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morgana-ren · 9 months

Note

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

#morgana and friends #astarion #astarion spoilers #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #heh that last one messed yall up huh #heres a fix for it #SUPER sappy FYI #SO ENJOY!#I don't usually write sap (or angst) so I am bad at this #sorry its bad fellas #I GENUINELY could not think of a way for him to fix him becoming her cazador so uh #have a retconn #call this a fast fixer upper lmao

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fredwkong · 5 months

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Taking a Trip

Arne was more than excited to visit Vancouver for the first time. Everyone said that he could have easily seen beautiful mountains on a trip to Switzerland, but Arne wanted something a little bit extra inspiring on a continent he had never seen before. His life at home had become a little monotonous at his corporate job, and the dating pool was as unpromising as ever for a shy, reclusive man in his mid-20s.

With his frugal nature, Arne balked at the hotel prices in the city, and quickly found himself looking at short-term rental sites. The prices were, if possible, even worse. Finally, he followed a link to a retro-looking gay room-sharing website and saw an ad that read: “Shared room, accessible, perfect for tourists.” The price was well within Arne’s range, and it was within walking distance of transit. He booked it without a second thought.

It was only as the taxi drove away after dropping Arne and his suitcase on the curb that he had second thoughts. He followed the instructions the owner, Julian, had sent him and went around the small house to the back, where there was an external door to the basement. All around the door were skateboards, leaning on the concrete foundation, each with a unique design painted on its underside. As he knocked, Arne felt a tremor up his spine, like an anticipation of danger.

Before he could react in any way, he heard heavy feet and voices behind the door. With a clunk of the latch, the door swung open to reveal a young man with dark, curly hair and a thin moustache with no shirt on his tanned, muscular body. “What’s up, bro? You must be Arne,” he said in a deep, slow voice, holding out a big hand that engulfed Arne’s, even though they were the same size. “I’m Julian, your host.”

Arne opened his mouth to reply, but he lost his train of thought as an eye-watering stench poured off Julian’s bare, hairy muscles. He almost seemed to steam in the cold air. The smell was a mix of stale sweat, cooking spices, musky body odour, and, over all of it, the stench of weed.

After a moment, as Arne struggled to control the cough that threatened to burst out of him, Julian seemed to realise he was bare from the hips up. “Oh, sorry, bro,” he said, lazily backing away into the basement apartment. “I was, uh, busy.” He chuckled and moved away, grabbing a stained green shirt from an equally stained couch.

Reluctantly, Arne followed Julian through the doorway, and immediately realised that it was not only Julian who stank. The smell permeated the whole space, making Arne lightheaded. He wished that he had thought to bring air freshener in his luggage.

The basement suite was small, with low ceilings. Behind the couch was a counter to delineate the tiled kitchen, while in front of the couch was a low, beat-up table with a bong and other smoking paraphernalia scattered across it. To the side, a couple of doors led to what Arne hoped were the bedrooms and bathroom.

One door banged open, and another guy stumbled out into the living room. With a beanie over his dishevelled hair and his shirt on inside out, it was clear that he had dressed hurriedly. He looked over Arne with bloodshot eyes, his movements clumsy as he pulled on a thin jacket. “Hey man,” he grunted. As the man waved, another scent washed over Arne. This time, the skunk-smell was tempered with dried cum and a tangy, earthy flavour that hit the back of his throat.

“We lost track of time. Omar was just leaving.” At Julian’s gesture, Omar brushed past Arne and out the door. Arne turned to see him grab one of the skateboards leaning against the concrete stairs before the door shut behind him.

Arne was still shaking his head in an attempt to clear out Omar’s stench when Julian grabbed his bag. “In here, dude.”

Julian led Arne back through the door Omar had burst through into a room with two twin beds, exactly as small as Arne had feared. “Obvi, I won’t have guys over while you’re here, bro,” Julian said, handing Arne a spare key. “But if you like, we can always push the beds together for extra sleeping space.” He raised a lascivious eyebrow at Arne.

Blushing furiously, Arne made several aborted gestures. “Uh, no, no, no thank you,” he muttered, his accent thickening.

“Your loss, bro.” Julian raised both his arms to show his hairy armpits, posing as his musk assaulted Arne’s nostrils. “Just tell me if you change your mind, right? If you need me, I’ll prob-ly either be here smoking and painting, or over at the skate park, smoking and skating.”

Chuckling dumbly, Julian left the room. Moments later, while he sat on his bed and trying to work up the courage to leave, Arne’s nose was tickled by a waft of thick, numbing pot smoke.

It was just a few days, Arne reasoned. He’d be out all day anyway. He probably wouldn’t even see Julian that much, even if they did sleep in the same room. Plus, with a quick check of his bank balance, Arne knew that any alternative sleeping arrangements would be utterly impossible.

Arne forced himself to stay out late that night, exploring Davie Street, but his jet-lagged brain forced him back to the basement suite by midnight. Disheartened at the sight of a light on in the tiny ground-level window, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Julian was painting a skateboard in the living room, a half-smoked blunt in one hand. Not even the acrid smell of the paints and lacquer could overpower the stench of weed and musk in the tiny space. “Evenin’, bro,” Julian slurred as Arne blinked his eyes and tried to adjust to the thick, musky atmosphere. “Hey, come sit with me.”

“I have to go to sleep,” Arne protested, even as he walked to the spare seat on the couch and lowered himself into it. He remembered that he had resolved earlier not to touch the couch, since it was covered in who knew what kind of stains, but it was already done.

“No worries, this’ll help you sleep, bro,” Julian said, waving away Arne’s excuse with his blunt and then taking a deep pull off of it. He blew a stream of smoke into Arne’s face.

Arne spluttered. “Wh-what the hell!” He’d smoked a few times, but he was hardly a stoner. He could already feel a contact high working its way through his system, loosening his muscles and overwhelming him with sleepiness. For some reason, it also left his body feeling strangely tight.

“What design should I put on this board?” As he spoke, Julian leaned back on the couch and laid his arm across the back. Through the haze in his mind, Arne realised Julian was shirtless again, with musky sweat dripping down his sides from the bushes in his armpits.

Julian was still talking, something about dragons and complementary colours, and Arne just nodded along, too fixated on Julian’s body to care. He had never liked smelly guys, but something about Julian had Arne’s cock flooding his boxers with precum.

As Julian took another hit off his blunt, Arne realised that he could smell the salty tang of his precum in the air. Looking down, he could see a slick, spreading stain on his jeans. How long had he been sitting here? He thought that he should be embarrassed, but working up shame seemed like so much effort. He was so relaxed, sitting here on the couch, breathing in Julian’s sexy musk and clouds of pot smoke.

The rest of the night was a blur. Arne was so tired. He vaguely remembered Julian’s face looming over his, dripping sweat into Arne’s mouth. At some point, Arne thought he must have taken his shirt off because he got so warm and sweaty sitting on the couch. Finally, they had moved to the bedroom, where Julian had kept talking while Arne tried to calm his dripping cock enough to fall asleep.

Arne woke up slowly the next morning, cocooned in the scent of musk and weed. He started to roll over, but realised suddenly that there was a pair of sweaty arms around his chest. One of Julian’s fingers brushed across Arne’s bare nipple, and he moaned uncontrollably as a spark of pleasure shot to his slick, precum-smelling crotch.

His face burning with embarrassment, Arne carefully extricated himself from Julian’s bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He wondered why his body felt strange and top-heavy until he switched on the light. In the mirror, he saw a pair of massive pecs on top of his slender torso, the big nipples erect and pink.

Despite his horror, Arne still found himself feeling oddly horny. Looking further down, he saw an unfamiliar, half-hard cock between his bare legs—he had slept naked!—still leaking thick, clear precum that gathered in big drops before falling to the floor.

There was something seriously wrong with this apartment, and with Julian. Arne struggled to think, but the scent of his precum was quickly filling the little bathroom, making his head foggy. He had to…He had to…He had to touch his fat man tits.

Arne watched in the mirror as he popped his sweaty pecs, and then grabbed them with one hand. Not only were they real, they bounced hypnotically as he kneaded at the muscle. A finger brushed over his pert nipple, and Arne moaned again. His voice sounded strange. A little bit too deep, and slower than he was used to.

Would he feel even better if he pinched his nipple? As Arne went to grab his opposite nip, he struggled to remember what he had been thinking about. It had been something way more important than his bouncing pecs…

The thoughts dissolved as Arne started to tug on his sensitive nipple. He moaned loudly, his legs buckling as jolts of pleasure engulfed his body. The trickle of precum from his cock grew into a continuous stream as he knelt on the bathroom floor, mindlessly tugging on his pecs.

Arne barely noticed the bathroom door open until a pair of strong arms grabbed him under his shoulders and started to haul him to his feet. “No cumming yet, bro,” said Julian’s relaxed drawl next to his ear. “You’re not nearly done yet.”

By the time Julian handed Arne a plate of poptarts, Arne’s horniness had mostly faded back to a low hum, which spiked at the scent of Julian’s unwashed armpits. Arne wondered if he should feel embarrassed to be sat, naked, on Julian’s couch, his insistent cock still slowly leaking tangy precum onto the seat.

“Yesterday was a lot for you, huh bro?” Julian said through a mouthful of poptart. “I bet you just wanna stay here and hang out with me all day.”

Arne frowned. He was supposed to go to the suspension bridge today…No, that sounded like a lot of work. He’d much rather hang out with Julian. He had no idea why he’d thought Julian was gross or uncool. His smell was utterly intoxicating.

“What were you planning to do today?” Arne asked, after he’d eaten a few bites.

Julian shrugged, shedding runnels of sweat from his pits. “I was gonna go to the skate park and hang with some bros, but you need me more, bro.”

“What do you mean?” Arne was independent! He didn’t need Julian around! But it did feel nice to have someone hot and manly like Julian looking out for him, he realised.

“You can’t be left alone right now, bro.” Julian had finished his breakfast, and started to set up the bong on the coffee table. “So we’re gonna hang out, I’m gonna smoke, and then you’re gonna help me with some boards.”

Before long, Arne was floating comfortably, a little stoned from how much smoke billowed out of Julian’s sexy mouth. Julian got to work painting a skateboard, but after a few minutes he turned to look at Arne, a strange smile on his face.

“Come over and help me, bro.”

When Arne slid down to the floor next to Julian, his host raised one tanned, muscular arm. “I’m so sweaty, bro,” Julian said. Arne agreed, watching a rivulet of sweat emerge from the dark hair in Julian’s armpit, adding to the heady musk in the room. “If you could just, like, lick it up for me, I’ll be able to focus so much better.”

Arne frowned. That didn’t seem like it would help at all. But before he could protest, he felt a strong hand on the back of his head, and Julian was pushing him into his musky armpit.

The smell overpowered any of his protests. Julian’s musk was baked into his skin, and taking it straight from the source was far more intense than smelling him at range. The smell of sweat filled Arne’s mind, and he started to lick and suck at Julian’s armpit hair without realising it. The rank taste filled his mouth and trickled down his throat, and Arne felt his leaky cock start to flow again. He couldn’t imagine anything hotter than this. As Julian kept painting, he moaned whenever Arne’s tongue pushed against an especially sensitive spot.

As he laved his tongue over Julian’s tight belly button a while later—time didn’t really matter—Arne started to feel itchy all over his body. As he ran a hand over his arms, he felt the resistance of thick hair. All over his body, Arne felt long hair growing. Before long, his precum didn’t even fall onto the skin of his hairy thighs, it just got lost in the hair.

With his new fur, Arne found himself sweating at least as much as Julian in the heat of the little room. When Julian took a break from painting to grab some lunch, Arne noticed a new smell filling the air. He was emitting his own flavour of musk now, like Julian’s, but with a bit more of a richness to it from the precum dripping between his legs. He couldn’t help but give his armpits a sniff, licking up what he could reach of his own taste.

Julian returned and grinned at Arne. “Damn, bro, you’re almost ready.”

“What?” Arne looked up at Julian. It felt like he was seeing through a thick haze. It was so hard to think. He had to get outside and get some fresh air. But where were his clothes?

Julian held out a brownie for Arne. “Here, bro, this’ll help that brain of yours along. It’s my special blend.” He winked a dark eye, and Arne obediently took a bite of the brownie from Julian’s hand.

While Julian got back to his painting, Arne felt himself feeling slowly, but insistently, hornier. From licking up the sweat at the top of Julian’s back, he moved lower and lower, until he was licking at the very top of Julian’s musky asscrack. His cock felt iron-hard and huge against his thigh, a continuous stream of precum trickling into his sweaty leg hair.

Julian groaned. “Oh, bro, if you’re gonna get in there, let’s do it for real.” Putting the freshly finished board aside, Julian rose to his feet and pulled Arne up as well.

Arne felt so tall. The floor was so far away. All he could see was his hairy belly and thick, drippy cock as he followed Julian through the door to the bedroom. Then, all he could see was Julian, lying on his back with his legs hooked over Arne’s hairy shoulders. At last, Arne was back in a place that made sense, looking into Julian’s asscrack, licking up the musky sweat on his firm cheeks.

As his tongue dove into Julian’s hole, Arne remembered the first time they had skateboarded together. With his natural musk, it was hard for Arne to make friends with other skaters, but Julian had skated right up to him and invited him back to his place.

As he lined his cock up with Julian and rubbed his copious precum over the shaft, Arne remembered growing up in Vancouver. Dealing weed had been fun before legalisation, but now his job at the dispensary was pretty easy. Arne spent most of his time perfecting his skating tricks or smoking up with Julian or their other musky skater friends.

As he thrust against Julian’s prostate and felt the smaller man begin to tighten around him and cum, Arne remembered how much he loved his buddies. He was the big guy of the group, with his big, hairy muscles and fat, leaky cock. He wasn’t much of a thinker, but he’d do anything for Julian and his bros.

With that thought, Arne felt his balls tighten against him as he unloaded a huge, creamy load in Julian’s ass. As he shuddered, collapsing on top of his bro, there was a knock at the door.

“Fuuuuuck, that’s my next guest,” Julian groaned, whining a little as Arne pulled out. In addition to selling custom skateboards, Julian made extra cash by renting part of his room to gay tourists. Arne loved Julian’s musky, pot-smelling basement, so he thought that sharing the space a bit more was a great idea.

Julian pulled a pair of relatively clean sweatpants up his legs and wiped the worst of his cum off his chest with one of the shirts on the floor. “Just grab some clothes, bro,” he said over his shoulder as he shut the door behind himself.

As he pulled on his XL sweatpants and grabbed his hoodie, Arne listened to Julian introducing himself to this new guy. “What’s up, bro? You must be Yadu. I’m Julian, your host.” The spiel sounded strangely familiar. Careful to leave the hoodie unzipped so he wouldn’t stimulate his oversensitive nipples, and careless of Julian's cum slowly drying in his chest hair, Arne crammed a beanie over his hair and stepped into the living room.

A shrimpy African guy was looking in horror at the room, a small suitcase hanging from his weedy arm. Arne waved at him, and the guy looked like he was about to gag as a wave of Arne’s thick, precummy musk washed over him.

“Sorry, bro, we lost track of time.” Julian was pulling on a shirt in the kitchen. “Arne was just leaving.”

Nodding to Julian, Arne brushed past Yadu and headed out the door, grabbing his skateboard from where it was leaning against the wall. He had to go meet up with Omar at the skate park anyway.

This story is a belated holiday gift for @rakurairagnarok! Here's to a very sexy, transformative new year, my friend ;)

#male transformation #mental change #muscle tf #male tf #reality change #dumber tf #musk tf #stoner tf #all fwkong

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 months

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This is the house from HGTVs "The Barbie Dreamhouse Challenge," but as soon as the show wrapped they changed it. “The investors thought it would have higher resale value being a modern, beautiful, newly renovated home,” said the real estate agent, “They obviously weren’t going for the serious Barbie fans.” I'm a Barbie collector and there are lots of us. Someone would've bought it. Here are the befores and afters.

This is what it looks like now, and priced at $2,049,995 it just sold for $1.845M. I am so disappointed. Built in 1997, the 5bd, 5ba home is located in Canyon Country, California. HGTV looked at about 50 houses and finally bought this one for $1.750M. Each designer star team did a room and the team of Mika and Brian Kleinschmidt of “100 Day Dream Home” won. When I was looking for before pics, a lot of the sites were no longer available- they didn't want us Barbie people to see the befores, I bet.

The family room before. I don't really care for the retro look.

Family room after. But, I don't like this white, either.

In the living room, the major features that the designers installed remain, like the two-story fireplace and the updated circular staircase. Everything else was changed to neutral gray, black & white.

The dining room. Man, they must've used an awful lot of white paint to cover up the deep colors.

The ’50s kitchen was stripped of the pastels and replaced with neutrals, but the retro Big Chill appliances—refrigerator, oven, dishwasher, stove, even the hood—are still in place, b/c they're very expensive. And, the pop-up appliance lifts on the island are still in place, too.

Ken's den wasn't changed much b/c it was cool, but they did remove the disco floor. Allison Victoria & Ty Pennington dancing on the disco floor.

Looks like they turned the walk-in closet/dressing room into an office.

It already had an office, so now it has two. Wow, they left the striped ceiling intact.

The new dull bedroom.

And, home gym.

The realtor wanted to buy the big brush on the wall, but was told that all the props had to go back to Mattel Toys.

And, finally, the pool. Mika and Brian Kleinschmidt won for their design on the pool and yard. Well, I see they kept the pink spiral stairs, yellow lifesaver and umbrella.

The dog elevator went back to Mattel, too.

https://www.realtor.com/news/trends/exclusive-the-barbie-dreamhouse-is-now-for-sale-but-prepare-to-be-shocked-by-its-whole-new-look/

#HGTV barbie dreamhouse challenge #barbie house #houses #house tours #before & after house #home tour

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gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

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The Horror and the Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader]

It's time for the wedding - and the wedding night. Emperor is going to make sure you will bear his offsprings by the end of the night. Tags and TW: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, loss of virginity, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator AO3

You weren’t saved from the humiliation of a public wedding.

You weren’t saved the torture of picking the flowers as you were choosing the attire to your own funeral – and you weren’t saved your innocence by allowing yourself to ignore all the handmaidens and their horrible, disgusting picture books about penetration, pools of blood and hell that is saved between the legs of a man.

“My condolences, dear princess. For your parents. And congratulations on your wedding. Our deepest hopes go to your coronation, Empress.” “From the king of South, we send our sheerest condolences. And congratulations on the wedding.” “May your parents rest in peace. And glory to the Emperor.” “Grief surely suits you, Dear Empress. As well as the crown.”

You think you might puke right in your royal garments, looking at all of the royal visitors.

King Price of Southern Kingdom, with all of his knights – you do not know if you can find solace in the girl clinging to the hand of his masked knight, the stench of death filling you with calmness that you don’t know how to deal with. The girl is terrified, just like you – if you may, you’re probably the same age, that years of servitude grazing in the hands that are covered by the sheerest amounts of gloves.

The lady – you don’t know her name, and you doubt that any woman in this hall is even allowed to have one other than her husband’s – is looking at you with understanding. You think you might actually die.

— Lady Ryley?

She smiles, and before you can go to her – hold her hands, ask her to disappear with you, maybe run away somewhere, you don’t even know where – the masked knight already drags her away, a firm hand on her shoulder. You’re alone, the weight of the royal robe is pinning you to the floor.

You are dressed in black as the only form of rebellion – guests must assume you’re still mourning your parents, the grief in their eyes is mixed with congratulations on the Empire finally getting prospects of offspring – you hope you’d tore your womb from your body before König could lay his hands on you. Guests may assume that the wedding is a tab bit strange, maybe somewhat unusual for the emperor to marry someone of your status – tiny kingdom, no worthwhile resources, and almost zero prospects for trade. Maybe, you were the only treasure this kingdom ever had to sell so eagerly.

König holds your hands because you know that you would try to run the second he is letting you go. You know he knows this, too. Guests may assume that he is being protective of his young wife – assassins aren’t unheard of in these places, after all, you were the empress now. The much smarter guests knew what kind of looks you gave him – perhaps, you had the best options at killing the notorious emperor right after he robbed you of the last remains of your dignity.

You smile and wave like a damned pampered pigeon, pretty and useless, all dressed up in bows and black pearls, dark stones illuminating the depths of your despair – only the monster you had for a husband would even consider ordering a mourning dress this beautiful. You’re almost ashamed of wanting to paint it red – you almost feel bad while holding the butter knife and thinking about plunging it into your chest, ripping away all the delicate laces and ornaments that cut through your skin each time you breathe a bit too freely.

— You look divine in this dress, meine Liebe.

He smiles, you know he is – he didn’t forget about his damn hood even on his own wedding, but he holds you dearly, but he smiles with his eyes, an eerie sense of happiness that makes every guest shake in their seats. The Ruler of the Empire doesn’t smile. Not at his wife, who looks like she would rather kill herself, for sure – but he smiles as you say your wows, knowing full well you are not going to fulfill them, but he laughs when the priest stutters once you refused to say you do the first time – König has to squeeze your hands, reminding you of your place. Even your stubbornness has a limit, apparently.

His lips are dry and chastity.

König knows he can’t kiss you like he wants to – too many guests, too many pricks, thinking they have a look on his wife. If it weren’t for the admirers and desperate rulers of foreign lands, trying to force their songs and daughters to marry him out of a pathetic attempt at saving their countries, he wouldn’t even think about a public wedding. If it weren’t for the annoyance of constantly swatting the offers away, he would never allow the world to see you. Not how beautiful you look, not how pretty your eyes are, glistening with tears, not how much he just wanted to smother you with affection like there isn’t anyone around.

Hells, if he knew so many people would accept the short notice for an invitation, he would invade their kingdoms while they were away at his wedding.

König holds your face in his hands, the contrast between soft skin and his gloves is making you shiver – he pushes his hood up, even just for a little bit, and the only thing that is ever revealed to the audience is the scars on his chin and sudden dryness of his lips. He thought he overcame his childish anxiety when he was still a tiny bird stuck in his adolescence – but he looks at you, his pretty little princess, and his hands are shaking from the anticipation of a kiss.

The guests will assume you’re crying because you love him so, so much.

The Emperor knows better, kissing the tears from your lips like it was the sweetest treat around.

*** You thought you were smart.

You really did.

Such a slick motion, such an easy task – the girl coming with Knight Riley, the weak one, with trembling hands and face that spoke of innocence of lambs and with calloused hands of a fellow worker, took your hand as you were leaving. The veil of laughs and jokes about finally conceiving a worthy heir for the empire made you shiver from horror – and the girl swatted you to her side, a single sleight of hand putting…something in your palms.

Some sort of plant – dried, smelling of something sweet and edible, flowers that would feel crispy on your tongue. She smiles softly, her hands are gentle on yours – she whispers in your ear before your respective monsters can catch you and throw you in their layers again.

She said, it was mercy.

She said, it would make -it- feel quick and easy.

You hoped, it was a poison.

It had to be, you wouldn’t accept anything else – the desire to die and fulfill the destiny of a loyal servant, the whispers of the god of dignified death – you may not see the sweetness of the afterlife with your Princess, but killing oneself to save their bodies from being violated is a worthy fate for any. You pushed the plant in your mouth as swiftly as possible, chewing on the dried grass and crispy flowers, hoping the effect would be immediate.

You’re bathed and oiled like a pig for devour, short for the apple stuffed in your mouth – instead, you have forced a mouthful of wine, goblets after goblets. To ease the tension of the first night, the servants said, smiling understandably. You feel warm, you feel dizzy, you feel hellishly feverish, and it couldn’t be just from the alcohol – you close your eyes and hope that the plant took its way finally, releasing you from the shell of the mortal life. You’re dressed up in pretty garments, skimpy as something that the empress should never wear – you feel like a cheap whore when your skin is glossy with oils and decorated with flowers.

Just before you started chewing on them too, your husband finally arrived.

You hoped you’d be dead before ever seeing him naked again – but you’re forced to watch his muscles tense as the only thing saving his lack of dignity is the smallest ever piece of undergarments. It doesn’t help in hiding his arousal, the monstrosity between his legs. You knew you would have to die before he is ever putting anything in you – but you see the outline of his manhood, poking from the side of a simple cloth, and somehow, you feel hotter than before.

You blame it on the wine, you blame it on the poison you took. The warmness is spreading in your tummy to your lower areas, forcing its way to moisture your garments, a wet spot, embarrassingly big for an Empress, is slowly spreading between your oiled, scented legs. You’re nothing but a feast for him, a pretty little snack – you knew how much he liked to eat, after all. What great talent he had in forcing your legs apart and showing his head between them, that sinful tongue of his speaking of prayers and soft little blasphemies in the sweetness of your maidenhood.

— You’re burning, little princess.

You hoped it’s the poison working.

For a second, he placed his hand on your forehead and caressed it softly, accessing your temperature. For a second, the cold of his hands made you nuzzle into his palm like a cat that was fed nothing but the finest pieces of meat by the hand that was ready to skin it for its skin. For a second, you hoped that his embrace alone would be enough to kill you.

If you die, which you must do, you wish it would be with his hands holding you softly.

— A virgin fewer? I thought you’d know what we’re going to do by now, little prin…

— Don’t stop be from dying.

You let go of those words before you could claim your silence.

König’s hands are grasping you immediately, a finger lays in your mouth, making you gag – you open your lips from instinct, no matter how much you want to stop him from ever entering your mouth. He is weirdly smooth with you, the other hand going to grab your waist and press you on the bed – like you ever had a chance to stand against him and run away. Like he didn’t have a row of guards just outside the door.

— Dying? Scheisse, dumme What did you do?

He quickly grasped your tongue, the traces of the flower still lingered on your teeth, on the further corners of your mouth – you didn’t know if you had to spit it out or eat it whole, and you didn’t want to guess in the matters of death and loss of dignity. You gag on his fingers as he laughs – an unusual sound. First, the smiles and happiness in his voice, the rings and chains he put you in, and now laugh? Perhaps you died already, and this is your eternal damnation.

— Let go of me! You have no…

— Were you still so scared, Liebling?

— I wasn’t…what do you mean, Your Highness?

The title is good, the title puts some distance between you and him. Only imaginary – he is still as close as possible, hands on your body, wiping the traces of the flowers on the silk sheets and holding you in his embrace again, as tight as he possibly can. You feel ill, you feel hot, every time he puts his hands on you, you can feel your core throbbing, the poison making you dizzy and dumb.

You almost feel like begging him to touch you again – and again, and again. König, for one, can’t wait to watch.

— I wonder where you got it. Such a clever Katzen, ja? Eating aphrodisiacs before her wedding night, like I would just mount you like an animal without preparing my wife?

He laughs and laughs, hand in your hair, petting you gently like you truly were a cat. You’re dumbfounded, the fewer makes everything make less and less sense. You close your eyes, you open your eyes – you feel him on you. Looking, watching, observing, you want him to stop, and you want him to rip away those stupid garments and touch you, as he did in that dim hallway, to push his masterful, sinful tongue down your folds and treat you like a…

You whimper as you fell on the sheets, truly embracing the cat in-heat stance you were for the last few minutes. You roll on the sheets, smooth silk makes your core cool just a bit, the pressure only building with each time you try to hump the sheets, not caring anymore if you were behaving like an animal.

Perhaps, the Knight’s maiden really wanted to make everything easier for you – just in her own way.

— Wh…what have you done to me?

He is bracing his hands between your legs, lingering touches on the wetness of your garments, making you both shiver in anticipation. He is forcing his tongue on you, the immediate pressure making you meow from the sensation. You hate it, you hate it, you have to hate it because if you don’t, then what the hell are you even doing. It’s too much and too little, it does nothing to relief the warmth between your legs, only making you wetter with each stroke of his wide, warm tongue. — I haven’t done anything, little princess. You just want me.

— I would never want you.

— I can stop.

You snap your legs around his neck before he can withdraw his face.

König is laughing, the sheer adorableness of your expression making him want you even more. You look perfect, so lost in desire for him – gods, he just wanted to devour you, to strip you of all you worth and make you his just as much as he is yours. But simply pleasing you with his tongue won’t ever be enough for this night – he had waited for so long, too long, disgustingly long, he had to have you in every way possible. If he won’t consummate the marriage today, he might as well just die.

Other night, he will make you beg – plead for him to give you his cock, push the throbbing member in your trembling folds, snap the pleasure from your hands and force you to accept being his wife. The other night, he could wait and tease you for as long as possible. The other night…

He doesn’t have the patience for this night – he can’t even kiss you now, the mere feeling of your trembling lips would snap him beyond repair. It’s unfair to you, little princess, his desire is too much for someone like you to take – alas, he has to have you. Alas, he will have you, one way or the other, even if he’d have to push your pretty head into the pillows and force his manhood between your folds.

But you plead for him, the desire in your eyes, mixed with fear and anticipation, is enough for him to laugh again, his hand squeezing your chest. You look divine, absolutely – you would look even better when properly bred, tits full of milk, and belly swollen with his little soldiers. Emperor never thought of getting an offspring, always knew his fate was to fall into obscurity with the country he created, but you have wide hips, a soft belly, and warm hands – all the requirements of a mother. But you have the submissiveness of a pet and the wit of a wife.

But he can’t wait to push his seed into you – with a groan, before you could even lay your eyes on his cock, he is already forcing it in, ravaging all the resistance you once had.

The plant made you warm, aroused, and wet enough to be dripping when he first pushed his cockhead between your glistening folds. You cry, the feeling of being intruded, ravaged, bot entirely painful, but now very pleasant either, is nothing you were expecting of the first night with your husband. You were expecting screaming, pools of blood, half of your organs falling out from the newly made hole between your legs.

You just feel…intruded. The knot in your stomach is as tight as ever, even as König gives you a few minutes to adjust, the outline of his manhood throbbing in your tummy. You don’t even want to look at him, and he allows you to drift into a trance, the aphrodisiac you took doing all the job of preparation for him.

He is feeling you, raw and sensitive, your maidenhood is dripping down your thighs and his cock as he wasn’t exactly gentle – he will be the next night, and the night after, and after, he will promise to take care of you, little princess, but this night is about taking what belongs to him – and he will never allow you to keep your dignity when you can simply be his dumb, adorable wife.

— You’re so…heavens, princess, you’re strangling me.

He laughs, struggling to push in and out, his hand finding its place on your folds, playing and tugging with your swollen little clit. The bud is wet, no matter the pain you’re experiencing – the drug won’t allow you to stop wanting it, wanting him, König knows it’s not genuine, he has to work to make you this aroused, but for now, it will work. He doesn’t want you to feel pain – and he will make sure you’re able to take him.

— Too much, it’s…stop, wait, I am…

— You can take it, Schatzi.

— I can’t! — You will.

You whimper under him, you cry under him, he only continues to move, tearing your loyalty to your kingdom with each harsh thrust. You came to this room wanting to die, but now you feel your hands wrapping around his neck, your hips buckling to meet his, to bring the overcoming pleasure like König isn’t the one to tear you apart – you feel raw, you feel tainted, the pleasure in your folds is nothing what you ever had before.

You’re betraying yourself with each moan and each whimper – you find yourself begging for him, the tears of yours is not just from pain anymore. He kisses you, rough lips on your mouth, making sure you’re as prepared for him as he is, you want for him to stop, but you plead with him to continue.

— Stop already…I…

— I only came twice, little princess. And you – trice. Doesn’t feel fair, ja? — ‘s not, I can’t take it anymore…

— I will breed you, Schatzen. Until you’re swollen with my sons. — It w…won’t be royal children…

— Ach, my blood is enough to make a dog royal. — But…

— I will breed you, little princess. You can stop pretending you don’t want it.

You’re not even sure at what orgasm you are already – you feel like he came already, the wetness in your cunt should be evident of his already breeding you quite a few times, but the time is a blur when every time you cum, your vision blurs and your brain becomes foggier and foggier.

König knows you will look perfect, all thoughtless and swollen with his children – not now, maybe, with a few elixirs to enhance your ability to bear children, but he can’t wait till you’re done. You might not like it at first, princesses do tend to be just a bit dumb when it comes to their duties, but there is something in your eyes that is telling him you’re going to bring him sons just like a good girl you are. Just like he expects you to do, your pretty tummy all swollen, and your body is barely handling the passion of his lovemaking. Gods, he knew you would be worth it. Even if, to his knowledge, you’re not a princess at all.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig cod #male yandere #yandere male

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piratesfromspace · 4 months

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Just Like Old Times PART 2 (Price x Reader + poly141)

Pairing: Reader x Price + Reader x 141 Rated: Explicit Word count: 4.3k Summary: Some flirting, hot springs, a cosy cottage in the snow, and lots of sex Note: This is the part 2 I promise with lots of smut, enjoy!

Content: ex-military!fem!reader, mention of food & alcohol, smoking, praise kink, heavy smut, fivesome, oral, PiV, light ass play, overstimulation, dom/sub vibes, aftercare, fluff

MASTERLIST // PART 1

It doesn’t happen this very night, but the day after.

The men are a little bit more rested after their long trek out in the open, and they are all very enthusiastic when you suggest a short hike to reach the hot springs hidden in a small valley just east of your cottage. It’s too remote from the touristy locations for random people to show up there, or for amateur hikers to stumble upon by accident. You’ll be alone and safe. And warm - most importantly. And it’s also a convenient opportunity to see them half naked.

The hot springs are tucked against the side of a small glade, where the snow melts to reveal rocky arrangements forming shallow pools. Steam hovers above the clear water, signaling its warmth. The afternoon is sunny enough to make the snow gleam, painting a decor so pretty even the rugged men around you remark on it.

“Gosh lass, you didn’t lie when you told us about this place” Soap’s voice shakes you out of your contemplation.

“Hope you don’t mind but I did not bring a bathing suit for our snow trip” Gaz is already stripping down, ready to dive into the steaming water. You take a beat too long to respond, mouth open at the vision of Gaz’s very naked and very ripped chest, muscles of his back rippling as he’s trying to remove his boots as quickly as he can.

“Don’t you worry, she’s seen a lot worse back in the days”. It’s Price who comes to your rescue, a mischievous glint in his deep blue eyes fixed on your face. Warmth pricks at your cheeks - and it’s not because of the springs. It’s true though, you’ve seen quite a lot of men in all states of undress during your previous life. Missions after missions after training sessions after stays in the infirmary, you all tend to lose any sense of modesty. A body is a body after all. Just that. You repeat yourself as you undress as well - still, you intend on keeping the two-piece bathing suit you put on under your winter gear before leaving. You also try to keep your eyes down as the men strip and sink in one of the natural pools with satisfied grunts bordering on moans. Their sinful sounds don’t help with the warmth already creeping up your face.

The steam covering the surface and the warping of the water does a good enough job at hiding the most intimate parts of their bodies. It’s not enough to hide how massive their bodies are though. You catch the glimpse of reddish or silvery scars on a muscular back or on a corded forearm. Dark hairs are dusted on the large pectorals of Price and Soap, while Gaz and Ghost are more smooth.

Ghost has kept his usual facemask, even though he traded the skull mask for a printed balaclava, with a wider opening, framing doe-like brown eyes looking intently at you under blond lashes. He’s the biggest of them all - and it’s saying something considering Price and the two younger soldiers are far from small men - the level of the water had visibly raised when he lowered himself into the shallow pool. He beacons you with a nod of his head, and you finally muster enough courage to remove the last of your garment - except for your bathing suit - and join them in the water. They’re nice enough to not make any comment on your choice of covering yourself while they are shameless in their nudity.

The enveloping warmth of the spring is a blessing for your body, immediately soothing the goose bumps you got from the cold. You let yourself relax until the little waves are lapping at your nape, free of the hair you carefully tied up earlier. Your whole body goes slack as you take deep breaths, and close your eyes, sun rays lazily kissing the skin of your face. On your right, Price is doing the same, and when you readjust your posture, your arm brushes against his, and then your thigh touches his leg. You don’t move away though, you both stay like that for a moment, the joyful chatting of Soap and Gaz on the other side of the pool, a surprisingly relaxing background noise. The simple contact with his skin is warming you up from the inside, the memory of the kiss he gave you last night making you unconsciously squirm against him, clenching your thighs together. You’re feeling… hot. And the temperature of the water is not the only thing to blame.

“Stop it, love.” the warning is uttered in a low gravelly voice, that does the exact contrary of what it was intended for. Liquid heat blooms between your legs as Price pairs his remark with a solid hand catching your right knee, immobilizing your whole leg.

“Stop it, or I will be tempted to catch on all the time we missed.” It’s still a warning, but definitely not a threat, his voice goes gentler, almost sad at the last words. Fuck. That’s what did it a decade earlier, what made you cave in to your attraction for this man, the intoxicating mix of confidence - in his skills and authority - and vulnerability - emotions and kindness just bubbling under the surface.

You can’t let this chance slip. Not again. Last night, you stopped at kissing, even though you wanted more, and you’ve been desperately horny since. You catch his hand on your knee, guiding it higher along your thigh, until it reaches the hem of your bathing suit. “What if I don’t mind it?” you whisper back, angling your body to better face him.

You can see the internal fight on Price’s face.

“They will see” he mumbles, looking above your shoulders to the three men chatting just a few feets away.

“I also don’t mind that…” you answer against the side of his head, pushing the words out before you chickens out “... do you?”.

“I did not remember you to be such a menace” he chuckles darkly, before one arm snakes around your waist and lifts you up so you’re fully braced against his side. His other hand dips under the band of your bottom to cup your cunt. Your lips part around a gasp. His skin is somehow even hotter than the water. The hand on your back climbs until it clasps on your nape, bending your head in the crook of his neck, at a not-so-successful attempt at muffling your sounds.

The captain waits for you to settle before he dips the pads of his fingers between your folds, grazing at your entrance where they meet the sirupy evidence of your desire. The tranquil water is not enough to wash away the sticky liquid, and Price takes advantage of it to glide effortlessly up your slit until he finds your aching clit. You stifle another gasp when he starts rubbing it in slow circles.

“Quiet love” He squeezes your neck, trying to remind you of your surroundings - and especially of your audience. You don’t dare look behind you, but you can imagine how you look. For Price’s men, it must look like he has you in a tight hug, which is telling already. But if you start moaning on top of that, it’s not gonna look like a chaste hug for long.

It’s difficult not to though, because the length of you is plastered against his formidable body, your tits pressed on his chest, he has you straddling one of his thighs, and you can feel his hard dick pulsing against your leg. Your teeth bite into your lower lip in an attempt at staying silent, and you would be scared to draw blood if you weren’t too far gone. Price’s fingers keep their pressure on your clit while he keeps you pinned to him with nowhere to go, and you know you’re not gonna last. Not when it feels so good to be in his arms, to feel his warm skin, and underneath it the strong muscles that keep you at his mercy. Not when he remembers exactly how to touch you to make you shiver in pleasure in mere seconds. Not when his most loyal men are probably looking at you from the other side of the pool. The idea that they might actually be, that they might understand what their Captain is doing to you, that they might even get hard at the view - you feel so dirty at admitting it, but it is what really makes you go over the edge.

You come with a silent sob, biting into Price’s shoulder, until he redirects your mouth on his own. He kisses you with a hunger, a desperate thirst, like it pains him to want you this much. You answer with your own passion, careless in your display of affection for him. Low whistles and impressed Damn, captain erupt from the three other men. You part from Price with a chuckle, still not daring to look behind you. Until you feel someone gently tugging at your wrist.

“Don’t keep her all to yourself Captain” Gaz beautiful eyes find yours, checking if you’re okay to follow him. You’re pretty sure he’s the only one to be able to snatch something from Price’s lap without too much trouble. John grumbles something that is lost in your soft laughs as Gaz brings you back with him near Soap and Ghost.

“Now, tell us a story from your time with our Captain, I’m sure you have some funny ones!” he offers, and you comply, not minding the fact Gaz’s hand is still on your wrist, absentmindedly drawing circles in your skin with the tips of his calloused fingers.

❄️

You get back to the cottage just before sunset. The heater is still broken, but it’s a blessing in disguise, corelling you all into the living room, where the nice warmth of the fireplace makes for a mellow atmosphere. Soap has managed to find your stash of scotch, a vice you don’t indulge often in, but you still keep a few bottles at hand, to celebrate happy occasions or cushion hard news. You guess your reunion with Price is worth bringing those bottles out.

The evening feels like one of those too-perfect fuzzy memories, made of laughter, comfort food and enough of the brown liquorous beverage to dull the last of your awkwardness around those newfound friends. Price has procured a cigar, spicy smoke weighing heavy on your senses. Someone has chosen a vinyl from your collection and turned on the old record player. Slow tempo music with suggestive lyrics. Gaz tugs you up from the ground, has you two sway along to the song - he moves his hips with a disconcerting easiness. You don’t really know what you’re doing, but he’s happy enough you follow him. You laugh in the dance, and he gets bolder, holding you closer with each new chorus. It drives you crazy.

Your earlier release at the hand of Price is long forgotten, and your whole body has been on fire since you came back from the hot springs. You can feel how embarrassingly wet you are, every little touch to move you out of the way in the kitchen, to lead you to your seat on the couch, every time they lay a finger on your waist, your arm, or even your face to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Everything they do to you makes you go crazy with want. Of course Price is the bolder of them all, large palms holding your hips while you step on a chair to reach something high in your kitchen, kisses stolen in the corridor, hungry eyes following your every move.

He might be guilty of teasing you to death, but the three others are not that innocent either. And Price is letting them. He’s very clearly allowing them to flirt, watching with a small smile as they make you laugh, as they make you crave their attention. Yes, guilty, they are all guilty. And you’re their very willing victim.

Your glass is still in hand, your eyes are half closed. Ghost and Soap are sitting side by side on your couch, bodies relaxed, eyes on you and Gaz. Simon’s balaclava is bunched up on his nose, still hiding a part of his face, but allowing him to sip on his - yours actually - scotch. He’s watching you dance like you’re the prettiest girl in the club, although his hand is possessively holding Soap’s knee. You noticed they were close, but you did not expect this open display of affection. It means they trust you to some extent. It flatters your ego, makes you balance your hips more boldly.

As the song comes to an end, Gaz has you in a tight embrace with your back against his firm chest, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips so close from your nape, you wish he would kiss you there already. It’s not calculated, more instinct than wit, but you tilt your head ever so slightly to the side, baring your neck to his mouth. It must be instinct from his part also, because he immediately takes the bait and lays a gentle kiss on the side of your neck. You leave out a shaky exhale at the sensation and sink a little more against him. He leaves another kiss, a little lower, going down where your neck meets your shoulder. And another one. It’s not about instinct anymore, it’s deliberate, it’s a clear choice. The gentle warmth of the alcohol, the smoke of the cigar, the tiredness of the afternoon spent in the water - it all makes your body pliant and your mind happily dizzy.

“Let us thank you for the stay, lovie” Kyle murmurs against the shell of your ear, his hands solid on your hips, leaving no doubt as to how they intend to thank you. The shock of his demand forces you to use your brain for a second. You kinda knew this was coming - you wished it too. But it’s one thing to fantasize about it, and another to live up to it. Your eyes fly open to Price, searching for his opinion on this. Not hard to guess he already had his word to say in the situation, but still.

“Don’t look at me. It’s up to you darling.” His voice is thick, thicker than usual. “You can say no. At any time.” he adds, words carefully chosen. The fire in his eyes when you nod your consent matches the fire between your legs.

Price rises from his chair while Kyle stays glued to your back, holding you upright, like an offering to his Captain. John stands in front of you, locks eyes with you and takes a long inhale on his cigar. His hand catches your chin, and he bends toward you until his mouth is a hair away from yours. You willingly part your lips to let him breathe out the smoke in your lungs. You can’t take it all, and the smoke spills out, engulfs your field of view, drowning you in the smell you have learned to recognize as his. Something rich and spicy, heavy and masculine, powerful and his, his, his-

Price takes advantage of the way the smoke makes you even dizzier to kiss you on the lips. A hungry kiss, mirroring the one he gave you when he had you in his lap earlier in the springs. Before you close your eyes to focus on the way his tongue is licking inside your mouth, you vaguely register Ghost getting up and taking the cigar from his captain’s hand to let it drop in the ashtray. You feel his giant presence, can feel him nuzzling at the top of your head, smelling your hair, fingers ghosting over your shoulder and upper arm. It’s becoming overwhelming very quickly to be surrounded by them, and if not for Gaz holding you upright against him, you’re not sure you would still be standing up.

Simon’s fingers find their way down your arm, until he gently takes your hand. His hold is feather-light, leaving you the opportunity to retreat. It’s a stark contrast with the raw strength you know he’s capable of. Price reluctantly stops kissing you, his large palms still holding your jaw from both sides angling your face towards his lieutenant. He wouldn't want for you to miss the show of Simon’s tongue peeking from his rosy lips to give a little lick at the pad of your fingers. Once, then twice. He groans, content with the taste of your skin. A predator confirming he caught the right prey. Without any warming he engulfs two of your fingers in his mouth, and sucks on the digits like he’s trying to get to the marrow of your bones. But instead of sharp teeths, all you get is the strange feeling of warmth and wetness, the powerful swipe of his tongue - he’s the one shoving your hand in his mouth, yet you have the intuition the big bad wolf is just a lost pet looking for a master. You press your fingers on his tongue, and down, until your flesh is flush against his teeth, and you keep pressing. He has no choice but lowering down too, unless he risks hurting you.

The hands of Price and Gaz on your body tighten ever so slightly, when Simon finally puts his knees on the floor. With just two fingers between his lips, you have managed to make the giant kneel at your feet. He’s gazing at you with glassy eyes, the black make-up fading on his skin making his blond lashes pop.

Simon nuzzles against your legs, and despite him being on his knees, his impulse for action is still there. He pushes his face against your crotch, his balaclava is bunching up on his nose and the bump of the fabric is providing some nice friction against your clothed cunt. Definitely not enough to quench your desire, but it’s welcome. It’s visibly an offense to Ghost that you’re still wearing clothes, so while Price is taking your attention with passionate kisses, he removes your pants and panties, until you can feel the air against your tender flesh. You’re already dripping, you can feel it against your inner thigh.

That’s when Soap, who is behind Ghost, a hand under his balaclava, fisted in his hair, pushes his face against your weeping cunt. Simon gives your folds a broad lick, and you let a heavy sigh out on Price’s lips. Ghost is lapping at you without any shame, his wicked tongue goes everywhere, no inch of the delicate skin between your legs is free from his attention. You have to grasp at Price’s shirt to steady you, because you’re squirming from the delicious wet warmth on your cunt. Gaz is still behind you, supporting you upright. His hands have found their way on your ass, he’s playing with the supple flesh, fingers inching between your cheeks.

“Can I touch you here?” he whispers, his breath hot on the shell of your ear, and you nod your consent without second thought. He lets his broad hands wander fully between your ass cheeks, thumbs gently petting at your hole. Each sensation is not entirely new, but layered like this, happening all at the same time - it’s so much, intoxicating in the best sense. Ghost tongue in your cunt is making sinful noises, and you’re drowning in it all, body fully shivering between all of them. You feel a knot tighten in your gut with alarming speed, and you come for the first time of the night, moaning against Price’s neck.

Price sweeps you off wobbly legs, and places you delicately on one of the mattresses. After this first orgasm, the warmth of the fire with the softness of the many blankets makes for a divine sensation.

“All good love? Wanna keep going?” John asks, his blue eyes set on your face, looking for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

“Yes!” you answer with a fervor that makes the men chuckle.

“Wanna taste you too, hen” it’s Soap - he lies between your legs, folds them on your chest, so he can look at your cunt like it’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, before starting to lick, drinking the juices from your previous orgasm. He’s eating you messily but with enthusiasm, spending some time fucking you with his toungue, his thumb pressing on your clit. Your soft moans soon fill the air. It makes him bolder, and he goes even lower, his tongue licking at your puckered hole, not searching to go in, but feasting on every patch of skin he can find between your thighs.

Ghost is kneeling again, this time next to your head. He bends at the waist to kiss your mouth, making you taste yourself on his lips. He’s disciplined in the way he kisses you. After Price’s hunger, it’s a clear contrast. He makes you submit to his rhythm and is not afraid to make you feel the scrape of his teeth on your already swollen lips. He’s precise, sharp, calculated. Unlike you, he can’t be easily overwhelmed, and if you can coax a reaction out of him, it’s only because he lets you.

Soap has you come on his tongue, and you don’t even have the time to let your legs go down before Price hoists them on his shoulders. An undignified little yelp escapes your lips in confusion and surprise that John is quick to sooth.

“Shhh love, I’m here, you’re ok.” his gravelly voice making you so insanely hot that it has you clench on nothing. You’re not empty for long though. He fills you up in one slow inescapable move. It burns, but in a good way, a searing warmth seizing your whole body. The stretch is a lot. It has you clamp up on him, in a vicious reaction circle.

“Fuck, you’re… a… lot.” you whimper, eyes shut to try and focus on relaxing.

“Don’t fight it” you recognize Ghost’s voice. “You’re doing great, bonnie” Soap echoes. “Breathe, gorgeous” Gaz adds.

You open your eyes to see the three men in various states of undress, lounging on the mattresses around you both. Their gaze is fixed on you both, eager for the show you’re offering.

“Look at me, love.” John falls on his forearms, folding you in two. He cradles your face in his big palms, demanding for your full attention - the blue of his eyes is so dark, yet they are shining, like you’re watching a night sky full of stars.

“You’re perfect. Your body is perfect. I know you can take it.” He punctuates his affirmation with a delicious rolling thrust of his hips, that has your lips part around a soft moan.

“So let me make you feel good”

You can’t remember a single time in your life when you felt this good. This level of passion, not only from one person, but from four men. They take turns and team up to make you feel good. There are too many fingers and tongues on your body for you to count - sucking at your tits, leaving bruising kisses on your neck, hitting the most sensitive places inside of you, rubbing at your swollen clit. They discover they love giving a spank or two to your ass to hear you cry out in surprise then laugh and groan when the gentle heat of the blow reaches your cunt. They tie your wrists with a scarf for a minute, so you won’t disturb them in the very important task of finding out which one of them can make you come the fastest.

You love what they do to you, but you also want to please - want them to feel a tenth of the pleasure they offer. You follow the trail of hair on Soap’s belly with your mouth until you reach the tip of his cock. You ride Price until the muscles of your thighs give out. You swallow every drop of Gaz’s cum. You let Ghost come on your chest.

“you’re taking me so well” “look at you, so pretty” “there you go, just like that, perfect" "you’re so good for us"

You bask in their encouragement, let your brain short-circuit with their heady dirty talk, let your body go floaty, your limbs grow sore, let your flesh bruise under ravenous lips, let your skin get covered in sweat and spit and cum and your own wetness. The night is not young anymore when you shatter one last time on Price’s cock. He gently lay down your legs from his shoulders where they were perched. You don’t have any strength left in you to protest when Simon sits between your open legs to lick you clean for a couple minutes, ignoring your soft whines of overstimulation. It’s Gaz who comforts you, letting you know how good you’ve been, that you need to let them clean you up. He gently pets your hair while Simon and Johnny return with a damp clean cloth and try their best at cleaning your skin, before cleaning themselves.

They help you into a warm hoodie - it’s so oversized it obviously belongs to one of them. They feed you pieces of dried fruit, tilt a cup of water to your lips, cuddle with you in front of the fireplace. The crackling of the fire is the background to their gentle chats and laughs, and the occasional muffled moans when Ghost keeps his lips on Soap’s neck. The view is sinful - those two men, built like Greek gods, half-naked, kissing each other - it would be enough to re-ignite your desire if you weren’t feeling so sore. And yet there’s something more than lust between them, something tender you guess they don’t show often.

You eventually drift to sleep against Price, his body solid and warm by your side. Just like old times, you think just before he gently kisses your forehead - and you fall asleep understanding that maybe love has no fixed timeline.

#cod fanfiction #price x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #captain price x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #poly 141 #poly tf141 #polyamory #reader x price x ghost x soap x gaz

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hellsburners · 10 months

Text

pain and suffering

summary: to which criminals run from the shadows, and the shadows run home to you. pairing: frank castle x male reader x matt murdock word count: 4k warnings: 18+ warning, unprotected s3x, dom!mattfrank, bottom!reader, double pen3tration, blowj0bs, mentions of violence a/n: i got this request like a whole month ago and im sorry to anon it took me a while to think of this

masterlist | more matt murdock

gif credit for frank & matt

The night air looms over Hell’s Kitchen. A normal person might hear the honking of cars and the loud chitchat of people in the street, but to a man like Daredevil, he hears everything. He hears Sally from down the street, crying as her husband comes home drunk, or Dominic, stealing another purse to pay for his brother’s medical bills. The city is not just a cluster of sounds for a man like the Devil, it’s a war cry. His city needs help, so he braces for the jump, a leap into the battlefield.

To him, pain and suffering is a saint. The pain of every hit, every jab, and every punch. To Matt Murdock, the pain of getting hit is like lashing for every sin he’s made. He is the fist of God, the guardian angel of the Kitchen, his suffering is the price for the safety of his people. So to him, yes, pain and suffering is the saint that guides him, the adrenaline to jump, to fight, to stand back up and fight again because he knows if he doesn’t, worse men will.

He sits wounded on top of a building, the hanging laundry hiding him from plain sight. He pants, blood gushing from his lower rib. But then he smells it: gunpowder. The sound of clanking metal and rubber boots walking closer to him. He knows that smell, the smell of danger, the smell of bad news, the smell of The Punisher.

“They hit ya’ pretty bad tonight Red,” his rough voice roared across the building. He smells of blood, not his blood, but the blood of at least thirty other men.

“I don’t need your help, Frank,” Matt said, wincing as he tried to stand.

“I doubt that,” he was closer to Matt, he took the rear end of his rifle and pressed it to Matt’s wound, he cried out in pain. “See?”

“I don’t need any help from you.”

“That’s your problem, Red. You’re so self-righteous. You’re out here bleeding yourself to death thinking God sent you here on earth to be his punchin’ bag,'' he puts the rifle down, the metal butt hitting the floor. “You think your God can miraculously heal your wounds? The Devil ain’t no saint.”

“And you’re any better?” Matt spat. “You wear that skull on your chest and you think that gives you the license to be a killer?” he licks his dried-up lips, the wounds weighing on him. “You’re a beast, Frank. A wild creature with no self-control, bloodthirsty, and—and inhumane.”

Frank was right, but Matt’s pride would never take any help from Frank Castle, he’s a murderer, a cold-blooded killer, and men like him have no place roaming the streets of New York. Matt tries to walk away from Frank, he could feel the blood drip into his waist, his head dizzy. Before he could even reach a meter away from Frank he feels the pull of the earth and drops into the cement floor, out cold.

“Dumbass,” Frank spat.

—

To Frank Castle, pain and suffering is a weapon.

Pain is the bullet to the head of a wife beater, a pedophile, a human trafficker, and any other demented fuck that helps in spreading crime in his city. He sniffs in the scent, it’s nauseating, the smell of garbage and piss, the smell of dead bodies piled in a heap for the cops to find. The blood pooled on his boots, painting them red. He reloads the gun, pulling on the lever that locks the bullet in the barrel, ready for the trigger.

“Please, man. I have a wife and two kids,” the bald man begged. His shirt was soaked in blood, a bullet grazed his hip. He walks backward achingly, his back hitting the wall. “Fuck, man I swear I don't know anything ‘bout this! ”the man kneels in front of Frank, his hands together like he’s praying.

Pain is the bullet that ends all suffering.

Bang!

The man falls on the concrete, blood dripping out of his skull. Frank wipes the blood splatter on his face with his sleeve. He takes the pistol and slides it into the holster on his thigh. He grabs the man’s sleeve and pulls him into the heap. No loose ends.

Frank takes his rifle and leaves. Taking the rooftops so the cops won’t see him. His body is sore, but it was never a hindrance. He sees a red blur across the building. The Devil himself, running from a bunch of men. Frank notices the Devil walking strangely, a hand on his left to cover a bleeding wound.

He takes the sniper rifle and aims it at the four men searching for the masked vigilante. He reloads the rifle, and one by one the men drop dead. The Devil was clueless as to where the bullets came from. He walks over to the wounded man, lumped over the side of a rooftop wincing in pain.

Frank had always admired the Devil’s determination, always standing back up after a fight, the line he wouldn’t cross, it amused Frank in a way. He liked to toy with it, always putting the red vigilante in positions where his moral code is tested.

You know you’re one bad day away from becoming like me.

Frank once told him, and he guessed it wasn’t true. Despite how hard the world hit him, he never crossed that line. That’s why when the Devil ended up face down on the concrete floor he took his body into his shoulder. Carrying his body to the only place he knew would understand the situation. To the person that knew the creed of pain and suffering.

He stands in front of the wooden door, the door was locked. Not his first instinct to knock, because he knew he would always be let in. He knocked on the door, no answer. He knocked louder, banging on the door, the sounds echoing throughout the hallway.

“Jesus Christ, people will hear you,” you said, answering the door.

—

To you, pain and suffering is a curse. The curse that binds people to hospital beds for years, slowly rotting into the sheets as more and more medicine gets pumped into their veins. The curse that brings people into the emergency room, stabbed my knives, with broken knees, amputated fingers, and gunshot wounds through bone and muscle.

You earn money from pain and suffering. Doctor’s fees from people you know can’t even afford it. You always wanted to give them pro-bono, but you weren't loaded like that. That’s why when injured vigilantes were involved, everyone in the New York underground knew your number.

You had known people like Maya Lopez, Misty Knight, Ben Reilly, Ty Johnson, and Tandy Bowen alongside other masked heroes. That’s why when The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen arrived at your door four months ago you didn’t second guess your decision to help him. To you, helping these people would absolve you of being complicit in the suffering of innocent people in the hospital.

“Got your number from Spider-man, hope you don’t mind,” he said, sprawled on your kitchen table covered in blood. His muscular body contracted from the pain as you sewed his wounds shut. You never truly cared about forming connections with your clients, it was more of a get-patched-up-and-leave type of way.

He would often flirt with you whenever he came by, his dimples forming under his mask whenever he smiled or laughed. “Don’t worry Doc’ I’m a big boy,” he said, smiling at you. The smile quickly faded when you dug into his skin to retrieve the bullets on his bicep, a groan leaving his lips. You tried not to think about it, but he's pretty cute.

On one night, a man banged on your door, you rushed to meet a shadow drenched in blood as if it was raining blood from the sky, a white skull on his chest. His hoarse voice groaned as you took him into your kitchen. Multiple bullet wounds, and gashes on his chest, in your personal opinion a person with that many injuries would've ended up on the morgue.

“Did you fall into a meat grinder? What the hell,” you said. You tried your best to patch him up but he needed some blood transfusions.

“Check the bag,” he groaned. Inside were bags of blood from the hospital, all type O, what the fuck.

He stayed in your house for two nights, you checked his vitals every hour to make sure he was still alive. This hasn’t happened before, you’ve never had a client that was on the brink of death. It was always some minor injury, but this man managed to wake up and stand after two days to leave.

You found a bundle of one hundred dollar bills in your mailbox the next day.

—

“Bring him to the couch,” you said. You took Matt’s body as Frank carried his legs, you took his limp body into the sofa, a deep wound on the torso, an easy fix for you at this point. It has been months since you first met the two men in your apartment. You’ve spent multiple nights helping them, in your apartment, or Matt’s, or Frank’s bunker. You were technically associated with them to the point that you know their real names.

“The emergency kit is on the kitchen counter.”

“Got it Doc,” Frank saluted, removing his trench coat and his bulletproof vest, his muscular form bulging through his black shirt. They reeked of blood, you could taste the iron on your tongue.

Matt’s eyes fluttered, his head turning to the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he said, groaning through the pain. You cut his undershirt open, the wound gushing out blood. You took some gauze to soak the viscous liquid, making sure the clotting starts.

“Sit your ass down, Red,” Frank ordered. You managed to sew the wound shut, you gave Matt some pain relievers as his eyes fell back into sleep. You let him rest for a bit, covering him in a fleece blanket. You walked towards Frank, a few cuts on his arms, he was already in the middle of sewing some of them before you helped. “Don’t worry about me, it’s nothin’”

“Make sure you don’t die in my kitchen this time,” you said, walking to the kitchen sink to rinse your bloodied hands. You opened your refrigerator to grab a drink. “Want a beer?”

“Sure,” Frank nods.

You took a cold beer from your fridge, the metal caps clanking on the floor. You handed him the bottle, he took a big swig like he was thirsty for water, some liquid falling from the corner of his lips. He sat on a wooden chair, legs spread, the hem of his shirt raising a bit to show a peak of his abdomen.

Matt soon woke up. Much to your disagreement, taking a beer of his own. He took a seat in your dining area, topless with bandages around his torso. The three of you are looking at each other around the table. “So–what happened tonight?” you asked.

Matt’s frown was deadset. Frank taking gulps of his second bottle of beer. You were taking sips of your bottle, looking at the heated tension between the two. It was annoyingly anxiety-inducing. “You know, I don’t know what’s the point of talking to you two—I’m a physician, not a therapist.”

“You need to stay away from him,” Matt said, his lips a straight line. “He’s a dangerous person with nothing good going on for his pathetic life.”

“Boohoo! Little catholic boy here feels entitled about being god’s little bitch,” Frank spat. “Is that what you think bitch boy?”

“See? He’s an immature old fuck that thinks the world’s answer to violence is guns and bullets,” Matt said, downing his beer.

“He’s just using his lawyer bullshit on you,” Frank said.

You rolled your eyes, it’s always like this, them bickering. You downed the beer, the bitter taste running through your tongue. You set it down with a loud clunk. The two men halted their bickering.

“I’m not taking sides but I think both of you are annoying cry babies that should just kiss and make out!” the two men frowned their brows. “You bicker like an old couple—the two of you need to suck it up because, at the end of the day, the two of you leave a trail of blood in this city that I clean!” you shouted.“You know how many people end up in the emergency room thanks to you two, I don’t even keep count of them anymore.”

Matt called for your name, to apologize or something, but you took another bottle of beer and gulped on the bubbly drink. Instead of talking you took his lips to yours, the bitter taste of his mouth shared with yours. His hands come to your neck, fingers wrapping around the flesh as his tongue meets yours. You smell his clean shampoo mixing with the alcohol, he smelled like a man who took hygiene seriously.

You pull back to walk towards Frank, bending down to kiss him, pressing on his shoulder with your hands to guide you. The bitter taste of both of your mouths intoxicates you. He grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling you in more. He smelled of cheap soap and gunpowder. You pulled away to catch them frozen, feet glued to the floor, aghast.

“See,” you rubbed your hands. “Not hard at all.”

Frank was biting his lip chuckling, his fingers massaging his lip. He pulled you to his lap, kissing you harder, his hands falling to your ass. Your hands run through his dark hair, his stubble pricking your face. You moaned from the contact, Matt’s enhanced senses making the sound echo in his head. He hesitated but his groin turned to the noises you made. Frank’s lips fall to your neck, nibbling on the skin eliciting more lewd noises from you.

“See this red?” he said. “This little slut likes it.”

“Play with his ear, he likes it,” Matt ordered. Frank hadn’t known that.

“He also likes it when I do this,” he pinches your nipples, and you shudder from the slight pain. The two men didn’t know that you had experiences of having sex with them on different occasions. “So you’re a little whore huh, you do this to all of your clients?”

“No—,” you gasped. “Just you two.”

Matt chuckled. Frank had set you on his lap so that you were facing Matt, his hands playing with both of your nipples as he left purple hickeys all over your neck. Matt had knelt in front of you palming your growing erection. The ache in your groin grows from the lack of release. Tonight these men offer you more pain and suffering but in ways that elicit nothing but pleasure.

He takes your trousers off leaving you with nothing but your shirt, finally something to ease the pain. Matt stood to open his pants, his thick cock standing tall, the hairs neatly trimmed. “Take his dick inside your mouth,” Frank whispered, while he stretched your legs open so his fingers could tease your hole. He took his fingers to your mouth making it wet.

Matt’s hands ran through your hair, his tip teasing your swollen lips. As you took his length into your mouth, Frank's finger entered your hole curling inside drawing out muffled sounds from your mouth. You were quickly bent over by Frank, his head in between your ass cheeks licking and fingering your hole, while your head was bobbing up and down on Matt’s cock.

Frank smacked your ass so hard it left a red print as he continued to toy with your rear. Matt groaned as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. Frank pulled you back with your hair, popping Matt’s cock out with a string of saliva. It was painful the way they carried you, but in some sick twist of events, it turned you on even more.

“My turn,” Frank said, as he takes your mouth to his sex, you engulf his thick uncut cock, your nose hitting his unkempt hair taking in his scent. Matt bent down to toy with your hole, curling and stretching two fingers inside you stimulating your prostate. You were turning your lips as you sucked on Frank’s cock, a hoarse groan leaving his mouth as he grabbed onto your hair tightly.

Matt stroked your cock as he moaned, eating you out with his wet tongue and playing with the rim of your hole. Frank took control of your mouth, fucking into it like you’re his sex toy, his cocking hitting the roof of your mouth at a constant speed. Frank could feel his climax coming so he pulls out leaving you a wet mess next to Matt.

“Can I fuck you?” Matt asked. You nod, taking them into your bedroom.

Frank undressed and took a seat on the small sofa chair in the corner of the room, stroking his hard cock. You were on all fours on the bed, facing Frank. His eyes glued to you as he stroked. Matt lubes your hole before slowly pressing his cock into your hole. You gasped as he sheathed into you. Frank smirked, this turned him on even more, his large arms contracting as he stroked his cock.

Matt started to fuck you slowly, his hips slapping your ass. He started to let out guttural moans, his hips becoming rigid as he gripped onto your waist, his nails digging into your skin. He bends down to kiss your neck, rutting into you, his hard thrusts ramming into you. “I’m close,” he moaned. He jerks your cock to the point that you yelp out, cum shooting out of your cock as he continues to jerk his hips before he emptied inside you, a deep groan leaving his lips as his cum fills you. You two collapsed on the bed, his body weight on top of you.

“Move over Red,” Frank said, looming over you as Matt moves over before Frank mounts you. Matt’s cum formed a slippery lube that made Frank’s cock ease its way as it thrusts. Your body was still weak from your high. He grabs onto your hair as he ruts into you, continuing his hard pace against your body. “You like that?” he said, stroking your sore cock back to hardness.

“Ye–yes, fuck,” you moaned.

Matt was at the edge of the bed, soothing your hair as he peppered kisses all over your face. The bed creaked as Frank humped you, veins popping across his arms as his grip on you tightened, you’re sure it would leave marks. He pulled out, leaving you to gasp from the sudden lack of fullness. He sits back on the headboard of your bed, legs sprawled as he gestures for you to ride him. You mount yourself on his hardness, sitting on his thick and hairy thighs. Matt sits on the edge of the bed, his erection coming back from the sight of you two.

“Take it like a good boy,” Frank praises. You hold onto his chest as you feel the hardness enter you, some of Matt’s cum leaking out. You take Frank’s lips, you now realize how abrasive his stubble was. You move your hips around and around, Frank lets out curses here and there. He pulls your head back, littering your neck with more marks, his fingers find your nipples, teasing them to draw out more moans from you.

Franks sees Matt on the side, his hard already leaking precum just from watching you take Frank’s cock. He calls for Matt to come to you two, to join back in. You feel Matt’s fingertips on your skin, your body is now so filled with stimulation, his mere touch driving you wild. You feel his erection on your back, his lips attached to your shoulders. He takes his leaking cock and presses into your hole, the size alongside Frank’s was a tight fit, your breathing quickens from all the pressure. The two men made sure to guide you and praise you as you take both of their lengths.

You cry out from the sensation. Frank takes your lips to stifle your cries, tears fall from your eyes as your tongues touch, and Matt inches to join your kiss. The three of you kiss into the pain, The two men slowly moving inside you. The pressure was so intense but the arousal overcame, your sex was so hard, leaking so much into Frank’s abdomen. They start to thrust, Matt could feel his sensitive frenulum rub on Frank’s, it made his eyes roll back, his senses overflowing.

All of you reeked of sex, the sounds of slapping skin and wet tongues fighting for dominance against the grunts and moans. The constant rocking was making the bed hit the wall, the mattress moved as if there were an earthquake. You were all covered in sweat, hair sticking onto skin, Hands gripping the wooden headboard, fingertips roaming skin, and tongues lashing on each other.

Everything felt like a blur to you, you were being rocked back and forth like a playground swing, your core sore from the fucking, and there were pairs of hands all over you touching your most sensitive spots. You could feel the climax, creeping into your body tingling your coccyx to the highest peak of your spine. You felt their erratic thrusts, Frank was a groaning mess under you, his neck all red and his face flushed. Matt was a noisy mess on your ear, cursing and calling your name like a prayer, his arm wrapped around your waist as he fucked.

You were at your peak, arousal overflowed from your body into theirs. Their cum filling into you. You all yelped out in pleasure as you rode your highs. Frank dug his hands into your thighs as Matt hid his forehead on your shoulder, rutting their fill into you. The next few minutes came to you in flashing lights, like fireworks spraying colored lights all over the room.

You woke up the next day to two heavy bodies at your sides. Matt’s arms around your waist with your head resting on Frank’s chest. All of you reeked of sweat and cum. As you turned you saw Matt’s eyes flutter, his long lashes flicking as his golden eyes beamed under the sunlight.

“Sorry about last night,” he whispered.

“Why? I had fun,” you said, peppering kisses all over his cheeks.

“You sure?” he said, as he rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks.

“Pretty sore but nothing a pain reliever won’t fix,” you said.

“I guess you’re right, making out fixes everything,” Frank said, his voice deeper. He joins you and Matt, pressing kisses all over your shoulders. Matt takes this as a sign to kiss you all over your neck, their hands snaking all over your body. “What’s good for breakfast around here?” Frank said in between kisses.

“There’s a good diner across the street,” Matt said, leaving soothing kisses on the marks they left on your neck. Your body was so sore and painful, but these men made sure to make it up to you. You woke up last night to them cleaning you up, Matt wiping you with a damp cloth and Frank rummaging through your closet to grab something for you to wear. Despite their rough lifestyles, they made sure you were taken care of. Maybe a little less pain and suffering next time though.

“But first,” you said, pulling away from them.” Shower.”

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

#matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x male reader #daredevil x male reader #matt murdock x male reader smut #daredevil x male reader smut #punisher smut #frank castle x reader #frank castle x male reader #frank castle x reader smut #frank castle x male reader smut #punisher x reader smut

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andrecoatings · 1 year

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rodolfoparras · 7 months

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Don't mind me just imaging old man price and unconsciously caressing his happy trail while cuddling watching TV 😖

Okay but imagine this…

Old man Price sprawled out on the couch wearing nothing but a pair of ratty sweats he’s stolen from you, watching whatever show is playing on the tv that he’s not really paying attention to.

He momentarily pauses his show to look at the clock hanging on the wall, noticing there isn’t much time left til you’re back home again.

Sometimes Price hated being retired and longed for the days where the two of you would be out together on the field, working and enjoying each other’s company.

However he couldn’t deny the fact that he enjoyed the comfort of being in your shared home, wrapped up in your blankets and wearing your clothes that still smelled of cologne while watching his shows and hearing the rain enviously tapping on his window.

The sheer thought of it has a contented sigh escaping his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he sink further into the cushion beneath him.

All that’s missing is for you to crawl up by his side, insisting that two full grown adults can fit perfectly on the very small couch, a back and forth argument that would only result in pecks being placed on his lips, as your eager hands touch all over his body.

While thinking about it, he starts moving his hand in lazy circles on his soft abdomen, in the same way you’d do it, with blunt nails lightly scratching at his skin and fingers tugging at the coarse hair dusted on his body. Although his hand feels nothing like yours, this little fantasy of his is enough to have blood pooling to the lower half of his body.

Without even realizing it, he spreads his legs, the blanket that’s been covering him carelessly falls to the floor and his fingers latch onto his nipples, tugging at taunting the sensitive numb, in the very same way your own fingers would do it.

A shaky breath escapes his lips, cock twitching in excitement and hips effortlessly buckling up in search of any sort of friction he could get.

If you’d been here you’d tease him more, make him beg and whine and whimper before you touched his cock but you aren’t here and he’s oh so eager to have a hand on him so he quickly shuffles down his (your) sweats and wraps a hand around his length.

His cock is warm and already fully hard, precum trickling down his knuckles. Despite his age you never fail to make him feel young again, playing his body like a flute even if you're not physically there.

He can't help but smile at the sheer thought of it but it quickly drops from his face as he starts languidly stroking himself.

“O-oh“ he moans out, eyes squeezing shut and hips bucking up into his own touch.

He continues to indulge in his little fantasy, pretending you’re there on the couch with him, your body weight caging him in, the smell of you surrounding him and with your face smiling down at him. As he does so he feels himself increase his pace, slowly but surely inching closer to the edge.

“Please sir please” he hears himself say, desperately asking for you, to be here, to touch him, to make him see stars in the way only you can.

It doesn’t take much before he’s tipping over the edge, a string of curses tumbling past his lips as ropes of cum paint your sweats.

For a moment he’s so lost in bliss, eyes squeezed shut, hand still stroking his dick before he’s broken out of his trance by the sound of a familiar voice calling for him.

“Sweetheart what are you doing?” And as he opens his eyes he’s met with the familiar sight of you standing there in front of him, eyes swirling with desire while smiling down at him.

#I wrote this nd I was like yes feeling like myself again #it’s not perfect I’m just happy my brain is working again but I hope you enjoy 🫶🏻#alec answers #call of duty #also this is not part of the old man lore just a piece I wrote now that I’m feeling better 🫶🏻#john price #john price x reader #john price x male reader #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #dom male reader #sub male character #x male reader #male reader #price x reader #price x male reader

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lieutnt · 8 months

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KINKTOBER - #12

hate-fucking w/ captain john price x top!male reader kinktober masterlist

Your usual demure pace is gone, replaced by harsh thrusts and a hand on the back of his neck pinning him down as you rut into him like a wild animal, forcing out sharp moans deep from his lungs. The table rattles with the force of your hips, Price’s chest pressed flat against the surface while his fingers scramble to hold onto something to anchor himself.

Anger and irritation course through your blood, tainting your cells as you grip him tight enough to bruise, fingers leaving red imprints in their wake. He rocks back against your thrusts, hole scraping along your shaft and sucking you in.

Everyone else had left the room to leave you and Price to cool off, the tension in the air palpable as you disagreed about strategies, and the second it was empty and the door was shut you had met in an angry clash of tongue and teeth, adrenaline pumping in your veins.

You had pushed him over the table with a hand in the middle of his back, holding him down as you got to work on his belt, loosening it enough so you could pull down his layers and kneel down on your knees, holding a cheek in each palm as you spread them and spat on his hole, watching with satisfaction as he squirmed at the feeling.

He tried to push back but your hold solidified, keeping him still as you ran your tongue across his rim, watching as the muscle twitched in response. After that you hastily stretched him, a mess of fingers, saliva and tongue opening his hole until he was barking at you to “Get on it with it already.”

You did, bracing yourself over his back and pushing in until your pelvis was pressed against him, the warmth of his hole too good not to savour. As your impatience grew you pulled until your tip taught on his rim, giving a few short, aborted thrusts before slamming inside all at once.

From there your pace was harsh, using Price as a vice for your pleasure as you chase your climax, balls smacking against him with each thrust. As he moves to fist himself between his stomach and the table you don’t stop him, both of you needing to let go.

As you strike his prostate he chokes out his moans, throat struggling to keep up with his noises as he begins to huff, his hand speeding up around his cock as he pants against the table.

He shudders around you as he finishes, streaking cum across the table in bursts until it’s weakly trickling out, pooling where his cock rests.

You aren’t far behind, pulling out to pump yourself in hand, painting Price’s lower back in your spend as you groan in satisfaction at the release, all pent-up irritation steadily seeping from your body.

You remain there in calming silence, breathing together as one until any remaining anger has dissipated, leaving you both calm and placid. When Price shifted under you that was your cue to move, pulling back and stopping him when he tried to do the same, “Hold on.”

He did, waiting patiently as you tucked yourself back in and fetched some tissues to clean him up, wiping away the mess scattering his body until he was as clean as he could be. With a tap on the hip he was standing up, redressing himself and when your eyes meet he looks a lot calmer, stepping into your space and gently bonking his forehead against yours.

It brings an instant smile to your face, a small huff of amusement escaping your lips. “We good? I can’t have my best soldier fighting me,” Price says.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he rolls his eyes, letting them flutter closed when you kiss him sweetly. You pull back, “Ready to go? They’re probably wondering where we are.”

Price sweeps in to kiss you again, one hand cupping your jaw. He steps away with a smile, “Now I’m ready.”

#john price #john price x male reader #top reader #male reader #top male reader #call of duty #lieutnts writings #lieutnts kinktober 2023

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mapofthesea · 1 year

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ceos!rapline x reader, fem!reader, poly!rapline, bi!rapline

genre: smut (pwp), fluff

word count: 6.1k

summary: having three ceo boyfriends comes with its perks- namely the financial freedom to pursue your artistic talents and always getting the jewelry you ask for- but like everything, your luxuries come at a price.

a price that just so happens to be arriving in their office to satisfy them at every call.

warnings: this is SMUT! They're all fucking, okay? Everyone is also very in love, rapline are little bi babies. Swearing and tension (related to business things that have the boys pent up), they are all sickeningly in love. Specific smut warnings include: dom!rapline x sub!reader, dirty talk, intentional voyeurism, praise and degradation, oral (m and f receiving), spanking, spitting, hair pulling, grinding (in several varieties), technically public sex but behind closed doors, unprotected sex (hey, don’t do this irl), anal play, double penetration, multiple orgasms, cum eating, overstimulation, aftercare ofc!

an: hi, I’m back to write about the nasty things I dream about sometimes. This one is pretty intense so please read the warnings above carefully, and as always if you're under 18 or uncomfortable with the content pleaseeee do not read it. I do not proofread so if there are typos I apologize! (ps the title is inspired by one of my favorite songs about sex, so do yourself a favor and listen to Natural by The Driver Era if you haven’t!)

“I don’t fucking think I approved that!” Namjoon growls into his phone. You can feel the anger coming off of him in waves as he grips the device in his veiny hand. You admire him for a second; the set line of his jaw, the sexy furrow of his brow. Whoever is on the other side of the conversation speaks rapidly again, likely apologizing, and yours ears strain to catch any context.

You only get to focus for a few seconds before Namjoon’s stare slides to you. His eyebrow raises and you know immediately what he wants. The carpet is beginning to pinch into your knees anyway so you’re glad for the imminent distraction.

You were in the middle of a new painting when he called you to his office; hands flecked with dry paint and still in yesterdays’ pajamas but you dropped everything and rushed over. It had been like that as long as you could remember- you more than happy to be at your boyfriends’ beck and call as you got to reap the benefits of their job status. It didn't always end up like this when you visited but there’s no denying the spark of pleasure that rides up your spine as Namjoon silently commands you from above.

He’s already hard beneath his work pants; the expensive silky material stretching around his impressive length. You clench your naked thighs together and pull on his waistband to undo the button and slide down the metal fly. He offers you nothing but a tick of his jaw as you work and the idea drives you crazy, hips rocking uselessly against the air.

He sighs, and you can’t tell if it's because of the phone call or because you’ve wrapped your delicate hand around his length, tugging at him gently until you have a firm grasp on the base.

You’ve done this enough to know that getting right to work will get you what you need faster, and there’s no denying how much you love sucking his cock.

The head is leaking salty precum and you fight the urge to moan as you lick at it and sample his familiar taste. Wetness pools between your legs and your eyes roll back as you gather more of him in your throat. The stretch is pleasant and grounding; familiar enough that you feel an odd sense of peace wash over you as you swallow around his thickness.

He drops a hand to your hair to push it away from your eyes, gently tucking the pieces behind your ears. You smile around your mouthful of his cock. Saliva dribbles from your lips into your lap and you flush as if the reality of your situation had just hit. Namjoon ruts his hips, clearly unhappy with your pausing, and you double down. It doesn’t take long for the sounds to become overwhelming, the lewd squelching of your tongue working over his cock that you hope can't be heard over the phone.

“Is that my job? Or is that not exactly what I fucking hired you to do? I pay you way too much for you to be so god damn stupid.” The venom in Namjoon’s voice makes your head spin. Although the words aren't directed at you, the serious tone of his voice is so familiar that your pussy hums and your hips rock forward desperately; searching for the friction your plush thighs can't provide.

You whine, hoping to draw his attention enough that he'll end the call, but he just shakes his head and taps his foot. Tears of frustration brim hot behind your eyes and his soften just a bit, pointedly glancing down between your thighs where his foot continues to tap. You pull off of his cock, wiping your mouth as you recollect yourself and try to put together the pieces he’s offering to you. He must read your confusion because he tangles his hand in your hair anew, angling your head down to look below yourself.

His foot; clad in an expensive, shiny leather boot stares back at you. He taps it again, and your head swims. Is he suggesting what you think he is? Hot anticipation strikes your veins as he speaks again.

“You’re right. That’s what I want you to do.” You know he's still on the call; as he still only uses one hand to guide you back to his cock, but the double edged meaning of the sentences affirms you.

Your head spins and speeds up all at the same time as you lower yourself enough that you can keep some of his cock in your mouth at the same time your pussy grazes the material of his shoe.

It's cold and firm, and your mind goes blank as you rut against it. He flexes his foot to adjust the pressure against your clit and you go wild, heart pounding in your chest as you speed up. Out of all the debauched things you’d done in your life of dating your boyfriends, grinding against shoes worth more than your car payment is near the top of the list. Your stomach tightens with every drag and you’ve all but abandoned sucking his cock; just holding it in the warmth of your mouth as you let out pathetic little moans.

Your orgasm approaches rapidly, punctuated when you look down to see how your juices leave a shiny, sticky trail over his boot. Your heart stammers and you can feel your oncoming release only seconds away when a loud, reverberating bang ruptures your focus. Namjoon’s cock falls completely out of your mouth as you squeak, but your body is so close to the edge of pleasure that you hips keep moving shamelessly. You have no idea who or what just came into his office; but you can't find it in yourself to give a shit.

“Oh, fuck! I’m coming,” you grip Namjoon’s pant leg and mouth at the fabric as you bear your weight completely on his shoe and rock yourself to completion.

White flashes behind your eyes and you shiver, clinging to his strong thigh as tears of relief leak from your eyes.

“Well this is a pleasant surprise,” Yoongi’s husky voice comes with the gentle touch of his fingers brushing your sweaty hair off of your neck.

“Yoongi!” You keen, leaning into the touch, still a bit too frazzled to move. Namjoon takes the moment to tease his boot back against your clit and you cry out, hips twitching away from him with a whine.

“Sensitive, honey?” Hoseok calls, and although you knew he was likely there, the confirmation makes you flush. You turn slowly, unearthing your face from Namjoon’s thigh.

You can't help but feel worshipped under their gaze. Hoseok is staring openly at your ass, admiring the curve created by your squatted position and you’re sure the sheen of your arousal is shining on the insides of your thighs for him. Yoongi is closer, kneeling just a few inches away from you on the carpet and you smile, practically falling into his warm embrace. He catches you easily and hums.

“We didn’t know you were here, love. But you made quite the entrance.” His teasing only reignites the fire inside of you; already ready for whatever other plans the trio might have for you. Yoongi has his hand on your ass in a split second, groping the flesh and spreading you open to the groan of approval from Namjoon.

The sound of his voice reminds you of his abandoned cock and you glance back at him from Yoongi’s embrace. His cock is slick with your spit and flushed angry red at the tip.

“Sorry, Joonie.” You pout at his state and his cock twitches in response; prompting him to grab it and give himself a sharp tug. Your mouth waters at the sight and you long to have him in your mouth again, but Yoongi tugs you back to him when you start to move.

“He can wait.” The dominating current in Yoongi’s voice makes you immediately pliant, lurching forward as his fingers ghost along your sodden pussy. You keen, pressing your breasts into him as your back arches. His chest rumbles with a satisfied hum, and it’s near impossible to miss the feeling of him hardening beneath you.

You catch sight of Hoseok, who had made quick work of shedding his suit jacket and button down top. His tanned skin glows luminous; the light dusting of hair on his lower stomach tempting you to lick your lips. His belt hangs half undone from the loops; the silver clasp reflecting the light in Namjoon’s office. You reach for him with cute grabby hands and he fights an endeared smile as he strides over to you. Yoongi presses a kiss into the space where your neck and shoulder meet before he surprisingly relinquishes you.

Hoseok pulls your body upward as if you weigh nothing. He steadies you with a curl of his fingers around your bare hip and you shiver at the delicate touch. Long ago, he made a habit of tracing the delicate silvery threads of your stretch marks- mapping the part of you which used to make you shy away from his affection. Now you lean into the touch readily and he smiles to coax the dimples out from his cheeks.

“Pretty baby,” his eyes search your own before he kisses the tip of your nose, the cleft of your upper lip, the corner of your mouth...everywhere except your lips. Immediately you pout at him, trying to entice another smooch out of him with the pitiful look. A smirk that makes your stomach roll follows, punctuated by the mischief in his warm brown eyes.

“You want a kiss?” His voice strikes low and hot through your abdomen. You can feel the ghost of his lips just centimeters from your own and you shiver, nipples standing to attention.

It’s such an odd feeling to anticipate a kiss from someone you’ve been kissing for so long. You’re no stranger to Hoseok’s tricks; the way he and your other boyfriends relish in watching you squirm as they make you wait for the simple pleasure of your lips meeting their own, but you take solace in knowing that at the end of the day they’re just as affected as you.

Hoseok is craving this kiss just as much as you are as your heart rate spikes; dreaming of the cosmic feeling that will be born from this quite simple delay. You feel him exhale against your face and only then do you realize your eyes had fluttered shut. You snap them open, eager to watch the moment when he leans in. He smiles, showing off his row of perfect teeth; and then promptly sinks to the ground in front of you.

An affronted gasp falls from your lips before you can stop it. Namjoon laughs heartily behind you, and it only takes a second before he’s blessing your line of sight-finally rid of all the pesky layers of clothes that were hiding him.

Namjoon is nothing if not disciplined, and his recent forays to the gym have certainly been paying off. His biceps look absolutely delectable, and its impossible to miss the tantalizing trail of muscle that has begun to form at his pelvis, encouraging you to look further to the cock you were forced to abandon earlier. You still itch for him-always itch for him, for all of them- but he seems unbothered by the weight of his stiffened cock for the moment.

Hoseok’s hair tickles at your upper thigh and you stutter a moan. Seated so perfect and handsome below you, Hoseok has wasted no time in pulling his dress pants down just enough that his cock greets you. It’s hard and weeping, creating a dark stain on the light gray pants he had laid out on the dresser last night.

“Hobi,” you whine at the sight of him eyeing you from his place on the floor. He raises a playful eyebrow and nods, as to encourage your words.

“What’s up?” He asks, tracing his fingers along the insides of your slick thighs, never close enough to where you actually need him. “I don’t know what you need if you don’t tell me.”

Your clit throbs under his words- despite their gentle nature you know he’s not kidding. He really would sit here all night, waiting for you to ask for him to dive into your pussy. Fortunately, he's not the only voice in the room.

“Fuck,” Yoongi growls, stalking over to the pair of you. His cologne engulfs you as he circles your body like a well trained predator. Now naked, the contrast of his bright red hair strikes even more bold against his milky skin.

“Little one is clearly too dumb to talk to us today...” his eyes are cool and calculating of your trembling figure. His elegant hands flex as he rounds you again, taking claim at the top of Hoseok’s head. You can feel the man’s breath stutter against your thigh at the touch and it’s oddly comforting to know that all of you are in the same boat of overwhelming attraction to one another.

Yoongi tuts, throwing a glance over his shoulder to Namjoon, who seems happy to just be watching for the moment, occasionally stroking himself to the show. Your breasts heave with every breath of anticipation.

“What’s her little pussy telling you, Hobi?” Yoongi’s dangerous gaze slides down between your legs as Hoseok pulls your thighs apart. Happily you spread them just enough that he can get an eyeful of your sodden core.

Despite having just come a few moments ago you’re more than ready for more- slick with your own arousal and feeling wired to come at the slightest touch.

“Telling me she’s lonely...” his voice takes on a whining edge and you agree with a moan of your own, nodding rapidly.

“And what should we do about that?” Yoongi hums. It takes you embarrassingly long to realize he's asking you. There are options here, you know, but the glint in Yoongi’s eye tells you there’s an answer he would be more partial to at the moment.

“Your tongue,” the word stutters out of you. Yoongi smirks, runs his fingers over his top lip as if in thought.

“Mine?”

Your brain short circuits and you’re immediately shaking your head yes, and then no. His brows furrow as a genuine concern breaks his indifferent mask. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Wan’ you and Hobi. Please?” Hoseok moans, and you’re sure that he’s stroking himself as you play this little game with Yoongi.

Yoongi’s grin returns tenfold. “My needy little slut, huh? Just one can never be enough for that pussy. Always need more, and more.” You expect him to nudge Hoseok aside for room, but instead he circles you once more before sinking to his knees behind you.

His hot breath ghosts against your ass and your mind instantly runs wild with realization. Your eyes must grow wide because Namjoon coos at you just before the tongues comes to life.

Hoseok, who had clearly been waiting long enough, takes no preamble and dives right into your pussy, forcing your legs further apart. His tongue immediately presses against your clit, pulsing the nerves with little teasing flicks. Yoongi quickly follows suit, latching his mouth around your entrance and sucking. The room spins with pleasure and your thighs are already shaking before a minute has passed. Your hips have nowhere to go to escape the sensations, and Hoseok and Yoongi’s insistence on pushing further into you means that you can feel their tongues meeting in the middle; overlapping one another with the same fervor as a heated kiss.

You can't help but look down your body, trying to catch any glimpse of the men working you over with their tongues. Hoseok’s full head of hair blocks your sight slightly, but through the gaps of his limbs you see a slender, pale hand wrapped around his cock. It’s only now you realize Yoongi only has one hand anchored to your hip, the other presently preoccupied around Hoseok’s cock. You watch him run his thumb over the slit, collecting Hoseok’s sticky pearlescent precum before giving him several languid strokes in the same rhythm his tongue prods you open.

The sight is so erotic that tears spring forward as your hands flail, unsure of whose head to grasp. Your orgasm is just inches away, and you warn them both as such with a shake in your voice. Hoseok redoubles his efforts, the hinge of his jaw working sinfully to tease your clit with the same rapid circles he employs when he fingers you.

The world blanks as you come, feeling the rush of wetness that gushes out of you being drunk up by Yoongi’s greedy mouth. Your stomach caves as you ride the feeling, tugging on Hoseok’s hair in a futile effort to get him off of your clit.

He answers with a nip of his teeth and a hearty moan, the combination rocketing you off of the edge of oblivion again. There’s no way to stop the tears as they spill hot and heavy down your cheeks and collect at your chin. Your entire body trembles and if it weren’t for the strong grip of Namjoon’s hands, you surely would have face planted into the plush carpet. He welcomes the weight of your body falling into his, immediately wrapping you in his warmth as your body recovers from the sensations.

He manages to get you out from between your lovers and cradles you into his desk chair. From here, you have a perfect view of Yoongi’s insistent hand on Hoseok’s cock and the sloppy kiss they devolved into once you left.

“You’re so fucking sexy, did you know that?” He brushes the sweat-damp hair from your shoulder and nibbles at the flesh in earnest. His cock twitches below you and your pussy trembles. He moans heartily and grabs handfuls of your breasts, flicking his thumbs over your sensitive nipples. He hums at the way your breathing increases.

“Bet that tastes like you.” Even though you can't see his face, you know he’s referring to the sloppy mess of spit and come smearing between them. The idea makes you shiver with a new wave of arousal; and if you weren’t so used to going so many rounds with them you would be seriously worried about the state of your body.

Hoseok tips his head back and lets out a rattling groan, the clear warning of his incoming release. You and Namjoon let out twin sighs at the sound, and Yoongi’s face curves into a devilish smile as he leans down to capture the tip of Hoseok’s cock in his mouth. It’s only seconds before Hoseok lets go, face flushing bright red as he comes. The instinctive stutter of his hips leaves several glossy streaks of cum across Yoongi’s mouth and chin.

You squirm in Namjoon’s lap and he takes another heavy, indulgent grope of your tits; conveniently pressing you right against his hardened cock. The sound of Yoongi praising Hoseok becomes white noise as Namjoon angles his hips against you, brushing the head of his cock against your clit. Despite having come so many times already, your pussy has yet to be stretched to the limits you desire.

“I-in, Joon...” you lift your hips enough that his cock catches on your entrance and he plunges forward immediately. He exhales in a burst against the back of your neck.

“Sorry baby. Pretty little pussy just wanted to suck me in before I could ask.” He licks a line up the side of your neck, playing with the tender skin under your ear. “Are you ready? Feelin’ okay?” You have to commend him for stopping to ask: carrying concern for your well being and consent even though you can feel his cock throbbing inside you.

“Yes!” You can't find it in you to say much more, but the animalistic grunt Namjoon makes as he pulls you down onto him makes you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

The walls of your pussy stretch and accommodate him as he bucks his hips. His fingernails dig into the flesh of your breasts as your head lulls back onto his toned shoulders; relishing in the way your sweaty skin sticks together in the heat of your moment. You finally feel so full, finally able to indulge in the truly brain numb feeling of allowing one of your favorite men on the planet batter your pussy until he’s satisfied.

“This greedy pussy can’t get enough attention, huh? Never enough mouths and cocks to keep you satisfied?” The force of his thrusts punch the air out of you but you nod in affirmation, mouth hanging open dumbly. “Fucking hell, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

You wish you could see the pinch in his eyebrows, the clench of his jaw; but for now you’ll relish in the fact you get to feel his cock twitch rapidly inside of you until he’s filling you. His hot cum rushes into you with a force that is testament to how long he waited for his release. He keeps you pressed over him until he’s fully drained, moaning your name at the sensitivity of his softening cock lodged inside your throbbing pussy.

Your head spins and you have to close your eyes in an attempt to anchor yourself back to the earth. Namjoon shifts his hips and you can feel his hot release start to leak out of you.

“Sorry,” he kisses your ear gently as he slips out completely. You instinctively clasp your thighs together to keep his release inside you as Yoongi materializes before you. His bright red hair is mussed and his cheeks are a pleasant pink, as if he’d been in the sun for a few hours.

If it wasn’t for the streaks of drying cum on his face, he would look angelic.

Actually, you still think he does anyway.

“As much as I love staring at you staring at me...” his hands pull at your waist, tugging you off the warmth of Namjoon’s lap. You go easily, feeling pleasant calm flowing through your veins as you stand before him on wobbly legs. He knots his fingers through your already tangled hair, tugging the strands until your neck is bared to him. It burns at the roots but you love it, darting your tongue out to lick at your lips as he gives another experimental tug. Your pussy throbs along with your scalp, and Yoongi moves close enough to you that you can feel his rigid length brush against your stomach.

The hardness of him against you sends your hips forward, grinding his cock between your bodies and relishing in the special kind of torture you’ve made for yourself- literal inches from allowing the drag of his cock against where you need him most.

Yoongi voices his protest with a groan that reverberates through your chest, sending shockwaves of pleasure between your slick thighs.

Your breath stutters as his plush lips work at your neck, teeth nipping into the sensitive skin with the intent of marking you black and blue. Sagging under his attention, you return the favor by winding your own fingers into his locks and tugging hard.

A new set of hands joins you, cresting over the curves of your ass. The citrusy scent of aftershave gives the hands away as belonging to Hoseok; who takes no qualms with spreading you open for his greedy eyes. You shutter as he reveals your ass and pussy to him and you shake your hips back at him playfully. He moans as your flesh jiggles under his touch and the sudden burn of a slap fills the room. Your ass cheek stings from the contact but you feel yourself get wetter, pushing back against his strong hand.

Hoseok answers with two more slaps in quick succession and the burn of the impact makes you keen.

“Look so good with your ass all red for me.” He trails his fingertips over the spot where he had just spanked you. Anticipation breezes through your veins as the simple touch leaves only to be quickly replaced by a renewed slap across the sensitive skin that connects your thigh and ass cheek.

Yoongi sucks up your moan with a swift kiss, shoving his tongue into your throat so you have no choice but to let him devour your sounds. You clutch at his shoulders pathetically as Hoseok skims a finger over your asshole.

Even though your eyes are already shut, they roll back into your head at the gentle push of his fingertip. You’re no stranger to the intrusion, but it makes your knees weak every time.

Yoongi relinquishes your mouth to peek around your body, although you have a suspicion he already knew what was happening. His lips are raw, bitten red from your passionate kiss as he cups your face between his hands.

“Gonna let Hoseok in your little ass? Have his cock fill you up?” You nod emphatically as the wet splatter of Hoseok’s spit slides over you, aiding his finger in the deeper glide you desire. He acts fast to add a second finger and sink down to his first knuckle, stretching them apart to open you further. Your chest heaves against Yoongi’s, and he kicks a sinful trail up the curve of your ear.

“You’re gonna look so pretty with his big cock in your ass, honey. Can’t wait to see you all stretched out for us…” you feel as if he’s lit you on fire.

Hoseok has managed to fit three fingers, and the delectable drag of him inside of you is making your head foggy. Pressure mounts in your lower stomach but feels annoyingly far away from satisfaction.

“Yoongi, H-hobi,” the men both snap to your attention; cooing at the watery tone of your voice. Hoseok’s fingers persist in stretching you as you try to work your way through your thoughts.

“I need you in my pussy, too,” hot tears come along with the plead you make to Yoongi, desperate for him to understand the aching need filling you. He chuckles and nods, reaching down between your bodies to stroke himself.

“No surprise that just one cock wouldn’t be enough for your little holes.” Pleasure burns through you as you nod your agreement; anything to get him into action as you feel Hoseok spit on you again.

“You were just on this cock, too. Real fucking slut needing more already.” Namjoon’s rumbling voice chimes in- apparently recovered from his most recent orgasm.

You catch sight of him rising from his desk chair like he’s been reborn: cock glossy with your arousal and a new stream of precum decorating the tip.

The three of them seem to move in an eerie tandem- something that would make you think they’d talked about this beforehand if you didn’t know any better. Hoseok removes his fingers, ignoring your protest as he pulls your body to the floor with him. His skin burns against your own as he positions your ass over his cock; both tortured by the close contact. Your legs are lifted under the knees and spread, baring your pussy to the room and your other boyfriends.

“Fucking can’t wait to wreck you, baby.” He slides you carefully until his cock is pressed tightly against your asshole, the feeling of him twitching there making you even more impatient.

Yoongi stands above you both for a second before kneeling- and you’re grateful for the plush, expensive carpet as you watch his pale knees land on it. His hand stays steady on his cock, stroking himself in little half motions that give away just how hard he’s trying to remain calm. His eyes wander over your shoulder to where Hoseok sits, and you can see them soften as he admires his boyfriend. A sickeningly sweet feeling of affirmed love sweeps through you, and you’re shocked again by just how lucky you’ve managed to become.

Yoongi’s face quickly morphs back into desire as his eyes catch on the way Hoseok’s cock is lodged against you, red and twitching to be inside. You can feel wetness leaking from your pussy downward, making a sticky mess between the two of you that sets you alight.

Not one to be forgotten, Namjoon hovers above you with his watchfully sexy eye, roaming every exposed inch of your skin. His jaw ticks as you rut against Hoseok.

“Go on, Hobi. Wanna see you fill our girl up.” The goading works, and Hoseok is quick to manipulate your body into the perfect position for slipping his cock into you.

Your eyes water at the push but you do your best to relax, focusing on the twin gazes of Yoongi and Namjoon as Hoseok’s cock pushes past your muscles. The stretch is slow and satisfying; and you take a sick pleasure in feeling the way Hoseok’s own body trembles under your own as he bottoms out.

Your mouth lulls open as he starts to bounce you on his cock. Your hands fall useless at your sides but Yoongi is quick to capture them, kissing each palm once before clasping them wholly. The lewd sound of your hips against Hoseok’s fills your head, and a string of incoherent moans is all you can offer them.

Namjoon’s hands find your face as he crouches to your side, giving Yoongi the room to shuffle closer to your waiting pussy.

Your entire body throbs as Yoongi lines up with your entrance and taps at your clit with the heavy head of his cock.

“Please,” you breathe out and cry at the same time: hot tears collecting in Namjoon’s big palms as they roll down your cheeks. The pressure of Yoongi entering you alongside Hoseok’s thrusts creates spots behind your eyes, and you feel your body floating into the overdrive you’ve come to adore. Namjoon grunts with you as you fall into pleasure, allowing your body to be jostled between Hoseok and Yoongi’s strong bodies.

Namjoon kisses your nose in a deceptively sweet manner even though you know his hand is wrapped around his cock; mumbling little praises against your face as you barrel toward blinding pleasure.

The boys work in a perfect rhythm so that you never feel empty. Their cocks occasionally meet, running against one another through the layer of your walls.

“Fucking feel so good when you’re so full.” Beads of sweat roll down Yoongi’s neck, highlighting his godly features.

Your stomach flips with arousal, pussy clenching around the lengths inside of you. Hoseok sinks his teeth into the vulnerable skin on your shoulder before he locks you in an embrace with the corded strength of his arms and holds you steady as you squirm. The string of moans that rips from him at your wiggling hints you toward his oncoming release just seconds before his hips still, filling you to the brim.

“Hobi, fu-fuck!” Your whine is met with a choked sound from Yoongi, who can feel the warmth of Hoseok’s cum inside of you. He keens and leans forward, baring down his hips and meanly stroking his thumb against your swollen clit. His movements rock you back against Hoseok’s softening cock and he moans at the onslaught of sensation.

It’s becoming harder to stay aware of all the sensations, your body happy to just float between feelings of pleasure without much thought. Your moans leave you with no coherence as Yoongi’s hips kick up yet another notch; rapidly plowing into your pussy.

“Let me fill up this pussy for you. Make sure you’re nice and stuffed and used up and d-dripping for us-” his voice crescendos into a loud moan, strumming with insistence across your clit.

Your vision blurs as the pleasure crescendos into a peak, ripping through your nerves. A loud whine rips from your raw throat as Yoongi empties inside of you, meeting the gush of your come with his own. Between his load and Hoseok’s you feel full and heavy, pussy sore but satisfied with the treatment of the night.

“Such a good girl,” Yoongi’s voice floats back to you as he rubs at your thighs softly as he pulls his softening cock out of you. The loss of him inside you makes you whine but you don’t have enough energy left to cross your legs and stop it. Namjoon replaces Yoongi’s hands, shoving your knees apart.

Your bared pussy throbs, leaking Yoongi’s cum onto Hoseok’s skin beneath you. Yoongi groans deep with satisfaction as he watches his release drip out of you, sliding down to meet the puddle of Hoseok’s cum underneath you. “Fuck, I would fill you right back up again if I had the energy.” Yoongi’s chest heaves and Namjoon moans in agreement.

“Joonie-” You gasp as you catch sight of his scrunched brow, the insistent twitch of his cock as his nears his edge again.

“What do you want, baby?” His eyes narrow in on you, likely trying to access the sensitivity you’re feeling. You glow under his attention and squirm against Hoseok’s body.

“Joon, please come on me...” Your bat your lashes and he grunts, tugging at the tip of his cock several times in quick succession before he finally comes. He coats your pussy in a new layer of cum, adding to the glistening white.

Hoseok loosens his embrace and you crumble, all but falling off of his body onto the carpet below. The fabric is surprisingly cool against your heated skin, so you make no real effort to move as you feel the boys move and the gentle sounds of their hushed voices. Hoseok’s hand traces down your spine, forcing you to look his way. His dimple-ridden smile greets you first and you giggle, pouting your lips until he meets you in a kiss.

It’s grounding- just left of magical as he nips at your bottom lip with a sense of genuine love that melts your heart from the inside out. “Love you, Hobi.” The sentiment slips from between your locked lips and he smiles.

“Hey, I love him too!” Namjoon crowds into your vision as well, placing a hand on Hoseok’s naked waist. They share a dimpled smile and then their own sweet kiss.

Your eyes track Yoongi stalking back to the three of you, boxers back on, with a damp washcloth in his hand. As he gets closer you can see his chest has lost its flush and you smile.

He says nothing as he nudges Hoseok and Namjoon aside to run the washcloth over your messy pussy. Even though the fancy washcloth is made of the softest possible material, the drag of the fibers is still sensitive on your pussy.

“Sorry, baby.” Yoongi soothes you as he takes genuine care to clean you up, making sure that everything is gone. Namjoon pecks Yoongi’s temple as he works, and you can only imagine how messy the washcloth is as Yoongi wipes across your ass.

“Your carpet-” you reach for Namjoon’s arm and trace the line of his bicep. “Sorry about your carpet, Joonie.” He coos and holds your chin between two fingers as he kisses you softly.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll just call a cleaner...” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “Definitely not the worst mess to have on this carpet.” Your face flushes in embarrassment despite how messy the whole night was.

Hoseok lets out a hearty laugh and claps Namjoon on the shoulder. “He just means that nothing will be worse than the time he spilled his leftover chicken parm on the floor...there was sauce alllll the way over-”

“Oh, shut up!” Namjoon flushes but his hearty laugh gives away his amusement as you finally find it in yourself to sit up, your muscles stretching out. Two pairs of hands come to steady your form and you smile at the protective feeling that washes over you. Even after a long, strenuous night trapped between them, they make you feel nothing short of worshipped after you’re all spent.

“We gotta stop fucking on the floor,” you groan at the tightness in your neck and Yoongi nods; offering you two hands to get you to your knees. You know that he's immediately going to lead you to the bathroom, and you can’t complain about the amount of love you feel spiraling in your chest.

“You’re right. My poor knees can’t take anymore of this.” Yoongi agrees. You scoff in fake indignation as you travel to the bathroom with him, his arms looped around your naked stomach as he walks behind you as if he’s worried you would spontaneously fall backwards.

“Oh, Yoongi. You’ll never stop getting on your knees, even if Namjoon gets a couch in his office.” He pinches your thigh but stays quiet, agreeing with a sly grin that stays between the two of you.

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