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toji. f

You’d been asking him for twenty minutes, shamelessly relentless, until Toji finally let out a heavy sigh and shifted over you. Even then, he refused to give you his full weight. He braced his knees on the mattress on either side of your head, his thick, scarred thighs framing your vision as he hovered just inches above your mouth.

"You're annoying, you know that?" he grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the dark room.

You didn't answer, just tilted your chin up and caught him. The moment your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, the tension in Toji's heavy frame snapped. He didn't stay hovering for long. As you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes, his hips started to drop. He began grinding down against your mouth, a slow, desperate roll of his hips that forced you deeper against his center.

His breathing roughened, turning into sharp, jagged hitches. He gripped the headboard, his knuckles turning white as he chased the friction. You added two fingers, sliding them inside and hooking upward. Toji's breath hitched violently. He was practically riding your face now, his heavy muscles twitching with every frantic thrust of his hips as he ground down onto your tongue.

Then, without warning, his entire body stiffened up.

Toji let out a sharp, breathless gasp. His back arched, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth and cheeks. It wasn't just a leak; he was actively squirting, his internal muscles pulsing frantically around your fingers as the sheer volume of it coated your lower face.

The room went dead silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

Toji froze completely. The strength gave out in his arms, and he dropped down, his knees taking his weight as he stared blindly at the wall. He looked down at you, his usually sharp green eyes blown wide in absolute, stunned disbelief. He was completely speechless, a dark flush rapidly climbing up his thick neck and spreading across his scarred chest. He just stared at the wet mess on your face, his mouth slightly parted, trying to process what his body had just done.

You pulled your fingers out slowly and swiped the back of your hand across your chin, catching the slick fluid. You looked up at his shocked, flushed face and smirked.

"Damn, Toji," you said, your voice low and cocky. "Didn't know I could work you out like that."

His jaw snapped shut. For a long, heavy second, he just stared at the wet mess covering your lower face. The deep red flush burned all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Shut up," he finally grated out, his voice a full octave lower than usual, completely raw. He dragged a heavy hand down his face, deliberately breaking eye contact. "Don't act like you did something special. I just... it's been a long week."

You didn't wipe the smirk off your face, letting your eyes drop meaningfully to where his thighs were still trembling against the mattress.

"Stop looking at me like that," he snapped, though the harshness of his tone was completely ruined by the way his breath caught at the end of the sentence. He shifted his weight, suddenly hyper-aware of his own body and the undeniable evidence he'd left all over you. He reached down, his large, calloused thumb aggressively wiping at your chin and cheek, trying to scrub away the proof. "Wipe your damn face. You look stupid grinning like that."

You chuckled, catching his wrist and leaning up to kiss the inside of his palm. He flinched, but he didn't pull his hand away.

"I'm serious," he warned, his chest still heaving as he finally forced himself to look back down at you. His green eyes were dark, defensive, but blown wide with lingering heat. "You utter a word of this to anyone, and I'm putting you through a wall. You just caught me off guard. Don't let it go to your head."

He let out a rough, shaky breath, trying to summon his usual intimidating aura, but he was still straddling you, completely laid bare and visibly shaken.

"Now are you gonna get up," he muttered, his voice dropping into a needy, impatient growl as his hips twitched involuntarily against you, "or are you just gonna lay there looking smug all night? Because I still have an ache you need to take care of."

You didn't argue. You just reached up, gripping the back of his thick neck, and pulled him down. He didn't resist, collapsing his heavy frame over yours. He caught your lips in a quick, rough kiss, tasting the salt and slick of himself on your mouth without a single complaint.

He broke the kiss just as fast, turning his head to bury his flushed face deep into the crook of your neck. He let out a long, heavy exhale, his massive chest expanding against yours as he snuggled closer, his solid weight pinning you to the mattress. He was still trembling slightly, his arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight, grounding hold.

"Just shut up and touch me," he mumbled into your skin, the last of his fight completely drained out of him.

satoru .g

The sheets were a tangled wreck underneath you both. You were twisted up in a breathless 69, Satoru’s ridiculously long legs straddling your shoulders while his face hovered right over your hips. He had your cock in his hand, his lips parted to finally take you in, but the second your tongue swiped firmly against his slick heat, his jaw just slacked.

He was far too distracted by what you were doing to his pussy to actually focus on sucking your dick. He tried, ducking his head down, but as you dragged your tongue right over his most sensitive spot, he let out a sharp gasp and lost his grip entirely. He ended up just panting hot air against your thighs, his long fingers abandoning their task to twist deeply into your hair instead.

"Hold on, let me—ah!" Satoru gasped, a breathless, exhilarated laugh bubbling out of him as he failed to focus for the third time. "You’re doing that on purpose. You’re not even letting me start."

You didn't let up. You gripped his thighs, holding him steady as you worked your tongue in broad, demanding strokes. Satoru was incredibly vocal, his hips rolling eagerly and shamelessly against your mouth as he completely surrendered to the sensation. The room was filled with the wet, heavy sounds of the friction and his ragged breathing.

He arched his lower back, pushing himself deeper against your face. You took the invitation, sliding two fingers deep inside him and hooking upward to hit that internal sweet spot, keeping a relentless, punishing pace with your tongue.

Satoru’s breath hitched violently. He completely abandoned the idea of the 69, his head dropping back against the mattress as he practically rode your face. His long frame arched completely off the bed, his thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks as the overstimulation built up higher and faster than he was ready for.

"Yeah, right there," he stuttered out, his voice pitching higher. "Don't stop, don't—fuck!"

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through his long frame as the last of his control completely broke.

Satoru let out a loud, sharp cry, his fingers pulling taut against your scalp. His hips buckled hard, and a sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your mouth, chin, and cheeks. He was shaking, his internal muscles clenching in frantic, wet waves around your fingers, completely coating your lower face.

He collapsed down onto your legs, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. For a split second, there was total silence in the room, except for the sound of the bed creaking.

Then, Satoru shot up. He pushed himself onto his hands, craning his neck to look down at your face. His bright blue eyes were blown incredibly wide, but there wasn't a single hint of embarrassment in them. Instead, a massive, thrilled grin broke out across his flushed face.

"Holy shit!" he laughed out loud, completely breathless and amazed. "Did I just do that?!"

You pulled your fingers out slowly, swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his wide, excited eyes and smirked, your tone perfectly cocky and satisfied.

"Damn, Satoru," you teased, your voice low. "Didn't know I could make you flood like that. Look at the mess you made."

"Are you kidding?! That was incredible!" he beamed, completely unashamed of the sheer volume of slick covering your face.

He shifted his long frame immediately, abandoning the 69 entirely to slide his legs down and fully straddle your waist. He leaned down over you, practically vibrating with lingering adrenaline, and didn't even hesitate before pressing a wet, messy kiss right to your lips. He tasted himself on you without a second thought, his tongue swiping lazily at the corner of your mouth.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his flush deepening but his grin turning distinctly teasing. He reached out, tapping a finger right on your slick chin.

"You look really good wearing me, by the way," he hummed, his tone playfully arrogant. He let out a happy, exhausted sigh and dropped his weight, snuggling his face right into the crook of your neck. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against your chest, and his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders.

"You're an absolute genius," he murmured happily against your collarbone, his hips still twitching involuntarily against you. "But now I have to clean up my mess. So lay back, because it's my turn to focus... and I'm going to take my sweet time draining you completely dry."

choso. k

You had him pulled right to the edge of the mattress, his back flat against the sheets while you knelt on the floor between his legs. It was an incredibly vulnerable position, and Choso was visibly hesitant. His hands were gripping tightly at the bedsheets, his knuckles turning stark white, and every time you leaned in even an inch, his thighs would reflexively try to snap shut against your sides.

"Wait," he breathed, his voice tight and nervous. A dark, heavy blush was already dusting his pale cheeks, spreading down his neck and over his collarbones. "It's... I'm already too sensitive right now. Maybe we should just—"

You didn't let him finish. You reached out, gently but firmly catching his wrists, prying his fingers away from the bunched-up fabric of the sheets and pinning his hands flat to the mattress by his sides. Then, you slid your arms under his knees, hooking his pale legs securely over your shoulders. It opened him up completely to your view, leaving him entirely exposed.

Choso let out a shaky, embarrassed whine, turning his head sharply to the side so he wouldn't have to look at you. He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling in shallow, nervous hitches.

"Just relax for me," you murmured, leaning in close enough that your breath fanned over his slick skin.

The moment your tongue traced a long, slow, deliberate path right over his center, Choso let out a startled, high-pitched gasp. His entire body jolted like he’d been struck by lightning. He was so incredibly pent-up and sensitive that even the lightest, teasing pressure felt like a massive shock to his system. He tried to squirm backward, instinctively trying to pull away from the overwhelming sensation, but your grip on his hips kept him anchored right at the edge of the bed.

"It's too much," he whimpered, tears immediately welling in his dark eyes and spilling over the bridge of his nose. "Please, I can't... I can't take it, it's too much..."

He was pleading, shaking his head against the pillows, but his body was completely betraying him. Even as he cried out for you to stop, his hips were instinctively bucking upward, his breathing turning into wet, ragged gasps as he chased the very friction he claimed was too intense.

You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, curling them upward to hit a steady, rhythmic pace while your tongue worked him over without a single ounce of mercy.

Choso became a complete wreck. He was sobbing openly now, sweet, musical sounds of pure sensory overload leaving his lips. His head thrashed against the pillows, his dark hair a tangled, sweat-dampened mess. His stomach muscles jumped and twitched with every stroke of your tongue, the overstimulation rapidly pushing him past the point of rational thought.

"Please!" he sobbed out, his voice cracking as his toes curled so tight they cramped. "Ah! I'm—I'm gonna—!"

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him as he finally shattered.

Choso let out a loud, ruined wail, his back arching off the mattress so hard he practically lifted himself into the air. A sudden, heavy rush of hot fluid sprayed directly across your face.

The heavy, intense rush of it left him completely drained. His body went limp, collapsing back onto the mattress with a heavy thud. His chest rose and fell in sharp, desperate gasps as the last of the tremors worked their way through his thighs.

All Choso could do was lay there and pant.

Then, Choso slowly opened his tear-filled eyes, peering down at you through his damp lashes, his chest still heaving. When he finally focused on your face—when he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your cheeks—his breath hitched violently in his throat.

He froze completely. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his pale features, his lips parting in silent horror. The red flush on his face that seemed to consume him entirely.

You pulled your fingers out with a soft, wet pop, slowly swiping the back of your hand across your slick chin. You looked up at his horrified, flustered face, letting a slow, incredibly self-satisfied smirk cross your lips.

"And here you were begging me to wait," you teased, your voice low and perfectly cocky in the quiet room. "Look at the absolute mess you just made of my face. You must have really been dying for this."

A pathetic, utterly mortified squeak left his throat.

"I—I'm so sorry!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic, shame, and overwhelming embarrassment. He immediately scrambled upward, his shaking hands reaching out to frantically cup your jaw, his thumbs trying to wipe at your slick-covered cheeks. "I didn't mean to—I don't know what happened! I'm so sorry, you're covered in it, I ruined everything, I—"

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy apologies. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting him up instantly.

Choso melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his blind panic instantly replaced by a heavy, adoration-filled heat that he couldn't hide.

Before he could find his voice to start apologizing all over again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the pillows to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, tear-stained face deep into the crook of your shoulder, absolutely desperate to hide from your cocky gaze.

"You're terrible," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs still trembling where they bracketed your waist. "Please don't look at me right now... just hold me for a second."

mahito

You had him hoisted up onto the edge of the heavy wooden desk, standing squarely between his legs. Mahito was leaning back on his hands, swinging his bare heels against the back of your thighs and giggling that manic, grating laugh of his. He was treating the whole thing like a game, his mismatched eyes bright with chaotic amusement as he looked down at you.

"Is this supposed to be intimidating?" he teased, a wide, stitched grin stretching across his face. He tilted his head, completely unbothered. "C'mon, you look so serious! Are you really going to just stare, or are you actually going to—ah!"

His mocking laughter was completely cut off the second you stepped in close and dragged your teeth lightly up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. You didn't give him what he wanted right away. Instead, you took your time, deliberately teasing him. You mapped out the patchwork lines of his skin with slow, agonizingly light laps of your tongue, completely ignoring his slick center while hovering just inches away from it.

Mahito shifted on the hard wood of the desk, his grin faltering. "Hey. Stop messing around. That tickles."

You smirked against his skin and traced a slow circle just outside his heat, blowing a warm breath over him. Mahito’s breath hitched, a sudden, involuntary shiver running down his spine. His hands gripped the edge of the desk tighter.

"I said stop playing," he grumbled, his voice losing its playful edge, dipping into something much more impatient and needy. "Just do it already!"

"Impatient, aren't we?" you hummed.

Then, you finally gave it to him. You gripped his thighs, your fingers digging firmly into his pale skin to hold him in place, and buried your face against him. The second your tongue swiped firmly and relentlessly against his core, the change in him was instantaneous.

The playful arrogance melted entirely off his face, replaced by a look of wide-eyed, frantic overstimulation. He jerked backward, his spine snapping straight, but you didn't let him retreat. You worked your tongue in sharp, demanding strokes, refusing to let up the pressure. He wasn't used to being overwhelmed, usually twisting and reshaping himself out of any corner, but his body was completely betraying him.

"Wait, wait—stop!" he gasped out, his fingers tangling desperately into your hair. He tried to squirm away, letting out a series of high, breathless whines, but his hips were instinctively bucking forward against your mouth. "I can't—it feels too—!"

You answered his frantic movements by sliding two fingers deep inside his soaking heat, hooking upward to hit that deep, internal pulse.

Mahito’s entire body went completely rigid. His breath caught violently in his throat, his jaw dropping open in a silent scream as the sheer intensity of the overstimulation shattered his chaotic facade. His heels dug sharply into your lower back, his pale thighs trembling uncontrollably against your cheeks.

Then, the tension finally snapped.

A violent, full-body shudder ripped through him. Mahito let out a loud, high-pitched cry, his back arching off the desk as a sudden, splash of warm fluid sprayed onto you.

The heavy rush left him entirely drained. He collapsed forward, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his forehead coming to rest heavily against the top of your head.

Mahito slowly pushed himself up, blinking rapidly as his dazed eyes finally focused on your face. When he saw the sheer volume of slick dripping from your chin and painting your shirt, his breath caught in his throat.

He froze completely. The manic, unhinged curse was rendered completely speechless. A look of pure, unadulterated shock washed over his patchwork features, his mouth falling open. A dark, violent flush erupted across his pale cheeks, burning right through the stitches on his face and spreading all the way down his neck.

You looked up at his horrified, flustered expression, letting a slow, incredibly cocky smirk cross your lips as you wiped his essence off you. You didn't wipe all of it away, letting him stare at exactly what he’d done.

"Well," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "That’s certainly one way to finally shut you up."

A pathetic, mortified squeak left his throat.

"You talk all that big game," you continued, stepping into the space between his thighs and crowding him against the edge of the desk. "But you completely flood the second I put a little effort in. Didn't know you had it in you to make such a massive mess of me. Look at you. You made a puddle."

"I—what?!" he stammered, his voice trembling with sheer panic and overwhelming embarrassment. He looked entirely stripped of his usual bravado, his shaking hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with them. "I didn't—I don't even know what just happened! You—you cheated! You did something weird to me, you must have used a cursed technique, I—!"

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists to stop his frantic, messy excuses. You leaned forward, tilting his chin up, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips, tasting the salt and slick of him, shutting his rambling up instantly.

Mahito melted into the kiss the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating in the back of his throat. All the fight left his body. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his panic instantly replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.

Before he could find his voice to start arguing again, he just gave up. He slumped forward with a heavy sigh, sliding right off the edge of the desk to wrap his arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his chaotic energy entirely snuffed out.

"You're so mean to me," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs wrapping securely around your waist to hold himself up against you. "Shut up... don't look at me right now... just carry me to the bed."

suguru. g

You had been begging him for weeks. Every time you backed him against a wall, cornered him in the kitchen, or tried to pull him down onto the bed, Suguru would just offer that perfectly serene, frustratingly composed smile of his. He’d brush a hand through your hair, gently kiss your forehead, and murmur, "Soon. I just want it to be the right time and place. We shouldn't rush these things."

He was incredibly private, highly protective of his own vulnerability, and utterly obsessed with maintaining total control over himself and his environment. He hated the idea of feeling exposed or caught off guard.

But tonight, his elegant little excuses had finally run out.

He was seated deep in the plush, dark velvet armchair in the corner of his dimly lit bedroom, his long, dark hair tied back loosely. You were kneeling on the floor right between his parted thighs. Even now, with his legs spread for you, he was trying so hard to maintain that aura of untouchable grace. He rested one elbow on the armrest, his chin propped on his knuckles as he looked down at you through half-lidded, heavy brown eyes.

"Satisfied?" he hummed, his voice smooth and incredibly patronizing. "You’ve been relentlessly impatient, and now you finally have me exactly where you want me. Just do try to be gentle, won't you? I'd prefer not to make a mess tonight."

His arrogant, perfectly constructed little speech died instantly in his throat the second you bypassed his thighs and buried your face directly against his soaking heat. He tried to quickly muffle the sharp gasp that escaped him, biting down hard on his lower lip, but you weren't going to let him stay composed. Not after making you wait this long.

You gripped his thighs, your thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle as you dragged your tongue in long, deliberate, punishing strokes over his center. Suguru tensed violently, his hips involuntarily jerking upward against your mouth as his lower back arched completely off the cushion.

He tried to recover his composure, forcing a shaky exhale through his nose. He reached a trembling hand down, his palm finding the top of your head in a soft, patronizing pat—a desperate attempt to pace you. "Ah... you certainly don't hold back, do you?" his voice wavered, entirely losing its smooth edge. "That's... slow down a little, sweetheart, I can't—"

But the gentle head pat immediately turned into a white-knuckled, bruising grip in your hair the second you slid two fingers deep inside him, hooking upward to find the deep, internal ache he’d been so desperately hiding.

Suguru’s facade entirely crumbled. His hips buckled, lifting completely off the velvet cushion as he tried to chase the angle of your fingers.

"Wait, please, you're—ah! God, fuck!" he choked out, his voice cracking into a high, ruined pitch.

He was completely overstimulated, his long, muscular legs trembling violently against your ribs. He tried to pull you closer by your hair and push your shoulders away at the exact same time, his body entirely confused by the sheer volume of pleasure. A ruined, desperate whine tore past his lips, his head throwing back against the chair as his toes curled into the carpet.

Then, the final, stubborn thread of his control snapped.

Suguru let out a loud, melodic cry. His entire body locked up tight, and a sudden, rush of hot fluid met your awaiting mouth, completely coating your tongue in the sudden.

The intense rush of it left him completely hollowed out. He slumped forward in the armchair, his chest heaving with ragged, wet gasps. His hands slipped out of your hair, falling limply into his lap as the last of the intense tremors wracked his frame.

For a long, heavy moment, the only sound in the quiet bedroom was his open-mouthed breathing.

"So this is why you've been avoiding me for weeks," you teased, your voice low and deeply satisfied in the quiet room. "You were terrified I'd make you completely lose your mind. I've never seen anyone drench a chair this fast. Look at what you did to my face."

A pathetic, utterly mortified groan escaped his throat.

"Have a little mercy..." Suguru rasped out, his usually eloquent vocabulary completely deserting him. He looked utterly stripped of his pride, his shaking hands coming up to frantically drag down his burning face. "I had no idea I was even capable of that. God, you're wearing half of it. Please, don't gloat, I'm already entirely humiliated."

You chuckled, catching his trembling wrists and gently pulling his hands away from his face, refusing to let him hide. You leaned forward, crowding into his space between his thighs, and pressed a quick, wet kiss right to his trembling lips.

Suguru melted the second your lips met his, a soft, needy whimper vibrating deep in his chest. All the tension drained out of his rigid posture. When you pulled back just an inch, his brown eyes were wide and beautifully dazed, his intense embarrassment entirely replaced by a heavy, pliant heat.

Before he could try to find his composure again, he just completely surrendered. He slid right off the edge of the armchair, his knees hitting the floor right in front of you as he wrapped his long arms tightly around your neck. He buried his burning, flushed face deep into the crook of your shoulder, his perfectly kept facade completely destroyed and abandoned.

His trembling hand came up, instinctively finding the back of your head to offer a soft, shaky pat—his usual comforting gesture, though right now, he was entirely the one who needed it.

"You win," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and shaky, though he was clinging to you like a lifeline, his bare thighs bracketing your waist on the floor. "I severely underestimated you. Now just... hold me, and let me pretend this didn't happen."

naoya. z

The bedroom was stifling, the air heavy with the frantic, wet sounds of his undoing. Naoya was pinned against the headboard, his pale legs hooked over your shoulders and his ankles locked behind your neck in an involuntary, white-knuckled grip. His hair was a sweat-slicked mess, and his dark eyeliner was completely ruined, dragged across his cheekbones in jagged streaks by the tears he couldn’t stop.

"Stop... I said stop!" he choked out, his voice cracking. He tried to shove at your shoulders, but his arms were shaking so violently his hands just slid off.

You didn't listen. You gripped his thighs tighter, your fingers digging into his skin, and buried your face back into his soaking heat. While your tongue swirled in heavy, demanding circles over his center, you slid two fingers deep inside him, stretching him wide and hitting that internal sweet spot with a punishing pace.

The double assault was too much for his nerves. Naoya’s entire body spasmed, a sharp, broken cry tearing from his throat. His hips buckled, his muscles clenching greedily around your fingers even as he tried to pull away from the friction.

"Just one more, Naoya," you murmured against his skin, your voice a low vibration that made him sob.

"It’s not... ah!... how you won't stop! You're... ngh!"

He was completely overstimulated, his nerves frayed, yet he arched further into the touch. His toes curled, and his breath came in hitched, needy whines. You increased the pressure, your tongue flickering faster as your fingers worked him into a frenzy.

"One more," you repeated, your teeth grazing him lightly.

"No! No more, please—Aaaah!"

He went rigid, his back arching off the bed as the next wave hit him. His thighs twitched uncontrollably against your ears as his body finally gave up, then came the gush of slick, coating almost the entirety of your lower face.

He let out a ruined, melodic cry, his hands flying up to cover his face in shame. He was sobbing openly now, his frame vibrating with the force of the climax. You finally pulled back, tasting the salt of him on your lips as you looked at the state of him—the smeared makeup, the trembling limbs, and the soaking mess on the bed.

"You're such a pretty mess, baby," you murmured, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. "Look at you. All that big talk, and you’re just a leaky little girl for me, aren't you?"

Naoya visibly cringed at the endearment, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. A deep, frantic blush climbed all the way to the tips of his ears. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson.

"What are you looking at, idiot?" he snapped, though his voice was entirely too shaky to carry any real weight. He squinted at you through his glassy, tear-filled eyes, his face a brilliant, humiliated crimson. "Don't call me that... it's pathetic. I'm not some dumb woman or a bitch for you to talk down to."

"Funny," you teased, your tone perfectly cocky as you deliberately let a drop of his slick run down your chin. "Because you're the one on your back, drenching the sheets because you couldn't handle a little tongue. For someone who hates women so much, you sure do scream like a girl for me."

Naoya visibly recoiled, his lip curling in a sneer that was half-furious and half-shattered. "I do NOT—!"

"You do," you interrupted, leaning in until your nose brushed his. "You’re pouting like a bratty little princess just because I made you lose your mind. It’s cute, Naoya. Really."

"I am NOT cute!" he hissed, his voice cracking with indignity. He reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing your collar and tugging you upward with a weak, desperate jerk. "Wipe your face. You look disgusting. You're filthy, and it’s your fault I’m like this anyway."

Despite the insult, he didn't let go of your shirt. His legs remained wide, his heels digging into the mattress as he pulled you closer. His eyes darted to your zipper with a desperate, impatient hunger that betrayed every word of his bratty protest.

"Well?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a needy, demanding rasp. "Are you just going to stare at me and say stupid things all night, or are you actually going to finish this? I'm not waiting any longer. Hurry up and give it to me."

"Say please, then," you hummed. "Tell me you want it, pretty girl."

Higuruma was mid-sentence the moment you spread his thighs.

“I’ve analyzed the clitoral network and the— mmh— the supposed G-spot sensitivity, but I highly doubt it’s going to—”

Your tongue licked a long, slow stripe from his dripping hole up to his swollen clit, cutting him off cleanly.

“Shhh, baby,” you cooed softly against his pussy. “No more courtroom talk tonight. You’re gonna be a good boy and let me make you feel good, okay?”

You sucked his clit gently between your lips. Higuruma’s breath hitched.

“But the literature says— ah— the build-up is usually gradual, not this— fuck— not this immediate—”

“Good boy,” you praised warmly, pushing two fingers deep into his tight, wet heat. “Listen to how nicely you’re taking my fingers already. You’re doing so well, Hiromi. Such a perfect, pretty pussy clenching around me.”

Higuruma’s hand gripped your hair tighter. “This sensation is… unusually intense. I’m not sure I can— nngh— maintain coherent thought if you keep— ah!”

You curled your fingers firmly against his front wall and flicked your tongue rapidly over his clit.

“There we go,” you murmured lovingly. “No thinking. Just feeling. You’re so beautiful when you’re falling apart like this. My smart, composed boy is getting so wet and needy for me.”

“I— I can still analyze— shit— the pressure is building far faster than— oh god— than any documented case—”

You smiled against his cunt. “You’re still trying to talk? That’s adorable. But good boys don’t need to talk. They just moan and squirt for me. Come on, baby. Be good for me.”

Higuruma’s thighs trembled violently. “I… I feel something— something different— it’s too much— I’m not supposed to— fuck— I can’t control—”

“Yes you can,” you encouraged softly, pumping your fingers faster. “You’re doing amazing, Hiromi. Such a good boy. Let it happen. Squirt for me. I want to see how pretty you look when you lose control.”

“I— I’m going to— ah— I can’t stop it— please— it’s coming—!”

“That’s it, good boy,” you praised, sucking his clit hard. “Cum for me. Squirt all over my tongue like the perfect boy you are.”

Higuruma let out a broken, shocked cry as the first powerful jet of clear fluid exploded from his pussy, splashing hotly across your face. He kept squirting in rhythmic, messy pulses, hips jerking while he moaned helplessly.

“Oh my god— I’m— I’m actually— fuck— it won’t stop—!”

You kept licking and fingering him through it. “Good boy, good boy. Look at you making such a beautiful mess. You’re so perfect when you squirt for me.”

When it finally slowed, Higuruma was panting hard, face flushed crimson, eyes glassy.

“…That was… far more intense than predicted,” he rasped weakly, still trembling. “I… I lost complete control. How… humiliatingly satisfying.”

You kissed his thigh gently. “You did so well, baby. My brilliant boy. Want me to make you do it again?”

Higuruma swallowed, voice hoarse. “Yes… please.”

Nanami tried to stay composed even as you kissed up his inner thigh.

“You don’t need to go this far,” he said quietly, voice steady. “If this is for my pleasure, there are simpler—”

“I want to go this far, Kento,” you replied softly, looking up at him. “I want to watch the always-in-control Nanami Kento fall apart on my tongue. Can you let me do that?”

Before he could answer, you licked slowly through his slick folds. Nanami exhaled sharply.

“Fuck… that feels—”

“Good?” you finished for him, smiling. “I know. You’re already so wet for me. Such a good boy. Tell me how it feels when I do this.”

You pushed two thick fingers inside him and sucked his clit gently. Nanami’s gloved hand tightened.

“It’s… intense,” he admitted, voice rougher. “The pressure is building very quickly. I’m not sure how long I can—”

“You don’t have to hold it,” you said encouragingly, curling your fingers against his G-spot. “Just let go for me. You’re doing so well already. Look at how nicely your pussy is taking my fingers.”

Nanami’s breathing grew heavier. “This is… undignified. But— ah— it feels too good to stop.”

“That’s right,” you praised warmly. “Be a good boy and let me take care of you. You deserve to feel this good. Come on, Kento. Squirt for me. I want to see you make a mess.”

“I— I’m close,” he warned, thighs starting to shake. “It’s too much— I can’t hold back—”

“Don’t hold back,” you commanded gently. “Squirt for me, baby. Let it all out. You’re so beautiful when you lose control.”

Nanami’s stoic facade finally broke with a deep, hoarse moan. A powerful spurt of clear fluid gushed out around your fingers, splashing hotly over your tongue as he started squirting in strong waves.

“Ah— fuck— it’s happening— I can’t— nnngh—!”

“Good boy,” you kept praising between licks. “That’s it. Keep going. You’re making such a perfect mess for me. So good, Kento.”

When the orgasm finally ebbed, Nanami was panting hard, arm over his flushed face.

“…Completely undignified,” he muttered, voice rough. “But… I didn’t expect it to feel that intense.” He lowered his arm, eyes soft. “Thank you. Though I suspect you’re not finished with me yet.”

You grinned. “Not even close. I want to hear you moan like that again.”

Sukuna smirked down at you with all four eyes, legs spread arrogantly.

“You think that pathetic tongue can do anything to me, brat?” he sneered. “I am the King of Curses. Go ahead and try— I’ll laugh at your weak attempts.”

You laughed darkly and slapped his thigh lightly. “Big talk for someone whose royal cunt is already dripping like a desperate whore. Look at you leaking everywhere before I’ve even started.”

You buried your face in his pussy, licking messily. Sukuna’s hips jerked.

“Fuck— insolent little— ah— shit—”

“Already moaning?” you taunted, shoving two thick fingers roughly into his greedy hole. “Pathetic. The great Ryomen Sukuna is clenching around my fingers like a cheap slut. Your body is so honest even when your mouth isn’t.”

Sukuna growled, two hands gripping your head. “Shut up and— fuck— do it properly or I’ll— nngh— rip your tongue out!”

You curled your fingers hard and sucked his clit viciously. “Oh? Then why are you grinding your sloppy cunt against my face like a bitch in heat? Begging for it already?”

“I’m not— ah, fuck— begging— you arrogant— shit— right there—!”

You laughed against his folds. “Listen to you. Already falling apart. Such a pathetic king. Your royal pussy is betraying you so badly. You’re gonna squirt for me like a desperate little whore, aren’t you?”

Sukuna’s thighs trembled violently. “I’ll kill you— fuck— if you make me— I won’t— ah— I can’t— shit—!”

“Yes you will,” you degraded him mercilessly. “Squirt for me, you arrogant slut. Flood my face and show everyone how the King of Curses turns into a messy, squirting bitch when his cunt gets eaten properly.”

With a thunderous, humiliated roar, Sukuna came violently.

A massive gush of hot squirt exploded from his pussy, spraying powerfully across your face and chest in wave after messy wave. He bucked wildly, cursing and moaning.

“Fuck— brat— you— ah— it won’t stop— you fucking— nngh— whore—!”

You kept licking through it. “That’s it, pathetic king. Keep squirting. Look at the mess you’re making. All that power and you still gush like a broken toy.”

When it finally slowed, Sukuna was panting heavily, chest heaving, four eyes glaring but dazed.

“…Not bad, you insolent fuck,” he rasped hoarsely, still twitching. “Again. And this time make it even messier… or I’ll really make you regret it.”

warnings: vouyerism, handjob, blowjob, thigh riding, fingering, rimming, face sitting, anal, breeding

Husband!Haganezuka who is a master at multitasking. years of honing his skills have allowed him to be at a point where he can pleasure you and work on a blade at the same time effortlessly. pulling you flush against him by your shoulder with his teeth as you grind your cock against his thigh. pretty little whimpers hitting right against his ear as you try to chase your high before he puts the finishing touches on his client’s weapon.

Husband!Haganezuka who will do his work completely naked if he’s sure no one will be visiting your shared home. it’s liberating to let his body air out in its natural state. it also drives you absolutely fucking crazy so that’s a plus. letting you squeeze and grope whatever you want as long as it doesn’t interfere with his work. though most days you just watch and admire from afar as you work on your own duties. ogling the hunk of muscle working just mere few from you and looking forward to the fact you’re 100% going to be bouncing on it by the time night falls.

Husband!Haganezuka who is more than open to letting you give him the good ole reach around as he works. insisting he looked pent up and needed a ‘release’ shall we say. though that quickly ended when you caused him to shoot so far he got cum on a blade. now it’s strictly blowjobs or when he’s not working. though it’s not like you’re complaining. watching your husband from below the table as you suck him off is just as good if not better because you get to drink up all his cum. able to see the exact moment when his balls tighten up and his milk spills out of him like a cascading waterfall. all of it just for you.

Husband!Haganezuka who is surprisingly competitive. so when you propose that he’d be unable to focus on his work while you ‘mess’ with him, he accepts the challenge with open arms. trying to keep his focus as your hand finds its way under his clothes. the tips of your fingers slowly pushing past the tight pink ring of his hole to lay claim to his gummy walls. hotaru not budging even when you’re directly pressing on his prostate. fingers furiously thrusting into him as you whine into his shoulder about him at least giving you a moan. but hotaru is determined, and he doesn’t break, not even as you prop his hips up and force him to sit on your face. your nose buried into his heavy balls and taking in his manly scent as your tongue laps away at his hole. your groans of satisfaction vibrating throughout his body but never losing his focus. eventually you do need to come up for air. lips puffy and chin covered in slobber as you finally tear yourself away from the delicious piece of meat that is your husband’s ass and seeing he hasn’t even as much as broken into a sweat… disappointed but at least you had a damn good time

Robert Robertson the Third is not the type to call anyone daddy, much less papi. It's not just about dignity, it's also straight-up mindset. Daddy? In bed? To your lover? The thought just makes him cringe. "Whatever gets you off, I guess" is something he'd definitely say...

But you don't really know him. Maybe that's why he lets you break him down into a whore breathing pleas to receive a harder fuckin' from his papi.

"I want more." More? What more is there to ask for?

He's clearly not in the right mindset to be thinking coherently, and you find it all the more amusing. "Manners, princesita."

And the nicknames too. Robert would never let anyone call him any of that... just you. Though he knows what to say, it doesn't come out of him procedurally. It's heartfelt, you can tell because he's teary-eyed. "More, papi, please."

You do just the opposite, pausing to settle on your knees and bring his thighs on top of yours, making Robert whine out loud. "Pero, nena, what more are you asking for?"

"Keep going, please, I was so close, papi." His eyes struggle to focus on yours, through their glassy, teary sheen. For once, his gaze isn't so intense that it strips you of your confidence. It's conflicted now, frustrated.

"Eh, but that's what you want now." You laugh, splaying a hand over his stomach, which he eagerly reaches out for. "What did you want just seconds ago?"

"I–" He doesn't fucking know, and it's clear in the way his eyes unfocus and his unkempt eyebrows furrow.

"Focus your pretty little mind," You bring your other hand up to his cheek and stroke the apple of it just so nicely. "I know you can do it, baby."

The praise, the pet name, the hand on his cheek, none of it is helping him think; and to top it all off, you've started shallowly fucking him again, and it's nowhere near as good as he knows you can give him. The frustration grows until, eventually, it spills over and he gives up. "I don't know, papi."

You tut your lips, disappointment clear, and it makes shame burn deep in Robert's chest. "Oh, pretty girl," and there's the pity. You chuckle, thumb following down the apple of his cheek, tracing its path down to his mouth. You slip it past his lips and he immediately gets to suckin'. "How about this? I'll give you a couple choices."

Robert needs no convincing. His words come out slurred around your thumb, but, "Yes, please."

"We switch positions, I don't know, doggy, side fuck; you sit on my face, or... hm," This really isn't going to be a choice, with the next thing you say, "Or, I breed you full."

"That one." Robert says immediately. You give him the mercy of taking your thumb out of his mouth, because you know you're going to like what he says next, "Please, papi, I want you to fill me up."

You'd laugh a bit more boisterously, but it's really not the first time he's asked you to come inside. It's been your preferred way for god knows how long—but who are you kidding? It's a little more than that.

You push your arms under his knees and plant them on the mattress with no warning, but really, there's no subtlety in putting him in mating press. It has Robert's dick leaking all the more in anticipation, because there's nowhere to go now.

Your voice in his ear, whispering as you begin thrusting into him again, makes his moan. Those words of yours, Spanish, make his thoughts all the more intangible. "Yo sabia que ibas a decir eso, nena. Eras tan predecible, tu sabes? Ay, pero este coño tuyo es una fuckin' maravilla."

"Papi!" Robert moans. There's a little bit of your pre already slickening things up inside of him, and he can only imagine how it'll compare once you've bred him full.

"Sí, cariño, keep calling me that. Yo sé que quieres que te llene—que chica más traviesa."

You keep whispering in his ear in Spanish. In his right mind, he knows that it's literally just another language, but right now, it's so fucking hot imagining everything you're telling him. Are you calling him a slut, or are you calling him the love of his life? He's not sure which he'd like more.

His moans are uncontrollable, and his tears that had once been drying (when things where starting to go his way) come back anew, like the pleasure you're bringing him just by sliding your cock in and out of him and leaving his own untouched is too much to handle.

It really is too much to handle, as the tears drag on, down his cheeks. "Papi," He cries, "more, please."

That same mistake. You won't condemn it for him this time, you're far too close to do that. Plus, you want to breed him full too. "Ahi va, nena. Solo espera."

You fuck him harder, zeroing in on his prostate. God, right now, you imagine it's his cervix, like just a little more will have you piercing his womb.

You voice those thoughts for him, and rightfully, it has Robert whining, "Fuuck–I know, papi, it's–I can feel you there."

He's fucking delusional, but god, doesn't it feed you too? He's driving you crazy, clenching around you like—no, he does want to milk you dry, for his own little purposes. Ha.

The more you whisper nonsense in his ear, the more your cock stretches him gaping, the closer Robert is; but he doesn't want to come before you... he really, really, wants to come with you. He wants to come at the feeling of you filling him up, because, fuck, he wants it more than coming. He wants you to breed him more than he wants to finish himself, it's pathetic.

Look what you've turned him into. "Papi, I want... fuck, fill me up already, please!"

Normally you'd tut your lips and say something about patience, but you're almost there. He's already driven you crazy. "Is that what my princesita wants?"

Robert whines for the umpteenth time, "Yes, please."

You give it to him right there—that's pathetic too, but you're fools for each other.

Robert comes too, but he doesn't even think about it. All that he can focus on right now is the feeling of your come deep inside him, sticky, warm, and extremely filling. "Thank you, papi." He says, and despite needing his breaths to go down, he kisses you. It's real gratitude.

When you pull out of him, he can't even clench to keep all of it inside of him. You've left him gaping, like usual, but it's extremely satisfying now to watch it leak out of him. "You're welcome, nena."

So you decided to bother him. Obviously. He had been working long enough; it was time for a break. Besides, you needed to focus too, and it was only fair that he helped you. Evan was your boyfriend, that’s like his whole job, isn’t it?

Skipping down the hall, your knuckles rapped against the door. A second of silence, and then there was faint shuffling from behind the frame. You really only knocked to be nice; his office was never locked. Not bothering to wait, you twisted the knob, poking your head through.

He was just too cute.

The shuffling had not been from him going to let you in, as you’d thought. Instead, what you’d heard was nearly half of his paper falling to the floor. And your lover?

Passed out and completely dead to the world.

Propped up with his cheek squished into his palm, he snored quietly at his desk. Drool collected at the corner of his mouth, and he sleepily murmured. What a dork.

Padding closer, you paused in the middle of fixing his hair. The memory of a previous conversation had come to your mind.

A late night in, and he sprawled against the couch. The TV was displaying a movie you weren’t paying attention to. Nothing that remarkable, yet a comment he’d made stuck with you. The scene that came on involved the male lead being woken up with head.

Your boyfriend, being the annoyance that he was, had turned to you. Saying something along the lines of “Y’know… If you loved me-“ Raising his brows suggestively, before you threw a pillow at his head, laughing.

Now, standing before him, you realized that this was a golden opportunity. I mean, it was perfect.

He had been working himself to the brink of death, and you were feeling needy. So really, you were doing you both a favour.

Grinning to yourself, you slinked to your knees. Crawling under the table quietly. His loose sweats weren’t much of a challenge to get off, lucky you.

You pulled the drawstring, watching it unravel with ease. Your beloved, none the wiser to your perversion, had chosen to go without boxers today. How very convenient, you think. You also think that he looks cute soft- not that you’d ever tell him that.

Carefully tugging out his cock, you pressed a kiss to the tip. Beginning to stroke him slowly as he plumped up in your hand. Evan was decently vocal, but you knew he still held back at times.

Embarrassed by the faces and sounds he’d make. Suppressing them by biting his palm or distracting you with his touch. However, his guard was completely down in this state, and the second you took him in your mouth- the quiet whines slipped out of him like a leaky tap.

His length was coated in drool, wet from your saliva. Twitching to life while you bobbed your head.

He was so sensitive like this.

His breathing had grown shallow, hitching when you’d swallow. From where you were, you could see the muscles in his thighs contract. Jolting lightly when you would hum around him. While his face was technically hidden, you could picture it as clear as day.

Brows furrowed, and mouth agape as the pleasure seeped into his dreams. Your poor boyfriend was probably so confused in that head of his. Innocently napping, when all of a sudden, his body was lit up with heat.

Deciding it was time to raise the stakes, you wondered how long it’d take before he woke up. Oh, he’d be adorable, you’re sure.

Guiding him deeper, you gagged slightly at the intrusion. It was absolutely worth it, though- because the noise that left him had you throbbing.

A breathy, stretched-out moan, and he slumped over. Drooping against the desk, he buried his face in his arm. Panting louder when you hollowed your cheeks. “Ah- haah- nghgod-“ Nose flush into his happy trail, you puffed when his hips jerked.

It was nice being down here, being full. You liked knowing he felt good, and honestly- you wanted to stay here forever.

His body was reacting on autopilot, shivering from the feeling. Your throat was so soft, warm around his cock. His subconscious acted on his behalf, rutting forward in clumsy half-thrusts.

Perhaps he wasn’t completely aware, but he didn’t need to be. All he knew was that it felt good and that he wanted more.

Spittle had collected at the corner of his mouth, dribbling onto the wood. “Mmh, oh- y-yeah.” He whimpered pathetically, weakly clawing at the surface while the room filled with lewd plaps.

You pried open his legs wider. Hooking your hands under the heavy limbs and sinking your thumbs into his inner thighs. Then, his arm dropped onto the table. Haphazardly finding your head, he rested his palm limply over your hair. Voice pitching as his hips became desperate.

Evan humped your slick throat like a puppy in heat. You would’ve thought he was fully conscious with the pitiful begs that escaped him. A mix of “P-please. Feel’s s’good- wanna- ah-“ and “Jus’ like that- d-don’t stop.” The words slurring together.

The only reason you knew he didn’t wake up was that when he did- he gasped so pretty it hurt.

Blinking rapidly, he jolted from his spot. Confused and flustered when the pleasure caught up to his sleep-fogged brain. He barely had the time to react, and the heat in his gut was already on the ledge. An inch away from snapping. He writhed, scrambling for purchase on the arms of the chair. “Baby? What-“

Squirming half-lidded, he trembled something terrible. Spine arching while he threw his head back, it thumped against the neck rest of the seat.

One minute, he was peacefully knocked out- then out of nowhere, it felt as if he was being touched all over.

His subconscious had decided to fill the blanks on its own accord. The dream started out mundane enough, with him scribbling something onto a blueprint.

Evan was minding his own business when he suddenly became hot.

Overheated from head to toe, like something wet and pulsing had manifested out of thin air, latching onto him over his pants. Looking down, he couldn’t see it, but he felt it. God, he felt it.

After grinding on his bulge, it wriggled past his waistband, sliding into his slacks. He nearly folded in half, catching himself on the desk, his knees threatened to buckle. The invisible force was amused by that, apparently, because it grew hungrier.

Gulping his cock down over and over, it fucked itself onto him like a sleeve. Normally, he would’ve been alarmed- but his judgement was impaired at the moment.

For some reason, he was even more sensitive than usual, and it didn’t seem like it’d be slowing down any time soon. So he tried pushing it off a tad- just to breathe. Yet that only spurred the thing on.

He would’ve been embarrassed, but dream logic, you know? Stuck between wanting to run from the pleasure, and diving head first into it, the second option won by a landslide.

With shaking legs, he began fucking the warm void. It smelled like you, reminded him of you.

He wished you were here.

Evan missed you terribly, and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend, right? The longing for your touch started to overwhelm him, making him whine out.

It was intense, twitching and tight. The tunnel was drenched, squeezing him with every stroke. Soft as fucking silk. The pleasure built and built—

And his eyes shot open.

Glancing at you through heavy lids, he assumed that was the answer for his fantasy land troubles.

Your mouth was stretched around his girth, sloppy and spooked with spit. Borderline making out with his dick, lewdly slurping when you would reach the base.

His expression made you clench down on nothing. Completely dishevelled, his lips parted. He couldn’t focus if you paid him.

It was hard to think, hard to breathe, actually. You knew him too well, touched him too good. Holding him open with his legs spread, he felt like a whore- whimpered like one too. “Fuck- wait, s’too much. I-I can’t- haah-“

His brows knitted together as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Pupils crossing before rolling up into his skull. He was quivering like a leaf, but he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t control the visceral reactions you drew from him.

The shirt collar was sitting askew at his neck, and the fabric had scrunched up. Giving you a clear view of his abs tensing when you’d swallow. Evan was the dictionary definition of “Fucked-out” when that coil snapped.

Pathetically gasping for air, he crumbled forward. Cumming while tears prickled along his lashes. “Nngh- shit. C’mon, that’s n-not fair- you’re not being fair.” His cadence cracked on the last syllable, and he spurted down your throat.

The gluey substance was slightly salty, thick as it filled your mouth. Boyfriend flavoured frosting, or something like that.

With his chest heaving, he sagged against the chair. Violently shuddering because you didn’t stop, not even for a second. He wasn’t the only one feeling good, after all.

This was for you, too.

It made it easier to think, to relax and just be. The repetitive motion of bobbing your head, the fullness of him- the warmth. It made your head all fuzzy.

You didn’t know why, but looking up at him like this made you feel safe. A self-soothing habit you’d developed since you started dating him. The steady rhythm lulled your anxiety faster than anything else, worked better than anything else.

Evan was riding the aftershocks, limp, while you used him as an oral fidget. The only sounds that bounced through the office were the dewy squelches of skin on skin, and his breathy pants.

His tongue slipped past his lips slightly while his jaw went slack, head lolling to the side. “Haah- ah, can’t. P-please, I- ohfuck-“ A drunk ramble, almost inaudible with how slurred the sentence came out. He didn’t even know what the hell he was begging for at this point.

The buzz rolled through him at a steady pace, numbing and igniting all at once. It was like his brain had melted into his stomach. Half-hard in your mouth, you refused to let him go soft. Continuing to suckle even when hot tears streaked his cheeks.

His limbs weren’t responding, and he was too weak to do anything but moan. It was so good it hurt.

Hiccuping lightly, he dragged his hand up, the movement nearly taking all his strength. Giving your head a flimsy push, he pleaded with glassy eyes. “Guh- break-ngh- g-giv’me a break. Too mu-“

The pathetic confession was cut off by a choked cry, and his head flung back. “Hah, fuck- cumming.” Knees curling together, they squished your head on either side like earmuffs.

Your fingers kneaded into the fat of his thighs, gulping down the syrupy release. Taking him to the hilt, you forced his twitching cock to stay pulsing down your throat. Milking him for all he was worth.

Finally pulling back after a minute, off-white ribbons stretched from his weeping tip to your slick mouth.

It genuinely felt like he was hallucinating.

Losing vision out of his right ear and taste in his left. And all you did in response to his tousled state- was giggle. Sweet and innocent as you kissed his still leaking shaft. “I’ll get you water so you don’t get dehydrated- the next round is gonna’ give you a headache if I don’t.”

Evan thinks he’s going to die tonight.

— ^ ^ —

➽──────────────❥

You had a predicament.

Tim had returned about a month ago, and things were nearly picture-perfect. Your husband seemed reborn, doting on you at every turn; there wasn’t much to complain about. Yet, you couldn’t help being skeptical.

While he’d never been this impassioned when apologizing after a fight, or when you hit a rough patch, and you understood that this was uncharted territory. How sure could you really be that this wasn’t simply a phase? A near-death experience could leave you forever changed, and it’d been documented time and time again, but you knew Tim.

Of course, you wanted to believe that he would remain attentive, clinging to the hope that his new attitude would stick. It was just that your anniversary was this weekend, and he hadn’t even brought it up. Was it selfish of you to want to celebrate? You would’ve completely let the idea go if he had requested to rest, take time to recover, and so on. The thing was, he hadn’t. Brushed off the whole ordeal the night he’d gotten home, heading to work, not even a full week post-accident.

He didn’t appear drained either; if anything, he was more energetic than he’d ever been. Going as far as to make you breakfast the morning he had left, with Brian at his side, they waved you goodbye. Packed into the truck, they disappeared past the gate, coming back to you with take-out in hand after dark.

Sighing, you shifted weight to the other foot, the plates clinking together when you placed one on the rack. Elbow deep in soapy water as you scrubbed. This stain was determined to stay, apparently. The droplets splashed on your arms, and you checked the time- ‘6:34 PM’. Tim was going to be home soon. With the sponge finally breaking through the grime, you moved to wipe down the sink’s edge with a rag. Finishing your chores for the day.

The cutlery was clean, and you had already placed a pot on the stove, preparing the stew hours prior. You’d nearly dropped the thing earlier, not expecting the weight when pulling it from the pantry. Usually, you would cook with a much smaller pan, but these days, you’d make a mental note to prepare a little extra. Brian had become a constant guest, not that you minded too badly.

Friendly, he’d join you for dinner, helping you set the table and cracking jokes at Tim’s expense. Always offering to clean up after, the man seemed tunnel-visioned on becoming your second favourite. It was a nice change, and you appreciated the effort; it would just take some time to adjust to. Straightening up, you heard the front door unlock.

Their voices echoed from the foyer, overlapping the rustling of coats and boots against hardwood. You were glad you used the big pot.

Switching the cooktop off, your mitt-covered hands removed the stew from the heat. Hearty, with meats and vegetables alike, still simmering in all its glory. The bowls were set on the marble surface while you stirred.

“Lord, it smells like heaven in here-”

“Oh, here you go.”

Brian peeked out from around the corner, grinning, with a very disgruntled Tim in tow. The pair walked up to you, circling the island before they trapped you in the middle. Tim blocks your front as Brian leans his hip against the counter behind you, chuckling at your timid expression. Arms crossed, he cocked his head to the side, “Think I can getta’ taste before ya’ serve it, missus?”

Cheery, and you laughed, nodding. The spoon dipped into the broth, and Tim pressed a chaste peck to your head as he passed you, pulling a beer out of the fridge. You held the handle to Brian, yet his arms stayed tucked.

Pushing off the countertop, he clasped his hands behind his back, stooping into your space. Confused, you go to question him- when Brian opens his mouth with an exaggerated “Ahh.” Tim scoffed over your shoulder, glaring holes into his companion. Unsure of what to do, you hesitantly raise the spoonful to his lips, and he hummed around the bite. Reclining completely satisfied, your lover was quick to ruin his mood.

“She’s married, Bri.” Deadpanning, Tim’s tone was flat. Your back meets his front, eyes widening a tad when Brian steps forward. He didn’t stop until your nose was almost touching his shirt. Trying your best to remain unbothered, you swallowed.

“Never said she wasn’t- we’re just havin’ fun, right angel?”

Flickering his gaze down to you, pupils dilated, dark. You squeak quietly. Tim’s hand had found your waist, grip firm while he pushed you further against Brian’s chest. Now flushed between the two, your face felt hot. What was happening? They bickered all the time- but not like this. “Answer ‘im, sug’. S’rude to keep a guest waitin’.” Sounding surprisingly calm, practically polite.

Brian sniggered in response, “Ah, don’t be like that. Yer’ makin’ the poor thing nervous-” Dropping his face to yours, he clicked his tongue, so close you could feel the heat of his skin. “Besides, ain’t nothin’ wrong with helpin’ out friends, yeah?” He was staring at you half-lidded, cadence low, and the air tightened a fraction.

From this distance, you could see him painfully clear. The slope of his nose bridge, the curve of his lips and the scars that accented his features. You’d never thought about it before- but Brian was handsome. In a rugged kind of way, smile just sharp enough to make your pulse pick up a beat. Shame and something dangerously close to want mixed in your gut.

You were suddenly hyperaware of every sensation across your frame. The warmth of their bodies, the way Tim’s zipper nudged into your ass, how stuck you were. Lowering his mouth to your ear, you shivered as he spoke. “Go on, be a good host an’ talk to him nice.” Your thighs twitched together at his words, letting out a barely audible whine.

The tension snapped like a twig when Brian abruptly pulled back. Stretching his neck side to side, he whistled playfully. “Well, I am famished, dolly. How ‘bout we eat before the food gets cold, hm?” Teasing, as if he knew. A scarcely concealed taunt, and Tim pats your hip. Parting from you with little ceremony, he grunted. “Thank you for cookin’. God knows I’d die without it.” Giving you a quick kiss, then serving the stew with a ladle.

The men worked efficiently, balancing the bowls and cups as they shuffled to the table. They called for you, and your retort was incomprehensible at best. Stuttering, you smoothed your hands down your shirt. “I- yeah, right- o-okay.” They talked amongst each other, acting like they hadn’t just put you in the most perplexing situation possible.

I mean- what the hell was that? Were you going crazy? Had you imagined the tension, become a terrible pervert out of nowhere? Humiliation and guilt flooded your body while you sat at dinner. Missing half the conversation, both Tim and Brian had to say your name multiple times to even get a reaction. They’d laugh and go back to chatting, none the wiser. But you couldn’t focus.

The scene replayed on a loop.

Brian’s snide remarks, how he managed to see right through you. Effortlessly toying with you, doing so without ever lifting a finger, while Tim acted like he was in on it. Your husband seemed perfectly content watching another man, his best friend at that, flirt with you. He was never the most aware of the bunch, the type to read between the lines, but this was blatant, wasn’t it?

Their voices dropped an octave, purposeful and sultry. If you had leaned up an inch, you would’ve kissed the guy, for god’s sake. The after-image of heat lingers on your skin, and you fidget in your seat.

This was shameful, lusting for your house guest, one who probably wasn’t even aware. It wasn’t their fault that your body was betraying you, the years of lacklustre intimacy crashing on you now, of all times. In the middle of a dinner with friends, the only thing you could think about was “What if.”

What if you had kissed him, then what? Would Tim have stopped it? Be disgusted at your lack of self-respect, ice you out for ruining your own marriage? Or would he laugh? Mock you for giving in, his hips driving you forward into Brian’s mouth. Trapped where you were, would their hands wander? Guiding up your dress, the fabric bunched at your waist, would Tim let him swallow your sounds? Moving in tandem, splaying you apart with ease. Filling you, breaking you, ruining you to the core—

Your hip knocked the ledge when you shot up. Dishes clattering against the table, and the pair stared at you in shock. The conversation now halted; you had never felt more embarrassed in your life. Brian raised a brow while Tim looked concerned, opening his mouth- you cut him off. “I forgot about the dryer.” Your excuse didn’t make any sense, and you cursed yourself for it. Rushing off before they could question you further, you slammed the laundry room door shut behind you.

Deep breaths, deep, deep breaths.

Slumped against the washing machine, you buried your face in your hands. You wanted to scream. What was happening to you? Hating the man one day, wanting him the next. All while your poor lover was an innocent bystander thrown in the mix. Turmoil weighs heavily on you, and yet, need continues to pulse between your legs. Self-awareness be damned, you huffed. You had to be quick.

Tugging up the hem of your nighty, your inner thighs were already slick. Underwear soaked through, you cringed. Were you really that starved? Shoving the thought down, you pulled the lace to the side, the cool air making you shiver. Sensitive to the touch, aching, and lost. You slipped two fingers inside, mewling. With your eyes closed, your mind roams.

Would they be gentle or rough? Slow, taking their time to stretch you open. Carefully rolling into your weak spots and praising you. Or would they be cruel? Fast and wicked. Making you take it, not caring that it couldn’t fit. Maybe they would be both, balancing each other on the scale.

Tim sinks deeper into you from behind, groaning in pure satisfaction when you twitch around him. Brian takes the chance to nudge his cockhead against your hole- the tip catching on the rim of your cunt before pushing in. You’re stuffed to the brim.

There’s barely room to move, and Tim grunts. “Yer’ droolin’, baby. Where are your manners, huh?” His words drawn out as you choke. Pumping in and out, in and out, you feel brain dead. Collapsing into Brian’s chest, you hold onto his arms while he chuckles in response. “Cut ‘er some slack, Timmy. The girl can barely stand-” rocking his hips forward, he noses your hairline. “S’okay, darlin’. I know you ain’t mean it.” Teasing you, their rhythm grows in speed.

You slapped a palm over your mouth to stifle the sounds. Legs shaking from overexertion, the coil in your gut curled tighter.

Hazy and delirious, you bite your lips raw. The pressure from Brian’s base grinding into your clit has you sobbing pathetically. It’s dirty, depraved, and treacherous. Close to the edge of bliss within minutes, just one more thrust, and you’re whining out. “Brian-”

“Yes, ma’am?”

Your lids flew open.

Yelping, you yanked your dress down, fingers sticky with your almost-release. With your chest still heaving, you blinked at him. Your saliva was thick as you swallowed, stuttering mutely in dismay. The silence stretched on, and Brian’s expression was amused. Cheeky, his grin never wavered, not even for a second. He stepped closer, entering your space.

“You were missin’ for a while, wanted to check on ya’. But I see you’re well occupied.”

Snickering, he leaned down. His arm braced by your head, resting on the machine, the other behind his back. You were pinned, and you clutched your hands to your chest. Mumbling some nonsense apology, he couldn't care to hear. Brian’s head tilted to the right, wolfish. “Easy, honey- s’alright. And be honest, ‘cause I’ll know if you ain’t.” Bringing his free hand to your chin, he forced you to meet his gaze.

His grip wasn’t harsh, yet it’s firm enough for you to understand who’s in control. “You gotta’ crush on me?” Soft spoken, whispered with his lips ghosting over yours.

He’d come off as sympathetic if you didn’t know better.

Your mouth opened, then closed, forming a line. What were you supposed to say? That you desire him along with your husband? That your fantasy involved them both?

With your sight darting everywhere but his face, your tongue felt like lead. Tripping over the words when you sputtered. “It-it’s not like that. I wasn’t- I just...” Trailing off, your plea had him hungry. Inching closer and closer, he prompted you. “You just..? What?” His knee wedged your thighs apart, sliding up against your cunt. “Moan my name by accident?”

Your high was still fresh, still teetering on the edge, and the pressure only weakened the barrier. The involuntary buck of your hips made Brian coo. “Or maybe-” You felt his hands at your waist, then, without warning- he spun you.

Chest first against the painted metal, he didn’t give you time to steady yourself. With your gown pushed up, his belt buckle was cold on your ass. “You wanted this.” Mocking you, he grinds harshly into your clothed pussy. The jean zipper grazed your clit, and you whimpered. “Brian- we can’t.” But your pathetically half-hearted defiance did nothing but urge his lust. “Oh, s’that right?” Cocky in a way that made your mouth water.

His length slots between your folds, dragging over drenched lace. The fabric was dripping, and it stained the front of Brian’s denim a deeper shade with every thrust. Simulating sex, nearly, almost, it walked the line. You were actors on a screen, playing the roles for a golden trophy.

Pleasure rippled through your body from head to toe. This was wrong. Depraved, as he drove his hips deeper. “Feel that, dolly?” He hummed, trailing his index from under your tummy to halfway up your navel. “I’d be right here.” Tapping the skin to emphasize his words. You whined, and he pushed your spine into a crystalline arch.

Your hands slipped a fraction down the surface, and your breath fogged against the polishing. Damp with sweat when he hauled you into him. The bulge dug into your panties, breaching your entrance by a centimetre. Brian was fucking you through the cloth. Wet squelches filled your ears, and your eyes crossed.

Panting while you rode out your orgasm, you jerked back against him. Your cunt was warm, pulsing when he came with a low grunt. “Jesus fuck.” And his lips were on yours. Your windpipe was trapped in his hand, and he kissed you something dirty. Finally pulling back, he shifted you around. The evidence was glued to the front of his jeans.

The high had faded, and your guilt festered up in a blink. You cut him off before he could charm you with whatever smooth line he had prepared.

“Please don’t tell Tim. I love him, I love him so much- I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” You were close to tears. Ashamed and desperate, you begged him to stay quiet. The thing was, you did love Tim.

There was no one else who held your heart the way he did. But you had been so worried- losing your mind alone, and prior to that, he never touched you. Never gave you the time of day, didn’t speak to you, and for half your marriage, it felt like he couldn’t stand you. Then all of a sudden, he’s back, and his best friend that you swore hated you had decided he couldn’t get enough of you.

Before the accident, you couldn’t tell if all was well or if your divorce was next. Now, he seemed like a completely different person, appalled at the thought of neglecting you. Nothing made sense, and you were always confused. Event after event, you were constantly in the background. And nobody ever understood.

You’d tried reaching out to friends, loved ones, yet they’d give you the same reaction every time. Acting as if you were an outsider, criticizing you for not keeping your problems at home. They’d say, “That’s just how husbands are.” That it was your duty as a wife to grit your teeth and bear it. It wasn’t fair, you were so lonely, and all you wanted was for someone to talk to.

Every fear, every single thought and emotion you’d ever suppressed bubbled to the surface. The grief, the shock, relief, and betrayal swirling together- and you broke. The floodgates had opened, and your vision blurred.

Throwing yourself at Brian, you hiccuped with hot tears streaming down your face. “Please- please, don’t tell Tim. I don’t know what’s happening to me, I just- I feel like I can’t even think these days.” Frantic, you clutched his arms, his grin wiped clean as you continued. “I never know what’s going on. He doesn’t talk to me, and it always feels like I’m doing something wrong. I don’t know how to make it better-” Your grip was shaking, fingers dug into his sweater like a lifeline. Hyperventilating.

“You can’t tell him- he’ll leave if you tell him, and I don’t have anywhere to go, Brian. I know he’s looking for someone new, I-I don’t know how to make him stay. I don’t have anything he wants anymore- he’s already mad at me for other things. He’s going to be so mad- you can’t tell him- please-pleaseplease don’t tell him-”

Brian tugged you into his chest.

His arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other cradling your head. Stable and grounded, he shushed you. Your sobs were muffled by the cotton, and he spoke carefully against your scalp. “Breathe, sweetheart. No one’s mad at you, and Tim’s not goin’ anywhere.” His thumb was rubbing circles into your skin, letting your cries fade slowly.

“You ain’t do nothin’ wrong, you hear me? Now, I don’t know what Tim’s been doin’ to you all these years, but-” Resting his forehead on yours, he cupped your cheek, brushing away the salt. “I swear, he ain’t like that no more. You’re good to him- good to us, and it’d take a blind man to miss it.”

Soothing you, he pressed a kiss to your crown. Far too intimate, everything he did was, yet it warmed you all the same. You were still sniffling when you sank back into his embrace. Inhaling deeply, you buried your face into his collar. It felt nice to be held. Genuine comfort was rare, and this was the first time in forever that anyone had listened to you.

“Am I interruptin’ something?”

Jerking away, you met eyes with Tim, standing directly behind Brian. Looking unbothered as ever, he paused. Frowning upon taking in your appearance. “Sugar?” He grunted before turning to the other man,

“Bri, what the hell did you say to ‘er?”

“I didn’t say shit, I was helpin’ the poor thing-”

“Oh, I’m sure you were-”

He focused his attention back on you, sighing. “Why’s my girl in tears, huh?” His sentence stopped short, looking you up and down, he hums. “Ya’ got real cozy without me, I see.” Not harsh or judgmental, just an observation. With his back still turned, Brian was quick to respond, his hands remaining on your waist. “Havin’ a grand ol’ time, actually. Learn to knock, Timmy.” Teasing lilt back in full swing.

Tim’s retort had your eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“If yer’ gonna fuck my wife, at least have the courtesy to lie about it. Have some shame, will you?”

“And where’s the fun in that? ‘Sides-”

Sniggering, he left you uncovered as he stepped away. His arm was slung over your shoulders, and he cocked his head. “Our baby’s stressed enough, no?” Our baby. Stated casually, as if you had always belonged to them both. Your gaze darted between them, unsure of what to do next. Should you be... relieved?

But when had they even reached this agreement? Sharing you seemed to be a mutually accepted deal, something they’d gotten over long ago. Tim wasn’t shocked when he walked in on the very compromising position Brian had you in- so had they talked about it? Discussed it over beers after work? Did Brian confess to seeing you in a romantic light, and your husband somehow just took it in stride?

The tension appeared to exist only to you, because Brian was nothing if not cheery when he spoke. “Mm, I‘m cravin’ dessert- how ‘bout we go into town? It ain’t too late, ‘m sure we could find somethin’ good.” Tim scoffed. “Of course that’s what yer’ thinkin’ about, greedy bastard-” nodding at you, his tone softened. “You up for a ride, sug’? We can stop by the market after, see if we can find somethin’ y’like.”

And that’s how you ended up in the car at seven-twenty-five on the dot.

You had gotten dessert in the form of ice cream, cones in hand, and the three of you chatted in the parking lot. Enjoying yourself, you were, but the questions continued swirling in your head. The entire situation was brushed off; they didn’t breach the subject after the ‘incident’ either.

Continuing to bicker back and forth like usual, nothing had changed. Except for the fact that Brian was more outwardly affectionate, if that was possible.

If Tim leaned over to give you a kiss, Brian would wipe the smeared dairy from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. Popping the digit into his mouth with a grin, he’d wink at you. Cheeky as ever. Okay, you guessed this was just how it was now. An almost-affair that resulted in you attaining a second lover. Was that the correct term? Because he sure acted like it-

Fingers intwined on either side, you walked in the middle, Tim on your left and Brian on your right. Arms swaying lightly while you strolled through the shops. It probably looked odd to passersby, yet they were perfectly content with the new dynamic. Roaming for the sake of wasting time, when your feet stuttered.

The necklace.

The shop that housed your saved item was right ahead, and you’d completely forgotten about the thing until now. The pair were attentive to a fault; therefore, the second you hesitated, Tim nudged you forward. “Show me.” His eyes were knowing, a silent reassurance. Gentle smile pulling at his lips- before Brian ruins the fuzzy atmosphere.

“Someone’s feelin’ generous, gonna buy me somethin’ nice, too?”

Shit-eating grin plastered across his face, and Tim looked about a solid inhale away from swinging knuckle-first into the man's teeth. The sigh he let out took all his patience. Eye twitching as he ignored Brian’s laughter, he lugged your trio to the booth.

The seller recognized you immediately, greeting you with a wave. “Evening, miss! I heard about what happened- I’m glad y’all got back alright. Must’ve been terrifying not making it home.” Nodding at you and Tim, he organized the selection on autopilot.

“Yeah, well- couldn’t do much in that weather.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Now, what were you looking for tonight? Any special occasions?”

Their conversation mixed into the bustle while Brian held up mismatched earrings to his face. Asking you if they “Matched his complexion.” Chuckling when you’d told him that he was pretty enough to pull any of them off.

With the multicoloured lights painting his features, and Tim’s hand warm in yours, you felt at ease.

That feeling was unfortunately short-lived as a familiar voice sounded from behind you.

Tim’s friends. They had apparently come up with the same plan as you and gathered around the seller's table. Calling out to your husband and Brian. The tallest of the bunch, jeered. “Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Tim and the wifey, huh?” It was like there was a physical shift in the air, palpable in a way that left a weight on your shoulders.

Turning to the group, his hand dropped from yours, only to latch onto your hip. Tim seemed... guarded, and the laugh he let out was empty. “Date night, you know how it is. Gotta’ treat ‘er out after that shit show, yeah?” At least, to you it was, because the other man responded jovially. “Course, but I mean- it must have been nice, getting a break from her, right?” The jab had the men erupting in cackles, yet Tim’s face remained stoned, Brian quiet at your side.

He broke his silence with a low whistle, as if he were powering back on. “Speakin’ of breaks, y’all been to the pub lately? Heard they’re havin’ a show tonight with dancers near the creek- some event for the anniversary of the opening. Got a house set up an’ everything.” A grin with too many teeth. Brian’s words were friendly on the surface, but his eyes made the hairs on your neck stand. Pupils shrunken into dots, too sharp, too cold.

However, the men appeared unbothered, or maybe they hadn’t noticed. Either way, your dread had returned with a vengeance, consuming you where you stood. Was this all it took for them to forget about you? A meeting with old friends, and you were pushed into the background once more.

You shouldn’t be shocked, yet you couldn’t help the crippling disappointment that settled into your gut. Their strange attitudes could be summed up by a lack of routine; they weren’t prepared to run into peers. It was most likely that they just needed a second to adjust, falling back into rhythm as you’d expected.

Tim’s reaction solidified your fear.

Exchanging glances with Brian, he chuckled. “Y’know what? I actually have some work to take care of. Promised I’d gather some buck skins for the boss. Y’all wanna lend a hand?” Brushing shoulders with the guys, they nodded at each other like they all knew a joke you weren’t a part of. Work right? What a cover-up. He probably thinks you’re dense, as if you didn’t know what he was going out there to do.

The drive back home felt longer than it should have. They had told you they were simply going to handle some task they had supposedly forgotten about, but you doubted that was the truth. Apologizing for cutting your night short, Tim kissed you on the porch with Brian waiting at the truck. Putting on a brave face, you asked him to stay safe and not to come home too late. Then you bid them off with a small wave, stepping inside and locking the door right after.

You threw yourself onto the couch with a huff, defeated and tired. You hated being stupid; you hated falling for it every time. The entire change in personality was never meant to last. Tim was still high on adrenaline, deciding to bombard you with affection after all that went down. That’s all it was, a midlife crisis that you happened to be a part of. And Brian didn’t want you.

He didn’t care about your well-being or anything of the sort. The man was probably just pent up and needed a quick release. He had walked in and gotten lucky, and maybe that’s why Tim wasn’t bothered. His love for you had faded years ago; now you were just convenient to have around.

Good for something fast, easy to grab if he wanted to get off.

Tears welled up along your lashes, and you sighed. Not bothering to change, you curled into the cushions. All you had ever wished for was somebody to hold. Someone who was yours, to listen to you on days that wanted to drown you. A constant cycle of soaring above the clouds, only to plummet and scrape your knees bloody. Promises were hollow, the vows nothing but ink on paper.

You must have been born a moron to have ever believed him.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

Tim felt bad for leaving you alone.

It’s just sometimes things have to be dealt with sooner rather than later. The men had piled into their cars, chasing Brian’s promise of girls dancing deep into the woods. All following the truck, the pair led them down the highways, driving farther and farther from civilization. The lights were now long faded into the trees, and he took a drag from the sparking cigarette. “This is far enough.”

In the backseat sat two masks. One pale, with painted-on features, and one made from frayed cotton.

Brian tapped his fingers against the wheel. “You excited?” And Tim hummed, blowing out smoke that swirled into the air. It was nice to be out; he’d gone a decent while without relieving stress. A good hunt was overdue, and he’d been itching for it since he’d gotten back. Clicking his tongue, he grinned.

“Ecstatic.”

Pulling into an abandoned lot, the forestline lay only a few metres ahead. The print of the parking sections was scuffed beneath his feet when he stepped out. Brian’s truck locked with a click, and they watched the straggling headlights come into view. The rifles were slung on their backs while they greeted the group- ammo and miscellaneous tools tucked into holsters strapped to their hips.

Talking amongst themselves, Tim was jostled by the arm. “Thought we’d lost you for a second, looked like a real romantic with her back there.” The man's pungent breath had him cringing, and he clenched his jaw. “And what’s wrong with that, huh?” The retort made his companion pause.

“Nothing wrong with it. I’m just saying it must be hard to have her touching up on you like that. I mean, she ain’t exactly a looker, right?” His body language was unreadable before another voice chimed in. “Hell- I don’t know how you haven’t fucked another bitch by now. You got some real principle, Wright.” The group howled at the comment, and Brian cleared his throat.

“Best get to huntin’, yeah? Wouldn’t want to scare the prey.”

The guy closest to Tim nodded, “You’re right, you’re right. Hey, let’s bet who’s got the highest kills by the end. We can find a big motherfucker and see who’s got the best shot-” Interrupted when Tim grunts. Adjusting his belt, he breathed through his nose. “We should spread out, cover more ground that way.” One of the bunch scoffed. “Spread out? When the hell have we ever spread out? We always-”

The words died in his throat as Brian clasped him on the shoulder. Firm, with his fingers digging into the muscle, even through the thick jacket. A warning. “Always what? Don’t you think it’d be smarter to disperse?” Framed as a question, though they both knew it wasn’t.

Stuttering for a moment, he jerked his head up and down stiffly. Brian’s grip held a certain authority, one that felt dangerous to test. It seemingly manifested out of nowhere, then disappeared in a blink.

Agreements mingled, and they headed off into the birch.

The snow crunched under their boots; it was frigid enough for every exhale to cause mock smoke. It had been about twenty minutes since they’d split up, and the prey was scattered. The duo had trekked into a small clearing, deciding that to station there was the best option. Heavily shadowed, they were hidden in plain sight. Spotting a target almost instantly.

Tim rolled his shoulders back, turning to Brian. “S’like they ain’t even tryin’ to hide.” And the man snorts, removing the gun from its holder. “They’re animals for a reason, Timmy. Can’t expect much of ‘em.” The fabric over his face muffled his voice, but it was only right that they dressed for the occasion.

With the rifle aimed, he’s stopped by a nudge to his elbow. It made his arms descend a fraction, and he raised a brow under the mask.

“What?”

“First kill’s mine, bastard. You know this.”

“You are so goddamn bossy- how the hell does she put up with you?”

“I swear to the heavens above, Bri.”

Snickering quietly, Brian shrugged in surrender, letting the metal fall slack at his side. Tim glares at him  before focusing ahead. Bringing up the firearm, he steadies his grip, zeroing in on the mark. His index rested on the trigger, and he yanked down.

The bullet sparks, splintering the frost as it whizzes past. The iron embedded in flesh, and the thing thrashes for a second. It fell limply against the snow while Brian whistled in awe. “Straight to the head, s’almost pretty.” Their rifles were now carried by hand, and they moved south.

Tim scanned the area, puffing. “Don’t go complainin’ now- you can gut the next one.” Pointing in front, Brian catches a moving shape. “Ain’t that somethin’- it don’t look fast. Think I can get the artery from behind?” His bet made the brunette tilt his head in thought, muttering. “Mm, with your knife? The fuckers gonna’ bleed out before he hits the ground.” Anticipation lit his body, and he took a step, bracing himself.

Brian lunged at the prey, tackling it to the frozen soil. Flipping his dagger into the air, he caught it quickly before swinging it down. The serrated steel breaks through bone with a grotesque crunch, and he laughed. Twisting the handle, the skull cracks open under the pressure. Its eyes were wide, the blood vessels had burst, making the whites tinted red in streaks.

Fearful, it writhed and shook. Wheezing as he brought the blade's edge to its throat, slicing through tendons, he hauled the weapon to the side. Scarlet splattered onto his clothes, and the wound lay gaping. It jolted once, twice, blood gurgling at its mouth when it finally went still. Tim stood over the corpse, witnessing Brian recline onto his knees, amused.

“Thought you were doin’ artery first?”

“Sue me, I got excited.”

Helping his friend up, they continued on their way. One by one, they tracked the animals down, each execution more gruesome than the last. Why not, right? It’s not like they felt guilty for it; there was no reason to. Every carcass that was collected into the growing mass was nothing more than useless livestock.

A waste of air, parasites that drained the life around them. Eating, fucking, and then dying. Going out the same way they were brought in, by blood.

Tim and Brian were doing them a favour; the lives they lived weren’t grand ones, anyway. Beasts with rotted minds had no business walking around like that, spewing shit from their mouths.

It was a sad sight; honestly, it was for the greater good that they ended it early. A sick satisfaction in seeing the panic, the terror of the end in their pupils. Humorous, when they’d beg and squeal like pigs.

They were cattle with routine, no thoughts or feelings of their own- and who in the world would mourn a diseased mutt who did nothing but consume.

So yes, a good hunt indeed.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

Something was very, very wrong.

They had separated into pairs over an hour ago, but somewhere along the way, his partner had gone missing. There was no service this far into the forest.

He had tried phoning his brother earlier, only to be met with static. The man was visiting from out of town; he was sure he would have answered. His eldest sibling was a fighter, and they were attached at the hip since birth. Taught him everything he knew.

His brother was the reason he’d gotten into hunting in the first place.

There was no way he would’ve left him stranded. Therefore, he was stuck. No aid would be coming. That alone wouldn’t have been too concerning; he could handle himself just fine.

It was the red that made him freeze.

A colour that didn’t belong, trailed and soaked all over the sleet. Stark against the pale birch, like a precursor to something inevitable. There was too much of it to be from an animal. Puddles on puddles, it dragged deeper into the woods. And he heard it before he saw it. Screaming.

It echoed through the trees, screeching in the winds, a sound so visceral that it rang in his ears. Whatever game he’d planned to catch wasn’t worth it, and he mumbled. “Fuck this-” He rushed through the trunks, yet every corner he rounded looked the same. He was lost.

The panic settled in swiftly; it was too dark to find the exact path he’d taken. He rubbed his face vigorously, trying to figure out how the fuck to get out of here, when a snapping twig had his head shooting up. Spinning around, there was a shadow.

Face gaunt and pale, the eyes were carved silhouettes, boring into him. Standing inhumanly still, the white of its features was drenched in the same shade as the snow. The smell hit his nostrils, and he gagged. Like raw meat and ash, it was the scent of death.

He didn’t know why he didn’t move. His feet refused to budge- something about the way it stared him down had him paralyzed. A rule that had been drilled into his head. If you ever face a predator, don’t look it in the eye, and don’t run. Running makes you prey, makes whatever's hunting you hungry.

Twisting, he sprinted. He didn’t care if it was stupid; those rules were for animals. For stray bears or wolves, not for things that moved faster than the eye could see. Adrenaline pumped hard, and static shocked his legs with each impact of his boots- but he couldn’t stop. If he stopped, he would die.

Peering over his shoulder, he couldn’t spot the threat anywhere. The muscles in his legs were borderline atrophied, and he stumbled onto his hands. The ice cut into his frost-bitten palms, the pain sharp while it throbbed. A clatter caught his attention: his gun.

His fucking gun. Right, he had come out here to hunt. Whoever was chasing him wasn’t bulletproof; there was no way. Forcing himself up, he barked into the darkness. “If you come out, I’ll fucking shoot- that’s right. You’re not the only scary one here.” The man was cocky, and that was his first mistake. His second was assuming he could ever outpower someone who found thrill in slaughter. Trained to shatter bone between their teeth.

Lured into a false sense of security, he straightened himself. Walking aimlessly, he’d nearly convinced himself that he’d hallucinated the whole thing. The harsh weather was getting to him; that had to be it. His heartbeat slowed, and then he halted in his tracks.

Whistling.

A slow tune, hollow and eerie. The rhythm was off, not in musicality, but in tone. Cheery with malice in between the lines, a mockery of joy. It didn’t fit. Not here, not right now. In the middle of the woods, in the dead of night, when he was surrounded by fleeting shapes. Flickering behind the base of trees, always on the edge of his periphery.

Cold sweat lined his frame, and his breath came in shaky inhales. He couldn’t pinpoint the noise. The breeze, along with the configuration of the forest, made it sound like the song was coming from all angles. Distracted for too long, he realized it had found him.

Fading in from the umbra was that same pale mask. The fear that thrummed from his heart out was nauseating. The kind that made you shake, your hands slack, sending goosebumps sizzling up your spine like hot oil. He was the one with the weapon, so why did his fate feel so grave?

Still, the whistling didn’t stop. It didn’t even seem like it was coming from the one before him. The voice hadn’t grown closer; it stayed circling around him. For all his boasting, his mouth was glued shut. Nothing about this was ordinary, and the other’s intentions confused him.

Expressionless as it was, it seemed to radiate a sense of entertainment. But its gaze wasn’t focused on him this time— It was looking behind him.

His third mistake was thinking that there was only one.

Agony bloomed at the base of his neck before he could even register the approaching thuds. Unlike anything he had ever felt, it was as if all his nerves had been set ablaze. Scorching, so extreme that the tips of his fingers went numb. The liquid splurted out, warm and violating as it poured onto his jacket.

The taste of metal coated his tongue, a mouthful of pennies when the blade ripped from his windpipe. Collapsing to the dirt, his limbs flailed violently. Gasping desperately, the plasma popped and spurted from the puncture. He clawed at his throat; the blood had begun filling his lungs, making air intake an impossible feat.

Vision blurring, two figures shrouded his view further. A white death along and a shadow painted with feigned sadness. The man drove the heel of his boot into the laceration, childish frowny face taunting him. And his eyes started to fail him, dotting with black at the corners.

A night out with friends, something easy, fun. Lying flat on his back, the snowflakes pelt against his skin. How did it come to this?

His pulse was withering away by the second, and he choked on the mucus. The weight on his throat built, straining until his trachea was fully crushed. The reaper had come in the form of a whisper, not thundering or abrupt like in fairytales. No glory or valour to be found; instead, it took him silently. Corrupting his ailing body with vengeance, and leaving his final moments as nothing more than a memory to be forgotten.

With his lids forever open, the greenery around them goes quiet.

All traces of the pair were wiped from the face of the earth. Footsteps buried under heavy snowfall, fingerprints nonexistent, and DNA covered by gloves. It was practiced and perfected devastation. The only evidence remained in the form of melody. A lone tune that resonated throughout the timber.

Whistling.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

The noise awoke you.

Making out the faint shuffle of shoes from the hall, you stretched. Yawning when you sat up. What time was it? It had to be almost midnight by this point. Though you couldn’t be bothered to check, and you doubted that Tim would even notice you were on the sofa.

He’d most likely walk right by, and if Brian was with him, they’d be sure to forget you were home to begin with. Your throat tightened, and you cursed yourself for it. Why must it be so difficult to keep your emotions in check? You’d mastered the act before; it’s just that their flip in attitude made the neglect hit harder. Thumbs rubbing together as you heard their steps- maybe you’d make tea again.

Extra sugar and some cinnamon. Yeah, that would probably make you feel better. You planned to wait it out, let them settle onto the yard porch like they’d done countless times prior. Then, you could sneak into the kitchen to retrieve your cup. This was fine, and you had gathered some pleasant memories to dream about. Yet before you could spiral further, a familiar voice grabs your attention.

“Hun? What are ya’ doin’ up?”

Tim.

Blinking back the wetness that had collected against your lashes, you stuttered. “I-I was... waiting for you. Did you have fun?” The words tasted bitter. Suppressing images of him mingled with half-naked women, your mouth was dry while you swallowed. Was it fun? Did he find anyone he liked? Someone pretty, someone who looked nothing like you?

You wondered if he kissed her the way he kissed you.

Not facing him, you used all your willpower not to burst into tears. That effort was useless because when he rounded the couch, your small sniffle had him crouching down. His brows knotted together, and he tilted his head to catch a glimpse of your face. “Talk to me, my girl.” And the second the phrase left his lips, your walls crumbled.

It was embarrassing, being this emotional over a ‘What if?’ But how could you not be? Eyes glassy and filled with sorrow, you mumbled quietly. “I’m just being dramatic- it’s dumb. I know you went to the party-” cutting him off as he went to speak.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t bother me. You can go when you want. I think I’m just tired.” You let out a pitiful laugh, and he stayed silent.

Ready to call it a night, you shifted in your seat. If you slept it off, you could better steady yourself in the morning. This wasn’t that big of a deal anyway, even if he had met someone else tonight- he still came home, didn’t he? Clearing your throat, you hastily rubbed your eyes before his knuckles brushed your cheek. “The hell are you talkin’ about, sug’? What party?”

Tender, he dries the salt under your lids, and you finally glance up. Tim didn’t look the way you expected, didn’t reek of alcohol, and had no smudges of lipstick along his collar either. Kneeling in front of you, his rifle was still slung across his body, his coat dusted with melting snow. You felt relieved until you noticed the state of said coat.

Splatters of red stained him nearly from head to toe. It made you gasp, “What happened- oh, are you hurt?” And he chuckled, “I promise I ain’t. Now, you’ll tell me why my baby’s cryin’ if you know what’s good for you.” His palms rested on your knees, thumb rubbing circles on the exposed skin.

Recently, no matter how much you’d gotten into your head, or how upset you were- he always seemed to know what to say.

Reaching for him, you huffed, and he rose wordlessly. Switching your positions, he pulled you into his lap. Tim was so patient, and it made you feel awful for assuming the worst of him. “I just thought you- I don’t know. Brian said there was an event, and then you had work. So I thought maybe you just didn’t want me to nag you.”

He clicked his tongue. “Nag me? Babydoll, if you wanted to lock me up here for the rest of my life, I’d die a happy man-” you giggled when he scrunched his nose, baring his teeth in fake animosity. “And stop listenin’ to Brian, would ya’? He talks to talk, ain’t nothin’ useful in that brain of his.” Nuzzling against your face, he pressed his lips to your cheek. Drawing out your joy, he grinned when you finally laughed. The sound came from your chest, genuine, real.

Humming, you traced his jaw. “Bri’s not that bad, at least he’s funny.” The comment made Tim scoff, “Oh, so he’s ‘Bri’ now? Praisin’ another man in front of me- you must want me dead, sugar.” He interrupted your attempt to defend yourself with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Usin’ nicknames on the bastard- should’ve known.” You swat his shoulder.

“Stop it. That’s not true-”

“No, no, I understand. He’s yer’ favourite, and I’ve obviously lost my charm.”

“Tim-”

“Well, can ya’ blame ‘er? Look at me.”

Your husband's eyes shot open, and he craned his neck. Standing at the doorway was Brian, even more scuffed up than Tim. With a gun tucked into his waistband, the daggers that hung from his toolbelt were clearly used. The handles were speckled with deep red, and he took a bow.

“Sorry for bein’ late, darlin’. Had to finish up myself ‘cause ‘ol Timmy missed you too much.”

“Get the hell outta’ my house, Bri.”

“This ain’t jus’ your house, Tim. She lives here too, and she wants me to stay.”

“The hell she does-”

“The hell she does.”

Stifling your giggles behind your hand, Tim turned to you. Deadpanning, “Tell ‘im to leave.” You were his last resort, his last line of defence in preserving his sanity. Unfortunately for him, it appeared you were just as bad as Brian. He knew it was over the moment you pouted. “It’s late, and you guys were out in the cold for hours-”

The groan that erupted from Tim nearly shook the cabin.

Brian, on the other hand, was elated. Borderline skipping up to you with a snicker. He reached the sofa and leaned down, requesting something so bold it had your face hot.

“Kiss me if ya’ missed me?”

Your new dynamic was somewhat established, yes. Plus, you had kissed him prior- but straight out saying it while you were literally propped on Tim’s thigh was jarring. Darting to your lover, he gave you a disgruntled nod. Glaring at the blonde with venom, if looks could kill, Brian would be a dead man.

Not that he minded that much, because right after the go-ahead, his smile was all teeth. Dipping lower, he held his arms behind his back, expectant. “Pretty, pretty please? Promise ya’ I’ll be on my best behaviour.” Winking at you to seal the deal.

You gravitated towards him timidly, stabilizing yourself on the armrest. It was hard not to feel shy; daydreams be damned, being put on the spot made you squirm. Using your grasp for leverage, you angled your face closer, and he met you in the middle.

Brian’s lips were cool against yours, slightly chapped from the weather. When you’d kissed him the first time, it was lust-filled, rushed from the heat of the moment. This was different. Felt different.

Carefully, your mouths curved to each other. It wasn’t deep or aching with need. Instead, it was delicate, something fragile. Bordering sentimentality as you remained joined, and he parted from you after a second. His pupils were now dark voids, soft when his eyes squinted into half moons. The warmth of it left you dazed, blinking slowly at him like a docile cat.

Before you could recover, Tim took your chin between his thumb and index. Bringing you in, he kissed you slowly. Where Brian was sweet, Tim was heavy. Neither of them handled you with haste, but your lover had developed a unique touch.

There was a certain weight in how he held you, how he loved you. As if you’d disappear if he didn’t ground your feet, breathing you in like he was trying to promise you. An oath to stay.

Brian had settled into the empty spot next to you, languidly taking your hand into his. He traced along your wrist, then down your palm. It was moments like these that made it impossible to believe he had ever been cruel to you.

Lost in his own world, he looked content just being near you. Completely focused on the way your hand fit into his, he laced your fingers together. Raising the embraced limbs, the peck he gave you was airy, and he hummed against your knuckles.

If kisses were clovers, they’d gift you fields.

Cuddling deeper into Tim’s arms, you squeezed Brian’s palm, sighing. A perfect way to end the night— and then the scent of copper reached you. They had just returned from hunting. Straightening up, you laughed faintly at the boy’s shared confusion. “...You smell like the outside.” And you could physically see when it clicked in their brains.

“That we do. You don’t think I could borrow your shower, do ya’?” Brian’s mumble was guilty, bashful, while he chuckled. Though, of course, there would never be a day when Tim would give him peace. The man huffed, “Goddamn freeloader- should make you start payin’ rent.” However, his sneer only instigated your mutual companion.

“Ain’t my presence pay enough?”

“If yer’ presence were currency, you’d be unhoused, Bri.”

“Darlin’, he’s hurtin’ my feelings-”

“You are a grown ass man-”

Their squabbling knew no bounds, and Brian guarded his honour vigorously. “A grown ass man with feelings.” Tim scoffed, “And I can feel my water bill rising.” Arguing back and forth, you decided to distract them using... creative means. You cleared your throat. “We could save water if we only took one shower?” A pregnant pause fell over the group, with the pair stunned into silence.

You didn’t have a clue where you got the confidence, but it was too late to take it back now. Watching in real time as they rebooted, Brian went from shocked to interested in a flash. Utterly on board, he smirked. “Well, ain’t you bright? What a grand idea, sweet pea.” Said with a sparkle in his eyes that matched yours, and your husband ran an exasperated hand down his face.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

If Tim tried hard enough, he could pretend the other man wasn’t there.

Steam wet the porcelain, and he wondered where it had all gone wrong. This cabin had been built through gruelling work, a labour of love in your name. Every part of the home was crafted with your tastes in mind, including the bathroom. With a separate tub and standing shower, the stall was nearly perfect. Okay, sure, this wasn’t technically the same cabin, but his point still stood.

And the word nearly was emphasized, because currently? His romantic atmosphere was being ruined by a blonde bastard.

His beautiful, stunning and absolutely radiant wife was naked, barely one step away, and he couldn’t even enjoy himself. Not properly, at least. Because Brian couldn't go a goddamn fucking minute without saying some bullshit.

The shower was spacious, but they were still two very large men. It didn’t matter which way you faced. You were constantly pressed up against one, if not both of them, at the same time. With your skin flushed and soapy, you were a sight to behold. Adorable, when you’d stutter and blush if you accidentally grazed too far down south. So could you really blame him for being irritated?

Turning to him, your smile was shy. “Can I wash your hair?” Flustered like he hadn’t been yours all these years. He gave you a nod, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, buttercup.” And lord knows how weak he was for you, yet a grating voice continued to sodden his mood.

Just as you slathered the shampoo against his scalp, up on your toes to reach- Brian slipped his hands around your waist. Dropping his head to your shoulder, he nipped the exposed skin. “C’mon, dolly. Yer’ makin’ me jealous.” Teasing, you giggled while Tim frowned. Unhappy as ever, he grunted.

“If you don’t remove your perverted hands offa’ my woman-”

“This was her idea, as far as I know. You callin’ our little lady a pervert?”

“Stop puttin’ words in my mouth, you bastard. Her heart is pure; she only said that ‘cause she felt bad for your scrub self.”

Gasping dramatically, Brian nosed at your nape. Hiding behind you like a coward, he guilt-tripped you. “Oh, baby, my baby. I ain’t sure if I can go on like this, will ya’ kiss it better for me?” Tim’s eye twitched when he watched you give in. Not that he was mad at you, never at you. It wasn’t your fault for having a good heart.

It was Brian’s fault for being an evil, manipulative motherfucker.

Coercing your sympathy, he took advantage of your kind spirit. Giving you a sad pout as you fell for his trap. You cooed, cupping his jaw over your shoulder, and you gave the man a sweet peck. Returning to rinsing the bubbles from Tim’s hair, Brian grinned from behind you. A silent competition. Before he could snap, however, your lips met the corner of his mouth. And he sighed loudly.

This was going to be a long night.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

Your heart was not pure.

In hindsight, it should've been obvious you were not mentally strong enough to be stripped bare between them. Honestly? You think you should be given a medal for the award-winning performance you gave in the shower. It took all your brain power not to stare, and they made that task aggressively difficult.

The water streamed down their broad chests, accentuating every curve and divot on their abdomens. Fit for the front cover of a magazine, it was too much. Too close for comfort when they’d banter low in your ear. It wasn’t even on purpose; that was the worst part. Their happy trails were on full display, leading all the way down. It wasn’t fair.

Brian had laughed behind you at some point and pushed against your back. Slick on your skin, you could feel the shape of him. You had to close your eyes, breathing through it. Tim wasn’t much help either, too caught up in the argument to notice. His grip had drifted on autopilot, squeezing near your ass- he was practically spreading you open. It made you throb, and you thanked god that you were under the spray.

There was no room to move, and they’d consistently brush against you. Teasing and talking right to the end, unaware of your growing problem. It’s not that they had done anything to make you insecure, yet it still felt embarrassing to initiate. The shame of your past was haunting you.

After you three had rinsed off, they’d chosen to torture you further. Tim had apparently decided that it was too hot for a shirt. Dressed in loose pyjama pants, he’d slung the towel around his neck. Not bothering to dry his hair completely. And Brian had followed his lead.

He’d dug through an old duffel bag from when he had stopped by during a work trip months ago. You had taken the thing out of the attic in good nature. They were his clothes anyway; it made sense to give them back. The issue was that when he returned, he was in nothing but a pair of boxers.

Splashing your face with cold water hadn’t worked, and now you were sandwiched in your own bed. Trapped on either side, you wanted to burst.

Tim’s mumble interrupted your panicked monologue. “You alright, sug’? Been stiff since we laid down.” Amused, he quirked a brow at you. With your legs clamped together as you shifted under the covers, you sighed. You couldn’t exactly tell him the reason for your behaviour, so you settled on a rigid nod. This was humiliating.

The ache inside your core refused to go away. If anything, it was worsening by the minute. Forcing your lids closed, you inhaled deeply. All you had to do was sleep it off, and you’d be renewed in the morning. Hopefully.

Letting your breathing even out, you rubbed your face into the pillow. “Goodnight.” You felt a kiss against your hair, and your lover returned the sentiment quietly. This wasn’t too bad. Besides, you were comfortable, and the crackling of the fire was lulling you slowly.

Brian seemed to have other plans.

Scooting closer, the front of his thighs met yours, and he smoothed his palm down your spine. The mindless shapes he was drawing should have been soothing, but they weren’t. The feeling sent jolts straight to your cunt, you were going insane.

On top of that, you knew for sure that your sleep shorts were soaked through. If the blanket somehow slipped off or you moved, they’d see your lust crystal clear. Hyperaware of every stroke of his hand, you gave it your all to stay still. He was being so sweet, and you felt terrible.

The men appeared none the wiser, going back and forth about mundane things. Their hushed pillow talk acted as an ambience to your spiral.

“You heard ‘bout what happened with the Smiths?”

“The smiths? Ain’t they jus’ get back in town?-”

That guilt progressed with fervour when Tim slid up behind you. “-Coulda’ sworn the bastard drove by last week.” His arm looped around your chest, which would have been fine- if you weren’t already needy. Your tits felt so sensitive, and the added pressure had you suppressing a whine.

This was fine. Everything was fine. You just needed to fall asleep. Though your efforts seemed to be for naught, because Brian’s touch slipped lower. Caressing over your ass, he cupped under the curve, and his hand hooked onto your inner thigh. He squished the plush, groping you without thought. It was like he wasn’t paying attention at all, didn’t realize the repetitive motion was making you gush.

“Mm, apparently, the wife was caught with another man. Can you believe that?”

“Shit, would’ve thought they were tied down for life with the way they were actin’.”

Your breaths became shallow as Tim’s thumb began rubbing back and forth. Dragging against the thin cotton, he was just about rolling your reactive bud between his fingers. The fabric of your shorts stuck to your dripping pussy, and you prayed that Brian wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t probe too far, staining his skin with your slick.

“Would’ve thought, huh? I heard it wasn’t ‘er fault, though.”

“Yeah? An’ why’s that?”

The prayers you clung to were left unheard, and his knuckle swiped along the hem of your pyjamas. Yet, he made no comment. Nudging higher, the ridge of his index pressed against your clit every time he squeezed. There was no way he couldn’t feel it, right? Maybe he was simply preoccupied. So preoccupied that when the cotton rode up into your slit, he didn’t falter for a second. You couldn’t focus, and your legs were trembling to contain the buck of your hips.

Burrowing your cheek into the pillow, your jaw went slack. Lip’s parted slightly as your muted pants rose in pitch.

“Oh, it’s somethin’ real fascinating. Poor thing got seduced.”

“I’ll be damned, by who?”

Brian’s constant movements had caused the drenched fabric to scrunch. The edge of your shorts was pushed out of the way, leaving your sopping cunt exposed. Even then, he gave you no acknowledgment. Continuing his prior action, his fingers dipped into your folds, and you mewled.

His massage didn’t slow. Keeping the same pace, he smeared the sticky substance. You could hear how wet you were, and the sheets were probably a mess by now. The strength you had been using to hold yourself back was on its last leg.

Your back arched a tad, and you muffled your whimper into the cushion. It felt so good- you couldn’t stop the sounds from forcing their way up your throat. “Mmph- ah.” Twitching, your hips had grown a mind of their own, and you started to rock against his hand.

“You’ll never believe it, Tim. The girl got charmed by his own best man.”

“You don’t say?”

“Mhm, but I can’t blame ‘im- heard she was a pretty little thing. Sweet too.”

“How sweet?”

They were using you as a stress toy, something to do with their hands. The repeated thumps had you drooling. Too much and not enough at the same time, your hands balled at the sheets. If you could think properly, you’d realize that you were nowhere near as quiet as you thought. Short and breathy whines slipped past your gritted teeth; you were so close.

Their touch turned purposeful, exact, when Brian cupped between your thighs from the back. His middle and index forced their way past your weeping hole. Pushing inside just enough to breach before he dragged them out. He fucked you with only the tips of his fingers, and your needy cunt squelched loudly.

“Real sweet. Gets wet easy, all shy, y’know? The type that makes a man wanna’ do terrible things.”

“Sounds like a keeper, you think he got mad?”

Tim’s constant stimulation had you overwhelmed. Groping the fat of your chest, his large palm enveloped you. He squeezed and tugged to his heart's content, and you wanted to cry. They were cruel, playing with you like it was normal. Like you were supposed to sleep through this.

“Nah, the bastard’s too pussy-whipped for that. ‘Sides, ain’t no harm in sharin’.”

“Mm, don’t know if she could handle it, though. Think she might break.”

“Don’t be like that, have some faith in the girl, yeah?”

“I’d have more faith if she ain’t cum from jus’ yer’ fingers, Bri.”

He swiftly grabbed Brian’s wrist. Covering the man’s hand with his, he shoved his fingers deeper. The thick digits rammed directly against your sweet spot. Mind numbing when your eyes shot open, rolling back into your skull- and your restraint shattered.

You jolted sharply, cumming with a cry. Brian sniggered, and Tim sustained the thrusts into your heat. Their hands were still overlapped, fucking you through your high. The wetness had left a puddle beneath you, dribbling down your thigh; it was a mess. Your brain was too muddled to process their statements, and any coherent thoughts had faded into oblivion.

With no believable excuse, you tripped over the words before Brian cooed. “Oh my, must’ve been some nightmare, huh? You alright, angel?” His comment made Tim grunt, and he fell into the act flawlessly. Pulling your shorts back into place as if nothing happened. “You were shakin’ real bad, my girl. Had me worried somethin’ awful.” Cadence rumbling behind his ribs, and concern laced every syllable.

They didn’t even let you respond, shifting you onto your back. Tim propped you up on his chest, slouched into the pillows, while Brian crawled between your legs. Manhandling you with little effort, he had you spread wide to fit his pelvis snugly against yours. Arms braced on either side of you. “It’s okay, we got you. Put ya’ back to sleep in no time.”

You were overwhelmed, confused by their lack of acknowledgment. Mutely stuttering when Tim raises your shirt, holding you bare to the other man. “You sleep better when yer’ full, I know.” He muttered, breath warming your ear. The cotton over your pussy was ruined, sodden, and Brian rolled them off an inch. There was exactly enough room to skim his bulge along your slit- then Tim stopped him.

“She’s my wife, remember that.”

The blonde huffed, smirking. “Possessive ain’t he?” And you’d barely nodded as Tim reached to shuck down his waistband. Dragging his cock out, it slapped against your ass. He stroked the length, pooling precum at the head, and he lined himself up to your entrance. “Take a breath for me, sugar.”

Brian watches amused, but he couldn't help it. Your delirious little pout was too cute, and the expression you made when your cunt stretched around Tim had him throbbing. Lip’s forming an o, your lids drooped, eyes unfocused. It was funny. You were being filled by your husband, yet your legs wrapped around him.

Ankles locking over the divot of his spine, you clawed at Tim’s grasp on your hips. Clutching his wrists in desperation. He was big, mouth-wateringly so. In a way that made you feel him everywhere, the pleasure and pain all encompassing.

His cock sank in inch by inch, attentive to your limits. He hissed, “Fuckin’ christ- I ain’t gonna last if you keep squeezin’ me like that.” The feeling had you dumb, and Tim’s hips finally pressed flushed against you. They had trapped you in a cage of heat, carnality in motion.

Static collected in your veins, weaving along your blood, unearthly as he drove deeper. With Brian hovering over you, you had never been more full. Not just in body, but in heart. Needing them closer, you couldn’t stand the space, the separation. You sighed, “Want you to feel good.” The words slurring while you adjust, and he cocked his head to the side. However, his perplexity didn’t last long.

Observing in fascination, the lightbulb in his mind lit when you pressed your hand to his chest.

He reclined to give you room, and you brought your legs together. Both knees hooked over his shoulders, he tugged himself free. Guiding his cockhead to rest upon your cunt, steadying your position with a strong arm around the limbs. He coated your wetness on the tip, running it up and down until he pushed between your thighs. Groaning lowly when his balls grind onto your clit. “Yer’ too sweet, darlin’. Gonna give me a toothache.”

Extending your hand, you cradled his nape. Your forehead pressed to his, “Only for you.” And Tim huffed, giving a sharp thrust that had you gasping. “Better not be talkin’ to him-” Starting to rock into you, his grip on your waist was bruising. Territorial while his cock splits your tunnel apart. “Or I’ll hafta’ get real mean, my girl.”

Brian chuckled, picking up your husband’s rhythm. “C’mon, Timmy. Play nice, won’t you?” Their hips moved in sync, working as a unit to ruin you. His face slotted to yours, locking your lips together. Slow and sultry- he hummed into your mouth, his shaft slipping in and out over your mound.

Tim wrapped a calloused palm against your neck, tearing you away. Making you look at him, he kissed you roughly. The pressure on your throat was firm, angry as he claimed you.

But Brian was never one to be a benchwarmer.

Folding your legs to your chest, he dove down. Forcing his way between you and Tim, your tongues slid amongst each other. Your saliva mixed, the three of you swapping spit as if it were a challenge. It was depraved, messy and lewd enough to make the devil blush.

They were competing. Licking along your teeth, swallowing every noise you made- the boys would stop at nothing to break you once and for all. Tim pulled back with a wet pop, his chest heaving.

“Perverted fucker. Can’t go a second without attention, can ya’?”

“Can’t help it, I’ve always been a needy bastard.”

Snickering and breathless, his hips slam into you. Fucking your thighs fast, he was unrelenting. Drunk off it, he was so hard it hurt. You would never know how long he’d been hungry, how starved he’d been. How much blood he’d shed for just a taste. It wouldn’t be fair if Tim got you to himself- not after all he’d sacrificed. You were his, too. You had to be.

Panting above you, sweat beaded along his hairline. “Haah- shit. Want you, dolly. So f-fuckin’ pretty-” His brows furrowed as he fell apart, and the pleasure clouded his vision.

The weight on your clit had your eyes crossing, your mouth falling open when Tim met Brian’s tempo. Pounding into you with abandon, his base smacked against your glossy folds over and over. The mattress squeaked from their combined force, and the bedframe shook ferociously- banging into the wall with each thrust.

He grunted. “Takin’ it so well- fuckin’ made for us, baby.” Their praise had you leaking, impossibly slick and high on euphoria. The friction was delicious, and the sounds that escaped the two could get you off for years.

Brian’s breathy moans mixed with Tim’s basey huffs made you shiver. Your husband was vocal in ways you’d never heard. Biting his lip to stifle the groans punching up his throat, his lashes fluttered shut. You were so wet, so tight around his pulsing cock. Clenching down on him hard enough to have him jolting off the linen. And Brian was losing himself more and more by the minute.

Jaw slack, his spine fought to arch. Your inner thighs were slippery with his pre, utterly coated in the semi-opaque liquid. Every time he’d rut forward, his swollen tip would thump into the plush of your tummy. The sticky staccato was mind-numbing. You were so warm, soft, while his hips plapped against your skin. His dick drooled, and he dropped his head into your shoulder.

It wasn’t enough; he needed to have you whole. Like he’d die if he didn’t.

Abruptly withdrawing, he hurriedly palmed at his shaft. Aligning himself with your already stuffed entrance, his voice was shaky. Desperately pleading when he nudged his cock at the rim. “I-I’m sorry, angel. I jus’- I need-” He pressed in barely a centimetre before forcing the head to breach.

Choking on the feeling- his pupils rolled into his skull, and his tongue borderline lolled out of his mouth. “Fuck- oh, fuck.” Sheathing to the hilt in one thrust, and you screamed. It felt as if you were being torn in half, the stretch making you tremble. “Brian.” His name came out as a cracked mumble; you couldn’t even think. You swore they reached your lungs, deeper than deep.

Tim jerked violently from the sudden intrusion. “W-what the fuck s’wrong with you, Bri-” Their cocks grinded together inside of you, so compact they could barely move.

He grit his teeth. The pleasure was too intense to hold his composure, and he threw his head back. Lids scrunched closed while he chased the ecstasy; he couldn’t stop. With all logic and ego thrown out the window, he circled his arms around your middle.

Bouncing you while Brian humped your abused cunt. His roped muscles straining taut, he had mounted you like a dog in heat. It was so much, too much for you to handle- their pace growing merciless.

The air was thick with the heavy scent of sweat and bodies, and the windows fogged from heat.

You writhed madly when your orgasm shot through you. “Oh- ngh- m’ cumming- m’cumming- sogood-” Gushing as you came, Brian bit down on your neck to muffle his whine. Pathetically high-pitched, he painted your cervix white. Collapsing as Tim shuddered beneath you, and you were filled beyond your means.

Their hips stuttered once, twice, before stilling. A solid minute passed before your eyes could focus. The three of you were immobile, too drained to even move. And with the lust now faded, you basked in the afterglow.

Brian felt like a weighted blanket, and Tim was unsurprisingly cozy to lie on. You hummed. “... I don’t know if I can walk.” The joke took a second to register, but when it did, the blonde laughed quietly. “Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’.” His breath fanned against your collar, satisfied. Skin on skin, you were tangled and intimate. And for a moment, you had thought that they’d finally calmed. At peace with the closeness.

You were wrong.

Tim’s chagrinned mumble burst your bubble. The man somehow possessed the energy to remain fed up, his vexation stronger than iron.

“I’m sure you are, nasty motherfucker.”

“S’not my fault she likes ‘em filthy, right beloved?”

Licking a stripe along the column of your throat, he nipped you teasingly. His tongue tickled, and you squirmed, giggling. “That’s not true- you only get away with it because I love you guys so much.” Your husband, being the sap that he was, pressed a kiss to your head. Softly returning your sentiment, his words filled your stomach with butterflies- yet Brian appeared startled.

Pausing for a beat, he buried his face further into your shoulder. Silent until he whispered, “You love me?” His question came off unsure, too vulnerable for a man who lived the way he did. His cocky persona had slipped, leaving both him and his heart bare.

It wasn’t your fault that you were oblivious.

Unaware of how much he had needed you. How much he wanted and ached for someone who wasn’t his. From the day he’d met you, he knew he was doomed. Brian had seen exactly why Tim had fallen for you, why he would’ve laid the world at your feet. It was rare to find somebody like you, understood like you, loved like you. A bond so deep it drowned, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been jealous.

Don’t get him wrong, he was happy for Tim. When his friend had introduced you two, he’d been excited, overjoyed. Then, as he came around more, that feeling started to taint. Contaminated with a bitter envy that he desperately suppressed. It was just so hard to pretend when you’d look at him like he was someone worth fighting for.

Touch him like he was special, always there to pick up the pieces when his glass was too full. When the water spilt over, threatening to topple and shatter, you’d catch it effortlessly.

On late nights, when he’d slump onto your couch, exhausted from work. You’d invite him to sit at the table with you and Tim. Telling him that he shouldn’t eat alone, that he deserved a warm meal under a stable roof. Patching up his scrapes alongside your husband. Could you really blame him for picturing what it’d be like to be yours?

He’d gotten lucky. Your trio had grown close-knit, and that was more than enough. But you had gotten sick, and he had run. The worst part? You would’ve forgiven him.

Brian hated you as much as he loved you for that.

You were too kind, too caring, and it killed you. He wasn’t deserving of your generosity, your endless patience and warmth- yet he took it anyway. He had never claimed to be a good man; you simply thought he was one, and maybe that was your mistake.

His shift in mood made your brows furrow in concern. Raking your fingers through his damp locks- you said something that had his breath hitching. “Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?” Stated as if it were obvious, you blinked at him innocently when he pulled back. Brian’s gaze was unguarded while he stared, agonized with a sorrow you couldn’t place.

Cupping his cheek, your thumb swiped over his scar. “I know that we weren’t always... like this, and maybe I’m overstepping. But we might be past ‘just friends’, no?-” Teasing him softly, you continued.

Pressing your lips to his nose, featherlight, yet it held more weight than you’d ever know. “Even if we were different before, I think I’ve fallen for you, Bri. Really, really, fallen for you. It’s terrible, you know? My heart's starting to run out of room.” Your voice reminded him of candlelight. Always lit with meaning, something that came along with a memory.

He would’ve given the sun to stay here for the rest of his years.

The shaky chuckle he let out was fragile, too raw for even Tim to scold him for. Brian shook his head in disbelief, “Ya’ can’t jus’ go sayin’ things like that. ‘Cause then I’m gonna’ get real uncool, an’ you’re not gonna’ like me anymore, pretty miss.” Cuddling back into your neck, his sniffle was not lost on you, and you sighed.

Your boys had such a tough front, yet when it came down to it, they were as malleable as simmering molasses.

Tim hummed next to your ear, stroking his thumbs along your skin. “Don’t listen to ‘im, he’s always uncool. He jus’ likes to pretend for ya’.” Though his words were judgmental, his grin gave him away. The corners of his mouth quirked up in a gentle curve, and he kissed your cheek. “You ain’t off the hook, by the way. I'd better be your favourite, or else I’ll take the bastard out myself, ya’ hear?”

Exhaustion had begun creeping in, your lids bearing the brunt of it. With Brian’s amused huff against your shoulder, you responded sleepily. “I have two favourites, actually. But I’m not telling you who’s who.” Smiling when your husband grunted, still competitive on the brink of slumber. “Uh-huh, and Brian’s second.”

“She said she ain’t tellin’, Timmy. Let it go.”

“I’ll let it go the day hell freezes over, you bastard- don’t start.”

A pause, then your bodies shook with muted laughter. Cozy, you drifted between the present and the land of dreams. Where you were sure they’d follow, meeting you above the clouds to carry on the adventure.

They were still inside you, too tired to care that your skins were sticky and covered in sweat. You’d definitely have to shower when you awoke in the morning, but that was a problem for tomorrow. For now, you would allow your eyes to slip shut and fall asleep warmer than you’d ever been.

How wonderful it is to have a heart too full to keep to yourself, after all.

ᯓ★

➽──────────────❥

The weekend came swiftly, and your worries were nearly nonexistent.

Both Tim and Brian had been off all day, yet surprisingly, you weren’t bothered by it. However, that probably had something to do with the fact that every time they spoke to you- they’d struggle to suppress their grins. As if they were hiding a secret, not a malicious one, but one that they wanted oh so badly to share. It was endearing.

Watching your lovers trip over their words when you’d ask what they had planned for dinner, they’d shrug. Your husband would elbow his friend, shooting him a look if the man uttered a tad more than intended. Brushing it off as just a normal day, pretending like they had no idea what you were talking about.

They had left as a pair, telling you they’d most likely be back on time, that you should rest up. “Take it easy  today, missus. We’ll pick ya’ up after work if the roads ain’t bad.” Brian had said, blowing you a kiss when he walked out the door.

You busied yourself with basic cleaning, setting your special shoes on the welcome mat for later. It had been a long time since you’d felt this excited for an anniversary. In previous years, this day was spent dreading the disappointment that would follow Tim coming home past dinner. Telling you he was “too tired” to do anything- but not this year. This year, you knew for sure your hopes would soar.

Giddy, you glanced at the bedside clock, ‘7:15 PM’. The bright lights of your vanity lit your features while you applied the tinted gloss. You dusted your cheeks with powder, humming as your foot tapped along to the tune. It was almost time.

The outfit you’d picked out was a favourite of yours. On the pricier side, you hadn’t had the chance to wear it until now. Accenting the colored fabric with the jewelry you had, you pulled out all the stops. Your hair had taken at least an hour to do, but it was worth it. Tonight was going to be one to remember, and you wanted to make it count.

Fixing your lipstick in the reflection, you leaned back, satisfied with the final look. The honk outside came right on time, and you smoothed out your dress getting up. Spinning in the mirror for one last check, you raced down the stairs, eyes bright with anticipation. The purse hung in the crevice of your arm, and you slipped your shoes on quickly. Steeling your nerves before you pushed past the door.

In the driveway stood Tim and Brian, dressed to impress, it would seem. They were fitted in suits, a bouquet held loosely by Tim’s side, when the men finally looked up. The door locked behind you, and you rushed forward, throwing your arms around the brunette.

Your heels lifted off the ground, his hold squeezing you tighter. He chuckled when you parted, hands resting at your waist. “Hope yer’ surprised, Brian’s been fightin’ for his life keepin’ it from ya’.”

A smile split across your face, and the man in question whistled. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, huh, angel? Would’ve thought the heavens sent you themselves.” Winking at you, he opened the backseat.

With you and Tim crammed into the space, you fidgeted with the wrapped flowers the whole ride. You wondered where they were taking you. The drive only took about twenty minutes, but it felt as if it stretched for eons. The excitement made you jittery, and you cuddled into your husband's side. Sitting up when the car pulled into a lot.

Just past the market you frequented sat a quaint restaurant. The establishment was tucked a block behind the lively booths, an outdoor eatery decorated with hanging lights and a large gazebo. Stepping out of the truck, the music greeted you first. A live band was playing near the full tables, brightening the space with melodies as you walked arm in arm.

Your heels clicked against the gravel path, and the hostess showed you to your seats. Your trio had settled down, and you took the time to appreciate the view. The warm glow bathed your lovers in amber, their patterned ties matching the hue of your dress. You have no idea how they knew what you’d be wearing; it made you grin anyway. A testament to how well you went together, you supposed.

Taking a sip of your wine, your husband suddenly straightened up. He leaned down, pulling something from his bag under the table. “Close your eyes for me, sugar.” You raised a brow while Brian rounded the table, but close your eyes, you did. You assumed it was a gift, yet nothing could’ve prepared you for the reveal. You felt Brian sweep the stray hairs from your neck as the box clicked open. The metal was cold on your skin, making you shiver slightly.

He shut the latch, pressing a kiss to your nape, and you heard Tim hum across from you.

“Happy anniversary, my girl.”

Blinking, you looked down, and there it was. The necklace, the one thing you’d wished for. The perfect anniversary gift.

You hated being emotional because you could barely hold back the tears bubbling up. Swallowing thickly, you took a measured inhale. “Tim.” The syllable drawn out, sappy, when you mumbled. “This- Tim, this is too much. I was going to save up for it, but you- you didn’t have to...” Cutting yourself off with a pout.

The duo was thoroughly entertained by your bashful nature, and Brian snickered softly. Returning to his seat, he and the other man swapped glances. An unspoken pat on the back to each other. It was funny to think that there had ever been a time when there was space between you three.

It felt like another life entirely if you were honest. The concept of Brian being cold to you, Tim not spending every waking second smothering you with affection, seemed unfathomable. Out of place in a way.

Dinner had gone off without a hitch. Laughing the entire way through, you’d just finished clinking your glasses together when Tim rose. Brian was in tow when he extended a hand to you, grinning. “C’mon, sug’- s’our song.” Nodding to the gazebo, the tune that faded in had your heart fluttering.

Somethin’ Stupid, by Frank Sinatra. The song that played on the radio on your first date.

Your palm slipped into his, and your trio marched to the arbour. The tricky part was figuring out how to waltz with three people. You stumbled for a bit, testing different positions- only to giggle when it didn’t work. However, when it appeared as if all hope was lost, Brian came up with a brilliant idea. (In his humble opinion.)

Tim was stationed in front of you, and Brian stood behind you. He shifted your hips forward, snickering. “Step on his shoes, darlin’. Our boots are sturdy, I promise.” With one hand at your waist, the other laced your fingers together by your side. This was definitely a challenge, but they seemed assured in the DIY plan.

You giggled, gripping Tim’s shoulder to balance as you followed the instructions. Then, you swayed.

Rocking back and forth, your husband led the dance. Sandwiched between them, you laughed at how this must look to passersby. Two men squished closer than close to keep their lady from falling. Faltering once and awhile, before trying to catch up to the rhythm.

“I’m movin’ right, do not trip ‘er Bri.”

“I’m movin’. It’s fine- ah shit-”

“Motherfucker, I said—”

“That was right, I stepped to the right.”

“My right, you dense bastard-”

Their bickering lasted the duration of the song; at least you’d never have a dull moment. Shaking your head, you couldn’t believe that your romantic moment had been overshadowed by your lover's non-stop feud.

Oh, how you’d never been happier.

Mingling amongst each other, you took turns waltzing with them. Dancing into the night, you were fueled by your shared joy, and your cheeks ached. There was nowhere you’d rather be, nowhere at all.

Yet it seemed as if the colourful atmosphere hadn’t reached everyone that evening.

On the edge of the evergreen, just past the trees' border, stood a man filled with nothing but malice. Resentful, as he analyzed the scene, memorizing your license plate. A missing poster crumpled in his hand, and a phone full of unanswered calls in his pocket. Hunting rifle slung across his back.

He knew it was you, knew it was them. If they wanted to take everything from him, then why should he not do the same? The law of nature had been ingrained in his blood since he was born, and he’d make sure to follow it.

A life for a life.

➽──────────────❥

➽──────────────❥

A/N: AHH ITS HERE !! FINALLY T3T sorry ab the delay !! I hope the length of the chapter makes up for it :ppp

➽──────────────❥

You moved in exactly a year ago.

New town, new you, or something like that. A house on the edge of nowhere, tucked into the treeline. When you’d initially bought it, shaking hands to seal the deal, nothing was out of the ordinary. The conversation itself was mundane, but there was a tension in the realtor's shoulders that made you uneasy. His eyes were constantly darting to the windows in every room, always glancing at something just out of sight. It was odd how he seemed so ready to bolt, like there was a threat he couldn’t tell you about, a hushed secret that outsiders weren’t supposed to know.

You had brushed it off, even when his palm trembled in yours far more than professional jitters allowed. Ignored it when his obvious apprehension built sky high as dusk started to set. This was a good deal, rare and reasonably priced on the market compared to the others. So you packed your bags and settled in, the memory of the troubled salesman long forgotten.

Until that night.

A week in, and you were decently satisfied. Arranging the built-in fire pit for some well-needed rest, when you’d heard it. A rustle of leaves along the borders. Your backyard stretched acres, the fields were vast, your home was isolated from neighbours, and the closest thing you had to civilization was a gas stop on the highway.

You weren’t superstitious by any means; logic came first. It was probably just a fox, attracted to the bright lights of your porch, not some ghastly ghoul that’d come to eat you, right? Shaking your head to rid the thoughts, you resumed your task. Your decor was homey, miscellaneous camping chairs you’d bought on a whim, all circling the bonfire you’d painstakingly started on your own. Armed with a pack of marshmallows and graham crackers, you sighed. Popping the fluffy treats on a cleaned stick and kicking your feet up.

The hearth looked borderline ancient, with scuffed brick and unused for at least a decade; it still worked like a charm, though. Enjoying the warmth, you should have been relaxed, the atmosphere serene, moon hanging bright over the clouds. The breeze was cool enough for a light sweater, comfortably chilled to perfection. There was just this feeling that wouldn’t leave you fully, the heaviness of being watched.

Overactive imagination had haunted you since childhood; that’s all it was, naive anxiety over things that didn’t exist. Yet the feeling of eyes on you only grew.

You had eaten through a quarter of the bag by now, distracting yourself with the sugary snacks barely worked, and the once peaceful evening had developed an edge. This was stupid; you were not going to ruin your long weekend because the person who sold you the home had anxiety. The rumours hadn’t helped much either; your trips to town were eventful, the people kind and considerate. It was whispers that made you pause, the look of shock, when you told them about your residence.

Patting your shoulder as if they pitied you, gaze drifting to the multitude of missing posters stapled on almost every corner. The words ‘how unfortunate’ were never spoken; you felt it anyway. The nonsensical worries flooded your mind, and you decided you were going to silence them once and for all. What’s the harm in checking? You were going to do a quick sweep along the perimeter, something to ease the tension.

You’d gone back inside and grabbed a flashlight, the metal snug in your hold. Feeling confident as you walked. This was just because the house was new, being unaccustomed to your surroundings, had you a little off-colour, that’s all. The beam swayed back and forth, searching between branches and shrubbery, but nothing. You were about to head back, ready to tell your friends the next day about your little adventure, when you caught it.

A figure, just stray of the spotlight. The shape of a hand, the rest completely swallowed by darkness. It didn’t even register at first; you were frozen, not screaming or sprinting, simply standing in place. Nearly unbothered, you slowly tilted the torch up, from his arm to his chest, your head angled back. His form never seemed to end, reaching to the leaves, you don’t know how you’d missed him before. Broad in an inhuman way, you had to step back to fully capture him in light, neck hurting from the strain.

The sight hits you full force when you see his face.

A dark blue mask, eyes barren with empty voids in exchange, he looked a part of the shadows themselves. Towering over you, only a few feet away. Cold sweat wracked your body. Donning a black sweater, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, you realized why his hand had confused you. His skin was grey. A muted charcoal, claws in place of dull nails. Stygian and blade-like at his fingertips, you were going to die tonight. It wasn’t even his appearance; it was how he carried himself.

The air around him reeked of death, making every instinct preinstalled in your blood scream danger. Your ancestors’ way of survival. A millennium of defining what it meant to be in the presence of a predator. Palms clammy, you were panicking; therefore, you said the first thing that came to mind.

“Please don’t eat me.”

Squeaked out in a pitiful attempt to be spared. He didn’t move an inch, stillness alienating. You were an anxious rambler; this time was no different. “I have marshmallows if you’re hungry?” Then, just barely, he leaned his head to the side, as if he was studying you. You continued anyway. It was a very, very dumb thought, but maybe he was friendly?

“You’re uh… super tall. That’s cool, you live around here, or you just prowl the trees for fun?” Awkward and sweaty, you laughed at your own joke. And despite being terrified, you did your best to crack a grin at him. He remained silent. Shifting from foot to foot, you stared at him, and he stared back. His eyes, or lack thereof, were boring into you, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Coughing into your fist once, you cleared your throat, “I just moved in, so, neighbours, am I right?” Shrugging, you chuckled.

He didn’t. “I think I’m gonna turn in, long day and all that. I’ll.. see you around, probably?” Cautiously backing up, you inched towards the house, facing him the entire way. By the time your heel made contact with the porch, he was still here, unmoving as ever. Now, a faint silhouette in the distance, you waved and shouted goodnight.

You didn’t sleep a wink.

➽──────────────❥

You truly, in honest to god truth, have no idea how you ended up here.

After your encounter, you began gaslighting yourself into thinking it was a fever dream. That plan immediately went down the drain when he started showing up. Frequently. At first, you’d been jumpy to say the least, stiff while you had your one-sided conversations. He’d show up at the threshold at random times during the week, always silent and as rigid as the day you’d met him. You didn’t know why he kept coming back, or why you’d light your bonfire and wait, you just did. Justified by the fact that if he wanted to hurt you, he would have already.

Over time, his attendance became less scary and more routine. You could rant, spew every living thought you had, and he’d just stand there. You weren’t even sure if he was paying attention; it was simply nice to get things off your chest. Then, he’d stopped looming in the evergreen, choosing to sit quietly on a stump a couple of steps behind your chair.

It was kind of charming the way he’d scrunch himself up to fit, the make-shift stool far too small. His hands folded neatly in his lap as he listened. The question of who he was and why he was forefront of your mind, he definitely wasn’t a run-of-the-mill man from what you could tell. Aside from the ashen skin and claws, you’d catch glimpses of pointed ears when he’d shift. Hidden under his hood, highlighted by the fire when the wind was in your favour.

You’d asked before, but you never really expected a response to be fair. Odd fashion choices, you supposed, but who were you to judge? You’d talk about unceremonious things, a show you’d started, a new recipe you tried, and he’d stay no matter how boring. You spoke to him the way you would a stuffed toy, not quite addressing him, more just filling the air. However, after another night in his mysterious company, it clicked. He was lonely. An answer so obvious that you were disappointed in yourself. The discussion wasn’t special or different than the others prior; the pieces just fused.

You couldn’t guess what he got up to in the daytime, but you thought you were well within your rights to assume he didn’t get out much.

The understanding changed your view of him entirely. And with that, the way you interacted did too. Your fear mellowing out into fondness, your talks stretching longer and longer. Finding comfort with him near, and whether you knew it or not, you were breaking him down. The walls he’d spent years building, soaring and impenetrable, were starting to chip. Jack kept his distance for good reason; he knew what he was. The thing parents would tell stories about to keep their young in bed, the shadow in the closet that you’d have nightmares of.

He was an abomination, born of violence and greed, sacrificed for the promise of grandeur. The ritual forsaking, binding him to walk the earth in chains. Imprisoned by the very hunger that had damned him. The appetite for blood. The need to take, stealing from the innocent, to feed. He had lived more lives than he could count, each more punishing than the last.

He hunted on autopilot, getting it over with and gorging himself full. It made him feel disgusted; most days, he’s numb, and on others, he screams until his throat is raw. An outsider in his own home, his peers wary at best, but he sees the way they judge. As if their hands are not as tainted as his, they talk amongst themselves, sharing meals and inside jokes, and he watches.

Their companionship refuses to extend. When passing around chips or confectionery, he’s skipped. Never considered, like the nourishment will be dirtied if he touches it. The worst part is, he can’t blame them. He doubts they’re aware he can even digest anything other than flesh; how could they? When he returns, emanating finality, when he walks past with crimson dripping from beneath his mask. He hates it, being the boogeyman, even amid monsters.

That’s why you were so interesting. He could smell the fear on you, yet you laughed at him. Told him he was tall, and that it was cool. The normalcy of it stunned him, made him return. To watch as he always did, but you started talking to him. Cautious at first, then your scent warped into something sweeter, warmer.

He searched everything for hints of distress, your body language, your tone, your eyes, to the way you sat- and nothing. You trusted him.

He thought you were strange.

You thought he was sad.

So, that night you’d brought him a snack. His hands were always empty while you munched on whatever treat you had. It made you feel a little guilty; perhaps he never talked because he was shy, and you were literally stuffing your face in front of him. Waking up early to prepare, you spent the afternoon baking away. If you were going to offer him food, you were going to do it right.

Packing a basket with the pastries, you descended the foyer, already spotting his emerging figure from the trees. However, instead of facing your seat to the fire, you’d swivelled around. This was new; the basket in your arms was also new. He tilted his head to the side. Just what were you planning? For the first time since you’d met him, he seemed genuinely shocked. Leaning back like a skittish animal as you placed the goods in his lap, he tensed. A couple of seconds passed, and you began to second-guess every decision you’ve made up to this point. Was it offensive? Maybe he was allergic? An uncomfortable pause wedged between you, before he broke the silence.

“You don’t fear me.”

A statement. His voice was deep, baritone rumbling low in his chest. The base of it was so guttural you felt it more than you heard it. Peering up, his gaze meets yours, “Why?” The question was asked softly, for someone who appeared so commanding, he spoke fairly quietly. The contrast was jarring, yet it endeared him to you even more. “Well, I don’t know, I thought you looked lonely.” The last syllable left your mouth as he stood. How curious, a human, capable of understanding how he felt.

His frame overtaking you, neck craned up, “I just think you’re neat, I suppose.” Nodding, your eyes flicked to the basket that had slipped onto the grass. “I baked, if you were hungry.” You were a timid little thing, clueless and naive. A fawn ensnared in the claws of a beast you’d willingly thrown yourself at. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him without disdain, and you were so open. Defenceless, almost like a pet, it wasn’t your weakness that made his mouth water. It was your trust.

It stirred something in him, a part he’d assumed died long ago. Want. His desire, animalistic and starved, simmered under his skin. Ever-present and ready to snap. You could see it for just a moment, his muscles contracting as if he’s prepared to pounce- before it’s smothered. The heat freezing over, shame taking its place. Guilt and mortification surge through his body in waves. You’d offered him your efforts in good faith, and his appetite had increased for a completely different reason. It was humiliating to have the lack of control he possessed.

Your words had seemed to take his breath away for the worst. Somehow even more rigid than earlier, this was not the effect you wanted. Backtracking, you sputtered, “I’m sorry if I overstepped- it’s just I always have something when you visit and I realized I’d never offered before-“ A clicking resounded from his throat, eyes (voids) vacant. You fidgeted in place, “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to, it’s cinnamon rolls I made today. I think they’re pretty good- ah, I should have asked if you’re allergic.”

The explanation is clumsy, though your earnestness fascinated him, so desperate to make him feel at ease as if you had any power here. Caring so much about his comfort that you’d spent your precious time baking for him. Mortal lifespans were terribly short in comparison to his decades of existence, and you had chosen to waste your constantly whittling human seconds just to not- what? Hurt his feelings? An ever-draining hourglass, each granule of sand adding to the growing mass, counting down to your end. An act so seemingly meaningless to you held a world of weight to him.

A sacrifice. Scarlet dripping down your arms as you proposed it at his decaying shrine, clueless to the fact that this was what had sealed your fate. The moment he’d decided for the first time to keep something for himself. If the devil dealt in blood, this must be his payment for the carnage he’d spilled. His paid bounty finally surfacing, a gift in exchange for all the destruction he’d raged. Wrapped in silk ribbon, his naive rabbit to keep.

You’d spent the rest of the evening as you usually did, except for his newly added dialogue. He still wasn’t much of a talker, but he’d tell you things. Actually answering your questions instead of leaving them to fade into obscurity.

He told you his name was Jack, that he lived far into the woods away from the lights, told you he didn’t like the noise. Said that it was better to wear a mask, not expanding further when you prodded. You had learned that he had some sort of enhanced hearing, scent and senses alike, you also assumed he was blind, though you thought it’d be rude to ask, settling on his hobbies instead.

He was smart, that’s for one. Jack’s knowledge of the medical field was no joke; he knew about intricacies you hadn’t even heard of, and that he liked order and schedule. Organization, spending his time memorizing the way the trees moved, mapping out the forest trails and the wildlife that inhabited them. It was admirable how much he noticed about such tiny details, picturing his lumbering form silently staring at squirrels while he walked past made you giggle.

His responses drifted from vague to elaborate; it felt like you’d both known him your entire life and only met him today at once. Nonetheless, a routine had formed. And so had your solace in him, an unlikely companion was a companion all the same.

Or so you thought.

➽──────────────❥

The anxiety of the house’s surroundings became a far-off memory.

Rarely crossing your mind, you worked, you rested, and in between, you had a friend to keep you company. Yet, the word friend was becoming more denial than fact by the day. Your initial impression of Jack was fear-inducing, clouded by distrust and adrenaline, then it was baseline acceptance, and currently it rests at humbling and embarrassing attraction. The traits that had you recoiling in shock now had you doing a double take, not in disgust or terror, but in longing.

His outfits remained more or less the same; it wasn’t new clothes or anything of the sort that drew you in, it was the minute attributes that slowly caught your attention as your perception of him altered.

First, his height. It had stunned you the night you’d run into him; presently, you had to take a breath every time he ducked under a doorway not to say something obscene. Towering in all his might, the worn-down fabric stretched across his chest, struggling to contain his brawn with each step he took. And he was broad, shoulders stacked with high-strung muscle, built for pressure and gruelling labours you couldn’t name.

The same claws that had frightened you made you want to douse yourself in ice water; you think your entire head could fit in his palm. Faint scars littering his forearms, you’d watched as the veins in his hand bulged when he helped you move a table. Lifting the heavy oak with an arm, not a single grunt, either, it was effortless. One time, you were so entranced in your daydream about what it’d feel like if he’d just pick you up and squeezed—

He had to have called your name at least three times to snap you out of it.

The worst offender? His voice. Like the purr of an engine every time he spoke, smooth and low. As deep as bourbon. He didn’t speak much, and when he did, it reminded you of distant thunder. Resonate in the way it commanded, never failing to make you shiver. You thanked your lucky stars he couldn’t see, saving you the humiliation of being caught glancing at him excessively, or the way you pouted with want when he’d move a certain way, his hoodie rising just above his belt.

Your face growing hot, eyes averting his face when he’d lean down to listen. The way you’d squeeze your thighs together when he’d hum by your ear in agreement. He was your friend, so when you’d mention you needed something fixed around your home, he’d do it without question.

The shameful part came when he would grab the tools, and you’d tell him you were going to read. The lie was always said confidently. You were most definitely not going to read or spend any time in your room, trailing behind him as quietly as you could, peaking from the corner while he worked. It was terrible, and you knew it; the guy couldn’t see, and you were using that to your advantage like a pervert. He would kneel by your sink or wherever and tinker about, with your figure tucked by the room’s edge.

He navigated your space with ease, most likely due to his intensified awareness, you presumed. You tended to forget he didn’t possess the same sight you did, rushing up to him, picture in hand to show him a stupid doodle you’d made, to be met with nothing. A slight head tilt and silence, freezing for a brief moment before you start prefusely apologizing. Jack’s response was the same every time. Bringing up a loose fist, his knuckles brushing your nose bridge, before tapping your forehead twice with his thumb. A way of teasing you, his version of vocalizing he took no offence.

His face is hidden by the mask, but you swear he’s grinning at least a little behind it. You imagine the quirk of his lips, the way his cheeks pull up just a tad, you think his smile would be nice. You also think it’s an absolute crime that no one has hit on him before, appalling, actually.

Selfishly, you’re grateful, though that doesn’t make the information any less shocking. You’d brought it up in passing if he was seeing anyone, and he’d turned to you with such visible confusion you’d laughed. In theory, it made sense; in practice, it did not. Like have you seen him?

Over seven-feet-something of straight man, hulking yet gentle, and aside from his vaguely questionable hobbies— he was nearly perfect boyfriend material. Gentlemanly, where he didn’t even try, the type to cup the corner of tables when you’d bend to pick up a dropped mug. Closing cabinets so you wouldn’t hit your head in the bustle, and grabbing your bags before you could even decide if you needed help or not.

Jack was thoughtful, far more considerate than you think people gave him credit for. And perhaps if you told your peers you were in love with some lone-wolf forest dweller who lacked eyes, they’d judge you, but that’d only be because they hadn’t met him. You guaranteed that if he had a night on the town, he’d have suitors lining the block. You told him that. Making a joke about it when he was staring at you like you were crazy for insinuating he, the literal embodiment of the silent type trope people dreamed about, was taken. He had shaken his head, pinching your cheek softly, then returning to his task.

Patient, tall and humble. And he almost one-hundred-percent did not see you like that. This must be hell.

➽──────────────❥

Jack was not blind.

As a matter of fact, he had better sight than anyone else on the planet.

Demon biology and science were tricky; he didn’t have physical eyes, sure. However, he could see just fine, analyze moving creatures even miles away if he wanted; his “view” of things worked vastly differently from the average person’s. The first time you’d stumbled and apologized, he had half the heart to correct you, until you blushed.

He could feel it, the blood rushing to your cheeks, then you mumbled out some shy excuse about your bad memory. Twisting your thumbs together, pupils dilated as you blinked up at him. It was adorable. He knew it was probably bad and very misguided to lie to you like this; he simply couldn’t help himself. You and your puppy-like curiosity, so excited to show him the most mundane things, because you thought he’d like it. A cool rock you had, or a funky colored sticky note you’d found, as if your eagerness would overwrite your previous knowledge of him.

It was awfully indulgent on his behalf, yet he didn’t have it in him to cease. Especially when you started following him around, nearly tripping over yourself in an attempt to be discreet. It became a game, pretending he didn’t see you, ignoring your inaudible giggles behind your hand when he’d move something heavy for you. Acting like he hadn’t noticed you peering from the hallway, mouth pressed into a thin line in fear of being caught while he was repairing a rickety chair leg. He was well aware he was playing with fire; you didn’t even know who he was, what he did, let alone what he was.

But was it truly so wrong to preserve this one thing?

All he did was serve under orders; his dictator left him alone most times, but that didn’t mean he was free to do as he pleased. Patching up wounds day and night, drowned in violence at hours on end. Saving the lives of people who would leave him to bleed if they got the chance, not even in feeding did he have reprieve. An act so impossibly human warped into something despicable by most standards.

He was deluded at this point because, somehow, a part of him believed you’d stay. Stay when you inevitably find out, stay when he’d confess to you his wrath, stand by his side when he’d return to you, soaked in gore and carnage. You had to, wouldn’t you? He’d shown up in the middle of the night, looking like death itself, and you’d grinned at him had you not? He’d returned time after time, as mysterious as the last, and you’d welcomed him, had you not? Giddy when in his presence, your joy seeps into his bones, and he can smell you. Smell your craving. Your lust. The scent is sickly sweet, thick molasses that coats the walls. Borderline taste the heat that coiled between your plush thighs.

Your want comes in waves, knocking the air out of his lungs, the second it hits his nostrils. And it was getting harder and harder to ignore, spit collecting under his tongue as you bluff. Sitting in front of him, pretending your core wasn’t slick with need, all because he was close to you. A lamb to the slaughter, presented on a silver fucking platter. The control on his own desires waned every time you pushed too close, leaned in too far.

He was growing restless, the energy making his body taut. He started hunting more, feasting with abandon, tunnel vision stuck on his memory of you. Winter was approaching fast, and he needed more meat to keep him satiated than normal, primal instincts taking hold. Jack’s hunger was blistering; he wanted to devour you whole.

And he was sure you’d thank him with a smile on your face.

➽──────────────❥

There had been a shift in the air recently.

The forest around your residence had turned quiet. Originally, you’d assumed it was the weather that had driven the birds away, but this seemed… different, strange in a way. The silence felt unnatural, like the wildlife was hiding from something. Chased away by an invisible threat, the once lively trees had fallen still. It left a strange ache you couldn’t quite place. As for Jack, he’d been weird lately, too.

The last time you saw him, his shoulders were tense, and he barely answered any of your questions. It didn’t feel like he was irritated or annoyed, just distant; as if his mind were elsewhere. Responding to everything you said with grunts or stiff nods, his body jerking faintly once and a while, resembling a predator holding itself back.

He’d abruptly stood up when you were reading on the couch, arriving only a few hours earlier before suddenly storming out. That was weeks ago. You were worried, staying up on random nights just in case he’d stopped by and no one was there to open the door. He did have the spare key you’d given him; you just wanted to see him the second he returned. Wracking your brain for anything you could’ve done to set him off, yet you can’t remember a single time in the past month he had even disagreed with you. He was fine, nothing was standing out, leaving you to stew in your own confusion and fret. Your concern was solely focused on him—

Until you started noticing the blood.

Stark against the fresh snow, the faded red streaks weave between the timber. Specks spread across the yard; you had tried to rationalize it, you lived in the woods for god’s sake, just because it was a little quieter than usual didn’t mean the animals stopped existing, stopped hunting. It didn’t mean the rumours were true.

Then, you noticed the claw marks. Dug into the bark, stretching across the trunks and dragging into the frozen soil. They were ragged, angry, left by something starved. The scores were sizable; whatever creature that had done them had to have been massive, some too high up to be from a bear. You weren’t close to the hillside either, mountain lions out of the question, and even if you were, what kind of feral cat leaves scratches like that?

None of it was making sense; the lacerations didn’t look sporadic either. Your property had been marked. Ice filled your veins as you stared; you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed.

The sun was long gone, dusk setting heavy over the treeline. A gnawing dread had begun creeping in; you were terrified. If it were on paper, perhaps you could have brushed it off, chalked it up to nerves. You’ve dealt with strays before; this was another variant entirely. A finality in the air that wouldn’t shake. Along with your worry for Jack, you selfishly wished he were here to protect you. His unyielding nature, always reliable, sturdy and safe. He appeared to be able to keep a cool head about almost anything. He’d know what to do, where to go, what to say to stop the tremble in your hands.

You were close to tears when you spotted it, cold sweat lining your back. A flicker amongst the trees. Moving far too fast to be human or animal, the shadow ripped its way through the shrubbery. Breaths picking up, you darted behind your sofa. You knew it was a bad hiding place, but something in the way it advanced told you shelter was pointless. Pulling your knees to your chest, you clamped a palm over your mouth to muffle the petrified sob. A growl echoes out; the sound is guttural, reverberating through the walls, shaking the glass windows as the wind wails.

Eyes shutting tight, you curled into yourself. Of course, this would happen when he was away. At this moment, you would’ve given anything to bring Jack back to you; he’d know how to fix it, he always did. When you’d panic over something stupid, he would soothe you in a way only he could. But Jack wasn’t here, and you were alone. Scared out of your mind with a hell bound beast encroaching on your home, you didn’t want to die.

The fear was unlike anything you had ever felt, chilling you from the inside out. It spread like a parasite, aching in your lungs with every breath, twisting your stomach to nausea. You hiccuped, hugging your legs close. You didn’t want to die- this wasn’t fair, and if something happened to you, what would happen to him? Your dearest friend, more loved than he’d ever know, and you’d never even gotten the chance to tell him. The porch creaked loudly, heavy steps thudding against the frosted wood; you wanted to scream.

The door swings open, breeze screeching in the background. The cold is rushing in, draft circling the room, and the lock clicks shut. Apparently, this beast had manners. Heartbeat deafening in your ears, then you hear it. The tell-tale shuffling of boots, Jack. Shooting up, you spun around, already stepping past the couch. Relief flooding your body, lips twitching up, you wanted to laugh— tell him about how scared of the storm you got without him.

He’ll probably think you’re ridiculous, shake his head a tad and ruffle your hair. Scold you softly, say you’ve been watching too many movies, reading too many books, with a reasonable explanation on the tip of his tongue. Rounding the corner, the words died in your throat. The tempest had cut your power, but even from where you stood, you could tell something was horribly wrong.

The darkness of the hallway enveloped him. He stood off-center, shoulders hunched, his hands limp by his sides, twitching every couple of seconds. It was too dim to see clearly, yet you caught it anyway. A thick, viscous liquid, dripping from under his mask, now that you had noticed it, you realized he was drenched in it. The scent reaches your nose a beat after, metallic.

“… Jack?”

Muttered weakly. His head tilted down, like he was observing you. You knew it was him, so why were you so uneasy? His foot dragged an inch forward, your legs reacting before your mind, subconsciously taking a step back. He notices, he always does. When you were anxious, when you were hungry, because you forgot to eat breakfast, when you were scared.

The notion hurts him; your fear felt violating and wrong in his body. The pained howl he lets out has every hair on the back of your neck standing on end. Sharply pitched, inhuman as he continues to stalk closer. You shuffle away further, retreating, and it upsets him. You looked so terribly fragile, meek, with tears still clinging beneath your lashes. He needed to warm you, to keep you safe, it was blizzarding outside after all, and he knew how anxious you got during blackouts. His mask took a hit during the hunt, and his hood had been knocked off somewhere along the way. The buckle too withered to hold up the weight, finally snapping, mask slipping off and clattering to the floor. You barely register the sight before he crosses the hall in three strides.

His face. Gaping sockets where his eyes should be, filled with black tar that smeared his skin. He says your name, or a version of it anyway. Voice warbling deeper than you thought possible, cadence unsteady. Reaching out for you, his clawed hand brushes your cheek, catching a tear that falls when you blink.

“Little lamb.”

It barely sounded like him, and all you can do is stare. His mouth opens, tongues sliding out to wet his lips. Wait, tongues..?

Your eyes widen as they swiped along the edge of his teeth. Pointed and sharpened, like they could bite through bone. He presses his forehead to yours, arms caging you in. Your hands instinctively pressed against his chest, clutching the damp fabric. You trust him, yet your gut is screaming for you to run, the inner battle making you shake in his embrace. Brows furrowing, why wasn’t this working?

Shivering meant you were cold; it meant you were vulnerable. The scent of your distress sets off alarm bells in his head; his urge to consume and preserve you clashing. A gravelly and repetitive clicking resonated from his throat, overlapping his speech, “Cold. Why do you tremble so, mi ocelle?” The concern emitted from him in ripples, apprehension so heavy it felt as if you were suffocating. “I- I was just worried about you, it’s… storming out.”

You didn’t know what to say; the events playing out were something you’d never learnt to plan for. What were you to do when the devil was at your door with a bleeding heart in his hands? Perhaps you were foolish. Naive in ways others would never understand, but if the Morningstar were yours, then it must be in your fates to be burned.

Leaning in, he cooed. “You were worried… for me?” Your timid confession seemed to appease him, nuzzling your face with his. Amusement blooming across his features, he traced up your spine, the edge of his talons fraying cotton. “Prey tell, my dove. What do you fear?” Your mind was racing for an answer, searching for something- anything- that wasn’t him.

Swallowing, you stuttered, “I thought- I thought I saw something in the woods—“ He hummed, like this was fun, like he knew. Reading the barren truth that you could only deny for so long. “It was by the window. I saw it earlier, I swear-“ Cutting you off when he suddenly withdraws. The frost was a harsh contrast, his warmth no longer shared. “Then let’s look together. To ease you.” He glances at you once from over his shoulder, turning as he heads for the living room.

The plush entryway carpet does little to comfort you, following in his steps until stopping in front of the aperture, your stomach in knots. Jack leaned back against the frame, almost leisurely. “Describe it to me, won’t you?” You toed at the rug, ankle bumping the coffee table leg.

“It was tall- and it growled so loudly the house shook.”

His shoulders twitched, stature reaching above the windowsill. His brawn obstructs the moon’s glow, the shadows spilling like ink. As if you were framed by death’s silhouette. Baritone purr rumbling deep behind his ribs.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and it left these gashes on the trees. Blood trails in the snow-“

The muscle in his forearms twisted while he gripped the glass ledge, sable keratin tapping the surface in rhythm. They gleamed under the pale light, dark crimson dripping off the razor edge and splattering up his hands like paint.

“I see.”

“And it sounded hungry, like it wanted to devour me in one bite.”

Tongue dragging along his teeth, nearly drooling. The weight of his eyes left goosebumps in their wake. Sweeping from your pouty cheeks to the flushed curves of your chest. Memorizing your damp skin.

“Starved, I’m sure.”

“It was tearing apart everything in its path, and moving too fast to be an animal- I don’t know- it- it was like a—“

“Monster?”

Your head snapped up. Empty voids boring into you, black oil mixing with red. His complexion, the claws, you couldn’t decide if you were stupid or so desperate for attachment you’d refused to see the signs. It was always there, a whispered thought when the conversation died down, a realization when his hand would jerk at the sight of the news. Now it was too late, the monster was in your home, and he was going to eat you alive. With nowhere to turn, panic seizes you, breath coming in shallow pants. Jack’s face was unreadable, eerily still.

You spin on your heel, sprinting up the stairs. He was standing next to the main hallway entrance; you wouldn’t be able to get past without him grabbing you. You can hear the harsh thud of footsteps from behind, hot on your tail. You know it was futile, yet adrenaline clouded your judgment. Running like hell, as fast as you could, swerving around the staircase railing the second your feet hit the second floor. It didn’t matter if he was going to catch you; you needed to get away. Ducking in through the gap of the bedroom door, you carefully made your way to the ensuite bathroom.

It was over; you just wanted to go on your terms, have some time to think before it ended. Being a human was truly awful, you think. Because in all of this, the part that bothered you the most was how much you enjoyed being held by him. His touch, the way he brushed away your sadness, and now he was coming to slaughter you. How ironic is that? That even now, being hunted, you still wished he were there to comfort you.

Vision blurring, you laughed to yourself. The bathroom didn’t have a lock; you slid down the wall and onto the cool tile. The floorboards creaked beneath his boots, stopping outside the door. The knob turned slowly, and he pushed it open. When you saw him, it made your chest heavy. He looked handsome like this, the moonlight from the window outlining his frame. He was pretty, beastly features or not, they were his, and that was enough. “Can you at least do it fast? I baked you cinnamon rolls, y’know.” Wobbly smile on your lips, you tensed. Bracing for the impact, the numbing pain of a puncture wound, but it never came.

Opening your eyes, you sniffled. Jack had knelt in front of you. Docile, unmoving and rigid as stone. Submission in the way bite-ridden guard dogs revere sheep. “Such a peculiar little thing.” Said softly, hushed and low. Not snarling or pouncing on you like you expected, simply quiet, handling you with care as he always did. Scooting closer, he tucks your frenzied hair behind your ear before resting both hands on your legs. His thumb rubbed in gentle circles against your calf, “You thought I was going to kill you?”

The lightness of his tone makes you blink, like scolding a child for not holding on when they were afraid of the dark. Shedding tears for something so easily fixed. “So sure I was your end, yet your body still calls for me.” He had you pinned, half crawled over you as he spoke, the random jolts that wracked his body worsening by the second. Faces inches apart, you could see the restraint that held him together, the slight shake in his breathing, how his hand flexed, nails digging into the porcelain. “I can smell it, mellilla.” Dipping his head to your neck, he inhales deeply before his teeth break your skin with little effort. You flinch at the feeling, gasping.

You grabbed onto his sweater, eyes watering in confusion. It hurt; the laceration was shallow enough not to be fatal, just deep enough to bleed. His tongues lapped at the mark. You were so sweet. Groaning as he swallows, and you shiver at the sound. His knee was pressed between your thighs, rocking back and forth every time he moved. The pain was slowly melding into gut-churning heat, wires crossing in your head, you whined. Breathing hard, he shifts, hips grinding down.

“You have no idea, do you?-“ The zipper of his jeans nudged against your clit, your thin sleep shorts were riding up, and the pressure had you dripping. “-What you do to me, fuck.” His assault on your throat never faltering, drinking in your nectar. Sinking his canines in deep over your pulse, he needed to feel it. Had to taste your heartbeat or he’d lose his mind. Hot tears streamed down your cheeks, and you clung to him as if he were a lifeline, squeaking when he started gulping at your spilling wound. “Sorry- I know. It hurts, doesn’t it?” Muffled against your skin, his apology fell on deaf ears.

Parting from you with a wet pop, strings of blood and saliva stretched from his jaw to your neck. More beast than man as he sat back on his haunches, chest heaving. His lids drooped low, drunk off it, “Look at you, my little rabbit. Ripe enough to eat.” Hooking a finger under your shirt, he yanks it up in one swipe. Claw slicing it cleanly, leaving you bare. It made his mouth water. Caging you again, his mouth clamping around the perky nub. Writhing, your back arched off the floor. Arms secured to your sides by his palms, Jack’s strength was otherworldly. Even through his sweater, the contours of his body were unmistakable.

The ache had you dizzy, cunt throbbing in pulses with each nibble he took, littering your breasts in bruises and cuts. Tongues acting as a salve, easing the sting with gentle licks. Mewling, you pushed up into his mouth. He didn’t touch you like he wanted to fuck, he touched you like he was trying to rapture your soul. Have you reborn, remade, fracture your very cortex until the only thing you remembered was him.

Bodies moving in tandem, driving his hips to a slow, agonizing grind. Simulating sex, the same motions, yet not quite there. Your head was spinning, denim stained where your cores met. “You’d forgive me, wouldn’t you? If I got too hungry, you’d let me have you-“ When you said he was going to kill you, this wasn’t what you had pictured at all. The base of his words had you squeezing down on nothing, crying to be filled. He kisses you softly, to mar you right after. “-Let me lick your bones clean, show everyone my teeth- so they’d know how delicious you were. How divine you satisfied me-“

It was sick, vile, the fantasies he spun, your lust betraying your principle. Lips molding to yours, his tongues violating each centimetre of your mouth. You gagged around the intrusion, slimy and tentacle-like; they swarmed the cavity. Proding deeper, his mouth latched as he fucked your throat. Only pulling back once you were on the verge of passing out, fist rapidly slamming against his side. Your lungs burned, black spotting your vision, fear reaped amore that seeped into the darkest corners of your mind.

His cock throbbed with need, hefty against your cunt, and you could feel each and every pulse. It’d tear you apart, larger than you thought possible; you’d never wanted anything more in your life.

Panting above you, the chuckle that left his lips was manic. “They’d wage war in envy, massacre their own kind- driven to madness that they couldn’t have you.” Laving at your collar bone, the heat in your stomach on the brink of scorching, coiling tight. You’d soaked through the fabric, wetness making it stick to your folds, “Build shrines in your name, frame your ribs in mausoleums just to admire-“ His rutting growing harsh, desperate and feral, “Worship you like religion. Offer gold and jewels- sacrifice their gods at the foot of your tomb.” Your release hits you hard, euphoria choking you. Jack, close behind, cumming with a hollowed groan, the aftershocks making his hips jolt. Unrelenting, when his pace fails to cease, not giving you a chance to recover.

“You’re cruel to me, my lamb-“ Arms cocooning you, he lifted you off the tile, trapping you to him. His words pierce through the fog, “I- I don’t understand.“ Huffing out his nose, he laughs, exasperated. “You think I couldn’t see you? Hiding behind corners, following me around like a needy pup.” The admission floods you with embarrassment, pouting as you try and avoid his gaze. “I thought you were-“ he interrupts you, amused. “Blind? How quaint.”

Mocking and adoring all at once, you were so fun to play with. “It was adorable, you know. Pretending you weren’t there, watching you stumble and apologize.” He leaned in close, mummuring against your ear, “Pretending it didn’t have me starved.”

The cadence sends goosebumps down your back, shoulders bowed while you whine. “Always so kind, hm? Don’t worry, even if my sight did not lead me-“ kissing down your neck, he continues. “-There are plenty of other ways to indulge, are there not?” Leaving hickies in his path, nicking your fevered skin, “Sound.” Teeth grazing, before sinking in, your lips parting in a sharp gasp, “Jack.” Trailing further, slipping his hands from under you, and gripping your hips. Hard. His talons penetrate the fat of your ass, drawing blood. “Touch.” Pain and pleasure laced, and all you could do was lie there and take it.

Crawling down your body, bruises blooming over your abdomen. Mouth dragging over your tummy, your navel and pelvis. He snags the waistband of your shorts with his canines, jerking his head back harshly and shredding them off you. He borderline growls when his eyes land on your pussy. He thinks they should hang paintings of your cunt at the fucking Louvre. Puffy and weeping, beautifully delicate as he runs the pad of his thumb up your slit. “And-“ collecting the syrup, his grin stretched wide, a smirk that had you gushing,

“Taste.”

He dives in, lapping at your aching clit with fervour. It was too much, too fast. Convulsing, your hands shot to his hair, grabbing at the messy locks. Thighs snapping closed, bracketing his head. His tongues were everywhere, nose buried in your mound, wet squelching filling the room. “Oh- ngh- fuck.” You were crying, screaming as if you were being murdered. He uses your waist as leverage, thrusting you into his mouth. The tendrils reached deep, fucking you rough while his nose grinded on your sensitive bud. They scissored you open, devouring you whole, and you felt dizzy. Arching, your heels dug into his back, “S’too much- Jack, please- I can’t.”

He groaned into your heat, your pleas making him rut against the floor. You were shaking something fierce, the pressure building in your gut becoming unbearable. “W-wait, please- please, feels weird-“ His tongues were hitting your spot over and over again, eyes rolling back as your body went taut. The orgasm was cataclysmic. Your cunt pulsed wildly, liquid splurting out. It coated his jaw, spraying across his face; you couldn’t even think. Brain completely emptied and ears full of cotton, Jack still gulping down your spillage. He pulls off of you with a sticky smack, breathing heavy, “Messy girl.” He taunts. Sitting up, he grabs the back of his hood, throwing it off in one swoop.

Shoulders sculpted, sweat beading down the contours of his chest, and you stared shamelessly. Gaze drifting from his flushed and heaving pecs to the divots of his V-line, happy trail peaking over his belt. He tugs at the buckle, the metal clasp falling open with a clink. Popping the zipper, he wrenches his cock free, and the sight made your eyes widen. The head drooled with pre, sitting dense in his hand, it looked like it weighed pounds.

There was no way that thing was fitting inside you. “I don’t know if I can…” Trailing off, hesitance contorting your features. “It’s going to hurt.” Blunt and matter-of-fact, and you knew he wasn’t boasting. Not for ego or otherwise, it was simply a warning. “But you’re strong, I know you are.”

Yanking you by the hips, he settled between your legs, lining himself up. “Remember to breathe, my flower.” Soothing you, as he nudges his cock against your entrance. The tip struggles past the tight ring before sinking in, the stretch making you hiss. Your fists are balled up at your sides, tears immediately gathering at your lashline. Whimpering, it felt like he was ripping you in half. “Shh, I know- doing so well. My brave girl.” He hushes you gently. Gathering your hand in his, he presses your palms flat and intertwines your fingers. “Squeeze when it gets too much.”

Rocking forward, he pushes in an inch, your pained whine bouncing off the walls. “Just focus on my voice, can you do that for me?” Forcing your lids to stay open, you nod, “Okay.” But as his hips buck barely a centimetre, your panicked yelp stops him in his tracks. “It- it hurts- I can’t.”

Hiccuping, you were quivering like a leaf, face scrunched uncomfortably. Cooing low in his throat, he drops his head closer. Tongue collecting the salt on your cheeks, “Poor thing, why don’t we play a game? To distract you.” You sniffled, “A game?” He hums, nose brushing yours. “When I move, you’ll count.” Explaining slowly, he kisses you, reassurance mixing with saliva. “Do you trust me?” The question whispered, sacred against your lips, and your eyes fluttered shut. “Yes.”

With your green light, he begins to thrust, carefully and reverently. Shaft glistening with your slick, he slides deeper. “One.” You sighed, breath fanning across his skin, “That’s it, good girl.” You felt like silk around him; it was intoxicating. His length is dialating your walls, “Two-“ The once prickling twinge had started to dull, melding into a warm simmer amidst your thighs. You clutched his hand firmly, “Ah- three.” Gliding in and out, probing further. He grunts, restraint wearing thin. “Four.” He was hardly halfway, and you swore he was in your lungs. Jack shuddered over you, vein prominent against the lines of his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Jaw slack, his spit dribbling onto your skin, carnal and dangerous. His teeth bared as he let out a strangled keen, “Forgive me, my sweet.” His hips were jerking before you could even comprehend what he’d said. Slamming to the hilt, and you wailed. “Gods, you feel- fuck-“ He panted, head flung back. Tremoring violently while he held you flush. You went limp, the sensations overwhelming you, fully speared on his cock. So impossibly filled, the last of his control had withered to ash.

He fucked into you like an animal. Hard and fast, brows furrowed in ecstasy. Bruising grasp on your waist, using your pussy as a sleeve, he raises you. Bouncing you as if you weighed nothing. One hand tugging at your wrist, the other keeping you steady. “Feels so good- can’t fucking stop.” Your back bowed, helpless. Shockwaves sparked up your spine each time you sank on his cock. Molten iron pounding against your cervix, branding your cunt with his lust. The climax takes you by surprise, whiting out your vision. You clenched on him so hard he could barely move, glands pulsing as he stuffed you.

The sticky lacquer is pumping you full, leaking out and puddling on the bathroom floor. Tongue like lead in your mouth, you slurred, “J-Jack- ngh.” He doesn’t even blink, slipping you off, he flips you. Your arms were jelly, crumbling onto your chest, face pressed to the cold tile. Ass propped by his claws, he slides back inside in an instant. Sanity draining with each second, he couldn’t feel your warmth.

Your body jolted roughly from the power of his thrusts, drilling into you with abandon, frantically chasing his release. His veins had been flooded with magma, broiling him alive. Thumbs kneading at your flesh, spreading you wide, he lets out punched groans when his balls slap against your clit. A milky ring is forming at the base of his shaft, gluey and opaque. Lewd plaps filling your ears, his palm pressed your arch down into a perfect semi-circle, driving deeper and deeper, “Christ- you take it so pretty, my lamb- fucking made for this weren’t you?” You scratched at the foundation, delirious, he was so strong. So big, fucking his authority into you, ruining you for anyone else.

Your eyes crossed- stomach bulging from his girth, you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, sobbing as drool leaked out of your agape mouth. Jack was mounted on you like a dog.

Lugging you up, manhandling your boneless form, he bends you over the sink counter. Chiselled hips pummeling you from behind, his flexed bicep locked around your throat. The mirror had fogged with condensation, the tap sputtering from the ruthless tempo, and you barely recognized yourself. It was pornographic the way he had you, something you’d see on the front page of an exed out website. And he wasn’t faring any better, dishevelled strands stuck to his forehead with perspiration. Skin dewy, globs of slick and cum dripped down your legs, he sounded gone. Huffing, “Made for me, made to be bred- should I keep you like this?” His pace quickened, close to the edge, “Keep you full, begging for my cock? Chained and desperate- you’d like that, no?”

Your brain failed to form a cohesive thought, high on the pleasure, “Ah- p-please-“ The response fuelled his rut; he needed to sear his print onto your flesh. Stain you like possession, sovereignty over your spirit, heart and womb. Jack snarled, seething, and he yanked your head back. The climate is sweltering, pressure on your airways tightened, “Words, girl.” He was so mean, abusing your poor cunt. “Yes- please, want it. Wan’ it s’bad.” Shrill cry, leaving your lips.

This wasn’t sex; it was ownership.

His release paints your walls lava-hot, stars bursting behind your lids. Before the afterglow has a chance to reach you, he throws you over his shoulder. Kicking the door open with his foot, the hinges screeching loudly, and you dangled almost lifelessly in his hold. Stepping into the room with little ceremony, he tosses you on the mattress, landing with a bounce.

He was gorgeous, the crescent light peeking through the curtains, tongue running along his sharpened canines. Sultry as he crawled between your thighs, up your body, famished. Prowling, eyeing you like sweet prey- he had you under him for hours. It was ritualistic, claiming and methodical; his devotion clung to you in smoke. Whispering scripture against your skin in languages older than the earth itself. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from your yielding body, refusing to stop until you’d forgotten your own name.

You were a mural of depravity, illustrated in fever. Aphrodisiac tinted with Jack as your artisan.

Ankles by your ears, you had lost count of how many times he’d made you scream, the bliss blending, and the only thing that existed was him. All encompassing, and drilling into your oversensitive pussy. “S’too m-much- I can’t.” His chuckle mocked, “Too much? And here I thought you wanted to be mine-“ He was bullying you, cruelly pressing down on your bloated tummy. Weeping tip knocking mercilessly into your soft spot, you flailed against the sheets, twitching and whining pathetically. “Please, I can’t- I can’t-“ babbling, you gushed around his girth, completely drenching his abs. He had fucked you dumb.

Snickering, he snaps his hips forward, pelvis flush and grinding on your puffy clit. “Liar.” And he began jackhammering into you, unrelenting, his weight folding you in half. The headboard slammed against the wall vigorously, pictures tumbling off the nightstand, mattress squeaking every thrust. Its movements were so harsh that they left indents in the plank flooring. His muscles rippling with exertion.

Claw hooked beneath your knee, his free hand reaching up to strike the bedpost with a bang. It splinters under his strength, and you moaned like a whore. “One more- give me one more, my life.” He grunted, panting and burying his face into your shoulder, the linen shredded to bits.

The frame was thrashing, creaking noisily with warning. His cock swelled at the base, the stretch burning as he forces it passed your opening. Knot stuffing you full, filling you to the brim, and you writhed hysterically- digging your nails into his back. Shallow scrapes littered his skin, from his shoulder blades to his tensing arms. “Mmph- oh god, m’cumming- Jack-“ It blazed from your head to your toes, igniting everything in its path, thrumming in your blood. Teeth sunk in your neck, growl vibrating to your lungs, his inflated girth trapping his seed deep.

Mahogany cracking sharply, the wood giving in and collapsing. The bed was slanted, haphazardly held up by one leg. And Jack is already licking the wound clean, kissing the area softly. He sighs, “… Apologies.” Strangely guilty, the change in demeanour gives you whiplash.

You didn’t know what he was apologizing for, whether it was the marks that scattered across your flesh, or the ruined guest room- either way, you could tell he meant it. Covered in bites and bruises, and you’d never been happier. He takes initiative, carefully scooping you up and rolling your bodies over slowly. Tucked against his chest as your breathing evened out, still connected. You assumed you’d be stuck here for a while. The primal heat finally dying down, the sun began to gleam over the horizon. Your limbs felt like lead.

Sleepy and warm, you broke the silence, “Would this be a bad time to tell you I have a crush on you?” The confession was framed as a joke, yet your vulnerability lingered in the air that followed. He exhaled through his nose with a huff, an almost laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching just a tad. “You are by far the strangest human I’ve ever met.” Giggling quietly, you cuddle further into his chest, “You would’ve eaten me if I wasn’t.” Your words make him pause, shame creeping in. Looking up, you can see the storm starting to brew in his head. “I was kidding, twas’ just a joke.” And he scoffs in disbelief,

“You should hate me.”

“Too bad I don’t.”

It was bothering him. No matter how stone-faced he was, you’d realized you had learned to read him. “Jack-“ He cuts you off with a disgruntled hum, “You don’t even know what I am, what I’ve done-“ Leaning up, you kiss him. Sweet and slow, letting him feel your trust. “I let you into my house when you’d say like- two words a day max. Plus, you looked like the boogeyman when you showed up that one time. And-“ You peck his jaw, continuing, “I still thought you were cute, so.” Jack stares at you as if you’ve grown three heads.

“Your self-preservation is severely lacking-“

“Answer my question, beasty.”

He raises a brow at the nickname before responding anyway. “… No, it would not.” You were admiring him, your gaze fond. “So…” Trailing off, expectant. Tilting his head in thought, while his hand pets the small of your back. “So?” He kind of reminded you of a stray cat, a very large, very dangerous stray cat. “Do you- y’know.” You mumble, shrugging. The expression that overtakes his features makes you snort. He seemed so offended, “If you’re asking if I care for you, the answer should be obvious.” He says it like you’ve insulted him, borderline pouting. Though if you told him that, he’d deny it with fervour. Perhaps it was in bad taste, but the rollercoaster he’d put you through demanded vengeance. “Which would be?” Drawling, you teased him. Jack’s deadpan somehow deepened, and you pressed.

“Say it- you like meee-“ And he blinks at you. Amused, he nods, “I do.” Something so plainly stated, so sure in his ways. It made your stomach flutter. “You’re lucky you’re so handsome, I’d be mad if anyone less pretty broke my bedframe.” His entire body freezes under you, sockets widening for a millisecond. Worry passes through your thoughts, going to ask what you’d said that had made him uncomfortable- you paused. The grey hue of his skin didn’t really allow for blush. Or so you thought. Because as he tilts his chin down just the slightest, the faintest hint of blue dusts his ears. You gasp,

“Oh my god, are you blushing?-“

“I beg of you.”

Interrupting you, his eyes shut. Holding you stiffly, as a lightbulb goes off in your head. He was flustered. Squinting at him, you were in shock. Jack had bent you six ways to Sunday after showing up covered in blood, scaring you half to death, and he couldn’t handle being called handsome? Swiping your thumb along the crease under his eye, you cradled his face. “I don’t know about you, but I actually think you’re quite dashing.” His lashes flutter open, memorizing your grin, the gentle lilt of your voice. “Rest.” Chiding you with a tut, he cups your nape, pressing your cheek back down. Skin on skin, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, closer than close, really.

Maybe there would be hardships, sleepless nights and times he’d chip at your heart. And maybe he’d mend it with guilty hands, hollowed eyes when he begged in atonement. However, that was for future-you to stress about. So for now, you’d lie your head and listen to the thrum in his chest. Safe in his embrace, more protected than you’d be anywhere else. Your love was filled with tongue-tied confessions, clumsy and unsure. That was okay, though.

Because he was yours, sharp teeth and all.

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