ready! he's been telling you for weeks and week on end, begging to gag on your strap for as long as he could remember. “no—no wait! please ma'am, I promise I can!”

he pushes his cheek up against your dildo, the silicone only half wet, a sign of fuu’s previous attempts. “I can take it, I promise I can.” fuu pushes himself against you, hii dangling by his side as he always has. you look down at fuu with your chin in your palm, pretending to think about what to do next.

you sigh with false annoyance, “fine, but you're not pulling away when I fuck your mouth, understand?” fuu nods curtly, a certain shine to his eyes that has you smiling at his desperateness. you unfold your legs, standing up from your chair and grabbing fuu by the back of his head, fingers curling into his white-salmon locks.

fuu looks up at you with something akin to admiration, opening his mouth willingly to take your cock into his throat, he slowly reaches the halfway mark, the furthest he's ever gotten. you allow a momentary break, letting fuu bask in the anticipation before he's suddenly pulled down, lips against the base of your cock, the tip bullying the back of his throat.

“nghg… mfhhggh— ghhh!” his voice is muffled, drool already running down his chin as his hands come up to grip your hips tightly. he slowly moves his head up, starting at the tip and pushing himself all the way back down, gagging around your cock with no shame.

he repeats, until your cock is fully coated, lips swollen once more, but as soon as he reaches the tip again, your hands stop him. fuu looks up at you, confusion on his face. your hands grip the sides of his face tightly, and fuu knows what's about to hit him, his hands leaving your hips to instead grip your wrists instead.

fuu gags and chokes as your hips begin to relentlessly thrust into his mouth, your cock bulging against his throat with each pump of your hips. “look at you fuu, my good boy, taking my cock so well, huh?” fuu can only nod slightly, gagging against your dick as you fuck his throat.

“glug—glug—glug—” the sound is beautiful, a mix of fuu’s gagging and swallowing, attempting not to drown in his own spit as you fuck him raw. fuu can feel himself growing harder at the second, his gagging turning into whining as his grinds his hard on against thin air. “well, look at that, hard from choking on my dick sweetheart?” fuu attempts to nod, but is unable to with your hands keeping him still.

your hands move up to grip fuu’s hair, slowly pulling him off of your cock with a pop, watching as strings of saliva connected his lips with the silicone.

“w—why…d— you stop?” fuu slurs, licking his lips to clean off the drool that ran down. “because I can't have you coming just yet.” fuu whines at your words, slowly sneaking his hand down to rub against his clothed cock. “please.. please…"

your fingers tighten around his locks, slightly lifting him from his knees to pull him closer against you. “do you deserve it?” you hum, voice dripping with dominance, watching fuu tremble from your touch. he nods frantically, cheeks flushed as he begs. “yes! yes! I deserve it, I've been so good, listened to you… I've done everything you want, please!”

pushing fuu back to his knees, you slightly loosen your grip on his hair, lining up your cock to his lips. he sticks his tongue out, allowing you to slap the tip against it before unexpectedly shoving it entirely down his throat.

fuu desperately gags against the silicone, hands moving back to your thighs for support. “nghnn! mghh—fhhggnn!” he groans, letting his throat relax as you brush right against the back with harsh thrusts.

he can feel his orgasm peeking just right around the corner, his groans becoming desperate whines with each thrust of your hips. fuu tightens his grip on your thighs, index tapping against them, indicating his nearing. you watch fuu with a smirk, tears forming in his eyes once again before they run down his cheeks.

you don't stop, instead going faster, watching fuu’s eyes widen with each gag of his throat. “mghh! mffgghh—aahh!” fuu pulls off of you, head throwing back as he comes in his pants, his legs trembling beneath him. “ffuucckkkk… throat hurts… so much….” he whines, voice rough and lips swollen.

your hand grips his chin, lifting his face to face yours. “you've done such a good job, I think you deserve an even better reward.” before fuu could answer, you're gripping him by the wrists, lifting him up and against the wall, wrapping his legs around your waist.

”w—wait! ‘m still se—sensitive!” he cries out, although it's ignored as your fingers grip the waistband of his pants, pulling them down to just to his thighs, the tip of your cock pressing against the entrance of his ass.

let's just say that cthoni left you a complaint the morning after about too much noise.

BUNDUS watches in horror as the bottom of your scepter slams against the ground, the vital instrument humming with life. Hands floating still above him, its fingers twitching with ache to grab something. “you said you wouldn't.” his voice comes out shaky. you simply shrug, slamming the scepter down once more.

hand two and six fly towards you, hovering just close enough to touch the material of your raider outfit. “m sorry bundus, but I just got too curious.”

that was hours ago. bundus, a once fine and outgoing man, now lay on the ground, prompted up to his knees and face smushed against the ground. the thickness of hand two’s fingers plunging into him and stretching him with each thrust, and hand six wrapped tightly around his cock, the double stimulation making bundus go cross-eyed.

you leaned against one of the chairs within the room, scepter still in hand, and watched every twitch, arch and sweat of bundus’ body. “this is h—highly… inappropriate.” he attempts to speak. yet the overflow of drool slurs his words.

“it is, yes. but when have you ever cared about anything appropriate.” you shrug your shoulders, a smug smirk tugging at your lips as hand two thrusts knuckles deep, hitting straight against bundus’ prostate while hand six rubs gently against his leaking tip.

your fingers tighten around your scepter, hand two suddenly increasing in pace, while hand six pulls away from bundus’ cock, the hardened fingers moving to shove past his lips, the taste of his slick pushed against his tongue.

“I'll do what I want with Hands. and right now, I'm enjoying you in this state.” you stand up from your chair, pulling hand six away from bundus, the prosthetic fingers coated in his saliva. hand two continues its pressure, pushing itself deeper into bundus, the outline visible against his broad stomach.

“this is a sight I could get used to.” you giggle, a maniacal look on your face as bundus attempts to regain his self respect, yet it's useless, and he hates to admit it, but hand two just feels too good inside him. “uh-uh-uh, no coming yet bundus.” hand two begins to slow its pace, thick fingers resting inside bundus.

his whines echo off the walls, yet you skip over that, an idea creeping into your mind. you step forward, standing right in front of bundus’ kneeled form, fingers tapping against the scepter.

“fuck yourself against hand two.” what? you can't be serious, it's already humiliating getting fucked by your own vital instrument, but fucking it yourself, that's a whole new low for bundus. “did I stutter?” your words snap him from his thoughts, watching your fingers tap and tap, like a clock ticking down.

bundus swallows thickly, slowly pushing himself up from the ground, feeling hand two adjust inside him. he hesitates, looking up at you with puppy eyes, yet you don't seem to flinch nor back down. swallowing again, bundus begins to move his hips, lifting himself up before slamming down against hand two's fingers.

it's embarrassing, an act of shame, yet he just couldn't stop, each slam of his hips creating louder and louder moans, hand two filling him up just right. “I'm a—about to cum, please ma'am, may I?”

his thick accent slurs, hands and knees trembling with each bounce of his hips. you smile in amusement, enjoying your co-worker fuck himself against his vital instrument. “you may.”

bundus lets out a moan of either relief or pleasure, most likely both, as his hips don't stop, finding just that right angle before his back arches up, climax washing over him as he spills across the floor.

you tap your scepter once more, hand two pulling itself out, leaving bundus empty yet aching for more. you kneel down, wiping nonexistent dust off bundus’s jacket. “I think we should do this more often.”

ZODYL shifts in his seat, watching the TV infront of him, although he's barely able to concentrate, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs draped on either side of his thighs, and your pussy squeezing him so tightly he's unable to think properly.

he knows he's not allowed to move, not allowed to touch, only a light, gentle caress on your thigh. you've got a book in your hand, something you picked up from a raid that piqued your interest.

you squeeze tighter, and zodyl sucks in a breath, feeling his composure break every second you're around him. you'd suggest this as a sort of… bonding ritual, with zodyl being so busy with raider work, you barely found yourself within the bedroom, so you suggested this, something called… cockwarming? whatever the it was.

zodyl could barely keep it together, hearing you flip the pages of your book that definitely had you uninterested, but you truly can never deny an opportunity to break zodyl in. his grip on your thigh tightens, hips shifting in hope to get some sort of stimulation.

your head turns, not fully, but just enough for zodyl to halt his movements. “is this your way of torturing me?” zodyl’s deep voice interrupts your thoughts, raising a curious brow at the leader before smiling in content. “perhaps, or maybe I just enjoy seeing you squirm, knowing you obey my every command.” you wiggle your hips just enough, his cock growing more comfy inside your walls.

“you're going to break me.” he sighs, feeling his cock twitch, light bursts of pre-cum escaping his tip. “maybe that's what I want.” you giggle, the sound of your book closing echoing through zodyl’s ear.

lifting yourself up, you stare at zodyl beneath you, your hands resting on his scarred shoulders. “I wanna see you squirm zodie, wanna see you break and beg.” your nails drag against his skin, tracing over the scars, gliding up his neck and cheek before stopping at the silver that adorned his ear.

zodyl sighs against your touch, humming gently with each caress and whisper of praise from you, your touch nearly sending him overboard as you suddenly squeeze his cock against. “don't tease me.” he's demanding, although his words are empty, he knows you're the one who's truly in control.

“I'll do what I want zodie.” leaning in, you wrap your arms around his shoulders once more, breasts pushed against his upper chest, your cleavage nearly against his face. “I think I've punished you enough.” you steady your hips, lifting yourself from zodyl's cock, so that only his tip remains inside.

“fuck me zodie, fuck me like you mean it.” zodyl doesn't waste a second, broad arms wrapping around your waist before his hips slam up into you. you throw your head back, his cock hitting that certain spot inside you with each thrust.

”oh… fuck! that's it zodie, such a— agh! good boy!” your voice is interrupted by moans, mingling in with zodyl's own loud grunts and slight whines. at your praise, zodyl tightens his arms around you, his hips increasing in pace.

he's hitting that sweet spot every time, making you dizzy with need as you can feel your orgasm already down the corner. “I'm about… I'm about to cum zodie, you know the rules… r—right?” zodyl simply nods at your words, arms moving down your waist to instead grip your hips instead.

“hah— hah…” zodyl can barely form a sentence, your pussy's just too fucking good, milking his cock with each thrust of his hips. he knows he can't cum, but he's just so close. your head throws back, nails digging into zodyl’s shoulders as you come around his cock, squeezing him for all his worth.

zodyl holds back his own orgasm by mere inches, feeling like he's about to blow any second. you look down at his trembling form, and although he doesn't beg verbally, you can see it in his face, the way it twists and turns.

you think to yourself for a moment, should you really let him come? he looks so pathetic like this, the big bad boss of the raiders pussy drunk off you. finally deciding, you lift yourself off his cock, his tip red and pulsating, drops of pre sliding from his tip.

“I don't think I've ever seen you like this zodie, were you about to come inside me?” you coo. zodyl hesitates for a second, watching you with precision before nodding his head. you laugh in his face, fingers moving the sweaty hair that stuck to his forehead. “you know you're not allowed.”

he nods again, watching you wrap your hand around his cock, his leaky tip throbbing against your touch. “look at you zodie, you're so sensitive, but I can't let it go to waste." you lean down, taking the tip of his cock into your mouth. zodyl immediately bucks his hips up, one hand coming up to grip your hair as your nose touches right against the hair of his pelvis.

“I am going to his house.”

Robin grabbed the returns basket with a sigh and, ignoring Steve, began scanning the tapes one by one. Movie titles flashed across the computer screen, each paired with its corresponding customer file. Blade Runner — rented by Mark Halloway. Apocalypse Now — rented by Linda Carver. Raiders of the Lost Ark — rented by Tammy Thompson (she nearly choked reading that one). Soon enough, the counter was stacked with blockbusters, all ready to be rewound. The tapes remained untouched.

Robin rolled her eyes and, for what had to perhaps be the fiftieth time since their meeting at Starcourt, cursed Dustin Henderson.

Contrary to popular belief, Monday mornings at Family Video were anything but quiet. If customers were indeed not roaming the aisles, shamelessly ruining the carefully arranged alphabetization, they were still eager to dump their Saturday night rentals into the return boxes.

It already took a full two hours to put everything back in order when there was two of them. What would happen if Robin had to handle all of it alone because Steve Harrington was too busy having a panic attack?

While scanning Risky Business, Robin glanced at the man in question. He was pacing the aisle between romance and horror movies, hands planted firmly on his hips. By now, the gesture was pure muscle memory: whenever Steve thought about his kids, he ended up looking like the exhausted mother he truly was.

“Or I could park outside his house and wait until I see him come out,” he muttered under his breath.

Great. Now he was talking to himself. A sharp mix of pity and irritation pushed Robin to jump over the counter. Maybe she could talk him into actually working in exchange for some sound advice.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

“Do you honestly think Claudia Henderson goes a single day without knowing exactly where her precious son is? If Claudia—you know, his actual mother—is not panicking, then Dusty Boo is fine.”

“You don’t know that,” he shot back immediately. “The kid’s smart. Maybe he’s lying to her to protect her. That is what he's been doing since 83.”

Steve’s eyes widened.

“Oh my God. What if it's got something to do with the Upside Down? Robin, we have to help him. I am calling Hopper.”

Robin snatched the receiver from his hands and slammed it back onto the wall before the first ring could even sound.

“Did you ever think that maybe the kid just wants to be left alone?”

Steve stared at her as if she had lost her mind. Robin threw her hands up and went back to the counter, where the tapes had not moved an inch. Steve might not be willing to work, but there was no way she was staying late tonight. She could not miss orchestra rehearsal (read: the chance to see Vicky).

“No, wait. Forget Risky Business for like two seconds and listen to me.”

He yanked the cassette from her hands and tossed it over his shoulder. Something clattered in the store. She stared at him as if he were crazy.

Steve ran a hand through his hair.

“Robin, we have to find Dustin.”

“Dustin is fine, Steve,” she repeated for the umpteenth time.

“I asked Max, Will, Mike, Lucas, Little Sinclair. No one has seen him in days. I even called Munson and, between two rants about abusive parental authority, I figured he has not seen him either. Whether Claudia is panicking or not does not matter. Dustin is gone, Robin. Gone. And I will not relax until I find him.”

Robin sighed.

“What’s the plan?”

“We go to his house. We investigate. Now.”

“We’re at work, genius.”

“Tonight then.”

She shook her head.

“Nope. I have rehearsal.”

“Then tomorrow. Please, Robin,” he begged.

“What? Steve,” she protested immediately, “I am not skipping class to spend my Tuesday in your car, staring at the Henderson house and hoping to see the little shit at his window.”

The next morning, Robin found herself sitting in Steve’s car, with her arms crossed and pouting. The car was parked just down the street from the Henderson house. Steve, binoculars in hand, had not looked away in twenty minutes.

“So, what now?”

“We wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“I don’t know, Robin. Anything. A clue. You should be used to this by now. Did getting kidnapped by Russians teach you nothing?”

“Sorry I was too drugged to take notes. And besides, Dustin—”

But Steve was not listening anymore.

Robin slumped back against the seat with a sigh.

Two hours passed in silence.

Robin ate just about everything she could find in her bag—chips, chocolate bars, lukewarm soda—and tried to keep herself occupied as best she could, while Steve never took his eyes off the house, except to scold his best friend for her lack of seriousness.

When the front door finally opened and Dustin Henderson appeared on the porch, Steve gasped before tightened his grip on the binoculars.

The teenager looked around, then mounted his bike. Robin leaned forward to watch him, searching for a detail, anything at all. But she saw nothing unusual. He was still the same Henderson. Healthy. Nerdy. Completely Fine.

She rolled her eyes and gestured toward him with both arms at Steve, who still had not moved.

“There. Your kid is alive. Now can we g– Jesus Christ. What are you doing?”

Steve turned the key. The engine roared. Robin grabbed the door as he lurched the car sharply onto the road.

In front of them, Dustin was already riding toward downtown.

“I’m following him.”

“You’re what? Steve, we’re right outside his house. In a red car. He’s going to see us.”

“No, he won’t. And if he does, he won’t get far. I’ll get my answers.”

Dear God, help me.

Dustin Henderson had always wanted a sibling. When he was younger, he had begged his mother for one, but that dream had quickly been buried beneath the metaphorical trees of his childhood.

Good ol’ Walter had held the shovel in his violent hands and dug the hole with rage, leaving little Dustin no choice but to grieve something that never was.

The years had passed. Friendships had formed. But the idea never truly disappeared. It lingered while his friends complained about Nancy, about Erika, about Jonathan. They told him he was lucky to be an only child, but Dustin was never quite sure that was true.

One day, in Mr Clarke’s class, they had talked about phantom limb syndrome. That was exactly what Dustin had been feeling for years: the sensation of something that should have been there but was not. Someone.

For a time, he believed that someone would be Steve. Then Eddie. But neither of his older friends ever managed to fill that precise space, right next to his heart. The space that grew painful at night, when he came home to his large, empty, silent house.

His wish came true one October evening on Commerce Street, of all places. And it took root in pain.

His bike tire had blown out.

Dustin could already hear his mother’s scolding, and Steve’s too. Like everything that had nothing to do with the Upside Down, he had pushed the problem aside until it caught up with him. And it chose that night to do so, when he braked a little too hard while turning onto Commerce Street, his front tire bursting with a dull sound and sending him tumbling on the sidewalk.

“Shit. Shit. Shit! Fucking bike!”

He groaned as he wiped the blood from his knee with his sleeve, then kicked the cursed bike. The chain rattled in the black night. A crow cawed. Dustin lifted his head and looked around, a shiver running down his spine. Commerce Street, full of life during the day, was draped in nocturnal silence, its darkness pressing even against the lifeless shop windows.

Dustin squinted at his watch. When he finally read the time, he winced. He had not realized it was so late. He was coming back from Mike’s place. Their D&D campaign had lasted longer than expected. Again. He had remembered his mother asked him to buy milk and had taken a detour downtown, convinced some store would still be open.

He glanced once more at the inert street.

Clearly not.

“Fuck.”

Dustin looked down at his bike.

If he did not find a solution fast, his mother would kill him. Whether over the milk or his lateness, he did not know, and he honestly did not want to find out.

With a resigned sigh, Dustin started to walk toward the phone booth on the corner. Before he could even take a step, however, a bell chimed behind him.

“Hey kid, are you okay? I heard some noise.”

Dustin startled. His body reacted before his mind did. His shoulders tense. His fists rose to chest level, clenched so tightly his nails nearly pierced his palms. His heart pounded.

For a split second, he saw nothing but a silhouette. It moved and, for just an instant, he thought he saw a flower-shaped head.

“Are you okay?”

The voice cut through the fog. The Demogorgon’s head vanished. Dustin blinked, and reality slowly reclaimed its place. Across the street, leaning against the door of a shop he had never seen before, stood a young woman, worry written plainly across her features.

The first thing he noticed, almost immediately, was the sign above her head. The letters looked freshly painted. Streaks ran down from the P, stretching it into infinity.

HAWKINS BOOKSHOP.

Dustin frowned. That was new. Hawkins did not have a bookstore, only the sad volumes of the library, wrapped in yellowed plastic, thumbed, dog-eared, annotated, worn down to the spine by entire generations. Nothing like what he could glimpse behind you.

Through the window, partially covered by torn tarps, brand new books lined wooden shelves. Some were already full, others half empty, leaving uneven gaps. Dustin noticed cardboard boxes stacked around the shop, some open, colourful spines and crumpled pages spilling out.

“Do you need help?” you repeated.

Dustin shook his head.

“It’s fine, really.”

He took a step back, a reflex forged by years of extra-dimensional encounters, and only asked whether he could use your phone.

You smiled apologetically and explained, slightly embarrassed, that you did not have a phone line yet.

“Oh, but wait!”

You dug into the pockets of your jeans, pulled out three coins, and handed them to him, pointing toward the booth on the corner. Your gaze fell to the bike lying on the cracked asphalt, its front tire scattered across the road.

“Do you want me to take a look at that while you call your mom?”

You nodded toward the bike.

“You don’t have to,” he replied immediately.

Damn was this kid stubborn.

“I don’t mind if I am offering, kid,” you answered, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced at his bike and sighed.

“Alright,” Dustin finally gave in.

When he reached the phone booth, slipped the coins into the slot, and dialled home, Dustin had to pull the receiver away from his ear as Claudia’s shrill voice burst through the line.

“Dustin Henderson, you are in so much trouble!”

After several long minutes spent trying to calm his mother down—not without difficulty—they finally reached an agreement. Claudia would come pick him up.

When, a few minutes later, he hung up and headed back toward the bookstore, Dustin wondered—in retrospect—how he could ever have missed it. It was the only storefront still lit. A lighthouse in the night.

His bike was no longer where he had left it. It now waited patiently, leaned against a flickering lamppost, the wheel straight and its tire brand new. You watched his reaction as you wiped your grease-covered hands on an old rag.

“Had a spare tire in stock,” you explained.

“How does a bookseller know how to change a wheel?”

You rolled your eyes and did not bother answering. Dustin cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed for reasons he could not explain. Dustin Henderson was never embarrassed. He was the embodiment of confidence.

“My mom is picking me up.”

You nodded, glanced over your shoulder, seemed to think for a moment, then turned back to him with your arms crossed.

“Do you want something to drink while we wait? My friends say I make a mean hot chocolate.”

“I thought you did not have electricity,” he asked, suspiciously.

“I do. Just not a phone line. Yet.”

Inside, you quickly handed him a steaming mug, topped with marshmallows. Dustin took it carefully, still wary, but his shoulders relaxed despite himself as his eyes drifted across the titles lining the shelves.

“Did you move here recently?”

“Yesterday,” you replied, nodding toward the cardboard boxes.

“Why Hawkins?”

You shrugged and explained it was more coincidence than choice. Your grandmother had died and left you the building, which had been a drugstore before you arrived. Dustin vaguely remembered an old lady and a cluttered shop. His mother used to go there often, he realised. Until Starcourt opened and the small downtown businesses died, that is.

He supposed the “fire” had done some good. Commerce Street had regained its life and its colours, far from the neon lights of the mall but just as beautiful. A bookstore only added to its renewed charm.

“And not having to buy an apartment has its perks,” you concluded.

Dustin nodded and continued sipping his hot chocolate in silence. In the corner of the room, something caught his eye. Near what would probably become the counter, a cardboard box served as a table, topped with a stack of books that were still poorly organized. The one on top looked familiar. He leaned closer to read the title.

Volume Three of The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction and Fantasy by Donald Tuck.

Dustin’s eyes went wide. He nearly spit out his drink.

“Fuck, how did you get this?” He rushed toward the book, and you hissed as the wave of hot chocolate came dangerously close to the rim of his mug. “Do you know how hard it is to get this in Hawkins? I’ve been begging Ms. Marissa to order it for years. Eddie even tried to go to Indianapolis to get it, but it is always sold out there too.”

If you wondered who Eddie was, you did not say a thing. You simply took the mug from his hands before he could burn himself or, worse, stain the book.

“Not for sale, kid. That one is from my personal collection.”

The disappointed look on his face tightened something in your chest. Without being able to explain it, you now knew you would do anything to make this kid smile.

“But I could lend it to you, if you want, once I am done reading it.”

He beamed. You melted.

A flash of red broke the moment. You frowned and knelt in front of him, patting your thigh.

“Now let me see that knee.”

You disinfected the wound, covered it with an Ewok bandage, and lent him the encyclopaedia—making him promise not to leave with it—so he would have something to do while waiting for his mother.

At that exact moment, the old trees of his childhood grew. They took root again, their branches growing and slowly wrapping around you. Dustin adopted you without you knowing it or having any say in the matter. You had that same indefinable je ne sais quoi that Steve had, that Eddie had. And yet, you would be inexplicably more than either of his two best friends had ever been. He knew it.

So, the next day, when Lucas and the others suggested going to Family Video to rent a movie for the evening, he refused. Instead, Dustin took his bike with its brand-new tire and pedalled to Commerce Street, where he spent the afternoon helping you unpack and organise the rest of your boxes.

Very quickly, Dustin abandoned Family Video, the drama room, and even his own bedroom, to spend all his free time at Hawkins Bookshop.

Today was no exception.

Dustin barrelled onto Commerce Street, did not even take the time to lock his bike as it clattered onto the sidewalk, and shouldered his way into the bookstore while trying to pull a magazine stuck in his backpack.

The bell rang, drowning out his curse as the cover caught in the zipper and tore at the corner. You looked up, interrupting your conversation with Mrs Hopkins—one of your best customers—to smile at Dustin, before resuming as if nothing had happened. You were in the middle of recommending something that looked suspiciously like a Jane Austen novel. Ugh, boring.

Dustin dropped his bag onto the cushioned armchair beside the history books and waited as best he could, bouncing with impatience. The conversation felt endless. He nearly cheered when you finally scanned Mrs Hopkins’s copy of Emma and accepted her bills.

The second she stepped outside, Dustin pounced.

“You are not going to believe this,” he said without preamble. “Someone created a program that makes your computer crash when you open it. They’re calling it a virus.”

He shoved the magazine in your face.

“It’s already affected over a thousand computers. A thousand. That is insane. That means—”

He barely paused to breathe, eyes bright.

“Why would they do that, though?” you cut in, wrinkling your nose. “What do you gain from making a computer stop working?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugged. “It’s fun, I guess? Anyway—” He dropped the magazine onto the counter and hoisted himself up on it. You stepped back as his beaming face came very close to yours. “Is it here yet?”

You smirked and rummaged through your drawers before pulling up a copy of The Dragon in the Sword.

“Got it this morning.”

As his hand moved to grab it, you pulled it back. He groaned.

“What is the magic word?”

“Dustin Henderson!”

The door burst open. Dustin winced. You simply raised an eyebrow at his expression, the ghost of a curious smirk already tugging at the corner of your lips, and Dustin seemed to falter even more at the sight.

The Dragon in the Sword was quickly forgotten, left beside the cash register. Something else had become far more interesting.

Dustin and you turned toward the entrance at the same time.

Steve Harrington had burst into the small bookstore like a bull in a China shop. The ‘B’ section trembled dangerously. For a brief second, Dustin thought Kindred by Octavia Butler might fall on his head. He prayed for it, in fact, but Fate did not oblige, and Steve charged straight toward him.

“Do you have any idea how worried we all were—”

“Mostly you,” Robin cut in, because of course Robin was there too.

“All of us,” Steve repeated, shooting her a dark look. “You cannot just disappear like—Oh. Hi.”

Steve faltered when he realized Dustin was not alone. He ran a hand through his hair as his cheeks flushed.

Even if Steve was not his older brother, he was still his best friend, and Dustin knew the expression crossing his face all too well. When Steve bit his lip, eyes fixed on you, Dustin slid off the counter immediately.

“No.”

The teenager shoved Steve by the chest, pushing him toward the door, nearly knocking over a stack of the new Stephen King novel. The scene seemed to amuse you. When you giggled, Dustin felt Steve melt against his palms and cursed.

“No, no, no, no, no. Out. Leave. Don’t come back.”

Dustin’s voice snapped Steve out of it. He blinked and remembered why he was there. His expression shifted instantly. He planted his hands on his hips and glared at Dustin.

“You cannot just vanish like that, Dustin Henderson,” he started. “Do you have any idea how worried everyone has been?”

Dustin sighed and realised—with cruel and belated clarity—that he should have let Steve admire you a little longer. It would have guaranteed him peace and quiet, at least.

“I did not vanish. I’ve been here this whole time.”

“And no one knew about it.”

“Mom knew.”

“But I did not.”

You frowned and stepped closer, an apologetic expression on your face.

“I didn’t know people were looking for him,” you said, giving him a look that strangely reminded Dustin of Steve’s. The comparison made his skin crawl. “That’s my fault. If I had known, I would’ve asked him to call.”

Steve shook his head immediately.

“No.” His voice was too loud, and he cleared his throat. “No,” he repeated more calmly. “This isn’t your fault. It is his.”

Dustin made an offended noise, but Steve and you had already forgotten him. He turned to Robin and gestured toward you as if to say are you seeing this shit too? but she only shrugged, her innocence face ruined by the mischievous smile painted on her lips.

“Hey,” Steve said suddenly, “could I get your number? To call you if there’s an emergency with Dustin.” He rushed to explain. “Nothing else.”

“Steve,” Dustin growled. “You’re not my mom. And she doesn’t have a phone line anyway.”

“About that…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “The electrician came last night. So—”

Dustin stared at your shy expression in horror. Your gaze slid toward Steve. You grabbed a piece of paper from the counter, scribbled your number on it, and gave it to Steve, who accepted it with a blush.

Oh no.

Dustin blinked, but your eyes remained fixed on Steve. The boy went pale.

Oh no.

“This is a nightmare,” he muttered.

You were both whispering now. Dustin’s eye twitched when your shoulders brushed. Talking logistics and shared child supervision did not require physical contact. Why were you standing so close? Steve leaned in to hear you better, a soft smile on his lips. He held your number against his chest like a Renaissance painting: The Lovestruck Admirer, c. 1986.

“What have I done?”

A hand landed on his shoulder.

“Believe me, I, too, would rather be hanging around with Isaac Lahey, yet we’re both here. Let’s just get it over with.” Stiles snorted a laugh, but didn’t comment.

You didn’t not get along with Stilinski. You weren’t sure if you could be called friends, exactly. You’d known each other pretty much all your lives, just like the majority of your school. Beacon Hills wasn’t exactly a metropolis. 

You sighed and laid out your notes, Stiles following your example. You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Those are your notes?” 

There were only doodles, random calculations and sporadic keywords scribbled on the loose piece of crumpled paper he straightened out next to your notebook. 

“I’m surprised, too. There’s actual words. I don’t usually get that far.” The smirk on his face could only be described as smug. You groaned. This was going to take forever. You divided the topics for the paper amongst yourselves and silently got to work. The ‘silently’ part didn't last long, however. It never did with Stiles.

“Are you still living with your uncle?” He questioned suddenly. You frowned at the question, confused, but nodded either way. 

“So can’t you just, I don’t know, cook him dinner and have him give us a good grade?” The gleam in his eyes nearly made you laugh. Nearly. Instead, you flicked him on the side of the head. He whined something about unnecessary violence, but it fell on deaf ears. 

“I’m not bribing my uncle just so you can slack off, Stiles. Besides, I’m never really sure if he even likes me,” you wondered out loud. 

“You and me, both…” Stiles grumbled. 

You glanced at Stiles as he scribbled furiously, seeming to finally get some of his research done. His knees wiggled excessively as he wrote about the economic effects of pandemics. You wrote down a few key parts of the paragraphs in your book before turning to your laptop and beginning the outline of the paper. Stiles hummed quietly as he read the entry he’d just written, tapping his pen furiously against the table. 

“Can you stop that?” You requested, his incessant movement distracting you more than his general being already did. He glanced up, an amused expression on his face. 

“What,” he tapped his pencil faster. “This?” You contained the urge to roll your eyes and stared at him blankly. He stopped the movement for perhaps one whole minute before picking it back up again. 

You only glanced up pointedly this time. He added a jiggle of his knees in challenge. You rose from your chair, leaned over and snatched the pen out of his hand, throwing it across the library. “Fetch.” 

Stiles gaped up at you in surprise. The timing of it was very unfortunate, but you’d never really noticed how Stilinski had grown into his awkward features. Something must’ve shown on your face, because Stiles now looked just as confused, perhaps intrigued, as you felt. While you’d been confident in throwing his pen across the room in annoyance, having him look up at you like that made it so you weren’t sure if you wanted him to get up. You cleared your throat and sat back in your chair. 

“Unbelievable…” Stiles muttered under his breath as he got up to get the pen. It gave you time to recompose. You didn’t look at him as he sat back down, but felt his eyes burn a hole through the side of your head. 

An unfamiliar tension hung in the air while you worked in silence. You snuck glances at Stiles, who was finally focussed on his writing once more. His hair was longer, still messy and unstyled from practice. The grey workout gear perfectly accentuated his broadened shoulders. He bit his lip after reading a complex entry, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like on your own, or on your neck while your hands tugged on his now perfectly tuggable locks. 

A few times his eyes met yours. You’d quickly dart them back to your notebook, pretending you hadn’t been looking, knowing damn well he’d seen.  

Oh my god. Get. it. together.

“Did you finish?” You dared ask after a while, having completed your own part. All you had to do was put your parts together, wrap it up and finish. 

“I’ll give it to you, but you have to give something to me first,” Stiles spoke in a challenging tone. For a split second back there you’d wondered how he was still single after all this time, but now you were reminded. He was insufferable. 

“What could you possibly want from me, Stiles? Just give me your damn part.” 

“A kiss.” 

“What? No!” You sputtered. Stiles’ tongue poked the inside of his cheek cockily as he raised an eyebrow, pointing to his lips. 

“Guess you’ll have some explaining to do to your uncle why you’re only handing in half an assignment, then.” 

“This is coercion, Stilinski! Should I call your dad?” You crossed your arms, refusing to look him in the eye. The librarian shushed you loudly. You could feel heat rush to your face, but didn’t relent. Asshole. 

Stiles leaned closer, running a finger over the side of your face. Your heartbeat increased what seemed about tenfold.

“It’s not coercion if you want me to.” His breath hit your neck as he spoke, sending goosebumps down your arms. “And I’m getting the feeling you really want me to.” 

You jerked away from his reach, coming to your senses. You gathered your things into your bag, mumbling something about your GPA being fine, anyway. You stomped away from the table, heart racing. You were mad, not because he was suggesting something you didn’t want, rather that he’d clocked exactly what you wanted so easily. 

Concerned Stiles would follow you out of the library, you hid behind a few bookshelves in a section nobody usually visited. You caught your breath, placing your palm on your chest. You dropped your bag on the floor, turning to peek around the bookshelf to see if Stiles was still stationed at the table. Relieved, you saw he’d indeed decided to follow you out of the library.

You turned back to grab your bag and head out, but were met with Stiles’ face mere inches from your own. You were startled, but he grabbed your waist before you could fall over. His hold was strong. Your hands instinctively went up to his chest, steadying yourself. Had he always been this tall? 

One of his hands wandered slightly lower, rubbing small circles on your lower back. Your eyes met his, which were just shining with mischief and an underlying sense of self-satisfaction. His tongue darted out, licking his lower lip. 

“Can I be frank? You’re incredibly annoying,” you stated, slinging your arms around his neck, finally giving in. 

“You can be whoever you want as long as I get to kiss you, Frank,” Stiles laughed. You groaned but pulled him close either way. 

“Shut up.” 

Stiles obliged and put his mouth to yours aggressively, tugging your body against his. One of his hands wandered up, cupping the back of your head to bring it closer. You tugged at the small locks at the back of his neck, eliciting a sighed moan from Stiles. 

“You’re so hot,” he confessed when you broke apart for a second. He turned you so you were pushed with your back against the bookcase, a few books falling to the floor. Neither of you cared as your kiss continued, deepening by the second. His hands held your hips as he started grinding against you, sweats low on his hips. His mouth made its way down your jaw, moving to suck hasty kisses on your neck. 

“Stiles…” you sighed blissfully. Heat gathered in your stomach at the soft, breathy noises coming from his lips combined with the sound of them against your skin. He put his knee between your thighs.

“Knew you wanted this as much as I did, fuck,” Stiles groaned. The pressure from his knee was delicious, but not enough. It was almost as if he could read your mind as he slid his hand into your bottoms, working your underwear out of the way somewhat clumsily. 

“God… so wet for me,” he moaned. You could only reply with breathy whimpers, trying to make as little noise as possible. Stiles shushed you, placing his unoccupied hand over your mouth as the other started rubbing small circles over your clit. You closed your eyes and let your head fall against the bookcase. Your knees went weak at the sensation, not much holding you up besides Stiles. 

He slipped his hand out of your underwear, bringing a finger up to his mouth. He casually licked it clean. He hooked his thumbs into your bottoms, seeking eye contact and asking for non-verbal permission to tug them down. You bit your lip and nodded enthusiastically. When your underwear hit the floor, so did Stiles’ knees. Your eyes darted around your environment, but the school was nearly empty at this time, especially the library. 

You had to slap your hand over your mouth when Stiles made contact with your clit, his tongue tentatively licking between your folds. Your breathing was laboured, chest heaving as Stiles took his time exploring. Your bottom lip found itself between your teeth, holding in your moans. Your hands shot to Stiles’ hair. Perfectly tuggable, indeed. 

He groaned when you gave an exceptionally sharp tug, taking the time to look you in the eyes. The vibrations of his lowered voice felt good. You had seemingly no control over your hands, fingers tightening their grip the closer you got to the edge. 

“Shit, baby… So good for me. Gotta stay quiet…” Stiles mumbled. A small, high pitched keen left your lips. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep the silence up. You looked down once more and saw Stiles palming himself over his sweats as he continued eating you out, rhythmically grinding his hips in time with his mouth. 

The sound of a bag zipper closing got your attention. You smacked Stiles’ shoulder to stop, wanting to whine in frustration at just how close you’d been. Stiles paid you no mind, lost in giving you pleasure. You put both your hands on his shoulders and pushed him away, careful not to tip him over. It was only then Stiles noticed the noise of someone packing up to leave. He scrambled to stand up, trying to help you get redressed. 

“I got it, I got it,” you hissed quietly. 

“Who’s there? You can’t be here anymore! Library’s about to close!” It was the librarian who’d shushed you earlier. You grabbed your bag in a hurry. 

“Would you still rather be hanging out with Isaac?” Stiles asked jokingly, wiping his chin. You whacked his arm, storming past him to the doors. He followed quickly, arm wandering over your shoulders as you walked out of the now deserted school. You didn’t speak as Stiles led you over to the Jeep, insisting on driving you home, at least. 

You sat in the passenger seat as Stiles ran around to the drivers’ side. You wiped your hands on your thighs, huffing a frustrated breath. You hadn’t even finished the paper, and now you got cock-blocked on top of it. So not worth it. You turned to Stiles as he put the keys in the ignition. He’d never looked hotter than that very second, lips bruised, hair tousled and still pent up, besides maybe when he looked up at you with his face buried between your legs. Okay so maybe a little worth it. 

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m gonna pull over and we’re gonna have sex in the back seat like right now,” Stiles joked. Or at least, you assumed it was a joke. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, threat or invitation?” 

“Option D? All of the above? I mean, D is definitely an option.”

“Pull over and we’ll see how much of an option it is.” 

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice, pulling over in a small clearing as soon as he saw the opportunity. He took off his seatbelt, scrambling to get out of the car. He opened the door for you, closing it and letting you in the back seat. You laid back across the seats and manoeuvred your top off, throwing it at Stiles. He caught it, quickly discarding it somewhere in the car. He shimmied his pants down his legs, not bothering to take off his shoes. You did the same, leaving you in your underwear. Stiles stopped to take a proper look. 

“You’re gonna kill me. You’ve already killed me and this is my pre-hell Heaven trailer of what could’ve been. God iwantyousobad.” You pulled him on top of you as you laughed. 

“Less talking, more fucking, yes?” 

“Yes, I agree. Wholeheartedly,” Stiles nodded furiously, tugging his shirt over his head with only one hand. Hot. He finally closed the car door behind him before he could forget. 

“I’m going to assume you don’t just casually keep condoms in your car?” You questioned. Stiles closed his eyes and tightened his lips in frustration, mentally scolding himself. He finally had you in his Jeep, half-naked, ready to fuck, and he didn’t have a freaking condom??? He finally shook his head no, sighing and pulling away from you slowly. 

You leaned up on your elbows and whispered in his ear. “Hmmm… Guess you’re just gonna have to come inside of me… Wouldn’t want to make a mess of the car…” 

Stiles pounced at that, kissing you like his life depended on it. He tugged your underwear back down your legs, now very familiar with your pelvic region. He struggled to undo your bra, cursing under his breath. You laughed and lended a hand, undoing it and slipping it off your shoulders. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles groaned. “Promise me to thank Coach for pairing us up.” 

“You did not just mention my uncle as a reaction to seeing me naked,” you complained. 

“I did. Not sorry. He did me a favour.” 

You ignored the comment and decided to kiss him to shut him back up. Him and his mouth… God his mouth. You were still pent up from the library, and if he didn’t fuck you soon you were pretty sure you’d go crazy. 

“Stiles, want you,” you whined impatiently. He was too busy paying attention to your nipples, taking one between his teeth as he made eye contact. “Shit,” you gasped.

Your hands wandered down his torso, stopping at the hem of his boxers. You tugged them down, setting his very hard cock free from its confinement. The tip was red, dribbling with pre-cum. He was obviously just as pent up as you felt. You gave him a few experimental tugs with your hand before lining him up with your entrance. 

Stiles took over, taking his time to slowly push inside you. You put your hands on his shoulders, holding your breath at the stretch. He was so much bigger than you’d expected. You both moaned when he bottomed out. You felt so full, it was insane. You dug your nails into his shoulders and gave him a nod, indicating he could move. 

He set a slow pace, testing the waters. He was enthralled by the jiggle of your tits with every movement. Typical. His hands moved up to hold them, almost as leverage, as he picked up his pace. 

“Fuck, so good,” Stiles moaned. You were about to move a hand down to touch yourself, but Stiles stopped you. 

“Let me make you feel good, let me make you come.” He put one hand on your shoulder to steady himself and brought the other down to where you were joined. He continued to thrust, putting his fingers on your clit. It took him a second, but he found a rhythm where he could thrust and stroke at the same time. 

“Oh my god, Stiles!” You moaned, the added sensation feeling amazing. The sound of his hips slapping against yours was filthy to say the least. You moved to hold onto something above your head as Stiles sped up. Your hands soon found the little ledge, and you gripped it to the best of your ability. 

Stiles bent down to kiss you, pace still unrelenting. The new angle of him bent forward sent his cock exactly where you needed it. 

“Shit, oh my god.” It was all the confirmation Stiles needed to keep it up. 

“So pretty, so tight around my cock. Such pretty tits. You feel so good,” he mumbled against your lips. 

The pace of his hips became more erratic, both of you nearing the edge. Your knuckles turned white with how tight you were gripping the car door. 

“Gonna come inside you,” Stiles moaned. “Fill you up so nice.” 

“Yes, Stiles, please!”  

“Fuck, so good, so good for me,” Stiles was becoming more talkative and less coherent as he lost himself in the pleasure. He was mouthing at your jawline, sucking another hickey where there were already plenty. 

“Fuck, Stiles, gonna come,” you whined. You could feel his smile against your neck. Smug idiot. He then started rubbing your clit exactly the way you liked it. Combined with him hitting that spot inside you over and over and over again, you were seeing stars. 

“Don’t stop, please,” another moan left your lips. 

“Come for me. Come on my cock. So pretty, so good,” Stiles blabbered. 

“Fuck! Stiles!” You keened, tightening around his dick as you came. He kissed you again as his hips stuttered, thrusting a few more times before painting your walls with his cum. His head fell on your chest as you both caught your breath.

When his breathing had slowed, he groaned before lifting himself off you, chuckling as he pecked both your nipples, then your lips before looking for something to clean you with. He settled on the shirt of his lacrosse uniform. 

“Ugh, gross,” you mumbled as he wiped you clean. Stiles shrugged. “It was going into the wash, anyway.” 

Stiles put his underwear and sweats back on, opening the door and getting out so you could have the space to redress yourself. When you reached under the seat for your bra, you pulled out a baseball bat. “Why do you have a baseball bat in your car?” 

“No… Particular reason. Safety. Lots of dangerous animals… out there.” 

“So you settled on a bat?” You wondered, holding the object. Stiles nodded, not meeting your eyes, his locked on your still naked chest. You threw the bat at him and laughed, reaching under the seat again and this time pulling out your bra. 

When you were finally dressed, you got back in the passenger seat so Stiles could drive you home. It wasn’t a long drive, as you’d already been halfway there before pulling over. He drove up the driveway, and you cringed on the inside, hoping your uncle wouldn’t see who dropped you off. You took your bag and got out of the car, walking around to the drivers’ side where Stiles was already leaning out the window. 

You looked at him and gave him a small smile. You leaned forward to give him a kiss goodbye. “You better email me your part of the paper tonight, Stilinski.” 

“You bet, babe,” he winked and gave you a salute, watching as you laughed and turned to walk inside the house. 

You closed the door and took off your shoes, hanging your coat and leaving your bag by the door. “I’m home!” 

Coach took one look at your appearance and frowned. Right… maybe you should’ve straightened yourself out before walking into the living room. Disheveled hair, hickeys on your neck, it wasn’t exactly rocket science as to why you were home later than usual. 

“If you’re gonna be having boys over, do it when I’m not around, please? I have enough of them to deal with at practice and in class. And at least have the decency to tell an uncle who he’s dealing with.” 

You cringed as the Jeep’s headlights very obviously flashed through the window at that very second, Stiles driving home. It was anything but unrecognizable.