𝕊𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤: Do you know what would bring two enemies together? A movie day!
𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: pure smut, nothing else-
𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2,122
𝕊𝕠𝕝 𝕩 ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕖 𝕩 𝔽𝕖𝕞!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣
𝟙𝟠+ !!ℕ𝕆 𝕄𝕀ℕ𝕆ℝ𝕊!!
ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖: ℙ𝕃𝔼𝔸𝕊𝔼 ℝ𝔼𝔸𝔻: I was making this while I was sick before (I got over being sick only to freaking become sick AGAIN!) But it's not that bad this time. It's what happens when you have a horrible heart and a bad immune system TvT
I wrote this because I needed practice for my smut scenes so...
✍️(◔◡◔)
Anyways, here you go, for all my Sol and Crowe fans!
Enjoy!!~
You’ve had… better ideas than this.
Much better ideas than this. And regretted a few. But you couldn’t decide if this was a regrettable decision or the best decision you’ve ever made. All you tried to do was to get your two guy best friends to get along, is that too much to ask?
Apparently it is.
That morning, you had texted both of them separately, asking them to come over around noon for a movie you bought the day before. Sure, you didn’t say that the other one was coming as well, but there wasn’t any harm in a surprise, was there? At least you didn’t think so.
Crowe was the first to show up, ten minutes early. Not that it had bothered you. You had told him to wait on the couch while you finish getting everything ready. And he did just that, waiting patiently, thinking that it would be only you two. Until there was another knock on the door five minutes later, and it was none other than Sol. Who else would it have been, really?
But as soon as the two guys saw each other, the room felt… tense. You could probably cut through the air with a knife from how suffocating it was.
You were sitting in between them on your couch, the movie playing in front of you three, but no one was watching it. Sol was busy throwing glares in Crowe’s direction. Crowe was trying to focus on the movie, but obviously couldn’t because of Sol. And you were just.. there. Right in the middle of their… whatever this was they were doing.
This was so bad. You just wanted them to get along for one afternoon.
You reached for the popcorn on the coffee table, picking it up and offering some to Crowe first, being polite, trying to break the very uncomfortable silence.
“Would you like some popcorn?” You gave him a gentle smile that made his heart skip a beat. Of course he took some, because it was you that was offering it to him. But the death glare Sol gave him didn’t go unnoticed from either of you.
You turned and offered some to Sol. “Popcorn?”
He tore his gaze from Crowe to you, a gentle smile on his lips the moment he looked at you. He shook his head, not voicing his answer before going back to glare at Crowe for even existing in your presence.
And with that, the tension is back. You tried to ignore it, eating some popcorn of your own until Sol grabbed your wrist suddenly, making both you and Crowe look at him.
“Pumpkin, your fingers are dirty,” His red-orange eyes flicked to Crowe for a brief moment, as if making sure he was looking before looking back to you. “Let me clean you up.”
You blinked in confusion, unsure of what he meant by that. “Sol, what are you–” Without letting you finish your sentence, he brought your index and middle finger up to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick the pad of your fingertips, tasting the buttery and salty goodness of the popcorn and you.
Your face burned as he licked and gently sucked on your fingers, his eyes closing as he savored the taste, humming softly around your fingers, the vibrations sending shivers through your nerves. The warm and wet feeling of his mouth making gentle sucks sent a soft yet audible shudder through your body.
Sol finally pulled your fingers out of his mouth, a string of saliva connecting from his lips to your wet fingers, breaking as he opened his eyes, his face left flushed. Yet his eyes bore into yours, his pupils dilating the longer he looked at you.
Crowe’s expression was horrified at the sight before him. He couldn’t form a single thought other than the image of Sol’s mouth on your fingers burned into his brain. Was Crowe going to let this stand? No. This was war.
You felt Crowe gently grab your jaw, turning your head to face him. He gave you a gentle smile, his eyes seemingly darker than you remembered them being before.
“Starlight, you have a little something right–” He leaned in, his hand on your jaw tightening slightly, ensuring you wouldn’t pull away. “There.” His tongue licked the corner of your mouth suddenly, making your breath hitched from the contact.
Crowe gazed over to Sol, noticing how very closely Sol was watching. Sol’s eyes narrowed at Crowe, but it didn’t scare him. Not one bit.
As soon as Crowe pulled away, Sol let go of your wrist and took your face in his hand, turning your face to him a little too roughly before his mouth crashed into yours, muffling your gasp. Sol never looked away from Crowe as he kissed you, watching as Crowe’s face crumbled from watching you two.
It was a war. A war of taking turns on kissing them, of who would get your attention more than the other. And the kissing soon turned into groping and grabbing, a race to see who would be able to take your clothes off first. A race to get you into your bedroom while trying to kiss and touch you.
It was happening so fast that you didn’t know how to process everything, didn’t know who to touch first, who to kiss back. You thought you could feel one of them biting your skin, but you couldn’t tell who it was, not with both of their mouths on you.
When you felt them pulling you down on your bed, Sol tried to take over first, kissing you deeply, his tongue slipping into your mouth, letting you feel his pierced tongue exploring yours. Then you felt Crowe’s tongue on your body, his smooth and wet tongue running up your ribcage until his mouth found your nipple—capturing it and giving it a gentle suck, making you cry out against Sol’s mouth from the feeling. It was an intense sensation yet you didn’t want it to stop.
That would be a crime if they stopped now.
Sol’s hand slid down your stomach, then lower, before dipping between your legs, making you gasp as his middle finger rubbed up and down your slit, gathering enough wetness before bringing that finger up to his lips, pulling back from you to lick his finger. The soft hum of approval made your stomach clench from anticipation.
Crowe noticed your attention wasn’t on him, making him gently nip at your wet peak, making it ache more before he soothed it with his tongue. You groaned, tearing your gaze from Sol to Crowe, feeling him dragging his tongue from your hardened nipple and up to your neck, gently starting to suck on the hollow spot near your collar bone.
Sol watched for a moment, watching how the person he hated most left a dark red mark on the person that he loves most. It was unacceptable.
He moved down on your body, placing wet open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, moving lower until his head was between your legs. His hands opening your thighs more for him, fingertips digging into your skin as he buried his face into your wet cunt, his tongue licking up your wetness.
“Ah!~” You tilted your head back on your bed, your legs instinctively moving to close around Sol’s head, but he kept them open as he ate you out—licking and swirling his tongue as if trying to taste all of you, inside and out. As if he was eating something for the first time in a long time.
Crowe lifted his head up from your neck, smashing his lips into yours, nipping at your bottom lip before letting his tongue slide into your mouth, muffling the sounds you were making. The sounds you were making because of Sol.
It was so… erotic. How they fight over you, your attention, your lust. You wanted more, to see how far you could take them before they break. Before they tried to tear each other apart before either of them got inside you.
You leaned into the kiss, one hand coming up and into his hair, kissing Crowe back deeply and desperately. He groaned against your mouth, one hand coming up and gently grabbed your hardened nipple in between his index finger and thumb. He gently twisted it, making a moan rip from the back of your throat, arching into his touch.
Sol noticed. Of course he did. You wanted him to notice.
Sol doubled his efforts, moving his tongue inside you, fucking you with it, making you feel the ball on his tongue gently scratching you in the most pleasurable way imaginable.
You tore your lips from Crowe’s, a moan breaking free, a moan that made both Sol and Crowe’s cocks stir in their pants. Crowe gently grabbed your face again, turning you so you could kiss him again.
“Pay attention, my Starlight.” He whispered against your lips, but Sol heard. And he hated it.
Sol got up then, his mouth and tongue no longer giving you the pleasure that you so desperately wanted. He shoved Crowe a little but still hard enough to make him stop kissing you to look at the angry man.
“Hey, be careful.”
“You. Why can’t you just go away? Why are you always around like a damn fly?”
Crowe gave him a confused look, unsure what he meant, but Crowe didn’t really care right now. He turned back to you, seeing the rise and fall of your chest, your flushed and pouty face before looking back at Sol.
“Hate me all you want, but I only care about her.” He gently cupped your chin, squishing your cheeks a little, making you look even more cuter to them. “You can either continue what you were doing or move out of the way and let me do it. I have no doubt that after a few licks from me she’ll cum sooner.”
If Sol didn’t hate Crowe before, he definitely does now.
As if taking his challenge, Sol leaned down and pushed his tongue back into you, making you whimper from the wet sensation again. Crowe went back to what he had been doing; teasing your aching breasts, kissing you breathlessly.
The sensations were too much, too much for your mind to comprehend, too much for your body to adjust and to handle. Especially all at once. But then Sol’s tongue found your clit, using the ball on his tongue to tease it, flicking against it.
It was overstimulating. You didn’t know when or how it happened so quickly; your body became tense, tilting your head back as a hoarse cry came out of you as waves of pleasure crashed into you, seeping deep into your nerves and bones. And the evidence of it was all over Sol’s mouth and face.
Your body went limp on your bed as Sol leaned upwards, licking his lips with another hum of approval. You panted heavily, feeling Crowe’s fingertips dance along your burning hot skin. Teasing your nerves.
“I think that took a lot out of her.” You heard Crowe say, his voice soft and gentle, like a warm blanket after a cold shower.
“It looked like it did… but I think she can handle more.”
You lifted your head when Sol said that, looking at him as if he was crazy. Well, he was insane. For you. They both were.
Crowe looked down at you, gently cupping your cheek, making you look up at him.
“Can you handle more, my Goddess?”
The way he asked that, the way he worded it made you want to submit to whatever they wanted. To anyone else, it may have seemed like he was giving you a choice. But you knew you didn’t, but Crowe wasn’t the type to take like Sol was. He wanted you to say it. To voice that you want more from them, to take whatever they wanted to give to you willingly.
“Y-Yes…” You stuttered out, despite your core aching and your body in bliss. You still wanted more. You wanted all of them.
Crowe’s lips twitched as he tried to conceal his smirk, moving a hand down to undo his dress pants.
“Whatever my sweetheart wants.~”
You felt Sol’s hands running up your thighs, moving to grip your hips and suddenly pulled you down closer to him. You whined at the feeling of his bulge in his jeans pressing against your wet core.
In that moment, you knew that you did indeed have a bad idea making them come over for a movie. But it wasn’t regrettable. No. Far from it.
rommulas had his hand in a bundle of ur hair holding on, tight enough to sting
“u like that? you like choking on my cock?” he teases
he recieved a small nod from you while ur mouth continues to strive on his large sized cock
in one swift move Romulus seized your head, fingers tangling roughly in your hair and yanked your head forward his thick cock surging past your lips, stretching them wide as he shoved deep into the wet warmth of your mouth
You were helpless reduced to nothing but a trembling breathless fucktoy used for his pleasure
All you could do was moan around his hardening cock as he pumped his cock into ur mouth
“ fuck baby keep using that mouth” im almost finished with u” broken moans escaped his mouth as his warm cum releases from his cock, the sweet and salty liquid washes down ur throat
his cock is still hard and pulsing as he watches u swallow his load down ur throat
“such a good slut”
^_^ (baii thats it) (gonna write some nasty shit for 2hollis next)
hi your camboy aus are very enjoyable. Especially liked dick rater zanka nijiku. Thoughts on camboy zanka whose whole shtick is just rubbing and grinding on things while he degrades you and your dick for not being enough to satisfy him. Rubs his pussy against the corner of a table, rubs against a pillow, etc.
Jabber is a loyal viewer and #1 donator but cannot for the life of him figure out why he loves this specific guy who doesnt even show his face.
And then zanka streams himself moaning against lovely assistaff (a staff still. Zanka does martial arts. But its still a very recognizable staff. One that jabber has seen through the window of the dojo he visits solely to catch the guy with the funny eyebrows decimate every single opponent he has. Jabber's trying to figure out how to approach the guy without popping an insta-boner. Maybe he doesnt have to figure it out and just let his dick start speaking for him)
Okay guys so sorry for taking so long to respond to these asks😭 I wasnt expecting ppl to send so many, and ive been having to weed thru the bad ones…also I got extremely busy irl😭 so im locking in. I swear.
Also sorry this is so long. I low-key got carried away…. Anyways.
Camboy Zanka, Fan Jabber, grinding on items, grinding on Lovely, dirty talk, degradation, slight stalking….Jabber is deadass pathetic in this. Wrestling, choking, spitting on face, grinding on dick, punching stomach(no pee or anything like that), cumming in panties, slapping. Enjoy……
Jabber wouldnt consider himself a pervert. Not really, at least. He had taste, specific tastes, just like any other man or woman had. So of course he was scrolling through a cam website, clicking through profiles, taking his tongue when the content didn't satisfy his want.
He was sitting at his desk, grey sweats down to his ankles, his cock slowly softening every passing minute he mindlessly scrolled.
He was just about to give up, go take a cold shower and force himself to sleep when a video caught his attention. It was dark, blue LED lights illuminating the soft blankets of a bed, pale thighs chokeholding a pillow between them as the creator grinded agasint the pillow like it owed them money.
Jabber paused, before clicking the video. It was only 15 seconds long, a prerecorded video with no audio used to attract more customers. The way the blue lighting bounced off the skin, highlighting muscles, and tiny freckles, just caught Jabbers attention.
Rough-looking hands holding the poor pillow still as they rubbed their cunt against the soft fabric, clit perky and visibly throbbing even in the dark room. The person suddenly lifted their hips, revealing their soaked cunt, slick sticking to thighs and pillow before the video ended.
The video automatically scrolled after it was done playing, showing another video of a different creator. Shitty acting that had Jabber scrolling back up to the first video without a second thought. The second time he watched it, he focused more on the stomach. The way muscle tensed with each grind, the way sweat slid down the curve of lower belly.
The video ended again, and Jabber refreshed it before it had a chance to auto scroll. Hands this time. Long slender fingers that looked.. Worn. Not in a bad way, not dry and cracked, no, like they were obviously put to use and taken care of. Nails neatly cut down, cuticles trimmed, knuckles flushed pink with veins flexing with each movement.
The video was at 12 seconds, and Jabber didnt even bother to let it finish playing, clicking on the profile icon in the corner of his computer. The screen flashed a hazy blue, a custom website code used by the creator, the entire screen customized with muted blues and small floral designs. It seemed almost...cute. Compared to the way the video was so aggressive. Jabber looked at the username, before scooting closer in his chair.
Lovely. Not Love. Or Lover, like a title. But like a word used to describe. And Jabber couldn't lie, it fit. Because he did look lovely.
There wasn't much info in the bio, or even a proper profile picture. Just dark blue lighting with a hazy middle finger being shown. But there was links. A link to a proper website, not the shitty one Jabber was on, and another to send money.
Pft, like Jabber would spend money on porn when he could get it for free anywhere else.
But still, he decided to scroll down and see what other videos where available to the public. Only three total, one being the first video he watched. He clicked the second one to be met with the same person, same dark room lit with blue lights, only this time grinding against the corner of a table.
Again, no audio, but Jabber wasnt focused on that. No, he was more focused on the clit roughly grinding and humping the polished wood, the way the soft lips of their cunt spread around the edge of the table, how he could tell the corner of it was actually pressing inside their instance. And especially focused on the hands gripping the wood.
The way tendons flexed under the soft pale skin. Fingers shaky and scraping before the video ended again. This video was only 10 seconds long, but somehow 10x more sexy than the first.
Jabber liked the video, before replaying it again. Watching it a few times to make sure he wasnt missing any good details. His cock was no longer fighting to stay up right, hard as a rock and twitching as Jabber watched a few more times. At this point he was slowly jerking himself off, pacing with the pace the video was set at before scrolling to the next post.
The third video took Jabber by surprise. A title, unlike the others, ‘You think you're good enough?’. And even more surprising, audio this time.
The premise was the same, grinding against something only showing below the ribs, but this time it was a wad of cash. Like an actual wad of cash. And not just one. The bed was covered in 20, 50, 100 dollar bills, with a big rolled wad soaked in slick as the creator rubbed their clit against the money.
Whorish moans left the video, groaning and grunting as they rolled their hips down hard against the cash. Just as Jabber went to speed up the pace of his hand, the person in the video spoke.
“You think that pathetic little dick could actually satisfy me? I’d rather fuck myself with a wad of cash than waste another second pretending you’re good in bed.”
The words were harsh and cynical before the video ended. Voice sharp but just a little breathless as they insulted through the video.
The insult itself shot electricity through Jabber causing him to groan out as he immediately relayed the clip. Fist working faster than the grinding in the video, other hand on his mouse hovering over the replay button to immediately restart the video again when it ended.
The insult rang through his room again, and Jabber grunted out, clicking on his mouse as he continued to pleasure himself.
The third watch through was enough to push him over the edge, him catching the slightest crack in the creators voice before they insulted again. Hot thick ribbons of cum shot out, hitting the underside his desk and making a hot mess on his carpet.
He took a moment to collect himself, before immediately hearting the vid and book-marking before clicking out of the video and going back to the profile.
He scrolled up, back to the bio and clicked on the link and waited for his computer to load the new website.
It was just another cam site, but definitely a fancier one that required subscriptions. Jabber scrolled through the tiers, deciding on choosing the cheapest tier for now. It didnt really matter too much, he was just gonna pirate the longer videos, and cancel his subscription to Lovely.
He could spare 5 dollars for a few good videos, right?
.
.
.
‘Thank you for your patronage of $300!’
The automated voice rang out in Jabbers headphones, and he immediately started typing his comment into the little chat box.
Jabber didn't know exactly when he had started leaving donations on Lovely's streams, or even when he bumped up to the highest tier offered. But he didnt care for the answer, too busy typing out his perverted request to moan out the name Wonger.
Lovely paused on the live video, reading the request, though the only thing Jabber could see was his ribs and below. Lovely didnt show their face, and Jabber couldn't lie and say he wasn't a bit upset about it.
He wanted to know who Lovely was. What he looked like. Wanted those details to himself so he could better fantasize about fucking him him silly and proving that his dick would satisfy him.
He had sent a ask before requesting a face reveal, which almost got him banned. Though he had quick fingers and sent a few hundred dollars and bought the highest tier as an apology. And damn did he not regret buying the highest tier. One personalized video a month, and a lot more perks. Lovely would say just about anything as well as not showing his face.
Though Jabber never requested specific dirty talk. Just sending a simple message of ‘talk like you hate me’ while Lovely grinded and fingered himself on cam.
“Aw… thanks for the donation, Wonger. That’s cute.” The words echoed in his earphones, breathy and dripping with condescension. Heat climbed up the back of his neck as he shut his eyes, the taunt lingering in his mind long after the voice had faded into breathy moans. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus, trying to match Lovely’s rhythm despite the way those few words had completely unraveled his composure.
The insult continued, each word punctuated with a harsh grind of Lovely's hips against today's object. A baseball bat. A request from another patreon before Jabber started watching.
“You really thought that amount was going to impress me? That’s adorable. Come back when you’ve got something worth noticing. Right now, your donations are every bit as underwhelming as what’s in your pants. What are you, three inches on a good day?”
Jabber groaned under the hateful words, squeezing his cock roughly as his free hand started to type in a new donation.
‘Thank you for your patronage of $900!’
The automated voice chimed through the earphones again. Jabber was already grinning, thumbs flying across his keyboard before the announcement had even finished.
‘You said to come back with something worth noticing, so I figured I’d save you the trouble of guessing. Nine hundred seemed like a much more accurate measurement. Happy now?’
Jabber leaned back in his gaming chair, the hand on his cock still matching Lovelys pace in the cam. He watched Lovely lean forward, hips slowly slightly, as he read the new message. A scoff could be heard before he leaned back and continued grinding.
Jabber could almost taste the hesitation in Lovely. The way his body got stiff at the large donation, and more so at the cocky message about Jabbers size.
Lovely laughed slightly, before locking back in. Rubbing against the bat as he spoke.
“Pft, yeah right. What? Did I hurt your feelings, so now you have to lie to make yourself feel better, Wonger?”
Jabber shuddered hearing his last name like that. He hadn’t even requested it this time. He didn’t have to. The fact that Lovely had said it on his own sent a thrill through him.
Lovely continued, words harsher this time.
“Send another donation and actually request something from me instead of wasting your money trying to convince me your ego is bigger than it is.”
Jabber laughed out loud, but did as he was told, typing another donation and request out one-handed before leaning back in his chair again. The robot voice rang out stating the amount of his donation, $1500 this time. The largest donation on his channel so far.
The video slowed, Zanka stopping his grinds as he read the demand, muttering it out.
“Grind on something personal….’something personal,’ huh? Careful, Wonger. That almost sounded like you were asking nicely. I guess I can make an exception this time since you finally sent something that wasn’t completely embarrassing.”
Jabber loved the fake confidence and insults coming from Lovely. He felt a pickle of pride knowing he was the only veiwer who had the cash to actually get under his skin and undermine that bratty attitude of his.
The camera shook slightly, Zanka hopping off his bed and taking the bat with him. There was some random off-cam sounds before Lovely returned and situated himseld back onto his bed. This time, carrying something different.
It took a moment for Lovely to place the new item between his legs, the long staff gripped familiarly in his hands as he pressed the soft wood to his soaking cunt, rubbing his clit against the bandages that wrapped around the staff.
Lovely was going on about how it was a personal item, something he used every day, but Jabber wasn’t hearing a damn word, his grip on his cock immediately letting go as he stared in shock. Because he knew that staff. There was no mistaking it.
He saw it every day on his way to and from work, the same staff spinning through the dojo windows, moving with terrifying precision as it tore through opponent after opponent. Jabber had stopped outside those windows more times than he could count, pretending he was just passing by.
But he always lingered, watching and admiring. The way the staff moved wasn’t reckless or flashy. Every strike had a purpose. Every motion was controlled. He watched that staff every damn day, or more so the owner of jt.
Zanka. There was no doubt. Not with a staff as unique as that.
Jabber had been jerking off and busting a nut multiple times a week to the same guy that physically destroyed guys twice his size. Putting grown men in their place as he lovingly stroked his staff after.
Another thought popped in his mind. Zanka's staff was named Lovely. Lovely.
Oh fuck. Jabber could feel himseld get dizzy from the realization, heart thudding in his chest as euphoria ran through his veins. He knew who ‘Lovely’ was.
HE did. Not some random loser, some dirty pervert that tried to get Zankas attention with shoddy donations. Jabber knew. Nobody else did. And that fact pushed him over the edge.
He came untouched, hunching over as aggressive ropes of cum splatter all over his desk and keyboard. He pants heavily, bringing his attention back to the live video as Zanka is pushing himself over the brink and cumming as well.
Jabber layed back in his chair, gathering his thoughts before sitting back up and sending another donation of a grand.
‘Thank me and Lovely for your orgasm.’
A brief delay as Zanka read the message. No witty comeback this time, too pliant after his orgasm to give a good snarky remark and just did what he was requested without actually thinking about the request.
Hands trembling as he held Lovely closer, before he spoke. “T-thank you Wonger a-and Lovely…. Thank you for making me cum.” and then the video suddenly ended.
.
.
.
Jabber has spent exactly two weeks attempting to weasel his way into Zanka's Dojo. The first attempt he couldn't even make it past the window without popping a raging boner at the thought of Zanka. Not even at the sight of him, just the thought of Zanka being ‘Lovely’ had made the blood run south enough that Jabber had to run to the nearest public bathroom to help himself look decent.
The second attempt Jabber had a little more confidence. He had made it to the window where he usually stopped, his ego soaring high at not immediately popping another boner.
That is until Zanka walked into view, focused on his opponent, covered in sweat and pissed off. So yeah. Jabber had to run off to the same bathroom as before.
It took exactly 8 days for Jabber to hype himself up, not get a boner, and actually walk into the dojo. He was able to sign himself up with a small class that Zanka personally taught with some red-headed chick.
And everything was going fine until Zanka had walked up to the desk, and before he could even get a word out, Jabber had bolted out the door, hands pathetically covering up his crotch like a loser.
But today was difffirent. Today was the day that he has that class he signed up for. He spent 300 damn bucks, so there was no way he was skipping out. And he had made preparations for today, so he was fine. Probably. Hopefully.
Preparations being jerking himseld off till his dick hurt. There was no way he was gonna get hard after forcing himself to orgasm 3 times in a row.
So he was 100% confident he could handle whatever was gonna be thrown at him today.
.
.
Fuck this. Fuck this.
Everything had been going well, no great, up until now. Jabber had made it to the dojo, had even made it inside and chatted with the receptionist as he was early for his class. He was then pointed to the back room where the class was held and awkwardly walked in.
Zanka was in the corner, prepping his staff and Jabber swallowed hard but kept his cool.
Zanka had even started talking to him. Asking why he was interested in martial arts, Jabber had pulled out some bs lie about wanting to protect himself and Zanka had believed it.
He couldn't admit the real reason he was there. Which was, well… Jabber didnt actually think that far ahead. What was his plan after this class? Hope he doesn't get a boner and confess he knows what Zanka does in his free time? Yeah that wouldnt work out well.
He had managed to hold a decent conversation with Zanka. Until they both realised that the rest of the class was late. Like really late. Zanka went back to the desk for a few minutes, probably to call the people who payed for the class and see where they were.
Zanka returned to the training room a few minutes later with a apologetic look.
“So it seems the others won't be coming. We can either cancel and reschedule, or I can do some one-on-one with you and give you a percent of your money back for the hassle.” Zanka rambled on about the options, and Jabber wasnt even listening.
One-on-one? Like. Just him and Zanka? Just him Zanka and Lovely? He was agreeing before he even knew what he was doing.
The idea of being locked in a room with the same person he's been jacking off to for months shoving the panic that should be blaring in his skull. Him and Zanka, Zanka on top of him with Lovely, sweaty and glaring down on him..
God the idea was almost enough to send him to heaven.
It wasnt until then training had actually started that Jabber had finally realized what a bad idea this was. He could smell his skin. Sweat and insense, smoky and sweet, filled his nose as Zanka put him in another head lock, face deep in his underarm.
He wasn't even trying to fight it, half-assing and let Zanka pin him down over and over again. It wasnt until he heard a ‘tsk’ and Zanka standing up and glaring down at him that he snapped out of it.
Zanka started lecturing him about how he needed to take this seriously, and to not worry about hurting him.
Jabber nodded, before they started again, this time Jabber actually trying. His blocks were clumsy, but held strong. Zanka had pinned him down to the ground again, sitting on his hips as he pinned him by the shoulders, before Jabber took a opening and flipping Zanka over.
Slamming him down on his back, Jabber was right between Zankas thighs, hips flushed to Zankas as he pinned down his hands above his head. He just panted on top of him, staring at Zanka wide-eyed as a billion thoughts ran through his mind. particularly the thought, or rather fantasy, of him fucking Zanka in this exact position.
Before he could say or do anything, Zanka had flipped them over again. Straddling him roughly as his hands went to his throat. Aggressive and definitely not martial arts.
Jabber didnt even notice until he felt the weight of Zanka press into him, but he was hard as a rock.
Zanka was glaring down at him, the same look Jabber had been jerking off to for the past two weeks since he found out about him.
“You a fuck’n perv? You stalk’n me or sum shit?”
Jabber blinked up at him stupidly, before realization crashed down on him and he realises just how bad this looked for him.
He we was hard as a fucking rock, wrestling with Zanka, in a empty room with no cameras or other people to spot him. Of course he looked bad, especially with how weird he was even trying to sign up for the class.
Just as he was trying to rack his empty skull for a wxcuse, Zankas hands tightened around his throat, forcing out a pathetic groan from Jabber as his eyes rolled back.
Without thinking, the first thing that came to mind came tumbling out.
“Lovely!”
Zanka froze. His brows knit together as he slowly tilted his head, equal parts confused and suspicious.
Jabber, realizing exactly what he’d just said, only managed to dig himself deeper.
“I-I watch your videos! I recognized your staff after the donation, okay? That’s how I figured it out! I swear I didn’t come here to… to attack you or anything!” He threw his hands up in surrender, words spilling over one another. “I just wanted to learn how to fight! That’s it, I swear! Im not stalking you!”
Yeah, not stalking. Just found out his real identity, where he worked, jerked off to him and signed up for a class that Zanka taught to do, Jabber still didnt know what he had wanted from this to be honest.
But he at least knew that he wanted out of this scenario before the cops where called.
Zanka kept his hands ironlocked around Jabbers throat, refusing to let go as he glared down at him. Then, after a moment, he lessened his grip. Not letting go, but just enough to not kill his client.
“Wonger?”
It wasnt exactly hard for Zanka to figure it out. Not with the fact that Jabber had signed up for his class with his actual name, and the small detail of Jabber finding out about his identify from the ‘donation’ by Wonger69.
It wasnt super hard to connect the dots. The pathetic Wonger under him, cock twitching in his pants as Zanka sat on it, looking up at him with this mixed look of panic and arousal, was the same Wonger who sent crazy donations and got under his skin with his cocky messages.
Jabber just nodded, slightly expecting a punch to the face or something as Zanka let go of his neck with one hand. But the punch never came. Instead, Zanka's free hand shot down and hooked at the hem of his pants, yanking the fabric down to expose Jabbers' leaking cock.
Zanka paused, staring at the flesh before he angled his hips down against his dick, grinding his crotch again him and pinning his cock to Jabbers stomach.
Jabber opened his mouth to say something, but the hand around his throat clamped down around him, forcing out a wheeze instead of any words.
Jabber was big. Like. Really big. Zanka had read the message about him being 9 inches, of course he did, but not for a second did he actually believe it. Nobody was actually that damn big, but apparently Jabber wasnt lying. His cock was long and thick. A long vein running along the underside of him that disappeared under the hard flesh.
He stared for a few more moments, before lifting his hips up off him, balancing his weight on the arm choking Jabber out before shimmying his training pants off. He slipped a leg out, leaving the pants hooked around his other calf before straddling Jabbers hips once more.
His panties, pale blue and thin, thin enough that Jabber could see everything under it. His pink clit, soft folds of his cunt. The fabric darkening immediately as Zanka's slick soaked through.
The sight was enough to make Jabber throb, a soft groan leaving him as he stared down at where their bodies were almost touching. And for now, he absolutely refused to move, afraid that if he even tried to breathe to hard it would end whatever the fuck was happening to him.
Zanka let out a sigh, which almost sounded like he was proud of how badly he was affecting him. Because, yeah, Jabber should be affected. He had been getting under Zankas skin for fucking months. Dirty comments, cocku remarks when Zanka was in the middle of degrading his viewers. Everything he said to him, everything he sent to him immediately got under his skin and more than once did he almost break character mid stream.
So it was time for payback. Zanka was gonna have him a mess under him. Begging for forgiveness. And so, he suddenly sat down. Roughly pressing his hips down and rolling them forward against Jabbers cock. Slick fabric dragging against flushed skin as Zanka shifted his grip on Jabber neck.
Going back to choking him with both hands he set a teasingly rough pace, grinding his wet cunt fast and hard, smiling down at the man under him as he controlled everything about this.
Jabber moaned out, eyes fluttering down to his cock as Zanka humped and grinded against him. The weight of Zanka on top of his dick almost hurt, the pain sending delicious sparks across his skin.
“God, yer’ so fucking pathetic,” Zanka grunted, his nails digging into Jabber’s skin as he rocked forward with cocky determination, unconcerned with whether the pace was too much for him to handle.
“Spending all that money on me…” A breathless laugh escaped him. “Bet you’ve gotten off to my videos more than once, haven’t you? What a creep.”
He grabbed Jabber’s chin, forcing his gaze back to him. Staring at his pink eyes like he was looking at a piece of meat. “You liked watching me grind on things?” His lips curled into an arrogant shit-eating grin. “Well, now you’ve got a front-row seat.”
“…So quit staring at everything else.” Zanka suddenly purses his lips, before spitting directly onto Jabbers face.
“Look at me.”
Jabber almost came right then and there, but he managed to hold himself back. Eagerly meeting Zanka's piercing gaze as he continued his motions on top of him.
The insults filled his head with cotton, or maybe that was from lack of oxygen. Either way Jabber didnt care. He was in fucking heaven right now.
The grinding continued, going fast and aggressive to the point where it actually hurt. Wet fabric rubbing his dick raw before Zanka suddenly took a hand and pulled his wet panties to the side, slipping Jabbers cock between the fabric and his soft wet folds. He never stopped though, rubbing his clit against the head of his cock, moaning out as he continued talking.
“Yer’ so fucking useless. All yer’ good for is emptying your wallet whenever I tell you to. Strip away the money, and what’ve you got? Not a damn thing.”
Zanka laughed, the sound breaking into a sharp groan before he caught his breath, not losing his composure.
“Well… you do have this cock of yours, don’t you?” His hips quickened in a cruel pace, purposely overstimulating Jabber as he talked. “Doesn’t seem like you know how to use it, though. Do you?”
He waited just long enough for the silence to sting. “Well?” His voice hardened. “I asked you a question. Fuckin’ answer me, Wonger. Do you?”
Jabber gasped, stars sprinkling across his vision as the pleasure from his cock and thr pain from his throat were pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
Drool escaped the corner of his lips, a delirious smile on his face as he sloppily nodded. Soft broken ‘no’ and ‘I dont’ left him, choked moans and groans leaving him faster and faster as he got closer to orgasm.
Zanka seemed satisfied with the response, easing his grip just slightly so Jabber doesn't actually pass out on him. Zanka trailed his right hand down his chest, keeping his left hand at his throat still, before pausing right over his abs.
Jabber's shirt had ridden up, exposing his lower abdomen. His sharp v-line, defended abs, it just pissed Zanka off. So without warning, he lifted his fist and punched Jabber in the abdomen. His fist landed about a inch to the side of Jabbers cock. He didnt hit hard enough to do any actual damage. He didnt want to kill him, just knock the wind out of him.
Jabber choked out a moan, hips buckling up as his vision went white, thick hot ribbons of semen shooting hard into Zankas panties. The liquid seeping out the fabric and onto his stomach.
Zanka didnt stop, continuing his movements, not caring if he overstimulated Jabber. He needed to cum too, and didnt stop grinding until he did. His hips faltered to a stop as his own orgasm washed over him.
A sharp slap stoked across Jabbers face, Zanka already composing himself from his sudden orgasm.
"Useless." Zanka scoffed. "Can't even control yourself, cumming without permission." He let the silence hang for a beat before speaking again. "Say thank you.”
Jabber blinked up at him, panting heavy as he tried to understand what he meant.
"I said thank me.” A smug grin tugged at Zanka's lips, voice getting cocky once more. "Thank me for letting you have the honor of cumming in my panties. Now.”
Jabber panted, before dragging his hand to the spot where Zanka had punched him, pressing slightly at the already bruised skin. He groaned in pleasure, before looking properly at Zanka.
“Thank you…” Jabber’s voice was almost unbearably pleased with itself. “Thank you, for letting me ruin your panties. It was Lovely.”
The way he said it was intentional. Smug, teasing, like he hadn't just gotten dominated and punished for being a pervert. Really, in truth, this was the best thing ever to happen to him. A reward from heaven itself.
Zanka didnt miss the arrogant tone, but just scoffed before getting off him. Adjusting his cum soaked panties on properly before slipping back on his pants as Jabber still layed on the floor.
“Clean yourself up. Make sure to send a good tip for this lesson, Wonger.” Zanka said it so casually, already turning away before Jabber could even respond. He crossed the room toward his phone, completely confident that Jabber would do exactly as he said.
“I’m booking you for Tuesday and Thursday night training lessons. After dojo hours.” His fingers moved across the screen as he continued. “It’ll cost ya, but you can afford it, can’t you?”
Jabber just stared after him, still laying exposed on the floor mat. The thing was… he could have argued. He could have pushed back. But the way Zanka was speaking to him, the cocky and condescending tone, the way Zanka made decisions like they were already settled sent a stupid grin across his face.
Because somehow, incredibly so, this was exactly what he wanted. What he fucking fantasized about.
“Yes Sir. I can.”
ANYWAYS HIIIII!!! Sorry this was so long. I got carried away. Please take this as an apology for taking so long to answer this……also I high-key wanna post this on AO3 lmao…..idk if its like. Okay for me too tho bc technically it wasnt my idea…Anon if u love me(and this) please tell me its okay to post on AO3🙏🥹
☆| Summary: You've known him for soo long, he has been there your whole life. Your mother trusted him soo much with you. He was the one that always had your back, cared for you and maked sure you had everything you needed, soo why are you seeing him like that?
☆| Warnings: SMUT MDNI, age gap implied(reader is an adult), reader has a fixation on Khabib, choking, spitting, our eagle is a hard dom, power imbalance, reader's mother is in a weird relationship with Khabib but that won't be really mentioned, reader has a bad relationship with her mother, Khabib uses his power against reader, reader is a bimbo, hair pulling, jealousy, possessiveness, toxicity...lemme know if I forgot something.
•PLEASE BE AWARE that my work can be too much for some people so please be mindful when reading. May contain triggering/immoral things that has nothing to do with the real person I'm writing about. Enjoy
Can't you be more stupid than you already are?
I guess not, or you wouldn't be in Khabib's kitchen, bend over the table and-..Oh wait
You ARE in his kitchen.
He isn't like that..no..It's your fault, really. Why would you think going out for that coffee is a good idea? Khabib was there for you, always, and that's how you repay him? By going out with some guy that could bearly make you come.
And Khabib knows that. He knows how much you love when his fingers curl inside you just right, while you cry pathetically and whine about how you love him..Who does that?
And don't get me wrong, he likes it, but you really think he feels the same? Just because he touches your ass briefly when passing by or when he fucks your brains out on the couch just before your useless mother came home, does that give you a right to think that he loves you? Or maybe the fact that he kept your life running. Helping your mother, always bringing something for you too, and also, you've never felt the lack of money. Only because of him.
And Khabib wants to make sure you know that. He spoiled you soo many times. So when he is soo fucking deep inside you, mumbling something about how much of a slut you are while he spits in your mouth...You make sure to take it all like a good girl.
You want Khabib in your life, more than anything. But sometimes, when he is with your mother, you feel sooo...filthy.
Your mother seems to like him..oh and who wouldn't? Khabib was there when everything felt like it's going to collapse..Khabib was the one who payed for groceries. He was the one that found your mother a job, so why wouldn't her eyes sparkle when she sees him?
Maybe because of you.
Because everytime he does something like that, you change. You scream and cry that Khabib could never be your father, and that your mother should stop trying to make Khabib stay at night..
Because when he does, you would enter the guest room and suck his cock like your life depends on it. He would look down at you and grip your hair soo tight that you want to cry..but it feels good to you..That's what you get and you wouldn't want more. The feeling of his length stretching your whole mouth makes you forget everything, so your mind is at ease..
But you don't tell that part to your mother.
And also, you don't tell your mother that everytime he is nice to her..Khabib eats you out like a starved man. Oh and how much he loves that..your legs would tremble by the time his done with your poor pussy.
He would lay in your bed and put you on top of him while he makes sure his cock is deep inside your pussy and your lungs had no more air.
"Don't sleep on me, devuşka.."
He would whisper in your ear while he purposely makes his grip tighter.. mockingly.
You love it, don't you? You feel the most alive in those moments.
And you cry a lot in those moments too..Maybe because you want him soo bad, you're ready to give him the last bit of oxygen in your lungs..or maybe because after he's done, he leaves and forgets about you for about a week or more.
But you're not scared anymore. You know he will be back and you comfort yourself with the thought that sometimes he kisses you soo tenderly after he makes you cry..and sometimes he sleeps next to you, which is a lot, coming from him.
And most people would call you stupid and obsessed and weird by now but.. you tried..
You told that to your friend once..
You really tried to let go of him. Screamed soo loud at your mother about not wanting Khabib around her, that he only uses her. You tried blocking him, ignoring him..But at what cost?
You already tattooed the place he always kisses..your wrist. "the eagle"
Your lockscreen is still the photo you took one time at night..His whole back showing and his arm over your waist... That parfume you kept on buying cuz he said that it smelled nice once..
Oh and let's not forget that one time you run to his house because you couldn't take it anymore..
But that's okay..you already seem to enjoy being pathetic. And maybe you will learn one day that..you are just an object of desire.
WHERE IS THE PART THREE OF SATAN X SUCCUBUS!? WE'VE BEEN STARVING FOR A MONTH! WHERE IS THE FOOD!??? FOOOOOD!!!!!!
Tantrum
Satan x succubus!fem!reader
Sabotage
HERE IS IT!! TOOK ME A WHILE BUT HERE IS IT😭 So many requests for the third part and finally I deliver. I have a feeling this is going to end up in a Story🫡Not that I mind🤧
warning: breeding, yandere Satan, p in v, possessive, protective (?), angry satan, punishment, smut, hard smut, Satan is a warning himself ngl
Part 1 -> Part 2 -> Part 3
Everything felt unbearable, like the air itself was suffocating you. Staying in this place wasn’t just a punishment—it was a living nightmare, a perpetual torment. You looked into the mirror, the faint light casting sharp shadows over your reflection. The silky, elegant garment you wore—a gift from him—clung to your body, its beauty a mockery of your suffering. It hid the bruises, the marks, the evidence of his obsession. But nothing could conceal the newest scar on your thigh.
Your fingers hovered over it, trembling, before brushing against the raw, burning wound. The touch sent a jolt of pain up your spine, but it wasn’t just physical. You blinked rapidly, willing the tears to stay at bay. Healed by Satan, he said. But healing wasn’t what this was—this was ownership, branding, a constant reminder of what you had become.
Your eyes drifted to the window, its glass teasingly thin. Beyond it lay freedom. And death. Both felt synonymous, both equally inviting. You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw yourself through it. Your wings twitched faintly at the thought, a reflex more than anything. But you were too afraid to use them, too scared of what he might do if you tried. The thought of his hands tearing them from your back made your stomach churn.
You tightened your grip on your thigh, nails digging into the scar until blood began to seep through. The metallic scent was nauseating, grounding you in the present—a reality you desperately wanted to escape. You wanted to rip this garment off, this sinful, taunting piece of beauty. It was another gift, a symbol of his twisted affections. You hated it. You hated him. And the worst part was that he dared to call this freedom. He dared to tell you this was what you’d always wanted.
The door burst open, and the sharp sound made you flinch, a strangled scream escaping your lips. Your body tensed, instinctively bracing for the worst. But instead, a giggle cut through the tension, light and almost mocking. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” came a cheerful voice.
Your head snapped toward the intruder, your heart racing. It was an Imp—a small creature with an irritatingly smug smile, one of Satan’s personal servants. Her bright eyes scanned you, her expression dripping with amusement. “So you’re the one,” she said, her voice lilting with curiosity. “You’re the obsession he won’t stop talking about.”
Your eyebrows furrowed at her words, but you stayed silent, glaring. Obsession. The word hung in the air like a foul stench. The Imp’s grin widened as if she found the entire situation amusing. “You’re lucky, you know,” she added with a conspiratorial wink, her tone almost envious.
Lucky. The word made your blood boil. You wanted to laugh in her face, to scream at her. Lucky? To be held captive? To be broken and pieced together like some grotesque art project? The thought was so absurd, it felt like a cruel joke. You clenched your fists, the pain in your thigh forgotten for a moment.
The Imp stepped forward, placing a black box tied with a golden ribbon on the desk. “A gift from him,” she chirped. “Something special.” She bowed, her movements quick and rehearsed, before scurrying out of the room like a thief. You didn’t even get the chance to ask her name. Not that it mattered.
“Maybe next time,” you muttered bitterly, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and despair. Next time. The very thought made your stomach turn. The idea of another encounter, another day in this hell, was unbearable.
Your gaze fell on the box, its dark surface gleaming ominously in the dim light. The ribbon glowed faintly, a deep crimson like freshly spilled blood, its vibrant contrast against the pitch-black wrapping unnerving. You hesitated, your hands hovering over it. Do you open it? Do you dare?
A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you stared at the box. There was nothing normal about Satan, nothing predictable. This wasn’t just a present—it was a message, a reminder of your place here. You ran your fingers over the ribbon, its silky texture feeling almost alive under your touch.
Your mind wandered, unbidden, to the man you once thought he was—a charming, broken soul with a darkness you naively thought you could fix. You had been so wrong. He wasn’t a man. He was a monster, a demon in every sense of the word. And you? You weren’t a person anymore. You were his canvas, his possession, his obsession.
The thought made your chest tighten, a suffocating weight pressing down on you. Your fingers trembled as they moved to the bow. You didn’t want to open it, didn’t want to see whatever twisted token of affection lay inside. But a part of you—the part that had been broken down and reshaped by fear—knew you had no choice.
The silence in the room was deafening as you pulled at the ribbon, the bow unraveling in your hands. Whatever lay inside, you knew it wouldn’t be freedom. It never was.
As the packaging revealed its secret, a cold chill ran down your spine. The contents glimmered like forbidden treasures—heels, black as the void, with blood-red rubies embedded like shards of sin. They seemed to hum, faintly vibrating with an energy you couldn’t name, as if alive. Your instincts screamed to hurl them far, far away, but something deeper, darker, rooted you in place. Your heart thudded erratically, the pulse in your neck quickening. The heels were mesmerizing, hauntingly beautiful, a temptation wrapped in menace.
Your breath caught when a folded paper, as crimson as fresh-spilled blood, drifted from the box and landed atop the open ribbon like a silent omen. With trembling fingers, you lifted it and unfolded the note.
Come visit me in my office.
With love,
Satan
The words burned themselves into your mind. The script was elegant, yet dripping with an unseen malice, and you could almost feel the heat radiating from the ink. You shoved the heels back into the package with a shudder and kicked it under the bed, as if burying a corpse. But even then, you felt their presence—a weight in the shadows, watching, waiting.
With a heavy sigh, you opened the door and stepped into the night. The air was suffocating, thick like smoke, and the dim path of stones beneath your feet seemed endless, each step echoing in the oppressive silence. Your throat tightened as dread coiled around your chest, squeezing.
When you reached the door, it creaked open on its own, revealing a towering figure framed in the dim light of the room beyond. Him.
Satan stood there, his horns curving ominously upward, casting jagged shadows along the walls. He huffed, twin streams of steam spiraling from his nostrils, and his eyes—deep, crimson pits, fixed on you. For a brief moment, they softened, a flicker of something human that vanished just as quickly as it appeared. His lips curled into a sneer, revealing sharp, glinting teeth.
“Where’s the gift I sent you?” His voice was a low growl, dark and dangerous, a blade dragging against your skin.
You swallowed, your voice barely a whisper. “I… I didn’t want to wear it today.”
His expression darkened instantly, the flickering candlelight catching the glint of his sharpened horns. He rose to his full height, his wings unfurling with a menacing rustle, casting the room into deeper shadow.
“Didn’t want to?” he growled, the sound reverberating like distant thunder. “You still don’t understand obedience, do you?”
You flinched as he stalked toward you, each step deliberate, deadly. His presence swallowed the room, the air thick with the scent of sulfur and ash.
“I—” you began, but a guttural snarl cut you off, silencing you mid-breath.
“Don’t apologize,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to slice. “A Queen does not grovel.”
Before you could react, his hand gripped your arm, pulling you forward with a force that made your knees buckle. His wings stretched wider, darkening the room into near-total blackness.
“You’re coming with me,” he hissed, his voice dripping with command. In one swift motion, he slung you over his shoulder like prey, his clawed hand digging into your side. The air rushed from your lungs, leaving you gasping, as his wings unfurled fully.
The last thing you saw before the darkness enveloped you was the smirk on his face - dangerous, triumphant, and full of promises you weren’t sure you wanted to keep.
As you hung helplessly over his shoulder, your mind raced, your senses heightened. You could only catch glimpses of the hallway as he strode through it, each step deliberate, each moment charged with a tension that sent your pulse hammering. Before you could gather yourself, he kicked open the door to his chamber and tossed you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. The cool silk sheets met your back, but the heat radiating from him burned hotter.
"It seems I’ve been far too lenient with you, my love," he growled, his voice thick with unspoken promise.
You sucked in a shaky breath, your chest rising and falling as his eyes locked onto you, piercing and relentless. He began to shed his attire, piece by piece, and the sight left you breathless. The dim light of the chamber cast sharp shadows over his chiseled form, accentuating every ridge of his muscles, the hard planes of his chest, and the tantalizing line of his V that disappeared beneath his waistband.
You couldn’t help it—your eyes trailed over him, lingering where they shouldn’t. Heat pooled in your stomach, your throat tightening as your gaze betrayed you.
A deep chuckle rumbled from him, low and sinful, snapping you back to reality. “You can’t hide it,” he teased, his head tilting slightly as his smirk deepened. “You love this body, don’t you?” His voice dropped, dipping into a growl that sent shivers down your spine and an ache lower.
Your lips parted, but no words came out—only the sound of your uneven breathing. He closed the space between you in two strides, looming over you as his hands came down on either side of your head, caging you in. The heat of his skin was unbearable, intoxicating, and his scent—smoke, leather, and something darkly sweet—wrapped around you, suffocating in the best way.
“You can lie to yourself,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above yours, “but your body tells me everything.”
Before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours, demanding, possessive, and utterly consuming. The kiss was fire—his mouth claimed yours like it was his right, his tongue sweeping past your lips with no hesitation. You gasped into him, your hands instinctively reaching up to grasp at his shoulders, your nails digging into the unyielding muscle.
He growled against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his sharp teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to make you whimper. His hands moved, one tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to arch your neck and expose your throat to him.
“You taste better than I remember,” he purred, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, where he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that sent electric shocks coursing through you.
Your body betrayed you completely, melting under his touch as he explored, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. The hard lines of his body pressed against your softness, and the friction made you gasp, your nails raking down his back.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” he rasped against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “The fire. The need.”
You couldn’t speak—your voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan as he continued his assault on your senses. His lips, his hands, his heat—they overwhelmed you, leaving you trembling beneath him.
“You’re mine,” he growled, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His crimson eyes burned with something primal, something possessive. “And tonight, I’ll make sure you never forget it.”
His lips were on yours again, his hands roaming, and the world outside his chamber disappeared. There was only him—his heat, his touch, his overwhelming presence. And you couldn’t fight it anymore. You didn’t want to.
You couldn’t fight it anymore. You didn’t want to. The battle against his dominance had long since been lost, melted away under the heat of his touch, the fire in his eyes.
Satan crushed his lips against yours, an intoxicating mix of raw hunger and desperate possession. When he pulled away, his golden eyes were ablaze, pupils dilated, his breath ragged with desire. His grip on your waist was bruising, his claws barely holding back from tearing into your flesh. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, voice husky, reverent yet dangerous. “Prettier than anything I’ve ever seen. Prettier than anything I will ever see.”
Before you could even register his words, he crashed his lips onto yours again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savoring every second of it, tasting you like you were the finest delicacy meant only for him. His hands roamed, sliding down your body as he peeled away your clothes with agonizing patience. But his restraint didn’t last long. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, patience shattering, as his claws sliced away the last remnants of fabric. He wanted you bare, vulnerable—only for him.
“You’re everything I need.” His breath fanned hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “Everything I will ever need.” His lips pressed against your pulse, lingering before his sharp teeth grazed the sensitive skin. His grip tightened. “I’ll never let you go.”
You winced at the weight of his words, knowing they weren’t mere whispers of passion. Satan wasn’t one to let go of what belonged to him. You knew—oh, you knew—he’d keep you by his side, whether you wanted it or not. The idea both thrilled and terrified you.
A sharp gasp tore from your lips as his claw trailed between your folds, gathering the slickness that dripped down your thighs. His breathing was heavy, ragged, as if he was barely keeping himself from devouring you whole. “So wet for me…” His voice was drenched in possessiveness, dark and heavy, as though your desire for him was the ultimate proof of his claim over you.
Before you could even process the moment, he thrust into you with no hesitation, no mercy. Your walls stretched around him, a scream-like moan escaping your lips as he buried himself deep inside you. He groaned, the sound primal, needy, and utterly possessive. His grip on your hips was unforgiving, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pounded into you relentlessly.
“Fuck.” His voice was a low snarl, his rhythm punishing yet intoxicating. “You’re so addictive… I can’t stop… I won’t stop.”
His thrusts grew more erratic, more desperate, like a beast driven mad with need. His claws traced over your stomach, your breasts, before wrapping around your throat with just enough pressure to remind you who you belonged to. You felt him everywhere—inside, outside, consuming you, branding you with his touch, his scent, his essence. The air was thick with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your broken moans, and his guttural growls of possession.
He let out a deep, animalistic roar as he came, slamming his hips against yours, grinding into you as he filled you up. His body trembled against yours, yet even as he emptied himself inside you, his grip never loosened. You sighed, trying to push yourself away, only to be yanked back into his arms. Your heart pounded.
Confused, you looked up at him. “Wha—”
His smirk was dangerous, his golden eyes gleaming with something dark, something insatiable. “You think we’re done?” His voice was smooth, teasing, yet there was no mistaking the warning laced beneath his words.
You barely had time to catch your breath before he was moving again, thrusting back into you, ignoring your whimper of overstimulation. “I told you, my love,” he whispered against your ear, voice dripping with dark devotion. “I will never let you go.”
Hours passed, your body trembling, sore, yet he showed no sign of stopping. It had to be the tenth round, and Satan was still as hard, as relentless, as he was the first time he took you. His cock twitched inside you, filling you over and over again, stretching you to your limits. His seed dripped down your thighs, marking you, claiming you in the most primal way possible.
His growls were feral, his movements rough, desperate—like a beast in heat, like a demon obsessed. His hands roamed every inch of you, leaving scratches, bruises, evidence of his ownership. And then, without warning, he sank his fangs into your shoulder, biting down hard enough to draw blood. You gasped, back arching, pleasure and pain intertwining so exquisitely that your vision blurred.
Satan licked the wound, smirking at the sight of his mark on your skin. His fingers traced over the brand he had given you before, a symbol of his eternal claim. “Now everyone will know…” he murmured, voice soft yet laced with something possessive, something unbreakable. His lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
“You are mine.”
____
You were exhausted. You had passed out in the middle of the act. Your body felt heavy, limbs aching in a way that was both satisfying and overwhelming. When your eyes fluttered open, you found yourself lying in a bed, the scent of fresh linens surrounding you. The bedding was new, crisp, and clean, replacing what had surely been ruined. Satan must have taken care of you. A small mercy.
You shifted slightly, only to immediately regret it. Your muscles screamed in protest, soreness pulsing through every inch of you. A soft groan escaped your lips. Despite the lingering ache, you were clean—not a trace of the mess from before. He had bathed you, dressed you, and tucked you into bed with surprising tenderness.
Your gaze flickered toward the calendar on the wall, and your heart nearly stopped. Your eyes widened in shock. Three days. Had you been asleep for three days? Or worse—had you been at it for three days straight? The thought made your stomach twist.
Determined to move, you pushed yourself up, only to be stopped by a sudden, frantic voice.
“No! My lady, please don’t move too much!” The soft yet firm tone came from the maid standing at the doorway. She rushed to your side, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to ease you back down. “Your muscles are still very sore. You need to rest for at least two more days.”
A deep blush crept onto your cheeks. The implications of her words made you want to disappear into the sheets. You nodded meekly, and she smiled, setting down a tray on the nightstand. “If you’re tired, please rest,” she said before exiting the room, her footsteps fading into silence.
You let out a shaky breath, shifting your gaze to the nightstand. Beside your breakfast, a small pill rested on a neatly folded note.
‘For the soreness.’
You swallowed hard, picking up the medicine and popping it into your mouth before slowly eating your food. Warm, filling, comforting. A stark contrast to the brutal intensity you had endured.
As you lay back against the pillows, exhaustion creeping in once more, you realized something—
Satan had taken care of you in his own way. Even in his obsession, his need to possess you, he had ensured you were safe, comfortable, and cared for.
And somehow, that terrified you more than anything.
______
You remember that day very clearly. After eating your breakfast and lying down to rest, you received a message—Satan had left on a trip to the other rings. He would be gone for weeks.
Your head spun, nausea rising. You barely made it to the bathroom before you collapsed against the toilet, heaving violently.
Praying you were just sick.
Praying you weren’t… pregnant.
You couldn’t be.
You weren’t allowed to be—not with his.
Panic gripped your chest as you sat there, clutching your stomach, heart hammering in your ribcage. The room spun around you, but nothing felt real anymore. If this was true… if you really were carrying his child…
What would happen when he found out?
I apologize for updating so late. I'm going through a difficult friendship breakup. I was in a very toxic friendship and finally ended it. You can imagine how hard it is right now, but it also gives me a lot of motivation for other things. I don't know if I'll post regularly, but I hope that by early March, I'll be able to post at least once a week.
Thank you for the Love and Support pookies<3 sending out love💫
a blip from the first section of cherub’s waltz as i finalize the final edit.
⛧ genres: oneshot, hard smut, dark romance-fantasy, unreliable narrator, obsession, psychological, stockholm syndrome, love triangle, angst, pwp 18+ ⛧
⛧ pairings: yandere hunter! seonghwa x captive angel! reader x guard! san (have fun struggling)
⛧ summary: you come to terms with your distorted desire for your captor—damning yourself to never return to heaven in favor of living in his ominous and vulgar captivity. the entanglement only complicates further when he instructs his personal guard to watch over you while he's on a mission.
⛧ wc: 2.8 k in this excerpt.
⛧please read the warnings under the cut before proceeding! this is a content intense oneshot. i am NOT saying this lightly the warning list is actually insane.
elements of dub-con, bondage, dumbification, stolkhom syndrome, manipulation, minor descriptions of wounds, minor violence/high anxiety, a gun being used threateningly, fingering, squirting, corruption, free use, solo play, seonghwa using ur underwear to… 🤭, care taker seonghwa, hard dom seonghwa, virgin! san, service top!san, face sitting, threesome, some mxm action…. ☺️, sensory torture, blindfolding, dacryphilia, overstimulation, toys, gagging, seonghwa rarely gives aftercare, vaginal penetration, anal penetration, cum shots, excessive creampies, death threats, objectification, oxygen deprivation, somniphilia, brainwashing, unhealthy obedience, a steady descent into madness, betting on your life, oral, san eventually wears a collar, bitter and unhealthily possessive hwa. there will be no middle ground u will either love or hate my characters— the first half of the chapter will revolve around san heavily and then ease into seonghwa, there’s LOTS of smut in here so it’s basically pwp
this is a reader insert but i don’t use y/n often if at all in this fic so i don’t disrupt the flow!
theme songs: perverts (intro) by ethel cain, frosti by björk, and for you i hold my breath by lalleshwari
His voice slips into the room like incense—soft, saccharine, laced with something almost holy.
“My angel,” Seonghwa coos, circling the sigil etched with care into the cold stone floor. “Are you alright in here?”
The silk binding your arms has long since lost its elegance. It burns now, chafing raw skin, your limbs aching with the dull throb of time passed. Relief pools behind your eyes at the sight of him—his cherubic face glowing pale in the firelight, so lovely it’s almost cruel. Your legs draw together, a conditioned reaction.
“Hwa.” your voice breaks like old glass. “Hold me.”
He smiles—sweetly, softly—but his eyes search you. They always search you. For defiance, for rage, for the threat of rebellion. There’s nothing but a quiet plea in your gaze, and so he breathes out, satisfied.
“I’m sorry it took so long. San got injured during a long hunt and I had to stay back until we were in the clear.” He says lowly, stepping into the sigil to kneel delicately before you, and softly brushes your hair out of your face.
Nudging a cheek into the palm of his hand, you wait for his next words obediently. A dull ache pulses from your back– remnants of old gaping wounds try their best to remind you of something dire in their phantom pains—that there’s something dreadfully sinister in your presence, but you can’t recall exactly what.
The cold palm of Seonghwa’s hand distracted you. Seonghwa’s elated eyes glow at the sight of your truest form of resignation and remain unnoticed by you. Dark eerie eyes sink onto your form like little moons, testing the waters “What do you think about spending a few days here with San? I’ll be…on a mission and I don’t know how long it’ll take. It’s been a good while since the sun has touched you, dove—San could take you to the river?” he lightly disguises his suggestion, inquiring with a sense of casualness.
You shake your head immediately. “Why can’t you take me with you?”
Heavy distraught implodes within your body like a landmine. The anxiety sends a direct shock to your heart—already abhorred by and enduring the hours he spends away on missions during the evenings—and now he’s saying he’ll be gone for days? What if he didn’t come back?
You’d rather die.
You go cold, fighting the urge to well up and vomit at the sudden anxiety induced nausea. Seonghwa shakes his head calmly.
“That wouldn’t be safe–” He throws an attempt at reasoning with you before you disregard his words immediately, cutting in like a dull knife trying to get through a tough surface.
“You’d be there to protect me, wouldn’t you?” You plead adamantly, raising your voice with confidence. No harm would come your way if Seonghwa was around. He wouldn’t let that happen even if it killed him.
“My love, you know I can’t take you with me. If I did, they’d find out and take you away—because you’re special, remember? I can’t risk that. Be a good girl and stay with San.”
You scowl at the reminder.
“I don’t wanna go back,” you mutter, turning your head away in defiance. You don’t even remember Heaven anymore. A dull throb pulses behind your eyes, making you wince—but Seonghwa doesn’t notice.
“I don’t want you to go back either. Can we just… agree to disagree?” His tone is resigned, edged with mild exasperation.
He shakes his head, defeated, then leans in slowly—his breath brushing your lips as he changes the subject. “I’ve missed your mouth. Will you kiss me? Please?”
The yearning in his voice is unmistakable: soft and silken, like a flower petal. A delicate plea in that familiar cadence—moderately pitched, never louder than necessary. Always composed. Always him.
He cradles your cheek and reaches out to smooth down your hair, the gesture almost motherlike. Then he pulls you into his chest, and you tumble forward into his lap. The leather of his trench coat stretches beneath you, releasing a soft, rubbery sound. You lift your head, eyes dilated—wide, unfocused—and tilt your face up. With a delicate lick, you lift his bottom lip, asking for permission to enter—for the unspoken invitation to taste the day he lived outside, the one you lost to your muddled memory.
But it was warm in his arms. He liked to remind you that you were his little bird—placed on Earth for him alone, so he could care for you. No one else loved you enough to lock you away from a world that only wanted to marvel at your mystic rarity, to exploit and desecrate what made you different.
Even when he punished you, it was always—at least in his eyes—for your own good. And on most days, he did everything he could to spoil you.
Your Seonghwa is sweet. He always reminded you that he could do no wrong to you.
He’d asked you to keep your binds on and wait here, in the old mausoleum nestled deep within the woods—secluded enough to quiet his worries. ‘It’s the safest place for you, Dove. Please understand that.’ He’d say and you couldn’t argue with him–Seonghwa always knew best.
This was his hidden sanctuary, and it was the only place fit for his most prized possession.
Seonghwa’s half lidded eyes gaze down at you quietly, a soft simmering that was reminiscent of a God you’d forgotten–watching your tongue flick before slowly parting his mouth.
When you press an open-mouthed kiss onto him, you immediately taste a faint combination of tobacco and ginger candies—a usual indicator of his oversight to his own care and almost pull away to reprimand him for most likely not eating actual food again. An arm wraps itself around your waist with a firm grip rubbing against your rib cage. The initial softness parting away and opening into true realm of Seonghwa’s nature.
“Can you be a good girl and do something for me?” His light voice rings like a bell, requesting softly and waving its frequency sweetly at you. You’d never say no—not to him. Sliding off his leather coat and unbuckling the silver clasp of his black slacks, knowing exactly what your reply will be.
“Anything.” Your eyes shimmer with an unnatural reverence—dull, yet awestruck, as if you’ve never seen anything like him before.
Seonghwa slinks a hand down the flat of his abdomen before slowly unbuttoning his slacks, cat-like and sultry. A trimmed array of hair is revealed as he peels his bottoms to his thighs, not wearing any briefs and exposing the pink velvet that hung neatly between his legs.
A mouthwatering and painful girth saddled itself there, its natural vulgarity a direct contrast to his cherubic and idyllic appearance. His cock twitched for a moment, hardening and lifting towards his stomach the more you stared.
He loved seeing how obedient you were and that despite your well-trained appetite, you knew to wait for his words before doing absolutely anything at all—because you’d do anything for him and Hwa would burn the entirety of Heaven and Earth if it meant to keep you by his side, whatever the means necessary.
“You know what to do from here right?” Flattening his palm to the back of your head before jolting you harshly towards him, cock hitting your cheek and momentarily resting on your jawline.
Your arms were still tied as your cheek landed on his upper thighs and shuffled towards him to place him into your mouth somehow. The shape of his cock protrudes from the side of your cheek
Small drops of saliva fall from the corners of your mouth, stifling a gag when he stuffs himself into the back of your throat and settles there unmoving.
Another hand reaches down to pinch your nose, blocking all access to oxygen. He keeps you stationed there, and you forget to count the seconds.
“Don’t think. Don’t fight it either—just focus on feeling my cock in your mouth, got it?” His voice shifts, a little more deadpan and firmer–melancholic, empty, and foreboding in its direction. He presses down on the back of your neck; blank gaze shadowed under a thick blanket of dark lashes.
Your head’s throbbing, alarm signals raising and firing, but you rub your thighs together, unable to resist his temptations, moaning at the friction. The meat on them begin to bead with a mixture of sweat and sweet slick.
At some point, your brain goes numb. The main point of existence, the meaning of the universe led you here to this moment. Nothing else exists here, everything before was a mere figment—a daydream filled with light. There’s a brief flicker and you tug yourself off suddenly, coughing through the spit and paling in realization.
It was a blip but the memory woke you from the disturbing reverie.
Just days ago, he’d nearly snapped your ankles when you offhandedly told him he couldn’t keep you here forever—that he’s a mortal man, and mortal men die in the blink of an eye to beings like you. He wouldn’t be able to bind you to his deathbed, nor hold you in the afterlife either.
Your gaze falls onto the black and blue finger shaped bruises wrapped around the skin of your ankle. It happened again.
It’s becoming harder to separate desire from rationale, especially as your episodes stretch on longer each time. And it isn’t just Seonghwa’s manipulation—it’s the exhaustion of constantly suppressing a twisted longing for the only person around you. You craved his warmth, his affection, and at times, find yourself defending your own captivity.
To forget and damn it all was to experience unconstrained bliss in this funeral of a body, subjecting yourself to pleasures amongst the dead by playing dead. He’ll make your home a Mausoleum if it meant you’d die with him and when you’re in the mist of that reverie, you’d do it willingly. Seonghwa abhorred his mortality and the fact that even with his best efforts he would only be an ephemeral being to you.
There was no heaven that would welcome him.
You avoid his eyes and stare at the moss overgrowth spindling its way above the pillar and towards a stone tomb. This was a grave of Seonghwa’s unreachable hopes– of a dark past you knew nothing of.
Seonghwa’s eyes flutter knowingly over your expression.
He thought this would happen.
Seonghwa knows he has to break you further, but this was the longest he’d ever held you in that space—suspended, stripped of every thought and desire but him. It was working. And soon, it would consume you entirely.
He’ll make sure of that.
The look in his eyes unsettled you, shaking you to the core—gazing at you like the end was already decided, like he knew everything.
Moonlight bled from the skylight above you, dousing your conflicted and horrified features in a shade of blue you began to drown in. An ominous stillness permeated the space as you finally take note of the dark gleam in his eyes.
“There you are, Angel.” A grin slid onto his face as he sat back and leaned his weight onto his palms.
Your heart trembled as it fought the fear and desire to stay here without any effort to push back against that fate, needing to remember yourself and why you couldn’t remain here.
“Why are you still doing this?” A resigned whisper falls from your mouth, your downcast gaze igniting something painful in Seonghwa. You’ve asked this question again and again for however long you’ve been here, and not once has he answered you.
A pensive expressions sways onto his face before he honestly utters. “I have no other motive than my love for you.” Leaning a hand forward to brush a stray eyelash from your cheekbone before continuing
“The world outside is too dirty for a thing like you. Why don’t you understand that?” He whispers out, venom hiding on the sweetness of his tongue.
“—You’d run back to a place where my hands can’t reach you? Do you truly believe you could pass among the innocent, wearing their softness like a mask, after what I’ve done to your body?”
Your lungs tremble, a sharp gasp slipping free as he crawls toward you on all fours—unashamed, his half-bared form moving with the grace of something deceivingly lighthearted. His lips hover a breath above your skin, tracing a reverent path along your abdomen, up your chest, and finally, to the hollow of your throat.
Seonghwa’s tongue flattens vulgarly on your jugular, licking up the length of your jawline. “Your God won’t fuck you. He’ll only watch me desecrate you.” He whispers with a palpable seduction choking the air.
“I wasn’t made to do things like this—it was never my purpose.” You grit out halfheartedly. Angels didn’t have any appetite. Food, water, sex, affection–all of that was unnatural to the celestial thrumming in your bodies. In reality, you were too bitter about his constant restraint and only ever found reprieve in denying him when you could. Perhaps it was also a matter of being able to deny yourself too.
“I’d beg to differ. How else would I’ve been able to fit inside of you? You take my cock so well, little dove.” A hand trembles trails it fingertips above your womb before pressing down on it.
“A shame that Angels can’t get pregnant.” A dark mumble of disappointment leaves his lips.
You hate the fact that you’re falling into it and that you were distorted enough now to still want his praise—to be capable of fulfilling his wants and needs.
He sighs before standing up to brush his legs. “Well, since my angel’s a stubborn one—I suppose I’ll have to try again some other time.” He leans down to swipe your legs from under you, huffing with reprimand, and dragging you up to grip a strong hand at the lining of your underwear to tear it off to examine between your legs. He flings the sad tatters like crocodile tears, absentminded and ignoring the world as all else goes quiet at the sight of you. Seonghwa stiffens when he catches a glimpse of your wetness, gazing at you questioningly passive.
“You’re all bark but little to no bite.” He spits out for a moment, sarcastic in the wake of his joy before continuing
“Say please and I’ll take care of it.”
Your eyebrows furrow, legs trembling as they hung in the air–his grip tightening around your ankles to hold your lower body up. Your arms and back are tensing at the uncomfortable burning that squeezes from your intricately bound arms, tied together at the base of your spine.
Seonghwa’s white hair glimmers hauntingly under the moonlight, fluttering slightly as a small gust of wind enters through the cracks of the Mausoleum, and your breath leaves you–he looked lovely.
You open your mouth to reject but the words feel too strained to leave you once an uncomfortable clenching in your chest distracts you. His eyes are black seas, waiting for your reply but maintaining his hold.
“No. I’m perfectly fine–let go of me.” You swallow hard, body stinging at the mere idea of his hands releasing you. He was too prideful, confident even, to force himself onto you. Seonghwa never needed to– he was tactical and patient, easing you into his seduction bit by bit before you caved to him time and time again on your own volition whenever he broke you enough to desire him without thought.
He says nothing for a moment, gaze stoic.
“Suit yourself then.” He mutters, a dance of a smile playing at his lips before he picks your body up and into his arms, reaching down to cut your bindings for the night. “I’m off to bed—” He stops to pick up your discarded underwear “I’ll bring you a new pair. Don’t forget it’s bath time tomorrow.”
He stretches his lithe body, yawning into his hand before exiting the lonesome section of the Mausoleum, leaving you to your own haunts. His Silhouette turns to the immediate makeshift room to the right of the corridor. Your gaze remained where his phantom shadow, illuminated by the haunting torches aligning the walls, swayed off into another direction, squeezing your eyes shut with bitter reprimand.
You’re unsure if you’re bitter about not falling into his hands
Or by the fact that you sickeningly wanted to, the fever spreading throughout your body and drenching it in an uncomfortable humid heat.
Perhaps you’re already damned.
The thought drifts through you as you flinch, your fingertips grazing the tender flesh of your arms. A sigh escapes your lips, weary and hollow, as you sink onto the cold stone floor—long past the point of trying to decipher a way out of the ornate sigil that binds you here.
There’s comfort in the darkness that greets you once you shut your eyes, fading away into the only kindness you knew these days, sleep offering reprieve and blurring the lines of your desire to offer yourself to him on a platter—ominously willing to pay the price, if only for a moment of joy and basking in his praise. You dream of distant sunlight at the edge of a horizon that night—by the end of it, you turn away to walk back into the shadow you crawled out of with your bleeding body.
Warnings: cursing, asshole!Matt, Dom!Matt, party, enemies to lovers, best friends brother, mentions of drinking/drugs, smut, fingering, male receiving oral, face fucking, female receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, spanking, choking, slight degradation kink, praise kink, slut shaming, squirting, overstimulation. Just all around rough & nasty smutty smut smut sMUT.
masterlist
Part 2?
You knew from the moment you met him, you hated him and everything he did.
His smirk, his smile, the way he did everything he could to make sure you were watching him. He always did everything in his power to make you hate him. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel a sort of attraction towards him. His hair, and the way he would put his fingers through it.
God, his fingers. Every time you’d see him hold the steering wheel like his life depended on it and his fingers would tap against it, going along with the beat of the shitty trap music that Chris chose for the night, you couldn’t help but imagine them inside you. You’d just assumed that you were so sexually frustrated that you were just making up the hate in your head. But when he would make his comments, it reassured that hate.
Which brings you to now
The music was loud, people were dancing, the room was filled with the shitty smell of weed and cheap beer, there were people on the coffee table, snorting god knows what. You’re 4 shots in and the cup in your hand was filled with your liquor of choice for the night, hoping to somewhat get rid of the feelings you undoubtedly have for him.
You were wearing skin tight little black dress, tights and black boots, and if we’re being honest, you didn’t wear any underwear in hopes of meeting someone to take your mind off of Matt.
You see your best friend, Nick in the kitchen, grabbing a cup and filling it with water, and you make your way towards him.
“Hey, babe.” You say to him, he smiles at you. You two continue talking, smiling at Chris in the corner with a girl, trying his hardest to flirt. You both are assessing the situation, and you see her nudge his shoulder jokingly, and he takes that opportunity to snake his arm over her shoulder. The two start to walk upstairs, giggling.
You both high five each other, Nice job Chris.
Unfortunately, the moment was ruined when you see him, and he sees you. “Ugh.” He says as he walks past you, grabbing a beer from the cooler. “Ugh? Why’d you ‘ugh’ me?” You ask, mocking his tone, he slams the cooler down, and opens the bottle, “because you are so insufferable.” Nick takes this opportunity to walk away, fed up with constantly hearing you two bicker. “I’m insufferable? You’re the one who always goes out of your way to make some kind of comment towards me, so what is it now?”
“It’s the the way you’re dressed. You always try way too hard, you’re obviously asking for it.” this made your blood boil. “I’m asking for it?! What am I asking for?!” You yell to him, “you’re obviously asking to be fucked tonight. It’s honestly so disgusting, you’re such a slut, all the time.” Fuck. Hearing him say that made you wet immediately, you cross your legs, in order to try and hide your arousal, “let me guess, that turned you on?”, you look down, face a crimson red, biting your lip as you look down at your feet. Matt grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him, “i think you need to be taught a lesson, hm? What do you say about that?”, you immediately shake your head yes, “I need to hear the words come from your mouth, princess.” He says, “fuck, yes. Yes, teach me a lesson, please Matt.” He grabs the cup from your hands, slamming in on the counter, along with his.
He takes your hand, leading you up the stairs, opening his bedroom door, pushing the two of you into it, and locking the door behind him. “You need to be taught a lesson, yeah? Let’s see how well you listen you fucking slut.” He throws you on the bed, “I need to make sure you’re okay with this. Do I have permission to touch you, princess?”
“Yes, Matt. All of it.” He walks over to the side of the bed, grabbing your face in his hands, kissing you roughly. You whimper out in relief, finally fulfilling that need you’ve had for him. He grabs your throat, applying slight pressure, cutting off your breath. He continues kissing you for a few seconds before making his way onto the bed as well, lying on top of you, kissing your lips. He grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly, making his way down to the crook of your neck, kissing and leaving dark bruises to form. He takes your other hand, lightly squeezing your tit, rubbing his hand over your nipple, “Matt, please, touch me more.” He immediately makes his way down to the bottom of your dress, lifting it off of your sweaty body, “no underwear? Such a fucking slut.” He hisses.
He takes his hands, rubbing your inner thighs, inching his was closer to your heat, teasing you. “Pleas, Matt, touch me already.” You whine, not being able to take it anymore, “such a fucking slut for me, princess, hm?” You nod you head quickly, he takes his hand, lightly smacking your heat, “use your words princess,” you moan out, “fuck, yes, m’ such a slut you you Matt. Only you.” He takes that opportunity to roughly tear the crotch of you tights. He puts his middle and index finger in his mouth, getting it wet with his salvia and taking his hands and placing them on your wet folds, “so fucking wet for me already.” He says through gritted teeth, rubbing the insides of your folds, avoiding your sensitive clit purposely to tease you.
He finally makes his way down and shoves his head in between your thighs, and starts sucking your clit, he takes his right hand and sticks his middle and index finger inside your cunt, curling at an ungodly rate. Your let’s start to shake as you feel your orgasm coming.
He takes his other hand and holds down your thighs, as you start lifting them to relive the pressure, he starts moaning when he feels you pulse underneath him, your orgasm beginning. Suddenly, he removes his face, slapping your sensitive clit, causing you to whine out in frustration. “No coming yet, princess,” he then places his fingers between your folds, taking your wetness and placing it in your mouth “I made you this wet, didn’t I? Suck them, princess. I want you to know how you taste.” After you suck his fingers clean, he gets up from the bed, and takes his belt and jeans off, “come on princess, get on your knees.” You comply, and get off the bed as well. He takes off his boxers, his already hard cock springing free and hitting his stomach, and uses his hand to pump it, “come on baby, I wanna feel your mouth around me.”
You take his cock into your hands, pumping up and down as he groans. You lick a stripe up his cock, starting at the base, and then start licking the tip, “fuck, just like that y/n.” You then take his cock into your mouth, pursing your lips and sucking, jacking off what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, “fuck, ‘s good baby.” He grabs your hair from behind you, creating a ponytail and pulling you away from his cock, “you’re too soft with it babygirl.” He then stars fucking your face, making you take every inch of his cock. You gag every time it hits the back of your throat, tears streaming down your face as he barely lets your breathe; but you can’t help but feel turned on as you see his eyes squeezed closed, his mouth agape and him speaking all kinds of profanity. Knowing that you were making him feel that good, he starts to twitch in your mouth, but pulls out before he can cum.
“Back on the bed, I want to cum in that pretty pussy of yours.” He demands, you comply, lying back down on the bed. He makes his way over to the bed, and out of nowhere flips you over with one hand, “on your hands and knees princess.” You get onto your hands and knees as he gets on the bed, jerking himself off. He takes his cock, up to your pussy, teasing your wetness. “Do you deserve it baby? I don’t think you do.” You moan out, almost in defeat. “I do Matty, please.”
“Hmmm. I don’t think you do. You came here looking like such a whore, and I don’t think it was meant for me.” It wasn’t. But, it was to keep your mind off of him, “I just wanted to get you off my mind. I’ve been craving your cock since the moment I met you.” You whine, arching your back, craving some kind of contact. “Is that so? I guess it’s mutual, baby. Every time I see your pretty tits, I can’t help but imagine what they’d look like with you bouncing on my cock. I jerk off to every picture you post. I can barely contain myself when you’re in the room.”
“Please, Matty, I-i need it.” You whine, he then takes that as an invitation and shoves his cock into your pussy harshly, not letting you adjust before roughly grabbing your hips. You moan out in relief, “oh fuck Matty, oh my god.” He continues to furiously fuck you, “that’s my little slut. You’re only allowed to be my slut.” He reaches down and grabs your hair, pulling it into a ponytail once again and roughly pulling it to the point that you think he’s going to pull all of your hair out.
He takes his free hand and roughly spanks it with every thrust, creating red welts. “Oh fuck, Matty I’m gonna cum.” He fastens his pace, “you’re not allowed to cum without me, keep going baby, you’re doing so good. I’m so proud of you.” This is about to make you lose your minds you feel your legs start to shake, “fuck I’m gonna come too baby,” you feel his cock start to switch, signaling he’s coming undone, “cum for me princess, come on, cum all over my cock.” He moans out as you feel his warm cum fill you up, he’s a groaning and moaning mess, his thrusts are becoming sloppier, overstimulating himself, “c’mon baby, I know you can cum too.” Eager to make you cum, he reaches down and does rough circles on you clit, sending you over the edge.
Your legs seize, as you start to reach your orgasm, but again, he pulls out of you. He slips you on your back again, reinserting his cock and lifting your legs on his shoulders, “I want to see you come undone on me baby.” He’s thrusting so furiously that you feel like you’re going to pass out. You feel yourself get light headed, your gets shake again as he starts rubbing your clit again, “fuck yeah, c’mon baby, c’mon.” Your body finally lets go, moans spewing out of you mouth like a waterfall, “fuck, fuck, Matt! Fuck!” You whine. his thrusts never stopped and circular motions on your clit never ceased and instead got impossibly faster. Your legs were shaking and spasming, and then bursts of wetness erupted from you. He pulled out to allow your liquid to fully shoot out and watched in wonder as your body convulsed under him, as you squirted all over your his cock.
“Fuck oh my god baby.” Everything was blurry as you tried to see his face, your body still shaking and convulsing. Eventually, your body went limp after a few minutes, your heavy breathing being the only thing heard in the room, other than the loud thumping of music from the outside of the door. You look over to the right of you, seeing Matt kneeling by the bed next to your face, caressing it and placing loving kisses to your forehead, “You did so fucking good babygirl. I’m so proud of you. Oh my god.”
You feel your eyes start to get heavy, the entire situation taking all of your energy. “Hey, before you fall asleep, go pee.” He states as you whimper, “I can’t move.” He chuckles, lifting you off the bed and carrying you to the bathroom connected to his room.
Hi! I really hope you enjoyed this!
how would you guys feel about a short part 2 of just him doing aftercare, and the morning after? Let me know!
Don’t forget to request by sending me a DM or just sending in an ask!
