Summary: Your bouncing baby halfling is here and Timothée is focused on the wrong thing. Who’s surprised?
Pairing: Demon!Timothée Chalamet x black!reader
Warnings: none? Smut mention, 18+ only
A/n: a perfect little check in to our Careful What You Wish For couple! Baby’s here, I named him Yule cuz I think I’m funny. Are we getting further and further out from where I’ll have to double back to post the eventual sequel to this fic? Yes. Yes we are. Oh well. Demon AU for the Across the Universes challenge this week courtesy of @the-slumberparty, minors, ageless and blank blogs DNI
You had been understandably nervous as to what kind of father Timothée would be. With good reason, in your opinion. Though the demon cared for you, maybe even loved you in his own way, his methods and actions were questionable at best. Throughout your pregnancy you had long stretches of doubt with sporadic moments of hope and tenderness about what parenthood would look like with him. The conclusion you reached was maybe something close to the Addams family; having to stop him from dangerous and suss shit that he always answered with a cavalier shrug. “It’s a demon baby, Y/n, it’ll be fine.” Well, you weren’t going to take those chances. Especially since Timothée didn’t have a stellar track record with lying directly to your fucking face.
But right now as he lowered your son into the bassinet, a warmth blossomed tentatively in your chest. He minded his neck, cooed at him in Demonish (which was an odd combination), and tucked him in with the thin wool blanket.
Wool. Because wool was flame resistant. And apparently fire and brimstone powers varied at this age. You shook your head at that line of thinking. No more stress for the next few hours as he napped. You were determined to find some rest too.
“What were you whispering to him?”
“That he’s a beautiful, fearsome boy, of course.”
You sighed as you scrubbed at your tired eyes. “Of course.”
“Oh, hey, let’s see if you can still speak Demonish now that he’s out! Try to pronounce my name the true way. Timothée.”
“Timothée,” you repeated after him, the language still familiar on your tongue.
Timothée’s wings popped out and shuddered as he stared blankly at you, his scleras bleeding black.
“Get on the bed.”
“What, no!”
“Fine, right here then,” he said, aiming straight for the waistband of your sweats. You twisted out of his reach.
“Timothée, no! Especially not in front of the baby.”
He frowned plaintively. “If his first memory is his parents being romantic, is that really so bad?”
You yelped as you swatted the hand that pinched your ass, pushed at his chest as he brought you into his arms. “Romantic would be one thing, having his mother chained up and fucked in front of him would be quite another!”
The demon in front of you looked like a kid in a candy store, hopeful and elated. “I can go get the chains??”
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tags: NSFW, possessiveness, lil bit of sugar daddy kink, breath play, D/S dynamics
***
sometimes he gets in these moods — there’s no cause, really. it just kind of happens sometimes.
he’s good to you, always. charming and boyish and sweet. devotional, almost — he’s got money to spend, and he’s not shy about spending it on you. not because you haven’t got it, but because he likes to give. maybe he just grew up with enough to share and now he’s got even more, and he doesn’t think twice about taking you out to get your nails done and buying your groceries and paying for your hair. you’ll run your hands over your scalp, petting the new growth sprouting up in fluffy coils from your cornrows, and he’ll glance up at you with this knowing look — and mysteriously, the next day there’s a notification from your bank, a few hundred dollars with a note “not sure how much you need for your braids, lemme know if this covers it - t x”.
at first it was hard to accept — because you’re prideful, and private, and you have a hard time looking to other people for support. it’s the way you were raised, and he knows this about you — he met you like this. you met him at a photoshoot you were styling, and he ran his eyes over you, took you in with this open appreciation — flirted with you, spoke soft and intentional about what he was comfortable with, said thank you every time you pulled a new look for him, held your eyes when you adjusted the lapels of a tom ford jacket that fit like sin across his shoulders. you expected him to ask for your number when the shoot wrapped up, but he didn’t. you just got a text later that night. short and sweet — hey. this is timothee — i got your contact from the call sheet, i had to rush out and didn’t get a chance to say goodbye properly. if it’s okay with you, i’d really like to see you again x
that was a couple weeks ago — after a first date that included dinner at a thai spot in brooklyn, dancing at your favorite afrobeat club — his hands on your hips, matching your rhythm the best he could, pulling you in closer when you twirled around and rolled your hips back against him, shivering as he spoke into your neck.
“you don’t know what you do to me”, he said, with this quiet intensity that made you wonder just what it is that you did to him. “so show me”, you said, basking in the warmth of his desire. it was so easy to let him turn you around, to let him press a kiss to the space between your neck and shoulder, to breathe “please”, when he asked “can i kiss you?”.
it was so easy to let him rest his hand on the back of your neck and kiss you deep, to tilt him by his jaw and let him lick deeper into you. so easy to take him home and lay back on your bed and spread your legs and let him kiss you there too. he was giving — right from the start. he put your hands in his hair and kissed your clit, looked up at you and said “whatever you want, you can have whatever you want”.
that’s his baseline — at first you thought it was just some kind of simpering selfless streak. you know men like that, who will just open themselves up and let you take your fill and do so without complaint. you like that, in a way. to feel completely in control, to know you can kick them out when you’re done and they’ll just throw their clothes on and ask when they can see you again — and he was that man, mostly.
but with timothee, there’s something else. he can be boyish, and sweet. stuttering and goofy, shy and doting. giving, always giving — but sometimes he will let something else slip from inside him, something hungry and selfish and sharp. you see it the first time when he shows up to your apartment with brunch (because he’s a firm believer in thin slivers of salmon and avacado on thick seeded bread, in orange juice so fresh it comes in a glass bottle that you have to finish in one day because that’s when it tastes the best), and catches you scrolling through depop with a scrunch between your eyes.
“what’s wrong?” he asks.
you hesitate, at first, because then you’ll have to admit. “there’s a pair of boots…saw them on the last set, the marc jacobs collection — tryna find a good dupe for them”
he considers that. takes a sip of his drink, feeds you a bite of avacado from between his fingers, eyes flicking to your tongue as you take it from him. “how much are the boots?”
you roll your eyes. “expensive.”
“hm.” he says. “you want them?”
“i do…” you say, suspicious. he looks down at your phone, looks up at you, smiles.
“ok.”
***
he drops it for most of the day, and you almost forget about them. it’s hard not to, with the way he handles you — the way he holds you while you watch a movie, running his fingertips back and forth over your stomach underneath your sweater, the motion of it slow and sweet and distracting. you want him — you push back on him once, and then again halfway through the movie, and then again a couple minutes after that. you know he can feel it, you can feel the way he responds to you, the heat of him against your lower back, the way his breath hitches, but he doesn’t do anything. he doesn’t speed up the movement of his hands as they run over you, doesn’t let his touch travel up towards your chest or lower down to the edge of your shorts. he just kisses your neck, let’s the tip of his tongue trace a languid line up to your jaw, pulls you a little closer into him, and ignores you until the film is done.
as the credits roll your turn on the couch to face him and there, you can see your effect on him, his half lidded gaze, the way his eyes roam over your face, the blush in his cheeks — but he’s not giving you the look you’re expecting, the soft, open “take whatever you want” look that you’re used to from him. aside from the parts of himself that he cannot hide, the way his body betrays him, he looks utterly calm — he looks like he’s waiting for something.
“timothee…” you say.
“you really don’t know how to ask for why you want, do you?” he says. “wasn’t sure at first but — it’s like you don’t even know asking is an option…”
you pause — you weren’t expecting that. “huh?”
“it’s cute, kinda — what’s up with that, huh?” he smiles, mouth pulling back into a sharp little grin. “you don’t think I’ll give it to you?”
“I don’t need you to—“
“Is that what I asked you?”
you don’t know how to respond to that. you just look at him. he looks back, holds your eyes until you find yourself looking away, feeling the heat rise to your face, feeling the warmth pool low in your belly — at his voice, quiet yet firm. at the way he seems content to just watch you squirm. “You don’t need to do that for me,” you say.
“I know — but you know I’m gonna buy you the shoes, right?”
you shiver — you do know. “Timothee—“
“And you’re gonna take em, right?” He takes you by your chin, makes you look at him, shakes his head a little when you try to avoid eye contact. “Right?”
“Yeah.” You say.
“Mm, that’s good, you’re so good.”
Fuck. “Timothee, I —“
“And you’re gonna ask for what you want from now on, right?” His voice has gone darker, he hasn’t raised his volume but you hear him loud and clear, the question that really isn’t a question, the implication. You open your mouth to respond and all that comes out is this path of little whimper, and you realize that your head is completely fucking empty — he has talked you into slipping down into yourself, into something hazy and soft.
He puts his hand around your neck. “Here’s what you’re gonna do for me…” he says.
You whimper again. “Oh my fucking god.” You say, because — oh my fucking god. What the fuck.
“You’re gonna go into your room — are you listening to me?” He waits for a response, raises an eyebrow until you nod your head, presses a little kiss over his hand on your throat when you do. “Good, that’s good, knew you could be good — you’re gonna go into your room and sit on the bed and wait for me. And when I come in, you’re gonna ask me for what you want.”
“OK,” you breathe.
“Cuz you want me to fuck you, but you don’t know how to ask for it — but you’re gonna ask me to fuck you, right?”
“Baby—“
“You’re gonna tell me exactly how you want it, and I’m gonna give it you, right?”
“Mhm.”
“Good — glad we’re on the same page”. He grins at you, his hand is still on your throat, he looks at you some more, breathes out “god, I’m so fucking lucky”, presses one more kiss to your temple, and then let’s you go.
You stand up. He stands up. You wait — he rolls his eyes, gives you this fond, condescending look, pats your twice on the cheek (doesn’t miss the way you press your thighs together when he does, doesn’t comment on it either, just glances down and goes “hm”.), and walks away from you, packing the food away while you stand there and watch him.
When it’s clear that he’s not gonna say anything else, you turn and walk away — to your room, like he asked, to go sit and wait for him, like he asked.
tags: black gender-neutral reader + timothee chalamet, dom/sub dynamics, degradation, discussions of impact play, spitting, knife play, safe + sane + consensual, predator/prey dynamics, set in a professional BDSM space
—————
He doesn’t look like much, and you feel kind of bad for thinking it but — he just surprises you, is all. Maybe it's just your bias, that you assume there must be a look to the kind of person who wants to do to you what you want done. Someone a little rough, big and scruff and a little nasty — face-tats and a thick neck and big hands. A daddy type, a bear, a deviant at first glance.
This guy is…not that. Taller than you, sure, and so good-looking it makes you blush a little, but he’s just so…soft. Pretty. Bashful little tilt to his pretty head, pretty hair falling into his face in soft little curls. Shyish smile, cupids-bowed pulled back to tease a little dimple in the corner. Nice hands, well-groomed and long and lean — powder blue polish on the nails, no scars or tattoos to rough it all up. He’s got a black sweater on, fit so nice to his frame — nice broadish shoulders, elegant neck, just the slightest hint of a bulge in his bicep. He looks strong the way a swimmer would be, or a dancer.
He doesn’t look like the type to pluck you up by the neck, crowd those nice well-groomed fingers into their mouth and tell you to speak up if you want something, to laugh at you while you try to speak around the intrusion, to smear your own spit back into your skin and sneer “what a fucking mess, huh? why don’t you say sorry, like you mean it…”
“You, uh…” you pause, choose your next words carefully. “You’re different than I thought you would be…”
If he’s at all offended by this statement, he doesn’t show it, just breathes this quiet amused sound to himself — his cheeks even pink up a little, as he swipes his hair back from his face.
“Mm, yeah, I guess that makes sense, I’m not exactly…” he looks up and away like he’s searching for the right word, mouth curling into this wry little smile that is so boy-scout-prince-charming-boyfriend-coded that you kind of want to shake him a little, or kiss him a little. “I get it! If you wanna follow me back to the front desk I can —“
Fuck, that’s not — “No, no, I’m just…I just don’t want you to get into something you didn’t sign up for, you know?”
He pauses with your paperwork in his hands, eyebrows furrowed a little, but he’s still got this smile on his face, this ever-amused, almost permissive look to him. “Hm,” he hums, holding your eyes for a moment that stretches like honey, just long enough that you start to shift a little on your feet — and then he flips through the papers like he’s looking through them for the first time, makes a show of scanning through every line, muttering to himself like he’s reading them to himself, like he’s just so thorough.
And then you get it — that slow curl low in your gut as you realize that this is all an act — that this faunish, sheepish looking bambi motherfucker is fucking with you. That you’ve fallen for it, and (the fear curls warm and sharp in your gut, and then turns itself inside out until it feels like something sweeter than fear) that you’ve no idea what it even is.
“Hm, let me see…” he flicks his eyes up, and it’s like he’s checking for something, and once he’s found it in you he just shifts. Holds himself a little looser, let’s his gaze pierce you deep, let’s his smile get a little mean, swipes his tongue across his teeth like he’s coaxing his fangs out. “So you didn’t want to get slapped across the face, then?”
You shiver. When you answer, your voice has gone all coarse, like you’re not used to using it. “I don’t…” you cringe, clear your throat, try again. “I don’t understand what…”
He nods, feigning understanding. “Mm, I’m sure you don’t…you need a second, honey?”
Honey. “I…”
“You must not have asked to get choked out, tied up, spanked and — you specifically asked for someone to spit in your mouth and call you a pretty little slut, isn’t that sweet — but I mean, it’s not like you filled this out, right?” He continues, making his eyes all big. You get the sense that he’s mimicking you, and it makes you wanna look at the ground because you don’t trust your eyes not to water a little. He’s so fucking mean (he’s so fucking perfect). “Do you need me to explain how this place works?”
You mumble something and he tuts, shakes his head. “Wanna try that again for me?”
It doesn’t feel like he’s asking, not really. It makes you feel small, stupid — makes you petulant. “I know how it works, I just…”
“You just what?” he simpers. He puts the papers down on the desk in the corner of the playroom, stands to lean against the wall of floggers and paddles and — fuck — crosses his arms, fixes you with a look that could rot iron. “You thought you’d fill out all that long, boring paperwork and you’d get paired up with just anyone? Do you think you’re just so uniquely filthy that no one would be able to keep up?”
Fuck. He’s so mean. You might be tearing up a little — you can feel it curling up in your chest, humiliation warming up your nose and pricking at your eyes. “I didn’t fucking—“
“Oh, look at the fucking mouth on you!” he giggles a little, but not like he thinks you’re funny — more like he thinks you’re so so dumb, just supremely stupid. “That’s cute, that’s just fucking precious…”
“I’m so sorry if I’m a little surprised that someone like you…” you spit the you at him, send it at him like a weapon, stand your ground and show him your teeth — reckless with frustration. “…would have the fucking guts to do any of that shit! It’s not my fault that you’re built like a fucking Disney princess.”
Perhaps a step too far, if the way he studies you is any indication. He’s gone all straight faced, and the contrast between his cherubic face and his dead-eyed gaze puts you on edge. Within his arm’s reach, there is an array of tools that could break you down to nothing with just one strike. He looks so out of place in a room like this, with a Saint John’s cross and a bed laid in all black with all the fittings — so many different spots to be strapped down. You don’t have to look up to know that if he wanted to, he could string you up from the ceiling like a chandelier. You’d even marked your interest down for that in your paperwork, so he already knows.
The appeal of this dungeon is the placement program — their success rate in people up with the perfect partner, with vetted professionals that specialize in knowing exactly what you want and how to give it to you. You should have known from the second he walked in that he was the perfect sadist for your masochistic tendencies — that he would slap you in the face and spit in your mouth, that he would strap you down and simper degrading little things in your ears, that he was going to torture you until you tapped out (and he probably also knew that aside from a couple hard-limits, it would take a lot to get you to tap, that you wanted to be pushed and prodded and batted around until you cried or passed out).
“Disney princess, huh?” He’s dropped the act completely now, and the mean curl to his mouth is so dissonant with the look of him — it just throws you off. In a way, it’s so much more exciting and terrifying the way he steps into this new skin, the way he wears his dominance. You imagine him with his hands around your throat, distaste marring his pretty face, and it’s so hot you get a little light-headed.
You think that maybe you should apologize, and then he widens his eyes (all big and innocent, he’s so sick) says “I’m gonna give you ten seconds to say sorry, ok?”
You clear your throat. “…or what?”
“I don’t know…” he grimaces, like it just pains him to do this to you (oh, he’s nasty). “I’d rather you didn’t make me punish you — there’s some really fucked up shit on your sheet, you know?”
You feel like the ten seconds has already started — he’s setting you up. He’s running his eyes over all the toys displayed against the wall, but you know he’s already got something in mind.
“I’m sorry?” You say, like you’re not sure.
“Mm..” he hums. “Little too late for that.”
He pushes off the wall, digs in the pocket of his worn-in looking Levi’s. Pulls out a little pocket-knife. “Don’t move, OK? I’d rather not make you bleed if I don’t have to.”
You freeze — there’s only one door out of the room, nowhere’s to run, nowhere to hide. It’s like he reads your mind, the way he steps towards you like he’s trying not to startle you, like he’s hunting. “I’m sorry…”
“Shhh, it’s ok, sweetheart — just gonna hurt you a little…” he says, slow and sweet like he’s got honey under his tongue. “Just gonna make you cry your pretty little eyes out…”
warnings: negotiated free use, objectification, consensual somnophilia, cockwarming, oral, anal, dacryphilia, cnc, rough sex, unprotected sex. y/n has a vulva, no specified pronouns used.
📌there’s yeonjun who likes to make you ride him after a stressful day. you like whining about how tired you are too, so yeonjun always makes you take it slow, makes you grind your naked crotch against his clothed cock, then orders you to take his hard cock out of his slacks and sink down on him slowly, let him feel all of you. you may be on top but yeonjun is the one holding the reigns, guiding your hips and telling you to keep riding him when your thighs tremble with exhaustion, making you help him take what he needs. he keeps praising you to spur you on, calls you his pretty little fleshlight, his favorite thing to use to relieve stress. yeonjun kisses your cheeks and fluttering eyelids and sucks your nipples into his mouth, worshiping your body as much as he’s using it.
you don’t get a break even if you cum from the onslaught of stimulation - the tip of his cock brushing against that spongey spot deep inside of you, your clit rubbing up against his pelvis with each helpless jerk of your hips, his nails digging into your sides, his teeth grazing your nipple - you need to please him until he’s satisfied and it always takes a while until yeonjun’s had his fill of you. he licks away your tears and tells you you’re a good doll for him, that he’ll always treat you this gently so he can use you for a long time, just so he can see you sob and shake apart for him one more time.
📌soobin likes feeling like a perv. yes, you’ve discussed this and, yes, he knows you need this just as much as him - but he wants to play make believe a little. he wants you to pretend you didn’t talk about this long and lengthy, like you didn’t wear the designated necklace to let him know he could have you tonight, like you haven’t been waiting just as desperately as him for the moment he finally has you that night. no, soobin wants you to feign surprise when he sneaks up behind you whenever he feels like it and covers your mouth with a large palm, his other hand groping at your tits as he pushes his hard cock - aching from thinking about this exact moment all day - against your backside. you let him wriggle both of you out of your bottoms, let him line his cock up without anything preparation but a bit of his spit and his sticky precum. he slides in easily, he always does when you play rough like this, because you’ve been dripping for his attention ever since you put the necklace on. the glide is smooth enough that soobin doesn’t even hesitate a second to build a frantic pace, hips barreling into your ass with a lewd smacking sound whenever he bottoms out inside of you again. “sorry,” soobin grunts when he jostles you too hard and you groan at how wrong he makes it sound. soobin’s almost delirious when you fuck like this, humping you quick and uncoordinated like an animal, desperate for a quick release. he shudders when he cums inside of you, arms crushing you against his body as he forced you to take his load deep. he’s already softened inside of you when his head clears enough for him to take mercy on you, slicking two of his fingers up with his tongue to rub them against your clit, rewarding you with your own sweet release for letting him use you just how he needs.
📌beomgyu wants you to fully serve him when you immerse yourselves in your roles, to let him use you unconditionally. he wants you to be ready to present him your pussy whenever and wherever he asks. he wants you to warm his cock when he plays games and let him pinch your nose with his cruel fingers. he wants you to wrap your fingers around his cock under the flimsy airplane blanket and entertain him for the rest of the flight. he wants you to let him fuck your ass in a small bathroom on set. he wants you to let him roll between your legs in the early morning and clumsily guide his cock into you before either of you have woken up properly. he wants to push his hand between your thighs and play with your pussy until you’re leaking strings of arousal just for his own enjoyment of toying with your body. he wants you to drop to your knees the moment he gets home and take him deep, letting him fist his hands into your hair and obediently following his guidance down his cock until he’s tickling your throat, swallowing around him when he tells you to until you can taste his release at the back of your tongue. having a free use agreement with beomgyu will likely end with him turning you into his personal cumdump whenever he has the time and energy for it.
📌sometimes taehyun gets frustrated. you’ve wanted him to take out his frustrations on you for the longest time, but taehyun always insisted it wasn’t right. and he is right, as your dom he should not inflict pain or punishment because of real life anger, but out of the enjoyment for the both of you. you trust and love taehyun for how he makes sure to keep you safe, but you can’t help but get turned on whenever you see him seething. taehyun finally agrees on trying free use when you explain to him how much you truly enjoy the thought of him using you, of you being useful to him, like a toy that has no worth to him but helping him drain his balls. taehyun knows how much you can take and now, when you agree on playing that day, he knows he can fuck you hard and fast, not adjusting the angle of his hips to hit any of your sweet spots because he doesn’t care whether you’ll cum anymore, wrapping his arm around your throat from behind and telling you to take it as he relentlessly punches in and out of your cunt. and you adore it when he gets like this, cumming so hard just thinking about how he’s using you just how he pleases, his huffs and groans enough to make you lose your mind. you’re taking taehyun by surprise when your orgasm hits you without him touching your clit, but he knows just what to say, letting you know this is why he turned you into his little toy, because your body already knows it’s meant to be used by him.
📌hueningkai never thought he was the type to be into somnophilia, but sometimes at night he gets so needy he can’t sleep without you helping him cum. after sneaking his way under your blanket, kai carefully takes your heavy hand and places it on his clothed crotch. he thanks the heavens that you let him do this, his cock fully hardening under the warmth of your palm until he can’t take it anymore. kai doesn’t penetrate you when he gets like this, he’s too riled up to prep you properly, but he hastily pulls down your pants to rut against your bare hip or ass, depending on your sleeping position. it doesn’t take long until he cums all over your thighs with a breathless moan, slowly pumping himself through the aftershocks. he can’t be bothered to adjust your pants or wipe you down, falling asleep fully satisfied and leaving you to find the sticky mess between your legs and a very happy kai curled up beside you in the morning - enough evidence to know he made use of your agreement again.
Summary: Nearly identical in looks and both in love with you, but that’s where the similarities ended… how could you choose?
Pairing: soft!dark!Arvin Russell x Reader x soft!dark!Peter Parker
Warnings: dubious consent, smut (like… 75% smut… 18+ ONLY), hints of knife play, bondage (reader’s hands). Please tell me if I’m missing anything!!
A/n: This is admittedly mostly self-indulgent smut that I am very glad Roo provided me the opportunity to write 😅😅. Written for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor’s Dark!Crossover challenge, this 🤏🏽 close to the deadline 😭 just under 4k words!
You couldn’t help it, honestly. You really had tried to make a choice. Your friends Arvin and Peter barely got along, but they tolerated each other for you. Neither boy made it a secret of their feelings for you, and you really had tried to pick one! But even though they looked similar, they were so different.
Arvin was rough on the outside but all sugary softness when it came to you. He was old fashioned, protective of you, and liberal with the pet names. Peter on the other hand was the typical boy next door (except his not so typical abilities). Sweet and shy, with eyes that lit up like Christmas when he smiled at you. The only time he truly frowned around you was when Arvin was there too.
Like he was doing now. But you couldn’t blame him given the scene he just walked up to.
You had a routine, one the boys knew well. And any Saturday morning with clear skies, you could be found at what they dubbed your bench, reading. That day, you were in the middle of Anna Karenina, reading it aloud to Arvin who, even though he complained about you reading “an old ass chick flick”, still watched and listened to you with an indulgent grin on his lips.
And you had gotten to the line “It’s hard to love a woman and do anything.”
And he had said, “Now that I can relate to.” Brown eyes warm and inviting on you. And then he was leaning in. And so were you. Then his gaze shifted over your shoulder, lip curling in annoyance.
“Awful cozy over here.” Peter said.
“Coulda been cozier. Still can if you, y’know, scat!”
“‘Scat!’” Peter imitated with an exaggerated drawl. “God, could you sound anymore like a hillbilly?”
“This hillbilly can still kick your ass, damn them powers you got!” Arvin countered, standing from the bench and rolling up the sleeve to his flannel top. Alarm shot through you at the dreaded thought of them literally coming to blows over you. You didn’t want either of them hurt and even your sweet Peter looked like he wouldn’t hold back right now.
“Boys stop!”
Arvin rounded on you. “You could stop this right now! All this bickerin’ n’shit could be over!”
Peter got between you two, not as if Arvin was a threat to you, but to give his reproachful glare directly to his face. “What he means is you know how we feel about you, Y/n. We can’t keep going on like this.”
“For once, I agree wit’ him. Gotta make a decision, darlin’. ‘Fore it’s outta your hands and you may not like what we come up with.”
You knew it wasn’t fair to them. You couldn’t keep stringing them along, but even the idea that they both may leave you over this shook you up.
It felt like your decision had a time limit, and every interaction afterwards with them was fraught with stress. Trying to pit your two best friends against each other in your head was fatiguing. Because how could you truly compare them? It wasn’t their fault they both complemented you so well. How could they both be puzzle pieces that fit you so perfectly yet didn’t come close to fitting each other?
You were trying to get some work done but your mind was miles away from your room this evening. Had it had only been a week since the ultimatum had been delivered? You felt like you had been moving in a dream state outside of each of their presences. They traded off time with you like divorced parents, carefully operating separately while pulling out even more stops to get you to pick them. So of course you couldn’t focus on work. Any time your gaze strayed from the screen, it landed on the flowers Arvin had gotten you a few days ago, the tin of tea Peter had bought you, the shelf Arvin had repaired for you, the puzzle you and Peter finished and framed. Constant reminders of the boys filled your room, thus filling your head.
You had even broken from routine today. Instead of going to your bench, you had been home all day, going through the motions of productivity. It was the first day you had gone without seeing either boy in person, yet they were right there behind your eyelids everytime you blinked.
A knock came to your door, startling your train of thought from continuing its circuitous route. It was as relieving as it was nerve-wracking. Being home alone all day made you grateful, but you knew only one of two faces would be beyond that door ready to do some more convincing.
When you opened the door, you were greeted not with one boy, but both. This was as amicable as you ever seen them, standing almost shoulder on the other side of the threshold.
“Hey, there, darlin’. Can we come in?” Arvin asked, tucking his hands in his jean pockets.
Suddenly, their presence filled you with a foreboding dread. This was it wasn’t it? Either they had come to hear your choice or to take it out of your hands completely. You nodded mutely as you let them in, taking a little longer than necessary to close the bedroom door. You wanted to drag this out as long as possible because the fact of the matter was, even if you could end this night with neither of them, you still couldn’t pick one.
“D-did either of you want tea?” Anything to keep you from this tension and to give your hands a task.
Arvin shook his head. “Nah, honey. Don’t worry about that. We won’t be sittin’ and talkin’.”
Well, crap. You moved towards your bed, half a mind to take the teddy bear on your night stand and cuddle it, but didn’t want it to hint that you were choosing one boy over the other (Arvin had won it for you at a fair). As if they could feel your nervous energy, the boys separated, Peter pacing towards the foot of your bed and Arvin shifting towards you. Peter sighed as he traced the design in your comforter.
“You weren’t at your bench today. We figured it was ‘cause of us. We both ended up showing up around the same time and we… we got to talkin’.”
“Y/n, we saw how hard it’s been for you to decide. So we did,” Peter said with a nervous glance at Arvin, who nodded his head for him to proceed. He nodded shakily back, his resolve steeling as he turned his attention back to you.
Hands came around your waist and you were pulled back on your bed before you knew what was going on. Arvin was straddled behind you, pinning you to his chest with your hands together in front of you. You thrashed against him, confused.
“Arvin?! What are you—!”
Then you heard a hiss and felt your wrists get bound together. Webbing. Your shocked eyes met Peter’s, unapologetic and determined.
“What… what’s going on, you’re both scaring me.”
A little empathy creased Peter’s forehead as he pouted at you.
“Don’t be scared, Y/n. It’s just us.”
“Told you we made a decision, darlin’,” Arvin grunted from behind you. “We could see how hard it was for you to choose.”
“And we both love you so much.” Peter said, kneeing his way onto the bed.
Arvin’s lips grazed the shell of your ear as he continued. “We decided to share.”
Your next breath caught in your throat like you’d forgotten how to breathe. Peter rubbed his warm hands up and down your arms soothingly.
“It’s okay, breathe, baby. We’ll take care of you,” he said, trailing his fingers over your collarbone. You’d been this close to Peter before, close enough to count his freckles and the long lashes that framed his chocolate eyes. But this was an altogether different emotion that had your heart thundering in your chest. He dipped his head to kiss along your jawline, stopping at the corner of your lips before muttering. “Gonna take such good care of our girl.”
It was Arvin’s hands though, that ripped your shirt open, not startling Peter at all. No they worked in tandem fluidly as he latched his lips to yours to catch the little surprised scream that bubbled up. He licked it up and sent a moan over your own tongue. Arvin’s hands made quick work of exposing your torso as much as your bound hands would allow. His lips made damp traces up your neck and back down your shoulder. Calloused hands cupped your breasts hungrily and you couldn’t keep the noises at bay as he fondled stiff nipples. Another pair trailed down your sides, sliding with no interruption under the waistband of your sweatpants. A gasp punched through you as Peter grabbed generous handfuls of your ass. They were making you dizzy, you could barely keep track of their ministrations, whose hand was where. Trepidation filled you again as Peter worked your sweatpants down.
“Wait! Wait–,” you tried, pushing your bound hands ineffectually at Peter’s chest. One of Arvin’s large hands came up from your breasts, securing around your throat and lower jaw to angle you towards him.
He shushed you. “We got you. Let Pete work.” The work Pete was doing was trailing kisses down your torso as he rolled the sweatpants off. Arvin smirked at the frown in your forehead, mouth already fixed to protest even though you were arching traitorously against where a tongue dragged across your panty line. You barely got a word out before he was grabbing your hands by the webbing and tightening his grip on your jaw the slightest bit. “Be a good girl, now. We just wanna show this body some lovin’. Wanna make sure our girl feels every last bit of our love.”
Peter groaned as he settled between your thighs, pushing your legs open and staring rapturously at the wetness there. He bit his lip.
“God, you’re so pretty, baby. And so wet for us. Arvin feel how wet she is,” Peter said before nuzzling adoringly against your thigh. His soft curls tickled the sensitive skin as Arvin took up his suggestion. He kept your face angled towards his so you couldn’t hide the expressions you made as his rough fingers teased passed your clit and circled your hole.
“Shit, darlin’, you’re that worked up? Bet you want a little relief huh? Want me to stuff you full of my fingers or you want his tongue in you?”
A sharp cry left your throat instead of an answer, catalyzed by Peter choosing that moment to sink his teeth into the sensitive meat of your thigh before sucking it into his mouth. Arvin’s chuckle was drowned out by the moans from you and Peter. God you did want relief, you were squirming around, mind empty of anything but them.
“You really ain’t good at making decisions, are you? Gonna make us choose again?” The taunting twang of his voice caressed down the heated skin of your neck and all you could do was whimper pathetically at his words. He sucked his teeth before humming a chastise. “Gotta work on that, darlin’.”
“It’s her first time with us, dude. It’s just a lot for her to deal with, isn’t that right, pretty baby?” Peter smiled warmly up at you from between your legs, somehow managing to look innocent even with his pink swollen lips and the hickey throbbing on your thigh next to his cheek. Even as his hands slid under your ass. “We can decide for you again.”
In the same dizzying moment, Arvin pulled you into a kiss right as his wet fingers were replaced with an eager tongue. Your legs closed around his head, but he just burrowed deeper, pressing you into his face with his hands. Like a well oiled machine, Arvin and Peter worked you up into a mess. Hands and tongues, moans and whines. Skin and lips and brown curls. The feeling in your core that they were tending like carefully fed fire was swelling like an inferno, flames licking along your damp skin and at the confines of your core. Your whimpers were getting more pathetic and desperate, you couldn’t even find it in you to be embarrassed. The only thing that mattered was sweet release.
“Aww.” Peter cooed with a lazy drag of his tongue through your wetness. “Think somebody’s close.”
“That true, huh? Gonna cum for us, honey?” Arvin asked against your lips. You could only nod your head, a drunken motion like you were moving through a fog. “Well, let’s have it. Give it to us.”
Arvin’s hand dipped down to work your clit and Peter returned to your cunt, tongue delving deep. There was no way with the orchestrated assault that you wouldn’t give them exactly what they sought. Arvin pulled you from his lips but only a few inches away. Your breaths mingled and his dark, hungry gaze on yours kept you from closing your eyes. He was watching you so intently, biting his lip as he catalogued your reaction. Only when the fire finally consumed you did you close your eyes. Body writhing helplessly as they let you ride it out.
You sagged into Arvin and both of his arms looped around you to hold you close. “That’s our girl. Did so well for us. And that’s just the beginning.”
You didn’t even know your eyes were closed until you opened them again to see Peter, stripped naked crawling back up between where your legs were sprawled open weakly.
“So pretty and taste so good.” Peter knelt between your legs. You swallowed at the size of him, hard and leaking. He rubbed the head between your folds, the precum mixing with the wetness of your orgasm and his spit. “Was scared I was gonna bust humping against your sheets while I ate you out, but I needed to feel you cumming around me first before that.”
“And I never would have let you live it down,” Arvin snickered. Peter rolled his eyes but smirked as he lined his tip up to your opening.
His eyes met yours. “Deep breath, baby.” You automatically obeyed but blew it out just as quick as Peter sank into you, stretching you out like nothing ever had. Arvin shushed your whimpers with kisses to your neck, hiking one of your knees up a little higher so Peter could settle in deep with a throaty groan and a shiiiit. You focused on your breath as you adjusted to the overwhelming fullness, feeling the praise the boys dotted you with more than hearing it. When you relaxed a bit more, Peter gave a few experimental drags of his dick through your tight walls. You threw your head back on Arvin’s shoulder, wanton moans trickling from your lips.
“I’m so proud of you, honey. You’ve been good, so you can choose which hole I use.” Arvin said against the skin of your neck. “‘Cause I’d love to stretch out that ass of yours. Have you feelin’ so full of us down there.”
“Or he can use that wonderful mouth, baby? Where do you want him while I ruin this pretty cunt, huh?”
Even while Peter moved in and out of you at a torturously slow pace, Arvin squeezed your ass cheeks, kneading and fondling the skin. One of his fingers gathered some wetness from where you and Peter were joined and traveled to the puckered hole, pressing until the tip entered you with a sharp twinge.
“Mouth!” You shouted as you jerked in his grip. “My mouth, not there. Please, not there.”
He chuckled as he eased his finger out and away from you. “See, she can make a decision. Just gotta help her out a little first. You heard our girl, Pete.”
Peter manhandled you easily, flipping you over with care and pulling you up by the ass, face down in Arvin’s lap. He sunk back into you with a sigh as he savored the new angle. Deeper, God, how could he possibly get deeper? You couldn’t even brace yourself because your hands were still bound.
“Let me help you out there, darlin’,” Arvin said, pulling a switchblade out of his pocket. The snick of the spring and the glint of the metal startled you.
“Fuck, you got a thing for knives, Y/n? Felt you clench around me when he pulled it out,” Peter said against your shoulder.
“Yeah, I saw her eyes get big as fuck too.” Arvin chuckled. “Lift her up.” Peter took you by the shoulder, easily supporting the weight of your torso as he slowly moved through your walls.
Arvin smirked at you as he brought the blade forward flat side down, dragging the point lightly down your left arm. The trail sent a little thrill down your spine and Peter groaned behind you, grip tightening slightly on your shoulder.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We ain’t playing with knives on our first time. Next time, though? You keep bein’ a good girl for us, we just might.” With a flick of his wrist, he sliced cleanly through the webbing, not catching your skin at all. Arvin shuffled his jeans and boxers down until his dick was revealed. It was pretty and intimidating just like Peter’s. You knew it’d stretch your mouth and throat the same way Peter was stretching you out between your legs.
Peter lowered you down towards Arvin’s lap and you were thankfully able to balance yourself this time.
“Come on, baby. Show him how good your mouth is. Make him feel as good as this pussy is making me feel.” Peter cooed in your ear. Arvin grabbed himself with one hand and your chin with the other.
“Open up for me. Tongue out, yeah that’s it,” he praised as you shyly obeyed. The hand on your chin secured behind your neck and guided you to his red tip, leaking precum. You tentatively licked at the head and Arvin’s hips bucked. “Don’t be a tease, Y/n. Wanna be in that mouth.”
You gulped before wrapping your lips around him. Twin groans filled the room.
“God, you have no idea how pretty you look like this, Y/n. Like an angel between us.” Peter rained kisses down your spine, quickening his pace. You slowly took as much of Arvin’s dick as you could, his unfaltering hand on the back of your neck and his unwavering gaze on your face. He brushed a stray piece of your hair behind your ear before returning his grip.
A particularly forceful thrust from Peter has you choking on Arvin’s dick. He smirked as he hit the back of your throat, holding it there for a hair too long before pulling back.
“Don’t know which of us has the better view. Got those pretty lips on my cock. Can see your ass jiggle every time Pete pounds into that sweet pussy.”
Peter scoffed and you heard the smile in his voice. “I can see that sweet pussy, drooling around my dick and down those soft thighs. Get to see the pretty marks I’m leaving up her spine.”
A moan tumbled from your throat, the vibration traveling through his dick and Arvin huffed out a strangled chuckle.
“That turn you on, huh? Us praisin’ this hot li’l body we’re sharin’?” He grinned as he wiped some spit from your bottom lip, mouth still full of him. “You gonna cum, darlin’? Gonna cum all over Pete’s dick?”
“Fuck yeah, she is,” Peter panted, snaking one hand around to your clit. “Can feel it, feel the way you’re sucking me in so desperately. Let go, baby, let go for us.”
Arvin pulled you off of his dick by your hair and up to his mouth, kissing you filthily and you fell apart between the two men, a broken moan falling from your lips to his.
“Shit! You feel so fucking good. So fucking perfect.” Peter bit out as his strokes got even rougher before stilling deep inside you. You felt the burst of warmth filling your core as he clung to you.
“You did so good, sweetheart,” Arvin praised, gently fluttering kisses over your cheeks. The words tingled over your skin, you felt yourself flush with a satisfied pleasure. After a few moments, Peter sat up from where he had slumped over your back.
“Okay,” he breathed as he gently pulled out, giving a quick kiss to your ass cheek and securing your hips. Peter lifted your dead weight like it was nothing, straddling you over Arvin’s lap. He took the remains of your shirt off and it was finally just warm skin everywhere.
With Peter’s hands at your hips and Arvin’s at your sides, they both delicately sat you on his dick. Being stretched again so swiftly made you whimper, but your and Peter’s releases inside you provided him an easy slide in.
“Feel like fucking heaven, Y/n. So warm and snug around me.” Arvin took the lead and Peter assisted, both men making you ride another impressive dick with no recovery period. Arvin’s pubic hair brushed torturously over your clit and you were getting worked up to another orgasm. But you were so sensitive. Every touch brushing that pleasure/pain line.
“It’s– it’s too much,” you mumbled the protest, drunk on the feelings the men were working up inside you.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Peter shushed as he guided you to lean back on him, taking most of your weight. “Our sweet girl can take us both, right?”
Arvin smirked. “Yeah our sweet girl can take us both, can’t you, Y/n?” He echoed, twisting the endearment a little around the twang of his voice.
“We’ve got you. Can’t you do one more, Y/n? I know you’ve got one more to give us. Gotta make Arvin feel good too now.”
You rested your head back on Peter’s shoulder, completely giving the reins over to the two men. Letting them use you and move you how they liked. Arvin ducked his head to your exposed throat, his lips moving over your collar bone down your chest until he licked a nipple into his mouth. Your hands came up, tunneling through his hair and pulling on the curls. He moaned as he gripped your sides tighter and started guiding you faster up and down his dick.
“Goddamn, sweetheart. Absolutely perfect for us. Squeezing me so tight. Give it to me, Y/n. Cum all over me. Let’s make a mess.”
Peter mumbled his own silky praises in the soft curve of your neck, maintaining the bruising pace Arvin set. And again you were free-falling with four hands holding you secure. They were all you could focus on as your consciousness fragmented. Four steady hands and the pumps of Arvin’s hot release deep inside you.
You don’t know what happened between then and now because now you were laying in the bed, two warm bodies sandwiching you. Strong arms pulled you closer into the curve of one body from behind as he spooned you. Another set of strong arms circled you a little lower from in front of you, an unruly head of curls all you could see. You couldn’t tell who was who until one of them spoke.
“We’re gonna be such good boyfriends, Y/n,” Peter said with a contented sigh, snuggled up to your breasts. “I'm so glad we worked this out.”
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Another concept: nearly crying bc you need Harry in your mouth so bad and he keeps teasing you, and you’re in tears and he doesn’t realize how bad you needed it
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
