Marzipanotaku

Ororon had been having weird dreams lately.

Not the sort of weird that he considered commonplace. For once, his subconscious wasn’t pestering him with murky abyssal omens—no hollow shells of heroes that warned him his borrowed time would soon run out, no barren landscapes veiled with thick, indigo fog that seemed to stretch out for an eternity, not even the echoes of lost souls calling to him from somewhere far beyond even his supersonic ears could pinpoint. 

Rather than those blurry visions of the Night Kingdom that he’d spent his entire life trying to find purpose in, these dreams were exceptionally vivid; spun from the new sensations he’d become familiarized with in recent months, flashing with images of you that he selfishly found himself wishing would last a little longer. Warm hands roamed over every inch of his bare body as if you’d cloned yourself so you could be everywhere at once, soft lips devoured his with no need to break for air, thighs glistened just out of reach with something filthy and mesmerizing that seeped from the spot between them, spreading wide to—

He always jolted violently awake before he could sink into the parts of you that were still a mystery to him. It left his head spinning against his pillow each time, his skin clammy underneath his covers, and a bulge straining against the fabric of his sleepwear. The first few instances it had happened, he’d done everything in his power to ignore it, to roll over and sleep away the throb in his shorts. Or, if the curtain of dusk had begun to fall, he’d force himself to get up and start his work for the night until the dull ache of his muscles distracted him from the ache in his dick.

As the problem grew more frequent, however, he’d gradually given in to the shameful pit in his stomach, hand slipping blindly into his shorts before he was even fully awake and tugging at his cock in an uncoordinated search for relief, with none of the skill or sensuality that you possessed when you worked his body. Every single time, he’d reduce himself to a dirty mess in his sheets, panting and sweaty and unfulfilled, replacing that tight ball of arousal with a hollow dissatisfaction once he’d forced out his climax.

Today would play out no differently, it seemed. His shallow breath picked up as his fingers wrapped around his cock in a sleepy haze, guided by instinct alone. The confines of his pajama shorts made it difficult for him to move properly, but he couldn’t even find the patience to pull them down all the way, instead bearing with the tight press of their waistband against his wrist as he began to pump himself. No rhythm, no foreplay, a sight that you surely would’ve snickered at had you been there. Or, maybe, you’d pout and croon at him with that addictive tone of faux pity that he probably shouldn’t have come to enjoy as much as he did. The thought alone made his spine quiver with longing, piquing the interest of his body enough to add a fresh thrill to his messy, half-hearted strokes.

Ever since the day you’d first touched him, it had begun to feel so inexplicably wrong to get himself off without you. It wasn’t as if you’d set any rules about what he was allowed to do when he was alone, but with how heavily he’d come to rely on your influence over him, you may as well have. Ororon’s exhale turned up into the faintest whine as he tried to recreate the feeling of your hand toying with him, trying to imagine your encouraging whispers in his ears; any semblance of your presence to make him feel a little less lost in that moment.

Through his grogginess, he remembered what you’d instructed him to do that first time he’d jerked himself off in front of you. Hesitantly, he slowed his hand to a lazy pace, gliding up to where the head of his dick was pressed into his underwear. It was already sticky with droplets of precum courtesy of his dream, crying out from all the neglect. The instant his thumb brushed over his leaking slit, he nearly cried out along with it. 

A quiet whimper rose in his throat, half-pained, half-relieved. He channeled all his focus into following your orders, rubbing small, slow circles over his glans that became borderline unbearable in no time when every burst of stimulation hit him with such intensity. In spite of the discomfort—or perhaps, because of it—he felt himself veering closer and closer to the edge with each swipe of his thumb. Deliciously foreign, like his hand no longer belonged to him.

His hips began to fidget in the sheets, and when he rubbed over a particularly sensitive spot on the underside of his tip, he sucked in a harsh breath to trap in his lungs, thighs tensing up just as they did when bracing themselves for the impact of his orgasm.

But it never came. Grunting in frustration, he repeated the motion, struck with that same fierce bolt, but still unable to finish.

So close. He was so close.

“Please,” he begged aloud, hardly recognizing the sound of his own voice. Wispy, hoarse, helpless in a way that wasn’t solely a ruse to bring down the guard of others. “Please, ah. Can I—?”

His question hung heavy in the air of his cabin, a call for mercy made all the more pathetic by the fact that no one was there to even deny him. At least then, he’d have an excuse for why he couldn’t reach his peak.

With a huff, his free hand slid out from beneath the covers to find his chest, prodding awkwardly over his shirt until he felt the small, hardened bump of his nipple poking through the fabric. He took it between two fingers just as you’d done once to draw out an orgasm that had made him see stars, twisting the bundle of nerves in unison with how he thumbed at his tip. A tremble wracked him from the tips of his ears all the way to his toes, but even so, it only served to keep him teetering hopelessly on the edge of release. 

“Nnn, please. C’mon, wanna…just wanna let it out.” He pressed down harder on his slit, feeling the slick ooze out from under his thumb. He gave his nipple another tweak—far harsher this time, simultaneously too much for his body to handle, and not enough. “Please, let me. I’ve been good. Been s-so good.”

It was useless. The cruel silence he was met with did nothing but pull a low, miserable noise out of him as he released his cock in defeat. He needed your permission. He needed you.

He tipped his head back, staring at the low-lit ceiling in a daze while his dick twitched feebly for the attention that only one person could grant it. When he cast a bleary glance outside of his window, he found that the sun was well into its descent behind the crimson cliffs in the distance, making way for the moon to take center stage. It would be positioned closer to Teyvat tonight than any other day of the year, and with its added gravitational pull, Ororon had deemed it the perfect time to plant his turnip seeds so that they could properly take root in the earth. Just as he found the strength to sit up in bed, shuffling around a bit as he tried to ignore his cock spasming in his underwear, the sound of approaching footsteps suddenly made him go rigid.

It should’ve been a comfort to him that he immediately recognized them as yours, but given his current state, he felt his stomach drop like a Qucusaurus taking a nosedive. In all his half-lucid lust, he’d completely forgotten that you’d promised him days ago that you’d pick up a few bags of fertilizer from Varesa's orchard after completing your afternoon training.

He barely had a chance to adjust the protruding tent in his shorts before a knock came at his door, always light enough to announce your arrival without pounding at his keen eardrums. Scrambling to his feet, he tugged his loose shirt down as far as it would go, praying it would be enough to conceal him until his arousal ebbed, then he wiped his sticky hand on his shorts to the best of his ability. When he creaked open his cabin door, he was met with the sight of you illuminated by the setting sun’s glow, a beam on your face that rivaled the fading rays and immediately sent prickles of guilt creeping up his neck.

“Morning, sunshine.” You set down the handle of the wagon you’d brought along to carry the packaged fertilizer, pushing yourself up by the tips of your toes to press a quick kiss to Ororon’s cheek. His jaw clenched under your lips with the physical strain it took him to suppress a noise that would no doubt be mortifying if he’d let it slip.

“Sorry you had to make the trip yourself,” he rasped, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair was just the slightest bit damp with sweat beneath his fingers, and he scolded himself inwardly for doing such a poor job of fixing himself up before greeting you. He easily could’ve gotten away with the excuse that he was still sleeping—it certainly wouldn’t have been the first time. “I was planning on meeting you in Mictlan, honest.”

Stepping into his cabin through the space he’d made, you gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “It’s no problem, I could make the walk here in my sleep, by now.” As you observed him, you took note of his tousled tufts of hair and unfocused, bag-ridden eyes, still swimming with the remnants of dreams that he’d decided were far more troubling than any nightmare. He wasn’t sure whether he was imagining it or not, but your lip seemed to curl up a bit at its corner. “Speaking of which, did I wake you up? If you have any coffee beans, I can brew you some while you get changed.”

His heels rocked sheepishly under the weight of your stare—an attentiveness that usually brought him comfort, now twisted into something accusatory by his own guilty conscience. If he changed into his jeans now, there was absolutely no chance he’d be able to keep his bulge hidden from you, especially when it still showed no signs of going down now that the center of all his fantasies was standing right before him. The sun’s heat had warmed your skin on the long walk over, mixing with the fragrance of your perfume to create a scent that was sweet and earthy and utterly excruciating for him. As he breathed it in, a particularly sharp twitch of need made itself known in his shorts.

When he didn’t answer, you gave him a compassionate look that he knew he didn’t deserve, but greedily accepted, anyway. “Still tired?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I…just need a minute. Was pretty deep in a dream.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie, and Ororon had found over the years that half-truths were a far more effective method for getting himself out of trouble; just elusive enough to raise suspicion, and just honest enough to quell it.

“Oh? What was it about? Nothing upsetting, I hope.”

His breath caught in his throat. The question was casual enough, but there was a distinct shift in your tone that he was certain he wasn’t imagining this time—a drop in the facade, like the moment a Furnace Shell Mountain Weasel emerged from its burrow beneath the ground to launch an attack. He lifted his stare from the wooden planks of his cabin floor to find your face twinkling with mischief, and without a word having to be uttered, he knew that he’d been caught red-handed. Or, rather, sticky-handed. That was more appropriate, he decided, considering the remnants of his slick were weighing down his hand like an anchor. 

“Not this time. It was…nice,” he began, tongue flicking anxiously over his lower lip. Vague as his answer was, you still seemed immensely pleased with it, a knowing grin spreading across your face when he continued. “I almost wish it hadn’t ended.”

“Wish I hadn’t interrupted,” you agreed. A single step forward, and he felt his abdomen tighten over the proximity alone. Your stare dropped blatantly to the erection half-concealed by his shirt, the glint in your eyes morphing from playful to something he could only describe as carnivorous. “Why don’t I help you finish it?”

He swallowed, tilting his hips away in a feeble attempt to maintain some shred of dignity. “My dream was…a little more creative than anything we usually do,” he mumbled.

You took it in stride, no sign of shock or disgust, simply humming in acknowledgement over what was more or less an announcement of his perversion. “That’s a given, with the way your mind works.”

It should’ve sounded scornful, exasperated, even, but all he detected in your voice was fondness. Another step forward left you practically pressed into his chest, and just like that his groggy eyes snapped wide open, suddenly far more alert than even the strongest dose of coffee could’ve rendered him. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears, feel the steady, calming thrum of your heartbeat in comparison to the rapid flutter of his. 

Ororon pressed his lips together, a tiny, pleading noise rising in his throat when it became clear he wouldn’t be getting away with dancing around the subject. “Please, don’t make me say it.”

“Would you rather show me?”

“I…” His voice dropped to a whisper so low that you had to hold your breath to hear it properly. “I think you would be the one showing me.” 

His fingers reached up for the hood of his cloak out of habit—searching for anything to obscure his quickly reddening face from you—but he was left grasping at the air with no reprieve. There was an unmistakable heat to the way you were sizing him up, now, one that bored into his skin with such vigor that he couldn’t escape it no matter how stubbornly he kept his head lowered, bangs dangling over his face as a last line of defense. 

"Oh. Unless you wanted to observe my dreamscape? I can show you the ritual Granny taught me."

Your thumb brushed over the marking below his eye, an affectionate gesture that you’d done so many times before. The only difference was that this time, it felt akin to lightning striking his nerve endings at your point of contact.

“If you’re okay with it…” you began, a strangely tender juxtaposition to the storm of tension that had swirled to life between you. “We can make your dream a reality, instead.”

Ororon’s gaze followed your hand as it fell from his face to trail down his chest, feeling how the flow of blood in his veins followed your touch wherever you roamed like a loyal dog until it at last pooled in his gut, boiling hot. You pawed at the hardness in his shorts, and he all but doubled over with a squeak that voiced his thoughts before they’d even registered in his brain. 

“Please.”

“Hm?”

“Y-yeah, I mean. Okay. Please, show me, Ma—”

You silenced him with a kiss, a split-second before he had the chance to fluster you with that title, again. Probably his own attempt at payback for how you’d cornered him. His hands flew up to cling reflexively to your waist, only for him to flinch as soon as he did, pulling away when he remembered that his fingers were still sullied from his failed attempt at getting himself off. Obediently, he matched your step as you inched forward little by little and guided him to sink down onto his bed with you. Aside from his cute grunt of effort as he hit the mattress, he managed to hold your kiss the entire time without sputtering for air, earning a purr of approval from you that had his chest glowing with pride. 

Your hands found his bulge again, feeling up his shape through the loose fabric and eliciting a sheepish sound from him when you found that unmistakable wet patch forming in them. “Ororon,” you breathed against his lips. “Were you touching yourself before I got here?” 

He cursed the way his crotch rolled into your palm against his own will, too consumed by how dizzy your mouth and hands had him to muster up a response that might soften the blow of embarrassment. 

“Huh? N-no I was, mmph, asleep. Why d’you—?”

You pulled away from him with a wet smack, smiling when his lips immediately tried to chase after you in search of another kiss, only for his nose to bump against yours with a confused scrunch in his features. “Besides the leak in your underwear? You’ve been hiding your hand from me like you committed a crime with it.”

Ororon winced. As proof of your suspicions, he went stiff the instant you took hold of his precum-stained hand, shying away as you laced it with yours without so much as a drop of hesitation. His eyes flickered down to your interwoven fingers, cheeks flushing a shade deeper when he visualized what he’d been doing with them just minutes earlier.

“I don’t usually…It was just ‘cause of my dream.” His mutter came somewhat defensive, though he figured it was comical to even attempt to spin the situation in his favor, at this point. Even after everything that had unfolded between you and him in recent months, all the parts of himself he’d let you see that no one else ever had, he was still worried you’d think of him as some kind of irredeemable degenerate. Not that he really deserved to be labeled otherwise, especially after today. 

“You mean you don’t get off without me often?” 

His fingers flexed in your hand, a silent answer in itself.

“Mm...guess not. You might be able to last a little longer if you did.”

He stammered out something between a protest and an apology, words dying in his throat when your other hand slipped beneath the waistband of his shorts and pulled his length free at last. He was rock hard in your palm without needing a single stroke, a thin, translucent trail connecting his tip to his underwear that had him all but choking when it hit the air after aching hot in the fabric’s confines for so long. As you tugged his shorts and underwear down, he pliantly lifted his hips to help you, doing the same with his arms without question so you could pull his pajama shirt over his head. 

It took him a moment to process, but when your eyes fixated on his body for just long enough to make him start fidgeting, he realized that this was the first time he was laid entirely bare before you; vulnerable in a way that he couldn’t evade. His thighs squeezed together, self-conscious hands itching to reach up and cover every exposed part of himself at once. You drank in the sight of him with a very obvious craving, admiring how the flush on his cheeks was beginning to creep down his neck and spread to his chest, dying his skin a shade of pink that stood out so brilliantly against the jet black of his markings. 

Your index finger trailed down the column of his throat, relishing in his quickening pulse and the nervous bob of his adam’s apple. His skin was so delicate under your touch, a pale canvas stretched thin over a wooden frame, certain to break under the slightest application of pressure. For what was neither the first nor the last time, you imagined what it might be like to leave your marks all over that pure, unsullied neck of his, always so hidden away from the world. To make every part of him yours in a way that no one else ever had or could. 

But even with his scarf and the high collar of his shirt protecting his skin most of the time, you were reluctant to take the risk when anyone in the tribe spotting even a glimpse of your lovebites was a surefire way to land you in hot water with Citlali—or, any of the elders, really. Still, the fantasy of being caught, of others knowing what you’d done to him, had an undeniable appeal in itself that you had to force yourself to ignore.

Instead, your fingers followed the slope of his neck down to his shoulders; broader than expected when not obscured by his cloak, lean, but carrying underlying muscle from all his years of hard work in both farming and combat. Toned biceps swelled just a bit thicker under your touch as you dragged your fingers with admiration along the phlogiston engravings that decorated his arms, obsidian against ivory skin. 

When you redirected your attention to his chest, you found it rising and falling with increasingly erratic breaths, and without any warning, you gave one of his nipples a playful flick that sent a shudder so harsh throughout his body, you almost felt bad about it. 

“You’re so sensitive,” you marveled, then—before he could apologize for it—made sure to add, “It’s cute.” Cupping the full curve of his pecs with your palm, you continued down his torso, following the ripples that came with each clench and unclench of his abdomen until you at last reached that dark trail of hairs that led you to the spot where he longed for you most. Your fingers ghosted over the base of his length, and his stomach all but caved in as if you’d delivered an invisible blow to it. “Let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

It was already entirely too much. He had a very real concern that he may reach his limit before he even had the chance to be inside of you. Regardless, he clamped his jaws shut to prevent himself from saying something stupid, almost grateful that his thoughts fizzled out like a spirit duffer’s failed attempt at spellcasting when you pulled back and began to undress yourself before him. 

Deceptively innocent as his blown-out pupils appeared, they still dropped to your chest as soon as you removed your shirt. It got a light giggle out of you, as well as brought another idea to mind.

“Take it off for me?” you asked sweetly, motioning to your bra.

Ororon blinked at you, then, without even considering what the task entailed, he nodded obediently and reached behind your back. It was only when his hands found the clasp of your bra that it dawned on him that he’d never taken one off before, nor did he have the slightest idea how to. His head peered over your shoulder for a better view, fingers grasping awkwardly at the garment as he tried to find some kind of button, zipper, clip—anything that may undo it. For a brief moment, he tried hooking his fingers beneath the band to pull it over your head by force, only for an amused click of your tongue to tell him otherwise.

“Try again, baby,” you urged. “You can do it for me, right? You’re a fast learner.”

There was a fond sort of mockery written all over your face that made his own burn a little hotter. A reminder of how little he truly knew. He wondered if this might be the final straw for you, if his ineptitude ran so deep that you may finally give up on him altogether for failing at something so unfathomably simple. The possibility only made his movements stiffer, fumbling with the tiny hooks with such a lack of confidence that you’d never guess those very same fingers could draw back his bowstring and pierce through abyssal creatures’ skulls from meters away.

“I think…I’ve almost got it,” he huffed, thick brows scrunching together as the material slipped from his grasp yet again. 

It should’ve been satisfying enough to watch him struggle like that, but when you saw the opportunity to mess with him a little more, you gladly took it. Ororon yelped as your hand wrapped around his dick without warning, chin falling against your shoulder so hard that he nearly bit his tongue.

“W-wait, ah…ah.”

You gave him a single, lazy stroke, and by some miracle—or, more plausibly, the reward of some much-needed friction for his leaking cock—he at last managed to snap your bra loose and slip it off your shoulders, already missing the feeling of your hand as soon as you removed it from his length to discard the garment.

“Good boy,” you cooed. “See? I knew you could figure it out. Just need a little treat to keep you going.”

He still wasn’t quite used to it; sugar-coated praises where he’d typically expect a scolding. Coupled with the sight of your chest falling free from the confines of your clothing, he would’ve agreed to any order that came out of your mouth next, no matter how obviously designed to humiliate him it may be.

You curled your fingers around the base of his shaft again, and his thighs nearly jumped off the mattress when you lined his tip up with your entrance all at once. It pressed against your folds just barely, not quite pushing in, but kissing the wetness that had begun to seep out just enough to make Ororon’s reflexes go berserk. He whimpered low in his throat, completely and utterly mesmerized by the visual of you tracing your entrance with his pulsing head. 

“Might be a tight fit,” you breathed. “What can you do with this big thing?”

Despite the way he bucked impatiently into your palm, telling you that his body knew exactly what it needed to do, his answer was delivered with a cluelessness so perfect that you’d think it was rehearsed. “I…I-I don’t know.”

He was playing coy. Not that you could really blame him when he certainly must’ve caught on to how much you loved it, by now. A fast learner, indeed.

You lifted an eyebrow. “C’mon, Ororon, I know you’re smarter than that.”

I know exactly what you were dreaming about. Unspoken, but transmitted loud and clear in his mind. 

He swallowed hard and tried again—a feat made was near-impossible when you were more or less rubbing circles into your heat with the head of his cock now, mixing his precum with your essence in a dripping wet promise of what was to come. “I can do whatever you want with it.”

“Good answer,” you praised, giving his cheek a pat and leaning back against his pillows. “I’ll show you how to use it, baby. Are you ready?”

“Please.” Was all he managed to grit out, pelvis jerking again with poorly restrained need, sliding his tip clumsily against you and missing your entrance altogether. In a direct contrast to his blunder, you guided him back to your slick warmth with an ease that nipped at the less secure parts of him. He didn’t have much time to linger on the pesky thought, however, as you inched yourself forward bit by bit until his head was engulfed by your insides. 

A faint burn accompanied the stretch of his cock along your walls, but you were far more preoccupied with the way Ororon lurched forward, gasping out so intensely that you would’ve thought he was the one being filled up. For both his sake and yours, you waited a few moments to adjust to the new sensation. A part of you had considered putting those long fingers of his to good use before allowing his full length inside of you, but given how quick he was to fall apart, you thought better of it. Not to mention, you weren’t exactly keen on the idea of waiting any longer before sinking down on him at last, regardless of the initial discomfort it may bring.

Bracing yourself to ease more of his cock inside, you wiggled your hips further down, walls wrapping around him in a tight, wet grip that had him choking on the air that he was already fighting so frantically to suck in.

“Oh.”

His fingers sank into the sheets with an iron grip on both sides of your head, practically clawing holes into them by the time you finished taking him all the way to the hilt, claiming his last remaining piece of chastity for yourself. A shaky sigh left your lips as you took the time to get used to his shape, so wonderfully full in a way you’d never experienced before. Once your walls had relaxed a bit, you squeezed experimentally around him with a mind-numbing softness, and in the blink of an eye, he was sent over the edge.

“Sorry,” he grunted, hips stuttering entirely out of his control. “Ah, sorry—!”

Your eyes went wide with concern, but before you even had the chance to ask if he was okay, his forehead fell against yours, a long groan spilling out of him that was soon followed by a warm, thick sensation spreading in your gut. Ororon pulsed wildly against your walls, unable to pull out or even form a sentence as he emptied inside of you for the first time. It probably shouldn’t have thrilled you as much as it did, watching his face twist with a tantalizing mix of raw ecstasy and soul-crushing guilt—guilt for finishing so soon, and, even more disgraceful than that, for enjoying it so selfishly. 

In your lust, you couldn’t help but clench around his spasming cock again, and he all but keeled over with a broken cry. His arms were on the verge of collapsing under his weight by the time his high had passed, muscles trembling under your hands as you slid them up his biceps and cupped his red-hot face.

“I-I…” he rasped out. “Really, really sorry.”

You gave his cheeks a gentle squeeze, soothing him in a manner that was so detached from how deeply aroused you truly were, as if what had just transpired didn’t have you coating his length with a fresh wave of your own slick. Even after weeks and weeks of toying with him, training him to withstand all sorts of pleasure, he still came so fast every time you tried something new. If he never learned how to hold out any longer, you didn’t think you’d have any complaints.

“Why are you apologizing?”

Ororon blinked at you like he didn’t understand the question, and you realized for the first time that tears had begun to gather at the corners of his eyes. Tiny droplets threatened to spill over, clinging to his long lashes like icicles and clumping them together to form a visual that you wanted permanently etched into your brain. 

“I didn’t…get permission,” he hiccuped. The delightful heat that had consumed him earlier was now heavy and stifling, a thick blanket of shame for being so incompetent. But your fingers pierced through it effortlessly, running through dark locks of his hair and scratching at his flattened ears with a tenderness that eased his nerves. “I’m truly sorry. Your…y-you just feel so…” His mind scrambled to find the proper words to describe the sensation that had just reduced him to a teary mess, only to settle on something laughably simple, instead. “Good. And hot. Like there was a Flamengranate that went off inside of me.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” you giggled. “It was your first time, baby. Don’t be sorry, you’re supposed to feel good.”

“I-I can keep going,” he blurted out. The thought left his mouth before it’d even formulated in his hazy mind, but the genuine look of surprise that it brought to your face made him all the more determined to follow through with it.

“It’s okay, let’s stop here for today.” You could only hope that the pulsing of your heat around his cock wouldn’t give away how badly you wished you could continue. “I don’t want you to force yourself.”

“I’m not,” he insisted, finally finding the confidence to look you in the eye, resolute, even with the gleam of tears blurring his vision. “Please? I can do better this time. Wanna make you feel good too, Ma…Master.”

You nibbled thoughtfully at your bottom lip, well aware that he was aiming for your weak spot with the honorific. But it was impossible not to be swayed when he was still buried inside of you, softened length still twitching with aftershocks sharp enough for you to feel deep in your core and dilated, earnest eyes begging you for another chance. 

“We’ll stop if it gets to be too much, okay?”

At that, his ears perked up again, and it set off a feeling in your chest that seemed far too wholesome given the circumstances. He nodded gratefully, sucking in a hoarse breath before beginning to draw his hips back. His movements were slow, but the mix of your juices and his cum had him sliding out of you much faster than he’d intended, promptly ripping the oxygen back from his lungs as he slipped out of you altogether.

The sudden loss had you tightening around nothing, and a frustrated huff met your ears as Ororon took his length into one of his unsteady hands and tried to realign himself with your entrance. As if it hadn’t been enough of a challenge for him the first time, the slick dribbling out of you and the limpness of his cock had him gliding its head against your folds in uncoordinated jolts of his hips, each attempt missing its target more egregiously than the last. Fighting back a grin, you pushed yourself up on your elbows and nudged him back against his headboard, settling into his lap in one fell swoop.

“Guess you really don’t know what to do with it,” you murmured. “Like this, baby boy.” Taking him into your secure grasp, you lifted yourself up off of his thighs just enough to guide his dick back into the velvety embrace of your walls. The new angle allowed him to delve even deeper inside of you than he had before, and when you wrapped flush around him a second time, the tears that had formed in his eyes trickled over in delicate, crystalline droplets that cooled his blazing cheeks. You barely had the opportunity to process how thoroughly he stretched you out again before his arms latched around you in a fierce hug, trapping you close to him in fear that he might lose the bliss he’d only just discovered.

You could hear him struggling to keep his breaths under control just as you’d taught him to, chest rising against yours in long, ragged inhales, and falling with high-pitched, borderline mewls. It took all of his focus just to manage that labored pattern of panting, you knew that getting him to move on his own was out of the question.

“How does that feel? Can you handle it?” you whispered. Resting your hands on his tense shoulders for purchase, you dragged yourself up his tender shaft until just the tip remained inside of you, awaiting his response before going any further. 

Ororon’s head fell into your chest, a muffled moan vibrating delightfully against your sternum. “Good. Feels good, M-Ma…Ma—ah!”

He was cut off by the pure bolt of electricity that shocked his system as you sank down on him, rolling your hips for good measure when you met his base. All the stimuli that his body was already exceptionally receptive to under normal circumstances were amplified tenfold, now. The hot, addictive pressure your walls had wrapped him with was now accompanied by a sting of overstimulation every time you slid up and down, far too much for his hypersensitive cock to bear so soon after climaxing. It left him gasping out when you smacked your hips down into his, especially when the sound that it created was filthy enough to make the hairs on his ears stick up and goosebumps rise on his nape.

You hadn’t expected his body to handle much more, but to your amazement, he was already growing hard again, adapting to the oddly satisfying ache that gripped his cock each time your plush walls sucked him back in. “Still okay?” you asked, and he was certain that the sweet, breathless edge to your voice would be enough to keep him going no matter how many more climaxes wracked his body. 

“Hurts,” he gritted out, only to rush to correct himself in a panic before you took it as a sign to stop and rid him of the ecstasy he was enveloped in. “In a good way, like—ngh. Hot. Like burning my tongue on Xocoatl. ‘M okay.”

It was difficult to hold back as much as you wanted when he described it that way, like the pain wasn’t a setback for him, but a cornerstone of it all. 

“You’re doing such a good job, baby. Trying so hard for me, yeah?”

Your praises were like healing balm over the searing heat that may have otherwise set his nerves ablaze. Ororon had encountered countless souls throughout his life, sensing the unique energy that each one emitted to a frankly exhausting degree, but he’d never been able to find the proper words to describe yours; not even when he was touching the deepest parts of your insides. In that moment, he found himself thinking that you were like a flame that kept him warm, but never burned, no matter how dangerously close he veered to you.

His mouth fell open against your chest, suckling mindlessly at the soft skin until he found one of your nipples. A tingle ran up your spine as his tongue flicked over it almost timidly, a nonverbal plea for permission to wrap his lips fully around it. Slowing the movement of your hips, you rested one hand on the back of his head, nudging it forward and encouraging him to take you into his mouth like he’d been yearning to do for so long.

He didn’t need any more guidance than that, lips instantly closing around the bud to form a wet, hot suction around it. His tongue danced around it in ravenous circles that you could tell he was trying his hardest to control, little swirls of bliss complimenting the delicious pressure you felt as his length filled you to the brim over and over. You carded your fingers through his hair as steadily as your bouncing would allow, breath hitching when he began to suckle harder in response. One of his fangs grazed against your nipple as he did, but he was far too consumed with his own primal need to notice, instead slinking his arms tighter around your torso to bury the entirety of his face in your chest.

“Careful,” you warned him, tugging at navy locks in the hopes of getting his attention. “It’s sensitive there. Watch your teeth.”

He slurred out a drool-filled apology, the reverb of his voice shooting through your body and straight to the coil that was building in your abdomen. His lips puckered around his canines in an attempt to shield you from their sharp prick, so utterly drunk on your soft, fragrant flesh filling his mouth that he paid no mind to the way they dug into his own skin, instead. He would gladly endure the pain if it meant he could satiate the unbearable emptiness he felt in his mouth without you.

A hum met your ears, so content and docile as you scratched at his scalp, each stroke of your hand matching the velvety glide of your walls along his cock to lull him into a trance. Everything was soft and wet and agonizing, a combination he didn’t have the capacity to describe. He nuzzled his nose into your skin with a low moan, lean hips finally beginning to thrust up on their own to meet you halfway, no longer paying any mind to the pangs of protest in his length.

“Good boy,” you purred, gliding your hands down to his waist and pressing your thumbs into his hipbones. “Just like we practiced. Keep your hips nice and loose.”

The burn that had accumulated in your thighs welcomed the change of pace. Ororon’s movements allowed you to slow your bouncing and grind against him instead, matching the roll of his hips to the best of your ability when his arms were still locked tight around your body in an anchoring embrace. You could see the waves passing through his abdomen each time he rutted up into you, muscles contracting under pale skin to create a view so sensual, it had you digging your nails into his waist a bit harsher than you’d intended. 

He whimpered into you in response, one hand unwrapping from around your waist to paw at your breast and hold it greedily near his mouth. He hadn’t let your nipple fall from his lips for a single second, even as the saliva pooled on his tongue and dribbled out from the hot seal of his lips, making it harder to stay latched on.

“You’re sucking like you really want milk to come out,” you teased him softly.

At that, Ororon’s ears quivered atop his head, cock swelling so fiercely that you wondered if your little remark may have been a bit closer to the truth than you’d initially thought. He let out a groan of longing that was almost pitiful, so unrestrained that his jaw went completely slack, at last releasing you from the fervent suckling of his lips. When he lifted his head, the look he gave you was so far gone; those vibrant irises now clouded over, fangs peeking out from behind his lips where thick strings of saliva connected him to your chest. 

It was a sight that had your heart jumping in your ribcage. For the first time, it dawned on you that the word Ororon had been desperately trying to stop himself from calling out wasn’t “Master”, at all. You clenched tighter around him without intending to, far more excited by the realization than you ever could’ve anticipated. That was all it took for him to collapse back against you with a high-pitched moan. It rang out against his cabin walls as he nestled his head into the comfort of your chest, so unabashedly loud that even the press of his mouth against your flesh hardly did anything to suppress it.

His attempts at thrusting up into you had gone sloppy now, even his careful pattern of breaths was ragged and out of control now, all the advice you’d given him long forgotten and replaced with primal need alone. Using your grip on his hair, you gently guided him to your other nipple to give the sore bud a break, sighing in relief when his mouth enveloped it with such eagerness, like a puzzle piece finding its connecting part.

“Sorry,” he slurred out, tongue gliding over the bundle of nerves in the process and sending a sharp tingle down your spine. “D-did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, though, it made no difference to him when he was currently drowning his face in your chest. “No, baby, it feels good. Have as much as you want, just don’t forget to breathe, okay?”

He mumbled something incoherent, forearms flexing around your waist when his cockhead rolled against your sweet spot to draw an even stronger reaction out of him than you. Every little move you made was both frighteningly new and overwhelmingly wonderful, he wanted to learn every inch of your insides until he knew them just as well as you knew him, until his clumsy, inexperienced body had memorized yours in full, refined exactly to your liking. 

You could tell by the way he’d gone virtually boneless beneath you that he was nearing his limit again, and you weren’t faring much better. The flicks of his tongue had become near-frantic, swiping over your nipple with a rhythm that, despite how erratic it was, added to the ball of tension his cock was building in your gut. Your nails dug deeper into his waist, fighting to keep him steady as he bucked helplessly into you every now and then amidst the expert grinding of your hips.

Between the security of your chest pressed against his face, the flurry of raw, addictive scents flooding the air around him, and the torturous rhythm of your silken walls working his length over and over, Ororon felt like he’d downed an entire bottle of that Snezhnayan Fire-Water The Captain’s men had once shared with him. Tingly and hot all over, a burn that was both harsh and intoxicating, nipping at the edges of his brain until, for once, his senses were soothed.

“Mm…mmm, F-fla—” His mouth fell open with a strangled noise when you dragged his tip against those ridges deep within you once more. He pulled his head from between your breasts to gaze up at you through long eyelashes, still watery from all the strain of pushing himself past his limit. “Think ‘m gonna…the Flamengranate...”

Though your own mind was growing fuzzy with lust and his sentence had more or less faded out into nonsense, it didn’t take much for you to decode what he was trying to say. Now that his face was back in view, you clenched extra tight around the base of his shaft just to relish in the way his expression scrunched up into something pitiful.

“No aphids today?”

His canines sank into his already bruised bottom lip, head thrashing from side to side in all his urgency. 

“Too bad,” you mused. “We could’ve mixed the milk and honey together.”

Ororon’s eyes squeezed shut with a cracked whimper; mortified over how heavily the thought aroused him. “Ngh, please. Can’t hold it anymore. I don’t wanna m-mess up again. Can I? Please, Ma…Mam—mmph.” 

A full-body shudder ran through you, down the arch in your back to the tips of your curled toes. His cock was swollen thick inside of you, threatening to tip him over the edge any instant now, but you could tell by the faint tremble in his frame that he was doing everything in his power to hold back until you granted him permission. Ironically, a part of you wished he was a little less disciplined, just so you could at last hear him cry out the word that had been dancing on the tip of his tongue for weeks, now. Even at his most overwhelmed, he was still too shy to let it slip. 

“Cum for me, baby boy,” you murmured.

Ororon’s second orgasm somehow hit him even stronger than his first, electric in the most literal sense. It stiffened every muscle in his body and sent a bolt of pure energy coursing through his veins, so intense that his vision went white for a split second. With a near-sob, he burrowed his head into your shoulder and spilled into you, wrapped in wet, pillowy warmth that coaxed out every last drop of his seed. Sparks of electro flashed on the surface of his skin in tiny, violet bursts, flickering at every point of contact between you and him and tickling your nerve-endings. 

The charged particles added a fresh burst of adrenaline to his climax, just powerful enough to have him sinking his teeth into your neck in a fit of ecstasy. You hissed softly as his fangs dug into your flesh, a sudden sting of pain that, while not deep enough to draw blood, still had you jolting with shock. He bit down harder without intending to, the squeeze around his dick pulling a low keening sound from deep in his chest that was borderline animalistic, pooling liquid heat in your core. Even as his teeth broke your skin, you made no attempts to pry him off of you, simply continuing to pet his head as stiff hips writhed and rocked under your thighs, the sound of crackling electro a sharp contrast to how his muffled, pleasure-drunk whimpers buzzed against your throat.

When the last few waves of his high passed, you were both left panting for different reasons. His heart hammered a frenzied rhythm against your chest for what could’ve been seconds or minutes afterwards, not showing any signs of returning to its usual pace when he could feel the thick warmth of his own release mixing with your essence and dribbling down his sore cock. 

Gently, you tapped the crown of Ororon’s head to get his attention, and it finally seemed to register in his foggy mind that he’d been digging into your flesh all throughout his climax like you were his last meal, leaving behind two very noticeable, deep marks where his fangs had latched on to you. He blinked at the blossoming wound, at a loss for a moment. Then, his pupils went wide with horror.

“Oh. Oh, Archons. I-I’m so sorry—”

He was shushed by your finger pressing against his lips, reddened and bitten to hell—just as much of a victim to his teeth as your neck had become. When he found the courage to sneak a glance at your face, he was greeted with a look of affection that, funnily enough, he found harder to accept as real than anything else that had just transpired. 

You couldn’t even pretend to be upset with him for nearly taking a bite out of you, even if you could already imagine the symphony of scolding and the harsh sting in your earlobe from Granny Itztli yanking at it when she spotted the suspiciously fang-shaped marks. She would no doubt break records for how ferociously she would chew you out—and that was just you, it would be a million times worse for poor Ororon, the perpetrator of the crime. Although, there was a very real chance that you may face the brunt of her wrath this time, for corrupting her dear grandson.

Still unconvinced, he ran his thumb over the pair of painful-looking bites in your flesh with the same tenderness he tended to the lush leaves of his crops, taking notice of your subtle flinch no matter how determined you were to mask it. “Can’t believe I…I-I’m very sorry,” he managed to mumble against your index finger, well aware that no amount of apologies would be satisfactory. “Did I hurt you?” His nose scrunched up with the realization of how ridiculous a question that was. “Does it hurt a lot, I mean? I’m sure I have some remedies—”

“I’m fine, baby. Just glad it was my neck you decided to bite and not somewhere else.”

Ororon followed your pointed gaze down to your chest, and the flush that had gradually been fading from his cheeks returned on full blast when he caught sight of your nipples, puffy and glistening with drool from all his mindless sucking.

“I didn’t…” he trailed off for a moment, trying to find the least self-incriminating way to phrase his question. “I didn’t say anything too weird, did I?”

You curled one of his dark locks around your finger and pretended to mull it over, admittedly pleased with the growing look of panic on his face. “No more than usual,” you hummed. “More importantly, are you alright? Seems like you gave yourself quite a shock there.”

You gestured to the Vision resting on his nightstand, now perfectly tranquil as opposed to how violently it’d been short-circuiting when his climax had wracked his body. But aside from the several blows his already wavering dignity had taken today, he was unharmed, giving you a quick, shy nod. “Mhm. Guess I just can’t really control anything when it comes to you.”

His words set off a strange warmth in your chest, one that you tried to offset by busying yourself with the mess of midnight blue that his hair had become. “You did so well for me, baby. Proud of you.” He ducked his head to give you easier access as you ran your fingers through his damp fringe and swept it aside to press a kiss to his forehead, hungrily soaking up your attention; the one thing that never seemed to overload his senses. “Think you’ll sleep better now that you’ve got an ending to your dream?”

His eyes went half-lidded with contentment, and for the first time, he actually looked ready to fall asleep at night; no longer wide awake and preparing to begin his day while everyone else was settling in for bed. Leaning further into you, he rested his chin on your shoulder, arms weak with exhaustion, but still hanging securely around your waist, like he still wasn’t quite sure whether this was a cruelly crafted illusion or not. 

Before he allowed himself the grace of succumbing to his fatigue, however, the pale beams of light filtering through his window reminded him of the waning moon that hung overhead, patiently waiting to help his crops take root.

“My turnips…”

It came slurred and drowsy, and you had to make sure you’d heard him correctly before you let out a soft chuckle. “Still feel up for planting them tonight?”

“Not at all,” he admitted. “But…the fertilizer you brought is still out there.”

“Big Pinecone can watch over it,” you reassured him, rubbing soothing little circles behind his ears that quickly had the last of his energy dwindling. “Let’s get some rest, for now.”

Ororon had begun to dread hearing those words over time, because it always meant the end of another lesson, another new experience where he’d been too starstruck to reach whichever invisible standard he’d set to impress you with. This time, though, he couldn’t bring himself to protest, too spent to even think about putting his body through anything other than a long nap next to you. He grunted weakly as you lifted yourself off of him, a visible tremor passing through his form as his length slipped out from the comfort of your heat, soon followed by trickles of pearly white.

When he caught a glimpse of his mess dripping down your thighs, his stare darted away in shame. Suddenly, he was very grateful he’d overextended himself so severely, to the point where he didn’t have to worry about his body betraying him with yet another hard-on over something as simple as looking at you.

“We’re…not done yet, right?” His fingers fidgeted at your waist where they still refused to let go, tapping an uncertain beat. “I mean, there’s still more you can teach me?”

You settled back in his lap with a playful half-grin. “Mm, I dunno, baby. You’re already getting hard in the woods and in your sleep. You really want me to mess you up even more?”

Ororon took the bait with ease. A frown tugged at his lips, brows lowering into a sulky expression that told you his stubbornness had kicked in. “It doesn’t feel like a bad thing,” he huffed. “If I’m messed up, at least it’s by you.”

It was endearing in a bizarre sort of way; a testament to the man who’d spoken it. You took his face into your palms, and his thick lashes fluttered closed, heavy with exhaustion that had him like freshly scooped clay from a riverbed in your hands, ready to be molded however you saw fit. Maybe one day, you’d mess him up enough to get him to admit to the thinly-veiled complex that had him so eager to fill his mouth with you.

Your fingers danced down the expanse of his neck, still pure and unsullied in comparison to the frenzied lovebite he’d left on you. The longer you watched his pale skin flex and pulse under your touch, the more you craved to sink your teeth into him and dye it all sorts of shades. To leave physical evidence of your impact on his body, swallowing up more and more of his innocence until there was none left. 

You drop your hips down, setting your clothed cunt right down on him, and his hips buck on instinct. You giggle around a moan, lashes batting down at him, and his hands flex as he swallows hard.

"I do like it. Fuckin' love it... but.." But what? What was he worrying about again? His girlfriend was grinding her hot little pussy down on him and he was wimping out? The fuck? He doesn't finish his sentence, instead stretching up to reconnect your lips to his.

You eagerly kiss him, tongue intertwining with his own, and his eyes flutter shut. Your lips are soft against his, softer than the thighs bracketing his hips, softer than the pussy that's continuously rocking back and forth against hi—oh fuuuuuck.

He breaks the kiss again, his foggy brain finally clearing enough for him to remember the very urgent matter. He's going to fucking cum. Right in his pants like the virgin he is.

"B-Bunny, wait. Forreal this time, I-I hafta—" You move your kisses down to his throat, and he hisses when you suck a mark over his bobbing Adams apple for everyone to see. Fuck yes. "Baby, please!" He doesn't know what he's begging for anymore, whatever concern he had once again lost in the midst of you, but you give it to him regardless, hips rolling and rocking and bouncing as if you're riding him — as if he's buried deep inside you, cock nestled in between your walls.

"Ohh fuck, Zanka!" You cry out as you sit up fully, your hands trailing up your front as you toss your head back. You're fully clothed save for your socks, but Zanka has seen you without clothes more than enough to know what's underneath that shirt and bra. He can envision your body clear as day, what it'd be like if this was the real thing — full tits bouncing with each move of your hips, nipples hard in his mouth, rounded ass gripped in his hands, pussy hole spread wide around the base of his cock. "Just like that - right there. Fuck me just like that." Oh, you're sick.

His teeth grit together, hands slapping down on your waist to catch you mid-bounce, and he thrusts his hips up, the both of you moaning in sync as your centers meet. Your own hands slap down on his chest, painted nails bunching up in his shirt and gripping hard, and the sight of the two of you fucking through your clothes is borderline disgusting. If all the blood in Zanka's brain hadn't rushed down to his engorged cock he might've been embarrassed, but all he can think about now is the wet spot over your shorts that seep through to his own pants and how he'll stuff the soiled fabric in his mouth later on when you're asleep in your room and he's got his dick in his hand.

His balls draw up, a tell-tale signal that he's about to blow his load, and as if you can smell it in the fucking air you grab his hands and put them on your chest, encouraging him to grope and squeeze at your tits as you rock back and forth, back and forth. Your lips are parted, eyes lidded, and you look like pure fucking sex - a million times sexier and hotter than the chicks in the dirty magazines stashed between his mattress and the wall.

He cums so hard that he sees black - it bleeds into the edges of his vision before overtaking it completely, and you kiss and pet at him until it comes back, bottom lip trapped in between your teeth as you watch him come back to this realm of existence.

You give him a sultry smile.

The late afternoon bustle of the cleaners’ headquarters was in full effect. Everyone was either preparing for their next clean or just shooting the shit. Rudo was being his normal curious self, asking about what people on the ground did for fun. You were about to answer him, but Mr. Bad Attitude himself decided to butt in. 

“Don’t worry about what’s fun, worry about training to get your shit together.” Zanka scoffed,  “Oh wait, you’re a natural talent, so you think you don’t have to try at anything,” 

With an eyeroll and a smirk, you put a hand on your hip. “You’re just mad that you’re a tryhard,” you teased, “Some of us are just naturally gifted. Cursed to be good at anything we put our talented little hands on. Sometimes I envy dorks like you who actually have to work for things. It sounds gratifying.”

After you finished speaking, Rudo looked gagged that you spoke to the straight-laced man like that. To keep the moment light, you discreetly gestured for him to look at Zanka’s face. You already knew his expression would be priceless. This was just your dynamic with him, though, you’d tease him and he’d get pissy about it. Sure enough, the teen peered over at his instructor. Brows furrowed, eyes squinted, and lips contorted in a scowl. With a silly grin, you gestured to Zanka with your thumb in a ‘get a load of this guy’ type of way. That was all it took for Rudo to produce what looked almost like a real smile and release something that sounded more like barking than laughter. Nonetheless, his reaction made you completely fall apart with giggles. 

With the encouragement of your laughter, Rudo chimed in. “Yeah, I bet his butthole is always clenched from how uptight he is.”

Unfortunately, Zanka didn’t find any of this buffoonery nearly as funny. He could handle you poking fun at him, that was common enough. But you and his student bouncing laughter off of each other at his expense was grinding his fucking gears. With an eye twitch, he decided to play it cool. “Ha, you got me,” he forced a smile, “I guess I am a bit of a tryhard sometimes, huh?”

You, being the silly, naive little thing you were, continued on with the conversation and thought nothing of it. Eventually, the evening went on and you’d forgotten all about your jests. 

But Zanka hadn’t.

You’ve done it again. That smart mouth of yours has gotten you in trouble once again. It’s a talent, honestly; your propensity to piss him off could truly be studied, Zanka thought. 

You’ve already completed your night routine when a knock on your bedroom door startles you. Quiet hours in the cleaners’ dorm space started an hour ago, who could be at your door now? Figuring it was Riyo wanting to play in your hair again, you slip out of bed and place the book you’d been reading on your desk. The two of you have been friends for a while now, so it’s uncommon for her to knock, though… 

Typically, the only person to knock is Zanka, but the two of you hadn’t made plans for tonight, right? You head to the door as you go through your mental calendar. You’d had a friends with benefits type of situation with him for about two months now, and hookups were always planned out. He always went on about “keeping people out of his business by being discreet.” Whatever, you don’t think any more of it before swinging the door open. You come face to chin with someone. Hey, you know this chin. 

“Well, well, well, Mr. Tryhard, what brings you by?”

Ah, so you hadn’t taken the time to reflect on your words from earlier. Zanka had hoped that you would have been adult enough to think about how your words affect people, but clearly that wasn’t the case. It was okay, he resolved, he’d just have to teach you a little something about respect. 

Not wasting any time the man pushes you aside, entering your room and closing your door. 

“You’re such a fucking pain, you know that?” He grumbles. Before you can respond, he’s pressing you against the wall, crowding your space, looking into your eyes. The floor, your desk, hell even the opposite wall– your eyes dart everywhere except for the eyes of the man before you.

 “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, you bring your eyes up to his dark blues. That intense eye contact leaves you wordless, face hot with sheepishness. You hadn’t seen this side of him before. Sure, he could get a little intense at times, but that was nothing compared to this. 

“What, nothing to say now?” He taunts, “Earlier, you had so much to talk about. Let’s hear it, come on then.”

When you try to speak, your voice catches in your throat. The only thing that comes out is a shaky breath, heavy with need. Seeing Zanka this pissed was something you didn’t know you needed until this very moment. Clearing your throat, you attempt to speak up.

“W-What do you mean? I have nooo clue what you’re even t-talking about…”

Being only a handful of inches taller than you, it doesn’t take much for Zanka to lower his lips to brush against your ear. “You said you were such a natural talent at everything. I’d like to test that out.” he teases. “I mean, if you’re so good at everything, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to show me, right? Come on.” 

You don’t get the chance to ask Zanka what he means because his lips have pressed against yours. Messy and rushed, he kisses you with the fervor of a madman. You can scarcely keep up. His lips attack you, tongue swiping against yours, hands roaming and groping your body. Needy, breathy whimpers slip past your lips. 

“What’s the matter, can’t handle the heat?” He murmurs against your lips, “If you want me to stop for real, you have to say it.”

Why would you ever in life want him to stop? You bring your lips back to his without another word. Taking this as an invitation, the staff-wielder grips your hips and kisses you once more. Heat pools in your lower belly, sending tingles throughout your body. He then pulls away teasingly, causing you to lean in closer to him. “And you said I was the tryhard. Look at you, already needy from just a few kisses,” Zanka teases. 

“Take your clothes off,” he commands, voice stern yet taunting. Being the good little angel you are, you slip out of your comfy pajamas, leaving you only in your dampened panties. Standing in front of him near naked, you pull your lower lip between your teeth. You press yourself into the wall behind you bashfully as navy eyes scan over you. “Sluts like you always have the sexiest bodies.” He ponders quietly, “I wonder which came first, the body or the sluttiness?” 

Zanka reaches a hand out; your breath hitches in anticipation. You feel him swipe a thumb across your pebbled nipple before grabbing your breast entirely. A nervous sound squeaks out of you. “Hush,” he hisses, “or do you want the whole floor to hear how much of a whore you are?”

That shuts you up quickly. Pressing your lips together and pulling them between your teeth, you put on a brave face. “You know,” Zanka says in a low voice, “I’d bet that you’re soaked down there.” He trails his fingers down your tummy lightly, stopping just at the waistline of your thin cotton panties. 

“Nuh-uh… So what if I am?” You pout, ever defiant.

“You like when I’m mean,” he whispers across the sensitive skin over your jugular, “You like when I call you names, when I pull your hair, when I use you like a toy.”

You flush in embarrassment, squeezing your eyes shut and thighs together. Zanka leans in closer, mere centimeters from you before shoving his knee between yours. 

“I didn’t tell you to move,” he husked, “your body will tell me the truth if you won’t.”

You didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. You loved when Zanka treated you like his personal fuckdoll. You feel a calloused hand trace the fabric of your panties from your hip to the center of your mound. “Now, you’re going to ride me until I cum or I tell you to stop. Since you’re so good at everything, you should be able to make me cum fast, right?”

Zanka pulls you into an embrace, kissing your forehead before walking you to your bed. He sits you down and instructs you to look and not touch.

Layer after layer of Zanka’s clothes peel off. You sit at the edge of the bed, transfixed by the methodical way he removes his garments. His body, so lithe, stood mere inches out of arms reach. You long to caress his bare skin. Before much time passes, he nestles himself onto your bed comfortably. The man pulls you on top of him, settling you right over his throbbing cock, before lazily resting his hands behind his head.

“Can I…?” You whine. The ache between your thighs and the tightness you felt in your tummy were only getting worse with need.

“Go on then,” Zanka challenges. He knew you were too much of a needy mess to ride him for long. With permission granted, you lift yourself up just enough to align your hole with his awaiting cock. Guiding it with your hand, you make sure to squeeze him just how he likes. You inhale a shaky breath as you lower yourself onto him. Zanka grits out a curse, savoring the tight grip your cunt has on him. You stifle a moan as you feel his tip brush against your cervix. 

The blue eyed man had to give it to you; you were definitely doing your best. Wobbly knees support your form as you slowly bounce yourself on his length. You’re giving it your all, but it’s just not enough.  You whimper, needing more friction, harder thrusts.  

Zanka huffs out a laugh. “What’s the matter? I guess being a natural at everything only comes second to being a hole, huh? You’re good at taking dick but can’t be bothered to work for it.” 

His rude remarks only serve to make you try harder. Up and down, up and down. You try your hardest to go faster, fuck yourself deeper on his cock. Eventually, you find yourself whimpering as you attempt to catch your breath.

“Aww, you all tuckered out? I thought you’d be good at this. Since, after all, you’re so talented at everything. It’s okay, I’ll show you what hard work and discipline can accomplish,” the man grunts out. With that, you feel him pull you forward, your chest flush against his, your face buried in the crook of his neck. From below, Zanka lifts his hips and fucks himself deeper into you. Instinctively, you bring your hands to cling to his chest. One hand grips the back of your neck roughly, the other squeezes the fat of your hip. This time, you really can't help it; a pathetic “ohhh fuuucckkk” bounces out of you as the man thrusts up into your slippery pussy. 

“The whole floor- is gonna- hear you-” Zanka grits, “take this cock and shut up about it.” You bite down on your lip hard to prevent yourself from making any further noise. As you’re pounded into ruthlessly, the tightening coil in your core threatens to snap. You feel an orgasm approaching. The problem, though, is that Zanka feels it, too. Your walls flutter around him, your hips buck, your timid moans grow louder. “Don’t you fucking dare–”

His demand is quickly cut off by your wanton cries of pleasure. You shudder and shake above him, arching your back, pressing your tits further into him. The pulsing grip your pussy has on him threatens to send him over his own edge. But no. This is what discipline is all about. Having the ability to hold strong even in times when he so desperately wants to give in. And if he doesn’t have that, then he’d be no better than greedy little sluts like you.

“What a whore you are,” he murmurs, tone too sweet for his words, “Naturally good my ass, you couldn’t even ask for permission before cumming. I might’ve even given it to you. You’re just too cock hungry for your own good.” Zanka stops all movement. Still delirious from your orgasm, all you can do is nod. At your lack of a response, he smacks your ass. With a yelp, you pull up to look at him in his cobalt eyes. 

“Don’t you agree that you’re too cock hungry for your own good?” 

“...yes,” you whisper, a lazy smile across your lips. This is your favorite feeling– brain fuzzy of the endorphins from a good orgasm. It was Zanka’s favorite, too, seeing you like this. 

You’re quickly flipped over with the blue eyed man leering over you; his brow speckled with sweat, hair messy, earrings swinging with every motion. Cum drunk and malleable, Zanka easily folds you in half, putting your legs over his shoulders. He grips your plush thigh with one rough hand, his other presses against your lower abdomen. 

“Might as well be a toy, I’m doing all the fucking work here,” he grunts to himself before plunging into you once again. The man huffs, he could feel himself ram against your deepest wall. Zanka is relentless in his thrusts. The lewd sounds of your juices echo through your room as he bullies your cunt. Already fucked out, you can do nothing but take it.

As the man approaches his own climax, you hear a few whimpers sneak out of him. He couldn’t help it, your pussy always sucked him in so good. Zanka’s thrusts grow faster, sloppier as he chases his peak. “Say my name,” he pleads,  “let everyone know who’s fucking you this good.”

“Z-ah– Zankaaa~” you squeal just as he pulls out. What a hypocrite, you think with a grin, Zanka’s the one who’s always talking about discretion. He whines as rope after rope of cum spurts out of him and onto your soft skin. After Zanka catches his breath, the two of you share a look.  He attempts to look stern, but that swiftly dissolves into a content smile. His smile, soft and genuine, causes your cheeks to flush even more. Before long, Zanka takes a second grounding breath and stands.

‧₊˚✧[ Enjin ]✧˚₊‧

✧ Enjin is somewhat quiet in bed. Not to an awkward extent, but he's also not moaning much.

✧ He is a yapper though.

✧ That being said, he enjoys to talk you through it, praises you, degrades you a little if you're into it, compliments you about how beautiful you look for him, how well you take him, how good you make him feel.

✧ You're into guided masturbation? Perfect. He loves instructing you and talking you through it.

✧ If he's not busy talking, he is more of a heavy breather, the occasional small moan or grunt slipping if you clench around him and / or if he's sensitive.

✧ When he comes undone, he moans but it's a low, rumbling kinda moan, eyes shut tightly from the pure pleasure running through his veins.

✧ If you wanna make someone jealous, he's not above moaning obnoxiously loud so everyone can hear tho, so be careful what you wish for.

‎‧₊˚✧[ Gris ]✧˚₊‧

✧ Gris is also relatively quiet in bed, but he's not holding back any sounds, he will most definitely let you hear how good you make him feel.

✧ While he doesn't yap much, he praises a lot or curses under his breath. He will tell you how good you make him feel, but never in a degrading kind of way.

✧ Consent king!! He does ask if it's okay to touch you and what you want.

✧ He absolutely loves to call you pet names if you're fine with that, and he gets a little possessive if you two are in a committed relationship - makes sure you know that you're his special someone by calling you things like my love, my perfect partner, my sweet.

✧ His moans are usually deep, but if he's holding back so you get to release first, they can sound breathy and sometimes a little desperate too.

✧ Shortly before he releases, you can hear him mumble something like "oh fuck" under his breath before a rather strangled moan falls from his lips.

‎‧₊˚✧[ Zanka ]✧˚₊‧

✧ At first Zanka is awkwardly quiet, too much in his head about how he sounds and looks, making him look rather angry as the awkward silence on his end fills the room.

✧ You can clearly tell that he's holding back because you did hear him whimper softly once in the shower when he took care of his morning wood.

✧ When he's more comfortable with you / after you encouraged him not to hold back he's more vocal.

✧ Not a yapper at all, might whisper things under his breath or curses at how good you make him feel - he's quite literally losing his mind when you please him.

✧ His moans sound so CUTE!!

✧ It's rather small moans but they sound kinda needy and the little gasps whenever you clench around him!! It makes you wanna eat him up.

✧ If you want praise or degradation he needs a while to warm up to it, but he will tell you everything you want to hear and more.

✧ The more comfortable he feels with you, the more vocal he gets. His small moans turn into groans and grunts and he's not scared to moan into your ear when he releases either.

‎‧₊˚✧[ Follo ]✧˚₊‧

✧ Follo tries to hold back any noise out of fear you could judge him at first but when it's getting awkward he tests the waters with harsh breaths and mumbled curses.

✧ Once he realized that you clench around him every time he makes a noise - clearly enjoying it - he feels like he can really let go.

✧ His moans are rather sweet, a little high in pitch mixed with small whines and whimpers.

✧ Actually, a lot of whimpers, sometimes followed by a drawn out fuuuck or a sloppy kiss.

✧ He does blush when you please him and he starts whining because it makes him sound desperate and needy - but that's exactly what he is when it comes to you.

✧ Follo is also a yapper! He does it out of nervousness and the need to reassure you somehow. He asks for consent a lot and if you like what he does if he's doing anything new.

✧ Will also occasionally praise you, but most of the time he whispers small thank you's when you make him feel oh so good.

✧ When he releases all you can hear is a little "Ngh" before a whiny sigh escapes his lips.

zanka's fingers splay across your skin, spreading your thighs enough for him to lick a thin stripe up your slit that has you seeing stars. he knows you like it when he starts slow, teasing outside before properly diving in. you're too shy to ever explain it aloud, but no matter – he's memorised all your reactions, catalogued them in his mind to decipher what feels best for you.

for instance, he knows you love it when he wears his rings while his fingers are inside you. something about the contrast of the cool metal against the heat buzzing under your flesh makes you buck your hips into his touch, chasing more and more of that delicious friction to send you hurtling off the edge.

“c'mon, princess… you can be louder.” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin and the vibrations of his baritone voice going straight to your core. you're so wet the noises your pussy is making are obscene as zanka coaxes more moans out of you with his fingers alone like strumming chords on a guitar. he loves hearing you when you're in his bed, it reassures him that he's doing well and also turns him on enough to the point he thinks he could cum in his pants just from listening to the way his name falls from your lips.  

his gaze is hyper-focused on the mess between your legs, watching the way your thighs tremble and your cunt clenches around his fingers like you're trying to suck him in. you're close, he can tell. he's made you orgasm enough times that he can recognise the telltale signs as soon as you start reaching that precipice.

“zanka, almost there, oh fuck-!”

“yeah?” zanka's eyes darken as he looks at you, wanton and needy underneath him, tears beading at your lash line and those pretty lips all swollen from kisses. he hooks his fingers at the perfect angle while toying with your clit, whispering filth into your ear that makes you melt into his touch, “give it to me, princess. wanna see you cum for me.”

“ngh, zanka-!”

then you're cumming, falling to pieces on his fingers, squeezing him so tightly he thinks he'll never be able to pull out and honestly he'd be happy to be stuck here forever with you – naked and intertwined in his bed, closer than either of you could ever explain with words. 

when you come down from the high of your orgasm, you sigh with delight and snuggle closer into zanka's warmth, cupping his face to pull him into a heated kiss. “love you, zanka. you're the best.”

his cheeks flush bright red and he looks away, unable to meet your sparkling eyes once he pulls apart. “i… i love you too.”

“aw, zanka, don't tell me you're getting shy over a kiss! you've literally been inside me!”

“i'm not- hey, don't say that so loudly!”

“hmm? but i thought you were telling me to be loud a second ago~”

“that was totally different!”

and as you collapse into a fit of giggles in his bed, zanka can't stop the smile spreading across his expression too. maybe he doesn't need to be perfect or a natural born genius. if he can make you laugh despite being just an average joe, he must be doing something right.

zanka my specialest prince i love him sm UGH