BlackThorn @blackthorncrown - Tumblr Blog

Dec 19, 2025

Drum Kit. (Part 3) II x Reader.

The finale is finally here, as usual if you haven't read part 1 and part 2, I highly suggest it.

I'm so sorry this took so long college has killed my spirit and left me with scraps of my soul.

A/n: I got very carried away with this, and I'll be so honest, it's pure filth. Porn without plot. This is actually my first time writing smut?? I'm usually the one reading it. Thank you to everyone who requested a part 3! I was very inspired by your comments.

Warnings (there's so much omfg): NSFW, Oral Fem!Receiving, Unprotected P in V, sub/dom, manhandling, spanking, unmentioned praise kink, teasing, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cum, creampie. slight exhibitionism? Probably more I was possessed when writing this. As always, MDNI.

Disclaimer! I write about the CHARACTERS not the people. Please respect the bands privies and wishes.

Word count: 6.5k (holy shit.)

When I make it back to the green room, back to the drum set, my brain is still fumbling—like it hasn’t caught up with the rest of me yet.

The room hums faintly, amps still warm, air thick and close. My pulse is wrong. Too fast. Uneven. I focus on the snare in front of me because it looks untouched, pristine, like proof that nothing happened here.

My hands shake when I reach for the drum key.

If I keep moving, maybe I won’t have to think.

That illusion shatters the second I hear him. III's low, unmistakable snicker coming from the doorway.

“Wow,” he drawls. “Didn’t think I’d actually get him to crack.”

I don’t bother turning around. “Don’t start.”

He laughs, already moving closer. “Start what? I’m just checking on my favorite tech. You look a little flushed.”

"Gee, wonder why," I shot back.

III laughs, that loud, shameless kind of laugh that always makes it sound like he's having more fun than he should. "You can't blame me for wanting to see what would happen. I mean, I poke him once, once, and he completely loses his mind? That's comedy gold."

I look up at him, deadpan. "Once? It's been two days now. You nearly started a war over your need for entertainment."

"Yeah, but it worked, didn't it?" He's grinning so hard I want to throw a drumstick at him. "I've been trying to get him to admit he likes you for weeks. You're welcome."

I stare at him for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or strangle him. "You're serious? You did all that just to get him to—"

"Come on, don't act like it wasn't obvious!" He waves a hand dramatically, pacing around like he's narrating the world's juiciest gossip. "He's been looking at you like a kicked puppy behind that mask forever. I just... sped things up a little."

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "You're unbelievable."

He laughs again, soft this time, and bumps my shoulder with his. "Hey, don't be mad. I was rooting for you two. Think of me as your... chaotic cupid."

"That's one word for it," I mutter, but I can't stop the smile tugging at my lips.

III catches it immediately. "Aha! There it is. The 'I'm mad but secretly grateful' face. Don't deny it."

"Grateful?" I snort. "You should be grateful I'm not telling him what you did."

His grin falters for half a second—just long enough for me to notice. "Yeah, let's, uh... maybe not do that," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "He'd probably throw a drum stick at me with unbelievable speed."

"Probably?"

"Okay, definitely. Speaking of, have you seen his throws at the end of our rituals lately? I feel bad for the poor fuckers catching those sticks." He laughs again, the sound softer now, more genuine. "Seriously though, he doesn't know I was just messing with you to get under his skin. So maybe... let's keep that between us?"

I lean against the drum kit, arching a brow. "You're scared of him?"

He scoffs immediately, too quick. "Please. I'm not scared. Respectfully cautious, maybe."

"Uh-huh."

III smirks, stepping closer until he's right beside me. "Anyway, if he asks, you and I were just talking shop, alright? Something boring. Like drumheads or tuning tension or whatever makes his eyes gloss over."

I can't help laughing. "That's your cover story?"

"Hey, it's solid." He shrugs, grinning again. "You'd be surprised how fast he stops listening when I get technical. It's my superpower."

The tension that's been sitting heavy in my chest finally eases. There's still that weird electric hum in the air—like II's presence lingers even though he's gone—but III's teasing makes it bearable.

He glances toward the door again, voice dropping lower. "You should've seen his face, though. I don't think I've ever seen him that pissed. Guess he really does have it bad for you."

My heart stutters, and I look away, trying not to smile. "Yeah," I readjust my shorts again, the previous events replaying in my head. "I've noticed. You're a fuckin menace for that."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he says with a wink. "Just remember, I did you a favor. Now he knows what he wants."

I shake my head, laughing quietly. "You're gonna get yourself killed one day."

He grins, backing toward the door. "Probably. But until then? Totally worth it."

He gives me one last mischievous look before disappearing down the hall, humming to himself, and the room feels lighter again—like the chaos has finally shifted from dangerous to just... familiar.

And even though I know II doesn't have a clue what really went down, I can't help thinking that maybe, for once, III's meddling actually did something right.

When III finally wanders off, the room feels weirdly calm. The laughter fades down the hallway, swallowed by the distant rumble of amps being tested, the shuffle of crew moving gear, the faint echo of the crowd on the other side of the walls.

Showtime's close. The shift in the air is unmistakable—like the whole building is holding its breath.

I check my watch, then the drums. Routine steadies me. Floor tom tension, mic cable alignment, monitor feed. Everything is where it should be, every screw tightened just enough. It's muscle memory by now, but my hands still feel a little unsteady when I touch the snare—the same one he'd just...

I stop that thought dead. Not now. Not when he's five feet away again, mask on, shoulders loose, acting like he didn't just ruin me against a wall thirty minutes ago.

II sits behind his kit, head slightly bowed, testing the kick pedal. Every hit vibrates through the stage and straight into my chest. He doesn't look at me, not directly, but I can feel it. That quiet gravity pulling between us.

III and IV are already in position, silent as ghosts. IV runs one last scale on his guitar—each note soft and haunting—and III adjusts a cable without saying a word. The lighting tech signals from offstage; we've got one minute.

The world outside the curtain grows louder, a restless ocean of bodies and noise. My headset crackles faintly as someone counts down in my ear, and my heartbeat starts to sync with the steady pulse of the kick drum warming up.

Then, as if someone flips a switch, everything shifts. The lights drop to black.

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of breath and anticipation.

Vessel steps out first, slow and deliberate, the mask glinting faintly as the opening synth swells. The crowd's roar breaks against the stage like thunder, but the band doesn't acknowledge it. They never do.

III's bass hums low, IV's guitar slides in, and then II moves—precise, powerful, that impossible rhythm that feels less like drumming and more like invocation.

Every hit is a heartbeat. Every sound feels alive.

From my spot at the side of the stage, I watch them slip into that otherworldly trance. They're not people anymore; they're conduits, and the air around them thrums with something sacred, something dangerous.

But then II looks up. Just once. Just for a fraction of a second.

The lights flash white, catching the edge of his mask, and I swear he's looking right at me. My breath stutters.

Then the moment's gone. The ritual continues, and I'm just a shadow again, moving quietly through the dark to make sure it all keeps running smoothly.

Still, with every beat that rattles my ribs, I can feel the promise of his earlier words echoing in time with the drums.

Next time he touches you, I'll make him watch.

The world tilts back into focus once the last note fades. The crowd's roar is still rattling the walls, vibrating up through the stage floor like thunder, but the four of them are already ghosts in motion. Silent, collected, masks glinting in the dim light as they disappear down the corridor toward the green room.

I follow with a towel and a half-dead headset, heartbeat finally starting to come down. The second the door shuts behind us, the noise from outside dulls to a soft, distant hum.

Backstage, the mood shifts completely.

IV's the first to break character, peeling off his guitar and swinging it onto the stand before stretching like he just came out of a nap. "God, I swear that monitor was trying to kill me again," he says, half-laughing, muffled through his mask.

Vessel snorts, handing him a bottle of water. "Maybe it just hates your solos."

"Blasphemy," IV gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like he's wounded. "That was art."

I laugh before I can stop myself. "Art's a strong word for whatever that noise was during the bridge."

He points at me in mock offense. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

"I'm on the side of accuracy," I say, grinning.

Vessel chuckles, settling into the corner of the couch, still half in performance mode but softer now, more human. He tips his head toward me. "She's right though. You missed that cue by a mile."

IV groans. "You're all against me."

"Maybe you should practice," III chimes in from across the room, tossing his bass pick onto the table. He's grinning, too, less smug now more like a friend winding down after the storm.

The banter flows easy, familiar. It's always like this after a show; the ritual dissolves, and they turn human again. It's weirdly domestic. The masks stay on, but the energy is lighter.

I toss a towel to II, who's sitting on the edge of a flight case, arms resting on his knees. "You good?"

He nods once, sweat-dark curls sticking to the back of his neck. "Fine," he says, voice low and rough from the set.

III snickers quietly. "Fine, he says. You broke half a stick on that closer, man."

II doesn't even look up. "It's called commitment."

I grin. "It's called reckless."

That earns me a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "Are you complaining?"

"About you making my job harder? Always."

IV laughs, throwing a towel at me. "Careful, she's feisty tonight."

Vessel hums, leaning back, relaxed. "She's earned it. Kept us in one piece out there." His tone is soft but warm, and it makes me smile in spite of myself.

"Barely," I say, tossing the towel back at him.

Eventually, IV's sprawled half-off the couch, III's perched on a case tapping out a rhythm with his fingers, and Vessel settled beside me.

"You held it together tonight," he says, peeling his mask off and wiping the sweat covered paint a bit. "Even when the lights cut mid-set. Nice save."

I grin. "Please, I've wrestled worse cables than that thing. It didn't stand a chance."

He chuckles. "Confidence. I like that."

III makes a dramatic ooh sound from his corner. "Careful, Vessel's flirting again."

Vessel waves him off, amused. "I'm being polite." He turns back to me, head tilting a little. "Speaking of polite conversation... remind me, do you have someone waiting for you at home?"

The question catches me mid-sip of water. "What?"

He shrugs lightly. "You're good at disappearing into work. I just wonder if anyone complains about it."

I snort. "Oh yeah, tons of people. All my imaginary girlfriends are furious."

IV laughs from the floor. "Same."

I smile, shaking my head. "Nah. No partner. Too busy for that kind of chaos on this tour. And anyone who dated me would probably start resenting the sound of tuning keys and sweaty stage gear."

"Maybe," Vessel says, voice softer now, almost thoughtful. "Or maybe someone would find that kind of dedication impressive."

III whistles low. "He's doing it again. That voice thing."

"Shut up," Vessel mutters, though he's still smiling.

I shrug. "If they do, they can send an application to management."

That gets another round of laughter, even from II, who's been silent at his kit the whole time. It's a quiet sound, rough from shouting over drums all night, but it still catches me off guard.

When the laughter dies down, Vessel leans back, elbows resting on his knees. "Too busy for anyone, huh?"

"Pretty much," I say, smiling at him. "Tour life doesn't exactly scream stability."

For a second, the room dips quieter. When I glance up, II's head is angled just enough that I know he's listening.

III grins like he feels the shift, throwing a pick across the room to break the silence. "She's just saying she hasn't met anyone good enough to keep up."

I roll my eyes. "Exactly. See, he gets it."

II's voice cuts in, low and almost too calm. "Maybe she just hasn't had the right person try."

The sentence hangs there like static in the air. IV raises a brow, half-grinning, while Vessel smothers another laugh behind his hand.

III looks between us, obviously enjoying himself. "And there it is."

I shoot II a look that's meant to be teasing but comes out warmer than I expect. "Oh? You're volunteering, drummer boy?"

He doesn't blink. "If that's what it takes."

It's playful on the surface, but the way he says it..Steady, quiet, like he's testing how serious I'll let him be, makes my stomach twist. I can't help but rethink our encounter in that closet.

Vessel shakes his head, chuckling. "Children, please. We just played a show; let's not start another one."

III laughs so hard he nearly drops his stick. "Too late, boss. The sequel's already in production."

Everyone dissolves into laughter again, the sound echoing off the concrete walls, but underneath it all I can still feel II's gaze on me, steady as the pulse of a drumbeat.

The laughter fades into something softer, the kind of quiet that always settles after the high of a show. Vessel leaned back with his arms crossed, IV's half-asleep on the couch, III's distractedly tapping out some beat on a bottle. The room's warm and comfortable and alive with that post-show buzz.

I push myself up, stretching. "Bathroom break. Try not to burn the place down while I'm gone."

III salutes with a drumstick. "No promises."

The hallway outside the green room is dim and narrow, humming with the faint bass from the house speakers still playing out front. My footsteps echo as I pass the storage door—the one they keep propped open for quick equipment runs—and the air smells faintly of wood polish and dust.

I'm halfway down the hallway, trying to convince myself it's just a quick trip to the bathroom, when a painted hand grabs my wrist.

Before I can even turn, I'm being tugged sideways, off the corridor, into a smaller green room I hadn't even noticed before. The door clicks shut behind me, and the world outside.

The room is cramped and dimly lit, a single lamp near the corner casting long shadows across the walls. Along one side, a spare drum kit stands in pristine silence: the snare polished to a reflective shine, toms stacked like sentinels, cymbals angled just so, sticks resting neatly across the snare. Everything smells faintly of sweat, wood polish, and metal. It's a strange little sanctuary of instruments, quiet and expectant.

And he's standing there, mask off, smiling down at me.

"Really?" I manage, voice low. "Couldn't even let me get to the bathroom first?"

He doesn't answer right away. Just stands there, close enough that the air feels charged. I freeze, heart hammering. He doesn't speak at first. He just steps closer, every movement deliberate, controlled, taking up all the space in the room. My pulse spikes at the sight of him unmasked, those eyes dark and intense, locked onto mine.

"You said you're too busy for anyone," he murmurs, voice low, calm, commanding. "But I don't think you're being honest with yourself."

Before I can respond, he closes the distance between us. One hand wraps around the back of my neck, tilting my head up, the other pressing firmly against my lower back, anchoring me in place. I'm aware of every detail—the faint gleam of the cymbals reflecting light, the snare just a step to my right, the emptiness of the room filled with tension.

His lips crash against mine, not gentle, not hesitant, but forceful and deliberate, dominating. He owns the moment entirely; I don't even have the space to pull away. My knees threaten to buckle as he presses me against the wall, the spare drum set humming faintly under the lamp like it's witnessing us, like it knows what's happening.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against my mouth, low and hot. "You think you can ignore me. That you can ignore this. You can't."

Then he's back, lips and hands commanding, every movement precise. The room feels impossibly small, the drum set looming like silent witnesses to the way he's claiming this moment. My chest heaves, breath coming shallow and fast, entirely aware that he is in control—and I am utterly, completely at his mercy.

"Just a few hours ago you were in a closet just like this cumming all over my fingers, now you're too busy? Tsk Tsk. That's a pretty contradicting statement, sweet girl." I can't control the whimper I let out at his words.

His grip on my jaw tightens just enough to keep me from looking anywhere but him, and my chest hammers against his. Every inch of him presses against me, unyielding, like he's staking a claim in the quiet green room, staking a claim on me.

He leans in slowly, lips ghosting over mine, teasing, dragging, testing. My knees threaten to buckle, and he notices, one hand sliding to the small of my back, pulling me impossibly closer, tilting me so my balance is completely his.

"You think you can ignore me," he murmurs against my lips, voice low and deliberate, vibrating through me. "You can't hide from me. Not here. Not ever."

The words hit me like a drumbeat, steady, inescapable, and he kisses me again. Firm, commanding, all teeth and tongue and warmth and he's rough. He's in control, deliberately owning the moment, leaving me dizzy and breathless. Every movement is calculated, like he knows exactly how to make me melt under him without losing that steady dominance.

His hands roam just enough to anchor me, but not let me forget I'm trapped. One curls into my hair, tilting my head back, the other pressing at my hip, holding me flush against the wall. His body molds to mine like it belongs here, like this space, this room, this moment is only ours.

"You're too busy?" he whispers between kisses, low, possessive, and I feel the weight of it in every syllable. "I don't think you are."

I try to respond, try to say something clever, but my words get tangled in my throat. My hands press against his chest, but he's unshakable, unyielding, keeping me right where he wants me.

He kisses me again, slower this time, more deliberate, dragging the edges of his lips across mine, tracing, claiming, demanding. I feel it in the tilt of my head, the way he holds my spine flush against the wall, the heat of his chest pressing into mine. It's not rough—it's precise, controlled, utterly possessive.

"Come on, where's the fight?" he murmurs, pulling just far enough to brush his forehead against mine. "You don't think I can keep up?"

I whimper and squeeze my thighs together, licking into his mouth. "Please.." I murmur as I try to press into him.

The spare drums, the cymbals, the faint light of the single lamp, it's all part of this moment. The instruments are silent witnesses, their cold metal and polished wood amplifying the intensity, and I can't even think about anything else. Not the show, not the others, not the chaos of the tour. There's only him, only this, only the raw, undeniable claim he's making, and I'm powerless to resist.

He lets out a laugh. "Oh but, you don't have time for that, remember?" I shake my head at his words.

"I have time, no no please I have time." I plead as I grip his shirt tighter against me. II tilts his head, and smirks. His eyes go dark. He has control, and he knows it. I'm exactly where he wants me to be.

Nodding to the drum stool in the corner, he lets go of me. I blink up at him confused, and unsure. His hand finds the small of my back as he guides me to it. Standing behind me, his growing bulge pressing into me he moves my hair to one side of my neck and leans in to kiss from my shoulder to my ear. Slow, deliberate and wet kisses are pressed as he grips my waist tight, pulling me into feel him.

Gasping, I tilt my head to give him more room and reach back to grab him when he stops and pulls away.

"Bend over. Arms on the stool."

I barely have time to process what he's telling me before I feel a hand guiding me. My head is overblown with lust and need, and at this point there's little I won't do for the mercy of his touch.

Within a moment I'm bent over, elbows on the stool as he presses up against me from behind. Desperate, I try to grind back against him. I've never felt so needy before, so captured. Calloused, painted hands grab my waist and tug my hips to his, letting me feel everything he was offering. His cock was hard and rutting gently into me from behind, but he was purposely holding back from giving me satisfaction.

"So, fucking, greedy." II murmured as he palmed my ass through my shorts, before spanking me hard. I yelp out and turn my head over my shoulder to look at him.

"Too busy huh? Not too busy for this though, I assume." He taunts, and another hard slap lands, making me bite my lip.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it-" I plead, trying to move my hips against his for friction. I hear a sarcastic laugh behind me before my hair is tugged and I'm pulled back against his chest, forced to stand again to relieve the tension of my hair. My mouth hangs open and I pant, half in pain, half in pure need. II bites down on my neck, hard, making me yelp again and try to bend away. I'm stopped by his other hand coming in front to unbutton my shorts, forcing the zipper down before his hand dips in.

"You're not sorry yet, sweet girl."

His hands are hard. Still tugging at my hair as he licks, sucks, and bites heavy purple marks into my skin, switching sides. I can barely process it however, as his other hand has his fingers circling tight around my clit. "Please II, please." I beg out.

The reply comes muffled and surprisingly calm as he releases his mouth from my abused neck, "Please, what. Be specific."

"Please, I need you so bad." I cry, grinding my hips into his hand.

"Oh so now you need me? And here I thought I couldn't keep up." Another harsh bite to my shoulder as his fingers circle faster. There's practically a pool in my panties at this point.

Shaking my head frantically I plead again. "No I was wrong, I'm sorry. I need you. You're the only one I want please II. I'm not too busy I swear. I'll tell them I was wrong. I'm sorry please."

Suddenly his hands are removed from me and I whine at the loss of touch. Before I can complain or beg, my shorts are shoved down my thighs, pooling around my ankles. He makes quick work to drag my bra and top off in one quick motion, and then pushes me back down to bend over on the drum stool.

"You won't need to." Two fingers plunge into my wetness, prodding and curling until I moan out profanities. They move slow but deep, in and out making me arch and grip the stool harder. I faintly hear a zipper and pants being tugged down behind me but I am too caught up in the pleasure.

Just as quick as they entered, he retracted his fingers and licked them clean. Within seconds I feel his head resting against my opening. I can't see, but I can feel how thick his tip is. I try to rub back against it but I'm met with a sharp spank. II rubs his length up and down my slit, slapping it against my clit before using his foot to push my ankles farther apart, leaving me spread.

"I'm getting real fucking sick of everyone here flirting with my girl" He finally spoke, spitting down and rubbing it over his cock.

"Your girl?" I question. He's never referred to me as that before, but I suppose I should have seen that coming.

My answer comes with a deep push of his cock deep into me, bottoming out with one thrust. The air is knocked from my lungs and I struggle to stay up right. His hands come and find my hips, fingers digging in as he bends to whisper close to my ear, holding back his groans.

"Mine."

His hand sprawls out on my back as he begins to ruin me in every sense of the world. Despite biting my lip, the sounds of ecstasy escape and leave me breathless. "Oh fuck, II!" I feel like a broken record, crying out with every slow deep thrust he gives me.

The more I try to focus the better I can make out his grunts and groans behind me. His hands come down to spread me, letting him see every detail of his cock sliding in and out. "So fucking pretty" He mumbles as he fucks into me harder.

My legs feel weak as he fucks me harder. "So.. So good I won't stop." I gasp out. My body feels electric and buzzing with energy.

A hand reaches down to circle my clit again. "I'm not gonna sweetheart, I'm not gonna." Just as I can feel my peak approaching, the sound of a door down the hallway stops everything. II stops, buried deep inside of me and we both listen. I can't help but clench around him, craving my release.

Two voices, barely tangible, ring out.

"Where did they go?" It's Vessel, sounding mildly concerned.

A laugh is heard. III no doubt, I know that cackle anywhere. "II probably sauntered her off to have another 'chat.' God it's infuriating no matter how hard I push them together he won't act."

"What do you mean, act?"

"Oh come on he wants her so fucking bad its near desperate. If only he'd man up and fuck her already-"

A sharp thrust interrupts my ease dropping. I have to hold my mouth to cover my sound of surprise. "II, what the fuck are you doing? They're right there-" Another deep thrust. His hand grabs my face and turns me as much as he can over my shoulder, leaning down to make eye contact. II smiles brightly at me before beginning to fuck me again, staring slow and getting deeper with each snap of his hips, forcing me to bite my lip to keep quiet. With his fingers pushed into my cheeks, his other hand spanks me hard.

"Did I tell you to be quiet?"

I try to shake my head no, but his grip doesn't allow it. "No. But they're right outside." I whisper out. The feeling of him deep inside, rutting into me makes my eyes nearly gloss over.

Another spank. "Good. Let them hear how good I'm 'keeping up'."

II runs his hands to the root of my hair and pulls tightly, making my jaw go slack and the angle we're at. His thrusts get faster and harder, pulling moans from me that I can barely restrict.

"Stop," A hard spank, "Holding," Another spank just as hard. "Back." A final strike made me cry out for him.

"II! Oh fuck oh fuck it's too much." I cry between moans, the truth is I love how overwhelming he's making this. And he knows it.

"There's my girl. Look at you. So fuckin tight squeezing me like you need it. Did you? Hm? Did you need me to fuck all that attitude out of you." He grunts out, and I nearly cum just from his words. I moan and nod dumbly, too fucked out to argue that he was the one who caused my attitudes.

"Yeah I know sweet girl, I know. Why don't you show me how much you need it? I wanna hear you say my name for me." A tug at my hair grabs my attention as he says this and I whimper out.

"II! It feels so good, oh God." I whine.

"C'mon baby, you can do better than that." He reaches down to rub my clit and I nearly scream.

"Who do you belong to?" II asks, rubbing hard circles making my head spin as he fucks me into oblivion.

"You! I belong to you, I'm yours." I slur out, lost in pleasure.

"You're gonna have to do better than that if you want to cum sweetheart. Who do you belong to? Yell it out and I'll make you cum right here all over my cock. You want that right? Yeah? You wanna feel good for me?" His tip brushes against my cervix and I crumble, I'm sure I'd fall if not for this stool and his hand forcing my head up.

"I belong to you!! Please I'm yours I swear." I cry out, desperate to finish. I was so close, If he moved his fingers a bit faster I'd reach it.

"Louder. I want them to fucking hear you." II spits, full on railing me into the seat, the room filled with our moans, panting and the sound of his hips driving aggressively into mine.

"I'm YOURS II!! I belong to you!! I'm yours, I'm yours please let me cum!" I scream and beg, tears in my eyes as he releases my hair and fully drives full force into me. I cry out with every thrust as he rubs my clit faster.

"Cum for me, pretty girl. Make me proud and cum for me. You did so good for me. Let me feel that pussy cum on me." He praises, and I went crashing over the edge, convulsing around his cock while he continued ramming it into me. Three more thrusts, before his pants and groans lengthen and he spills inside of me. I've never felt so full. I don't get any time to recover, because within an instant II pulls out and flips me so I'm sitting on the stool. My aching hands find parts of the drum set to hold onto as he dives between my folds making me yell out once more.

"Fuck! II Oh my fucking god! I'm too sensitive wait-" I begin but quickly I find myself silenced.

"Shut up and let me taste what's mine." II pries my legs wider, over his shoulders and dives his tongue deep into my hole, moaning as he tastes the mix we've created. The vibrations of his hums of satisfaction send shocks of pleasure to my clit. Quickly, II begins to devour me with hunger, and for the second time my brain completely turns off as my body is taken over by pleasure.

II's tongue knows my body better than I do, and every little flick sends me closer to the edge. I reach and grip one of the drums as I feel myself start to come, my whole body shakes violently when I go over the edge. He holds me steady as he finishes lapping up my juices before slowly pulling back, having collected some on his tongue. II grabs the back of my neck and leans up to pull me into a kiss, letting me taste myself and bits of him. I moan into the kiss as he forces his tongue deeper until I swallow.

He pulls back with a wet smack, licking his lips as we pant together and recover. "Yeah? You liked that? I knew you would, dirty girl." He teases, petting my hair as we come down. A soft kiss is pressed to my lips this time, full of adoration and care. Letting me catch my breath, he caresses my face and kisses over the marks he left.

I don’t remember when the room stopped spinning. Just that II’s hands are steady where mine aren’t.

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice low and close, like it’s meant only for me. He’s tugging fabric over my legs, guiding my arms through sleeves when I forget what they’re for. I let him. I let him do everything. My body is still humming and my thoughts feel wrapped in cotton.

He buttons my shorts for me. Fix my shirt. Fingers linger at my waist like he’s checking I’m really here.

I am. I think.

He doesn’t rush.

Buttons. Straightens. Smooths his hands down my sides like he’s grounding himself as much as me. When his fingers brush my hips, they linger, firm and possessive, like he’s checking something that already belongs to him.

When we step back into the living room, it feels brighter somehow. Louder. Like the air itself knows something happened. The couch is right where it was before, but the energy is different. Charged. I don’t notice the way III immediately sits up. Don’t notice Vessel’s head tilt or IV’s slow smile.

I just let II pull me down with him, settling back into his lap without hesitation. My body folds into his like it’s muscle memory. I curl against his chest, face tucked under his chin, legs drawn in. His arms lock around me instantly, no space, no question.

Mine.

I sigh, eyes already fluttering. If he got us into this, he can absolutely deal with the aftermath. I’m clocked out.

“Well,” III says, far too pleased with himself. “That didn't take long. What, like 2 days?”

II doesn’t respond. He presses his palm flat against my thigh instead, thumb dragging slow and deliberate like he’s daring anyone to look too long.

III snorts. “I was taking bets, you know. Thought Vessel would be first.” He's teasing of course.

Vessel hums thoughtfully. “I had patience,” he says, eyes flicking pointedly to my neck. “Unlike some people. Were you trying to eat her alive, or was that a statement?”

I blink, lifting my head just enough to squint at him. Eat me alive?

II’s grip tightens. Not rough. Just unmistakable.

“Eyes up,” he says calmly, staring straight at Vessel. “She’s tired.”

III laughs outright. “Oh he’s serious now. Look at him. That’s not ‘post-hookup’ energy. That’s ‘touch her and die.’ Might have created a monster with our little taunts at her.”

IV leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying me with open curiosity. “The poor thing can barely keep her eyes open,” he says gently. “What on earth did you do to her?”

II exhales, something warm and satisfied in it. He drops his chin to my hair, lips brushing my temple in a way that makes my stomach flip even through the haze.

“I took care of her,” he says. “And she’s staying right here.”

III lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, dad. We get it. She’s claimed.”

Vessel’s mouth quirks. “Very claimed,” he adds. “You missed a spot though.”

II shoots him a warning look.

Vessel smiles wider.

I don’t have the energy to process any of it. I just shift closer, my fingers fisting in II’s hoodie like it’s an anchor. His thumb resumes those slow circles against my arm, protective and absentminded, like he could do this forever. A blanket is thrown at us by III, which I gratefully take and cover up with.

“That’s it,” II murmurs quietly, meant only for me. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time all night, the room feels exactly right.

I let my eyes close. Let the noise fade. Let myself exist right where he put me, warm and claimed and not thinking about anything at all.

I drift in and out while they keep talking around us, voices overlapping like background noise I don’t have to participate in. II doesn’t loosen his hold once. If anything, he settles deeper into the couch, one leg braced, arm firm around my middle like he’s anchored me there on purpose.

III stretches his arms over his head, still smirking. “So what, this means she’s off-limits now?” he asks, very obviously poking.

II doesn’t look at him. “She always was.”

That earns a bark of laughter. “Oh come on. You can’t rewrite history like that.”

Vessel tilts his head again, studying the way I’m tucked into II’s chest, the way II’s hand rests unapologetically on my thigh. “You’re awfully comfortable,” he observes. “She fits you.”

II hums, satisfied. “I know.”

The confidence in it makes my stomach flutter. I shift, pressing closer without even meaning to, and II responds instantly. His hand slides up my side, fingers splaying over my ribs, grounding. Claiming. Like a reflex.

IV smiles softly. “I guess that answers that.”

“Guess it does,” III says. “Damn. Took you long enough, drummer boy.”

II finally glances at him then, expression unreadable but calm. “Worth the wait.”

III whistles low. “Yeah. She looks wrecked.”

I frown faintly at that, lifting my head just enough to glare at him, though it probably comes out more sleepy than threatening.

II clicks his tongue. “Careful.”

That shuts him up real quick.

I let my head drop back against II’s shoulder, eyelids heavy. He adjusts again, easing me sideways so I’m half-sprawled across him now, my legs draped over his. It’s casual. Intimate. Like this has always been the plan.

“There we go,” he murmurs. “Get comfortable.”

Vessel’s voice drops, almost amused. “You’re not even pretending anymore.”

“No reason to,” II replies. “She’s staying.”

The finality of it makes the room go quiet again. Not awkward. Just accepting.

III shrugs. “Cool. Guess we’ll flirt with each other instead.”

I snort, finally answering. “You already do.”

I feel II smile against my hair. He presses a kiss there, slow and deliberate, like punctuation. Like the end of a sentence he’s been waiting to finish.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, too low for anyone else to hear.

And maybe I don’t remember everything that happened before. Maybe my body is still buzzing and my thoughts are soft and slow. But this part is clear as anything.

I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

The couch. His lap. His arms around me. The rest of the world can wait.

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