#//but they are fortunately not obscenely wet

[countercharmda]

Living on the edge (waiting for my jeans to dry an hour before I have to work)

[wegc]

perv!channie and reader finally fucking but she teases him the whole time until he has had enough. “you’re such a fucking pervert” and “you’re so disgusting” all while she’s grinning at him and riding him like her life depends on it. he’s literally a second away from cumming as soon as he’s inside her. “you really think you deserve to cum? after fantasizing about fucking your best friend’s sister?” she denies him to cum for so long that he finally snaps and flips her over, pounding into her like a madman. “such a tease, you whore” and “don’t have much to say now, huh?” she cums so hard but he’s not done. even after he cums, he aint done either…

OK IM DONE AHHHHHH (please feel free to finish or add on or write more to it bc i would v much appreciate it)

i’m ascending. something about cocky!reader paired with a perpetually flustered, perv!chan is such a mouthwatering combination.

perv!chan whose cock twitches inside you every time you humiliate him with yet another reminder of how repulsive and depraved he is; he can’t bite back immediately because you’re right. he’s nothing but a disgusting pervert and he’s fortunate that you aren’t completely appalled by him.

when you grip the base of his cock and guide him inside your dripping cunt, chan feels like he could pass away beneath you. every delusion of his, whether it emerged in his bedroom or your washroom—a mere room away from you—was coming true and it was far better than he had ever imagined.

all he can do is pant and whine under you, taking in the sight of your tits bouncing in his face and the cute flush of your face, which scrunched up in pleasure. most importantly, the feeling of your cunt—the warmest thing in the world—took his breath away; his cunt, all his—he’d make sure of it.

the overwhelming feeling of being inside you, the epiphany and high of all his dreams and desires coming true right before him has his poor cock pulsing inside you, seconds away from cumming. each flutter of your cunt, each moment your fingers teased his nipples or when your hot, wet mouth whined against his had him feeling lightheaded—he knew he wouldn’t last long.

and your teasing—while it did turn him on, it also infuriated him. god, you were such a fucking brat—a mouthy little handful. did you frankly know what he thought of every time he stroked his cock to the image of you? you wouldn’t be behaving so pretentiously if you knew all the things he yearned to do to you, all the positions he’d bend you in, all the fondling and groping he had dreamt of, all the mean and obscene remarks he’d taunt you with, all the ways in which he would make you beg for more. you had no fucking clue.

before you even realize it, you’re pulled off his cock and manhandled to your hands and knees, where the drilling of chan’s cock seizes your breath. he’s suddenly so deep inside your cunt—you swear the tip of his cock might kiss your cervix—and you can scarcely catch some air every time he snaps his hips to go harder.

chan would grin, smacking your ass, laughing shakily at the sounds of your yelps and wailing with each drag of his length. your face is buried in his pillow, but even that hardly muffles your loud sobs and pleas.

“god, you don’t ever shut up do you?”

“fuckin’ brat, you want more?”

“dirty little thing, you’re just as gross as me.”

“you feel like a whore, don’t you? doesn’t it make you feel dirty, knowing everything i’ve done? you hate that you like it, don’t you?”

chan, who fucks until dawn, cumming continually inside you and pulling out periodically to observe and engrave the way his cum oozes out of your gaping hole. he feels so pleased as he takes in the bruises and marks he’s littered on your body, marking you as his. or even better, the way your eyes gloss over, looking at him desperately with tearful eyes. your hair is dishevelled, draped messily across his ruined sheets, and your lips are bruised with his kisses and nibbles, lipgloss pathetically smudged away.

“so fucking pretty—my pretty girl, yeah? you wanna go again? can’t go without me, hm? need me so bad to stop all that fussing, right?”

“you’re all mine now, you know that? can’t fuck you just once—can’t have you looking at other people.”

[staryuee]

“HEY, CAN I SLEEP ON YOUR CHEST?”

꒰warnings꒱ implied AMAB/AFAB, somewhat gender neutral terms but written w/ gay dynamics in mind, suggestive

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . kaeya, itto, alhaitham, wriothesley ⚣ yelan, yae miko, clorinde, arlecchino ⚢

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . meant for the gays and lesbians respectively! male characters are written in a gay POV, women are written with lesbian POV — my little gift for pride month ♡ shoutout to all my male readers i’m sorry there’s content drought for you i hope i sufficed even if just slightly 😓

A. KAEYA — 凯亚

resident boob window man.™

kaeya can’t help but relish in the eyes of people who pass him by to just simply ogle at his chest area; because let’s be honest, no body is looking at that red shirt of his. so when he heard the phrase, “can i sleep on your chest” escape from his boyfriend’s lips, it didn’t come as shock or surprise but more so a warranted compliment.

who was he to deny you? if he allows dozens to have a subtle peek at his gorgeous, tanned skin, why would he not give you a privilege that was beyond that. “how about sleeping on my bare chest? after all, isn’t heat better shared when directly skin to skin?” of course, such alluring words were written using the truth for the sake of obscenities.

and yet, when you finally burrow your face into his chest, arms snuggled safely around his waist as you hummed softly, kaeya was sure his heart would leap out of its ribcage. god, he was so lucky no one was here to embarrass him further because the image of the ever elusive, mysterious and slightly flirtatious calvary captain turning into a silly puddle at just the littlest bit of affection would be etched into history’s memory to make use of as blackmail material.

“your heartbeat is really loud,” you teased, a subtle smirk tilting your mouth as you felt his breath hitch at your sudden call out. he was hoping you couldn’t hear that incessant hammering, but since you’re so close, he might as well let you savour that sound for a little longer while he’s all yours.

A. ITTO — 荒泷一斗

“itto!”

“[name]!”

“can i sleep on your chest?”

pausing the excited chant and the slight ritual between you two to randomly call out each others names, itto stumbles and stutters in embarrassment, “i—! well, uhm, yeah! sure, hell yeah! ‘course you’d wanna, after all y’know we’re dudebros uhm, boyfriends, yeah!” it would be cuter if he did less dignity saving and a little more holding but nonetheless, this is what you signed up for when asking this tall hunk of mess to go out with you.

fortunately, neither of you would have it any other way.

getting fully comfortable in bed, it’s like you sink into itto perfectly, your body falling limp and heavy as your head cradles itself between his tattooed chest. if you didn’t feel so absolutely drowsy from the amount of heat exuding from his body, you were certain your hands may have wandered to squish them for the fun of it. yet, you refrained.

not like itto would’ve noticed such wanderings regardless, he was too busy fighting hyperventilation and this nagging cuteness aggression that threatened to manifest itself in him squeezing you painfully within the grip he had on your smaller frame.

WRIOTHESLEY — 莱欧斯利

“wrio…” you whine, face nuzzling into the nape of his neck and arms sliding along his waist to pull him flush against you.

“what is it, mon beau?” he can’t help but chuckle at the way your hands sneakily traveled along his abdomen and up to cup his chest, squeezing occasionally per routine after wriothesley came out the shower all wet and enticing, those droplets dribbling down his abs just simply begging to be swiped clean (either by your tongue or a towel, but both of you knew which one wriothesley would prefer).

“can i sleep on your chest, please? had a shitty day.”

wriothesley smiles smugly, the question rather warranted given how touchy you were being with him. “you’ve been getting all demanding lately, you know that?” settling himself within the covers of your shared abode, wriothesley promptly propped his head up atop fluffed up pillows before tapping on his chest. “come here.”

watching as you immediately snuggled yourself within his tender embrace, face nuzzled between his tits as if they were gold itself, wriothesley latched onto you with an affectionate stare, hands rubbing at your back to help soothe you. “my boyfriend’s so clingy these days,” he chuckles, giving you a gentle squeeze despite clearly having the strength to grip you tighter.

“should i just connect us with handcuffs at this point?” he suggested, but honestly if you asked, he’d do it without hesitation.

AL HAITHAM — 艾尔海森

“hey, can i sleep on your chest?”

alhaitham promptly shuts his book at your request, eyes gradually meeting yours like some sort of lizard. “but i’m a man.”

“yeah so am i, what’s your point?” your lips puckered into a firm pout, a hand on your hips as if you were absolutely bewildered that he even dared to deny you in such a subtle way despite you asking so nicely instead of snuggling yourself between his manboobs shamelessly.

“my point is,” alhaitham sat up from the couch, those muscular arms that you were certain were littered with your bite marks a few days ago laced over his chest as if to reprimand you for your ignorance, “i’m a man, it wouldn’t be comfortable for you because my breast tissue is smaller than that of a woman.”

“well, can i?” a small stretch of silence ensued for a while before alhaitham gave up trying to reason with you and merely propped up his pillow, rolling his eyes at the way you wasted no time in snuggling yourself against him. face of course nuzzling against his chest restlessly. he might not admit it to you, but you certainly weren’t blind to big boobs when you saw them.

there was a whole curve. you could calculate the circumference of those things if he asked — and honestly? that within itself wouldn’t be beyond him. alhaitham found himself enjoying this more than he thought he would. his hand carded within your messy bed-hair as the other took its time to soothe your back.

if such a dumb request is enough to make you happy, he doesn’t mind fulfilling it.

YELAN — 夜兰

“i’m not used to being caught off guard,” yelan coughs into her hand, what seemed to be both a look of surprise and smugness distorting her usually calm facade.

“would you like to bet on my answer to that question?” she tilted her head to the side to entice you, her finger luring you close with a simple movement you couldn’t help but be drawn closer to almost instantaneously.

“well, can i?” you ask innocently, a bambi look to you that yelan would normally tease, but right now she wanted to devour completely. she grins, pearly whites showing as she pat her lap for you to cradle yourself in.

“i was thinking of taking an afternoon nap anyways, i don’t see any harm in you joining me.” and of course, you wasted absolutely no time in jumping within her embrace, those hands that normally held poker chips and cards or the neck’s of egregious men now holding you with an almost surreal gentleness.

“atta girl.” yelan giggled as you nuzzled yourself snuggly against her chest, those lashes of your fluttering against your cheek as sleep seemingly lulled you in a mere instant. where you keeping awake just for her to hold you? how sweet.

YAE MIKO — 八重神子

“have you been obsessively reading those sapphic novels of yours again, [name]?”

“nuh-uh…”

“don’t lie to me dearest, i can read you with a mere glance.” yae miko flutters some cherry blossoms that clung onto her attire with a mere wash of her hand, prepping herself for the long yet worthwhile cuddle session ahead that she’s grown more than accustomed to each time you presented yourself with your hands clasped behind your back so innocently like that.

“lay down then darling, you have all my attention.” she says after a minute, and of course you obey without any protest. you snuggle yourself into her comforting warmth, her arms immediately enveloping you as you lay down against her. yae miko proceeds to kiss repeatedly all over your head while humming a soft tune that sounded suspiciously familiar to you.

it was the same song that gently breezed in the background of your first kiss during a festival, when the sunset deep the sky in a beautiful array of red and orange hues.

seems like you weren’t the only one to have been obsessively reading sapphic novels lately.

CLORINDE — 克洛琳德

“clorinde…~ can i sleep on you chest please?”

“…don’t you have your own? i don’t quite understand your fascination.”

“i want to be able to hear you heartbeat when i wake up.” ah, well you can’t just say such swoon-worthy words and then expect her to not completely drop everything and coddle you. a blush smothered her cheeks in the most cosiest of hues as she fumbled over in her effort to figure out what reply she could possibly conjure up.

it took a few moments before the words finally reached her lips but the response that fell out was no less eloquent than the one that followed, which was to laugh. “i…why not? just don’t get too attached, i have to leave in the early morning.” with that said she pulled the covers back and slid into the bed next to you, who had taken up residence in the space between the bed’s headboard and the wall, leaving enough room for both of you to comfortably fit.

clorinde wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you flush against her side while she tucked herself under your chin, effectively shielding you from all harm. her breathing evened out gradually until she seemed to have drifted off, lulling you into complete slumber. you were sure you wouldn’t even notice if she hadn't been holding you tight to her chest.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

“you’ve become bolder, haven’t you my dumb bunny?”

the luxury of comfort was the last thing arlecchino obtained within her livelihood. she didn’t need it, nor did he want to have it. she would be content with living in the forest and sharing it’s abundant wildlife with fellow rabbits or whatever other small animal that came to feed on it. they could do what they wanted and it wouldn't bother that unnerving stoicism of hers.

yet such a simple, minute, even pure, question of yours? it somehow rattled something within her like a predatory snake unleashing it’s coil on its prey in sight for a bigger bite.

“since you’re so desperate for sleep, suppose i’ll have to indulge you.” she sighed heavily despite her tone holding no mingle of exhaustion apart from the permanent eyebags drooping beneath her lids.

like a berry unknowingly rolling into the reclining jaws of a centuries starved bear that’s drooling per conditioning, you comfortably settle right next to her heartbeat, those black nails sending shivers down your spine in electric shocks of warning as she spookily tugs them down your back.

her words always seem so elusive, so teasingly endearing they hardly feel sincere — almost as if sweetened words that spill from her lips come as easily as the breath from her frigid body. one thing that couldn’t lie, most unfortunately to arlecchin’s interest, was her heart.

the way it beat so clearly and loudly against your ear, it was hard not to giggle. of course, the ever perceptive arlecchino mumbled something incoherent about your perceived insolence and shoved your face right between her breasts to stop you from peeking directly into her heart. despite you clearly being in it already.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[nightwngz]

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝒕. drake ✮ eng. . . !

tim drake x female!reader

WARNINGS. . . porn with plot. friends with benefits. fingering, face riding, sex (p in v)

COPYRIGHT. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

LANGUAGE. . . english is not my first language and I am still studying to master it. It makes me insecure to write by myself in another language, so I used the translator. I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

You had never thought of Tim Drake as anything other than your best friend, the guy you trusted and could turn to whenever you were worried about something.

He was your emotional refuge, a place where you could feel completely vulnerable, where you could share all your concerns, knowing that he would be honored to listen.

At the time, you would have sworn that you would never think of Tim as anything other than a friend. But time began to form a deeper bond between you and him.

Conversations that used to be a fun time between friends began to turn into a strange and strangely palpable tension. The hugs grew longer, the rubbing of your bodies more intense, and every lingering look seemed to contain a caged lasciviousness that only you could understand.

As time passed, the emotions you had sworn you would never feel for Tim began to flutter inside you. You found yourself thinking about him differently, noticing how your skin prickled when he touched you, how your sexual fantasies about his person began to invade your mind.

Ever since you started sleeping together and made the deal to be, as Jason said, "friends with benefits," your best friend discovered there was a side of you he didn't know.

You didn't mind invading his room because you wanted to be devoured by someone. You were not afraid to kneel on either side of Tim's head, just because you wanted to ride his face.

Fortunately for you, your friend was incredibly good at the task of eating you. His tongue pushed obscenely between your wet folds to open them, his fingers were busy fluttering against the pleasure cap that ached from lack of attention. With these movements, you gave in to him; the surge of pleasure and the sensitivity you kept in your wet pussy made his touch make you see stars.

— Hold on a little longer. I'm not done yet.

Your hole was getting closer to the emptiness of the stimulation he was giving you. You imagined what his face would be like underneath you, and just the thought of him with his whole mouth smeared from your crying pussy brought you that much closer to the edge.

But to have him look into your eyes as he squeezed your clit with his lips and then scraped it with his tongue was too much for you to bear. The orgasm hit you so hard that Tim didn't even see it coming until his whole mouth was covered with your wonderful taste.

He gave you no respite from the hypersensitivity your previous orgasm had left you with, so he immediately began to fuck you without pity through the hole he had just abused.

With his thumb, he sweetly stroked your center again to make you feel completely at ease with the onslaught.

You felt full. You felt his body fit perfectly into yours, as if he had been made to fuck you. His hot skin burned against yours as his pelvis slammed into you, making a lurid sound that could be heard throughout the room. It was too much to bear.

— T-Tim, Tim! - You cried on his shoulder. - I want you to come inside me, I can't stand it anymore.

You moved to kiss him instead of letting him answer. Your tongue was focused enough on exploring his mouth when you felt the thick, hot fluid between your legs.

You might never be the same friends again, but you could live with it.

[inkedinshadows]

Reddened Cheeks

Day 18: Impact play — Cassian x f!reader

Warnings: spanking, p in v, rough sex

Word count: 823

“Don’t forget to count them, sweetheart.” 

Cassian’s warning rang in your head, and you were quick to reply, “Eight.”

“That’s right.” His rough calloused hand palmed the red flesh of your ass. “Just two more and then you can have my cock.”

You closed your eyes, waiting for the impact of the next smack. You were on your hands and knees on the bed, face pressed into the pillow as Cassian knelt behind you. But the impact didn’t come.

You turned your head to look at him, a plea already on your tongue, when you saw the almost feral grin on his lips and his hand came down on your ass once more.

He’d been waiting for you to turn, to see the slight pain on your face as he spanked you.

Your body jolted forward and you whimpered, yet you still choked out, “N-nine.”

He would start all over again if you forgot a number, and there was no way you could take ten more spankings before feeling him inside you. You were already soaked, wetness dripping down your thighs with each new slap.

Cassian massaged the cheek he’d just hit, and you thought he would wait as long as before to smack you again, so you relaxed just a bit. But he probably knew you would do that because this time he spanked you immediately, harder than before.

The number came out as a scream and tears lined your eyes, but Cassian was already fondling your ass, and he leaned over your back until his mouth was close to your ear.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” he soothed, his voice a sensual murmur that made you shiver. “You did so well. You can have my cock now.”

You whined just at the thought and tried to push yourself up on your elbows. “Yes… Yes, please…”

Cassian pulled back with a chuckle, and it took him only a moment to line himself with your dripping entrance.

You both moaned when he began to slowly push in, the familiar stretch of his thick cock mixing with the stinging pain in your ass.

“You’re so wet, sweetheart…”

You knew from the growl in his voice he was not going to be gentle, and you gripped the sheets tightly in your fists to prepare for it.

Cassian didn’t waste any time. As soon as he bottomed out, he grabbed your hips and set a punishing rhythm that had your eyes roll back. He hit that sensitive spot inside you with each deep thrust.

“Fuck…” you mewled as you tried to follow his pace and move with him. “Fuck, Cass… don’t stop…”

A hand came down on your ass again and the tears began rolling, from pain or pleasure you could no longer tell. But if Cassian noticed, he didn’t care.

“Yeah?” he groaned as he spanked you again. “You like that?”

“Fuck, yes, baby…”

He pushed you down on the bed, arching your back the way he wanted it until only your backside was up in the air. The perfect position for him to slap you again and for his cock to hit even deeper inside you.

Fortunately, he didn’t ask you to count this time. You forgot numbers, even forgot your own name as he pounded into you, alternating the cheeks he would spank and giving you only a few seconds of reprieve between one smack and the other.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby.” He spread your cheeks, his gentle kneading so at odds with the frantic thrusts. “With my handprint on your ass.”

The thought of it being there tomorrow—and maybe even the day after—, of seeing it in the mirror, and of being unable to sit because of the sting had you clenching around him.

Cassian growled low in his throat and spanked you again. “Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?”

Your legs were shaking, and so many obscene sounds were spilling from your lips that your voice came out as a sob. “Yes… Yes, make me come, please.”

If possible, his pace became faster and he fucked you into the mattress, your face buried in the pillow as you twisted the sheets in your fingers. And then his hand collided with your ass again, and your cry was a mix of pleasure and pain as you came, squeezing his cock inside you.

Cassian gripped your hips again hard enough to bruise and thrust a few more times before he released his seed deep inside you with a groan.

He stilled, both of you panting heavily, and if it weren’t for his hands still holding you, you would have collapsed on the bed.

You whimpered when he pulled out, but soon felt his lips press a few kisses over your shoulders and your back.

“Let me go get the ice for you,” he murmured against your skin, his usual caring note now back in his voice.

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[fsfghgee]

*slides not under door*

Bi-Han and Sektor are at it like rabbits.

Soulmates

— Once again, you outdo yourself. This facility, the armor, even your father's dreams weren't so grand. — Bi-Han declared smilingly, unable to hide the pride he felt for Sektor. — Only you could have replaced him as our master armorer.

Unable to keep his eyes and hands away from the warrior in red for much longer, Bi-Han gently patted her on the shoulder, looking intensely into her eyes. Sektor smiled at how affected he had been since early morning. She loved seeing the desire in the cryomancer's hazel eyes.

— Indeed. — Cyrax, who watched once again her Grandmaster flirt with her instructor while ignoring her existence, rolled her eyes at the scene.

— Is that disrespect? — Not deaf to the mocking tone of Sektor's apprentice. Bi-Han became enraged and approached her only to confront her. — You are fortunate Sektor is your mentor!

— None is intended, Grandmaster. — Startled by the visible fury in the elder's eyes, Cyrax quickly apologized.

— With your permission, I will begin the armor's mass production.

— First, it must be tested in battle. We have found Kuai Liang and his Shirai Ryu. — Bi-Han smiled as he told the news. He knew the news would please Sektor as much as it had pleased him. — They gather at the Wushi for his wedding.

— Attack his wedding?! — Cyrax could hardly believe the Grandmaster's plans. — I am aware what he's done, but...

— Surprise will give us the tactical advantage.

— We may win the battle, but find we lose the war. — Looking from Bi-Han to Sektor, Cyrax got frustrated to see that neither of them had a problem attacking a sacred ceremony like a wedding. — No one will respect us!

— Better to be feared than respected! — Bi-Han snapped, fed up with hearing the young Zaki's protests.

— Ugh. — Cyrax sighed in frustration. — I still cannot believe that Liu Kang capitulated to Outworld, that he agreed to break up our clan.

— He was spineless, as was Kuai Liang, for abiding his surrender. — Sektor decided to intervene, seeing that Bi-Han's irritation with Cyrax was only growing and he would soon lose his temper.

— They gave up on the Lin Kuei. But we will not! — Bi-Han stated determinedly. And Sektor smiled at her beloved's performance. — Go. Begin attack preparations.

— Already she suspects our deception. — Watching Cyrax leave the room to do as she was ordered, Sektor commented to Bi-Han when they were alone. — Eventually, she will learn the truth about Kuai Liang.

— We will be ready when she does. — Bi-Han smiled confidently. And before Sektor could question the Grandmaster's plan, he took her by surprise by pulling her by the waist. — For now... — Feeling her body pressed against his and fitting so perfectly, he leaned in until their foreheads touched. — We have some unfinished business to attend to.

— And what would that be about? — Caressing the cryomancer's big, shapely biceps, gliding her fingers over his caramel skin until wrapped her arms around his neck, Sek whispered sweetly with her lips mere millimeters away from his. 

— Like you made me hard earlier in the office...

— Do you intend to punish me, Grandmaster? — She asked meekly, looking into the cryomancer's eyes with a faux-innocence. — I've been such a good girl...

She knew how to turn him on with minimal effort. 

— Do you want a reward? — Caressing her delicate nose with his big one, he restrained himself not to kiss her, torturing himself in an attempt to torture her. — Or a punishment? — He murmured slowly, even huskier. — Tell me what you want…

— Both.

Bi-Han smiled when he heard his babe's greedy answer.

— Then you shall have it. — Eager to have Sektor in his bed again, he picked her up and carried her to the nearest elevator while kissing her ardently.

Moaning on his lips, she reciprocated the cryomancer's burning desire for her. In sensual movements, allowing his tongue to enter and play with hers as he pleased, the obscene sounds of their kiss wetted her from the inside out.

— L-Let's do it here. — Pressed against the elevator wall by his strong body, the armor was about to suffocate her from so much heat she felt.

— So impatient… — Bi-Han smiled at how her thoughts aligned with his. And in vain, he tried to take off her armor. — H-How can I take this off…

— Grandmaster?!

— F-Frost? — Shocked to hear his apprentice’s voice behind him when the elevator doors finally opened, Bi-Han quickly released Sektor and tried to catch his breath before turning to look at the younger woman. — Y-You… Do you need me for something?

Noticing how messy and flushed her Grandmaster was, Frost sniffed with contempt before dismissing him.

— No. I was just… — Undeterred by Sektor’s haughty posture and irritated look, Frost looked her up and down before looking back at her Grandmaster. — Just, forget it.

Bi-Han sighed, confused by the young woman's behavior, but not being in the right frame of mind to question why at the moment, he just let it go.

— Why was she on your floor?

— I don't know and I don't care. — There wasn't much he could think about after watching Frost take another elevator and disappear from sight. He had a big storm in his pants that clouded his thoughts. — Come.

— She shouldn't have access to this floor, Bi-Han! — Outraged by the freedom he was giving his apprentice, the warrior in red broke free from the blue one's grip and crossed her arms before he could hold her hand again. — I don't like this apprentice of yours… — If the girl wasn't a cryomancer with so much potential, she would have already killed her just for the way she looked at her beloved. — Sometimes she looks at you as if she wanted to eat you alive.

— Or maybe you're just jealous. And you know that there is no…

— It's not jealousy! — Bi-Han laughed in disbelief.

— Come here. — In another attempt to have her with him, he pulled her by the waist. — I'm only yours. — Softly saying what she already knew. He left a peck on her lips, followed by her nose, cheek… — Only yours... — He covered her with kisses until he found his way back to her full, pink lips. — I only have eyes for you.

Kissing her deeply, he dove into the moisture of Sek's mouth, engaging in a sensual battle with her tongue until she surrendered to his control. Desperate to take everything she had to offer, he carried her to his bedchamber and laid her down on the wide bed.

— Take off your armor. — It didn't sound like an order, but she obeyed as if it were.

Getting up from the bed slowly, she continued to look at the urgency in his eyes as she removed her armor, pleasantly surprising him by showing her half-naked body beneath it.

— You're so beautiful. — Eager to have her completely naked, he freed her breasts from the protective top and massaged the soft, smooth, fleshy mounds, leaving them almost as red as the color of her panties.

— B-Bi-Han… — Biting her lips to control the moans that threatened to escape as the cryomancer explored her body, trailing soft kisses from her elegant neck to her collarbones... — Ah…

Melting in his arms, she only held on tighter when she felt her body being thrown back onto the bed and the weight of the cryomancer's muscular body falling with her, covering her completely.

He nibbled and sucked her fleshy lips before trailing soft kisses across her delicate skin, easily marking her with light hickeys wherever he touched, with his rough fingers as he squeezed and released her soft white butt, leaving her completely naked as he pulled down her panties…

He slid his thick, long fingers between her labia, sucked her areolas hard, circling his tongue over her sensitive nipples as he caressed her plump pussy. Raising his eyes only to admire the expression of pleasure on his baby's beautiful face as he thrust two fingers deep into her tight little hole.

— You're so wet, babe. — He smiled at how easily his fingers slid inside the warm walls of her  little pussy. Speeding up the movements of his fingers, he pounded faster until she squirmed with pleasure.

— B-Bi-Han, a-ah... — Unable to bear the cryomancer's torture any longer, she held his hand tightly, stopping his intense movements. — P-Please…

— Please what? — There was nothing that gave him more pleasure than having a woman like her begging for him. — What do you want me to do?

— T-Take me... — He smiled at the urgency in her tone. — F-Fuck me, now.

With his hard, throbbing cock tucked away in his trousers, Bi-Han assessed how much he wanted to get inside her and how much he wanted to get back at her for their morning in the office.

It would only be fair if he left her wanting after she had done the same to him earlier…

— B-Bi-Han…

In a quick, surprising move, he grabbed her and quickly put her on all fours. With the sight of Sek's round, plump ass and her pink wet pussy glistening with pleasure, begging for him to enter, he quickly took off his own clothes before fitting himself at her entrance.

— Call me Grandmaster.

— No way-- Ah!

— Come on, babe. —  Caressing her red buttock after the loud slap, Bi-Han controlled himself from penetrating her as he rubbed his length over her warm, wet little hole. — Do you want this or not?

— B-Bi-Han… — She bit her lip at his cruelty when she felt a hard slap once again, on her other buttock, right after he pushed into her, torturing her by making her feel just the tip of his member entering. — A-ah...

— Come on, Chō, we don't have much time.

— Fuck me, GrandMas-- A-ah… — Closing her eyes as she felt him pushing into her harder and stretching her out, she struggled to keep herself in the position he wanted. — …master.

Wasting no time, he grabbed her hips tightly, thrusting himself inside her brutally. Going hard and fast, faster and faster, as she welcomed his invasion...

Pushing himself deeper and deeper, as if testing how far Li'l Bo's pussy could take being stretched. She felt him huge inside her. So aurosed that he was thicker, longer and harder than ever. Rocking her against the mattress with such force that his member pounded. Stretching her to the point where she couldn't tell the difference between pain and pleasure. She could take it all. She wanted it all. She craved more. She wanted more of him.

— T-Tell me you're mine.

— A-Ahh…

— Tell me you belong to me. — Refusing to pull out of her, as she came on his cock and collapsed on the bed. He continued on top of her, inside her, kissing her sweaty neck and nape as he thrust even deeper and harder. — S-Say it…

— I-I'm yours. Bi-Han… — Trembling and dizzy from the recent orgasm and intense movements, she almost screamed at the punishing bite on her shoulder. — A-Ah… Master.. G-Grandmaster… — Sometimes slower, sometimes faster. He had already lost track of time since he entered that room. — I-I belong to you.

Her soft butt was already hurting with the force of the thrusts of the cryomancer's muscular hips, his body was robust and solid as rock, the body of a true warrior built from a very young age. She shivered in delight, aware of his more intense moans and heavier breathing that preceded his cold jets of semen launched directly into her warm interior.

— No… N-Not yet… — With a bit of the sharp reflex she still had left, she grabbed his buttocks when he made a move to pull out of her and pulled him back in, reveling in being filled with everything he had. Bi-Han thrust deep again on instinct, spilling so much cum inside her that the cold liquid soon ran down her legs, dripping onto the bed. — Ah…

— You did great. — Then Bi-Han covered Sektor's sweaty back with kisses as he got off her, whispering soft compliments against her warm skin, he revered her in the few ways he knew how. Panting and with his strength almost gone, he collapsed next to her soon after.

This was what he had been missing for a long time. After so much time wasted in Outworld supporting Shao's army in battles, returning to Arctika and Sektor spending every day and night managing the production of the armor — and the army using science — unless he forced her to rest and took her place, the constant modernization of the palace that she insisted on personally supervising, his hunts for the Shirai Ryu compound, his occasional business trips to Outworld, negotiations with the Red Dragons...

Left them with almost no time alone, just the two of them. Much less time to deepen the connection between their spirits, strengthen the bonds of their souls and transcend passion through the union of their bodies.

— We need to prepare for the attack. We can't teleport directly to the academy before--

— Wait. — Still recovering his strength, he hurried to grab her arm before she got out of bed. — Stay here with me. — Hugging her waist right after, he practically pulled her onto his lap, burying his face in the crook of her neck. — Just for a few more minutes.

— Let me go, Bi-Han. — Finding her cold tone of voice strange, so suddenly. He turned her to him.

— What's wrong?

— Nothing.

— What did I do wrong? — Her silence and how much she avoided looking him in the eyes forced him to think about what could have upset her and still searching for an answer for her sudden bad mood, he remembered the three words that always softened her heart. — I love you.

Sektor scoffed at the way he spoke, rolling her eyes before wiping away a stubborn tear.

— Why do you do this to me? — It was so stupid, she felt stupid, how he could unbalance her so easily.

Bi-Han smiled, relieved that it had worked. However, still feeling confused by the sadness in her eyes, he kissed from her shoulder to her neck, trailing an imaginary path to her lips which he kissed passionately. Trying to convey through that kiss everything she meant to him.

— Bi-Han…

— Don't you want to receive your reward? — Laying her back on the bed, between her legs, he pressed his semi-erect penis between Sektor's sticky flesh.

— Bi-Han, n-no… W-We can't… — Ignoring the young Bo's whimpers, knowing full well that they were not sincere or else she would have already pushed him away, he continued rubbing his member against her until it slid inside her, already completely hard. — A-ah…

— H-How can you squeeze me so well? — Fascinated and still panting a little, he hugged her as the warm walls of her vagina embraced him, getting tighter and tighter as his cock plunged deeper. — Your pretty pussy was made to be used by me.

— B-Bi-Han, we can't be late…

— I am the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, Sektor. They wait for me. — Moving slowly at first, making her get used to his invasion again, he caressed her soft skin until he found the little hole that had been unused until then. — A-And for you… — With his own cum that was still dripping fresh from her, he lubricated the small entrance before invading with his first finger.

— B-Bi-Han…

— Y-You and I… — Rolling around in bed with her body pressed against his, so that she was on top, he kissed her again and again while fucking her two little holes at the same time. — Y-You and I. That's all that matters…

— A-Ah…

— S-Sektor… — After making love intensely, repeatedly. Bi-Han rested with Sektor on his strong chest. He caressed her narrow back sleepily while she spread kisses across his chest and caresses his chiseled abdomen. — M-Maybe… Maybe I won't survive the battles ahead...

— What are you babbling about, Bi-Han? — Confused by his melancholic tone, she stared at him ready to dispel whatever kind of weakness he was showing. — I will never let anything happen to you! As long as I draw breath from my lungs, I will–

— I'm not a coward, Sektor! You will never fight to defend me. I defend both of us and you defend yourself. — Seeing that she disagreed, he took a deep breath, offended by her stubbornness. — That's our deal.

— You can't stop me from protecting you.

— Promise me that you'll never risk your life for me. — Seeing nothing but defiance in her eyes, he turned them around, inverting their positions on the bed. — Promise me, Sektor! — With her pinned under him, he ordered as if he were angry. However, as he very well knew, Sektor could read through his anger and differentiate real anger from times when it was just feelings of hurt and/or fear being covered up. — I-I can't lose you too.

— And I can't lose you, Bi-Han. — Caressing his face with devotion, taking the opportunity to tuck the shortest strand of his long, silky black hair that had been down a while ago behind his ear, she had the final word. — I love you more than anything else in this life.

She confessed, holding back her tears. It wasn't easy to give up some of her own beliefs to continue supporting the man she loved. But the man she loved wasn't just any man. He was her confidant, her lover, her true love, her Grandmaster and her eternal ice prince. The connection between them transcended flesh, space and even time.

— Never abandon me.

— I will always be by your side.

Seeing the sincerity in her eyes and feeling the honesty in her words, Bi-Han turned away for a moment to  reach for something on the bedside table. Hearing the sound of the drawer being opened, Sektor caressed and kissed his back, waiting for the so-called reward. The small box that held the clan’s oldest family heirloom, passed down from grandmaster to grandmaster for thousands of years, was not what Sektor expected to see.

— I want you to have this. — Her eyes shone with the reflection and she gasped as she saw clearly what he was offering.

— Bi-Han, I-I… I can’t accept this. This stone is not just any gemstone, this is…

— The Arctikan Hailstone. I know. — He smiled before closing the small ornate box and placing it in her hands. — And I want you to keep it. — Before she could argue again, he cupped her face and kissed her slowly, silencing her. — If anything happens to me. You will be Grandmaster, my love. This stone will belong to you sooner or later. I'd rather you receive it from me before anyone else has the chance to get their hands on it.

— Nothing will happen to you, Bi-Han. — She squeezed his hand, giving him reassurance through her simple touch. — This stone is the most treasured possession for a Grandmaster. Tradition dictates that…

— You are my most treasured possession, Miss Bo. — She laughed breathlessly before slapping his strong chest, embarrassed that he had reminded her of the way he called her when she was the master of his adopted foreign brother. Bi-Han smiled briefly at having made her blush and smile so beautifully, holding her hand on his chest, he spoke seriously. — Never forget that.

.....

[teencopandthesourwolf]

STFU!

for the @sterekdrabbles 30/09/24 challenge. the prompt words were VORACIOUS, LOUD, and MILK. also tagging @sterekdrabblesgonelong as this ended up going long (884 words) xp

also found HERE on ao3

rating: EXPLICIT

Derek finally caves, succumbing to Stiles's feral wiles and allowing Stiles to drag that disgustingly hot wolfy-ass beneath Stiles's not exactly fresh and not exactly sexy bed sheets, for what is the B-movie prelude to (god willing!) the night's main event that will hopefully see Stiles Stilinski getting royally fucked within an inch of his Gay Virgin life.

Stiles—albeit inexperienced in this department but very much making up for that with a voracious sort of enthusiasm, thank you very much—is in the middle of sloppily sucking Derek off. The werewolf's not actually knotted cock-end is currently mercilessly bumping the back of Stiles's throat (Stiles is loving the fact he's never had a gag reflex, and by all accounts so is Derek), before a mix of precome and spit is confusingly flicking up into Stiles's eyes and hair as Derek manhandles him to skillfully flip their positions, Derek now suddenly the one with a mouth stuffed full of steel-hard cock.

Stiles is instantly shrieking Derek's name like a lunatic (ha) at having Derek's brand-hot mouth clamped around him, so loud Derek has to shove all four fingers of his left hand into Stiles's mouth to essentially gag him—and hopefully desist any need the neighbours could have to call the Sheriff and tell Stiles's old man his only son might be getting his throat ripped out by a wild animal of unknown description.

It embarrassingly takes no time at all of Derek swallowing Stiles down like a champ (and giving his balls a glorious beard rash for him to jerk off over tomorrow) for Stiles to be dangerously close to shooting his load—directly into what feels likely to be Derek's fucking stomach at this point, because jesus fucking christ he's gonna come hard—and he finds himself slapping haphazardly and manically at the ball of Derek's shoulder with the palm of his hand, as if they're in an wrestling ring and Stiles is desperately trying to tap-out of a full nelson.  

“No-no-no! Stop-stop-stop, Der, please, you gotta—or I'm gonna, y'know, like I'll—and it'll happen, like—shiiiiiiit, oh, man, you cannot keep doing that with your tongue, big guy, or it's gonna be game over before it's even properly begun!” he manages to splutter out, indignant and rambling more than usual with the insane levels of pleasure now shooting throughout his body like a trillion miniscule lightning strikes.  

Derek, of course, completely ignores Stiles and absolutely keeps swirling his gorgeously warm and wet tongue around what is definitely the most intense hard-on of Stiles's eighteen years on this planet, like his dick is not actually a dick at all but Derek's favourite flavour of popsicle. Although, Stiles now knows that The D (or at least Derek Hale's fantastic D) does not, in fact, taste anything like any popsicle Stiles has ever consumed; it's maybe more like salt-water taffy, only with less sugar and a lot more salt and holy mother of god, Stiles loves, loves, loves it. And even trying his dumb best to distract himself from what he knows is the inevitable, to make this not-so-little slice of pure heaven last just a teensy bit longer, Stiles knows thinking about the taste of cock while getting blown by the hottest creature he's ever had the good fortune to lay eyes on is definitely not helping his situation one iota.  

Thank fucking fuck, Derek chooses this moment to relinquish the divine vacuum he's got going on between Stiles's inner thighs via what are probably now obscenely swollen-red lips, when he releases Stiles's erection with an incredibly filthy-sounding pop.   

Almost dizzy from the change in pressure around his junk, Stiles forces his head up to eye Derek (whose lips really are an obscenely swollen-red, which is even more outrageously hot than Stiles had imagined) just as Derek says, “I'm about to suck your deranged brain out through your pretty cock, Stiles, then I'm gonna milk you dry until you're begging me to stop. So, you better hang on to something, and be careful not to bite your tongue off when I stab mine into your slit and use it to fuck your dick till you're crying, okay?” as if he's talking into the McDonald's drive through speaker to order himself a Big Mac meal with large fries and a shake, and not unknowingly acting out a spank-bank worthy scene from one of Stiles's wet dreams. 

Hell, Stiles all but comes, there and fucking then, because who the fuck says shit like that?! 

His face is doing what must be a very strange mix of a smile and a frown as he just about manages to pathetically whine the words, “But Der, oh my god, I really, really need you to fuck me!”

And yeah, he's practically crying already.

Fuck off.  

Derek grins, then, and Stiles doesn't think he's ever been more his wild wolf-self as he licks his canines and growls out, “What makes you think I won't be taking advantage of what I know is your excellent refractory period, to make you orgasm like a fucking freight train, at least twice, before I rail your tight little ass until dawn and give you several more, hmm?” 

And—honestly, Stiles has never shut the fuck up faster in all his life.

.

come leave me a comment HERE over on ao3 :)

[vicsbasement]

What about a Charlos first meeting? Charles accidentally spilling his coffee on Carlos like in a romantic movie? 😃 Or it can be any kind of first meeting you like. ❤

Oh, I'm moving through these at a glacial pace but I'm always grateful for prompts. I hope you like this first meeting!

“Pierre, for the last time, she was not flirting with me.”

Charles pinches the top of his scarf and brings it up to cover his mouth. He’s walking swiftly around campus with his umbrella perched high, his best friend snug against his side because, as always, he forgot his own. The rain is falling steadily atop them and Charles hates the cold, but fortunately, he brought a whole change of clothes because Pierre had invited him over to his dorm room to study.

As they both enter the café, the heating makes them release a long sigh of relief. Charles fiddles with the umbrella while Pierre makes a beeline for the counter to place an order for tea and coffee. Charles manages to beat the umbrella into submission after struggling to close it for a full minute and retrieves a free bag to keep it from mudding up the place as he looks for Pierre with his eyes. Pierre makes a hand gesture that he already found a seat at the bottom right, next to the window, and Charles moves towards it to sit.

He’s leaning down to put his belongings under the chair, and as he looks up, he sees Pierre coming with their orders, so he starts to take off his layers, removing the wet scarf and coat, leaving him with a cozy black hoodie. Pierre mimics him after he places their drinks on the table, but as he’s flailing his arms to get the scarf off, Charles sees with horror how he moves his elbow a little too far back, and said elbow collides straight on with a guy who was walking past Pierre.

Charles sees it happen in slow motion, the guy instead of recoiling stumbles forward and so does his drink. Charles moves quickly to catch the guy by the shoulders, and he succeeds, but the coffee he was holding lands square on his pants.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” The guy says. He’s tall, almost as tall as Charles, with big and expressive brown eyes and strong features. Charles is taken aback by how handsome he looks up close; so Pierre not-so-subtly nudges Charles’ ribs with his elbow to bring him back to earth. “I’m sorry, I can pay for the laundromat, I swear I didn’t see you guys—”

“Hey, it was my fault, man.” Pierre interrupts seeing that Charles was still frozen to the spot, looking between the handsome stranger and his coffee-soaked pants. “You don’t really have to pay for anything, he can borrow one of my jeans—"

“B-but.” Charles stammers, grabbing several napkins from the table to soak up the worst of it, “I won’t let you pay for the laundry, it’s fine, but I would accept your number.”

The handsome stranger looks a little surprised by the bold display, but he seems to appreciate the honesty, too. He eyes Charles up and down and seems to decide something in a silent conversation with himself. “My number? Why not start with my name first?” A teasing smirk dances on his lips and Charles has to fight the blush that spreads all over his cheeks and down his neck. Was the heating in the café too hot? Pierre sends him a sharp look to wrap it up so they can sit down finally but Charles isn’t letting this opportunity go.

“My name is Charles.” Charles offers as he continues to pat his leg with napkins. Carlos seems to notice he’s running out of those, so he points a finger to the counter to indicate he’s going to retrieve more. Charles takes the opportunity to turn to Pierre as the other man takes a seat, finally, and makes an obscene gesture at him that is very judgy and rude to Charles. Still, it’s not every day that handsome strangers bump into you at your usual café. Charles needs to seize the moment.

The stranger returns with more napkins and Charles nods, thankful, as he hands them over. The barista also seems aware to their little predicament, and they offer the guy another refill of his order. Charles briefly wonders if that’s the benefit of having such a gorgeous face, and as he’s deep in thought studying the way his hair falls to one side of his face, the stranger speaks up again.

“I’m Carlos Sainz.” He introduces himself and offers his hand. Charles stops his little task with the napkins deeming it futile, and shakes the hand offered, marveling at how soft the skin felt on his. A little thrill runs down his spine at the thought.

“Charles Leclerc.” Charles says again, this time with a last name to match Carlos’ introduction. Carlos smiles at him softly and Charles feels a sharp snap of something hungry in his belly at the display.

“You’re honor roll student Charles Leclerc?” Carlos asks him, and Charles doesn’t deflate but finds himself a little uncomfortable with the line of questioning now. He runs a nervous hand through his hair as he eyes the room for a bin to throw away all the dirty napkins and Carlos offers his help, handling ones that were already on the table and walking with Charles towards the trash bin.

“I am, yeah. Your last name seems familiar too, why is that?” Charles asks, trying to turn the tide a little bit so he doesn’t have to go on too long about his academic prowess.

“Oh, I’m—Ha.” Now it’s Carlos’ time to blush. “I’m the dean’s son. You know. Carlos Sainz…” He points at the general direction of their campus “And Carlos Sainz Jr.”

Charles can’t help the little gasp he lets out, and now that he has time to study Carlos’ face, he can see the resemblance. He’s been way too many times near the dean to not recognize the man, and now that his carbon copy is right in front of him, he wonders how he didn’t notice it before. He’s also seen Carlos at university events because he was…

“I’m also the captain of the soccer team.”

“Yeah! I was wondering where else I knew you from…” Charles mentions, and as they walk back towards Pierre, he pulls up a chair for Carlos to sit. Carlos nods his thanks and the three of them sit in silence for a second as they sip their drinks.

“So, Charles.” Carlos begins with a light knock on the table. “You asked me for my number?” Charles blushes furiously, now, how emboldened he felt by Carlos’ mishap to be so crass and just go for the kill. But at the same time, who can blame him? The man is handsome. Charles wasn’t blind.

“I did.” He decides to double down on it.

“Give me your phone.” Carlos says, offering a hand. Charles unlocks his phone and places it on Carlos’ palm and sees, transfixed, as long, dexterous fingers type his number on it. Carlos returns the phone with a tiny little smirk.

“Handsome Carlos”. Charles reads out loud, a frown on his face. Carlos chuckles like he’s the smoothest in town. Charles can’t help but be endeared at the sound of it.

“Okay, handsome Carlos. Let me give you a call so you can save me in your contacts.” Charles says. Carlos nods as Charles presses the call button. When he rejects the call, Carlos doesn’t let Charles take his phone like he expected, but instead he types the contact information himself. Seemingly satisfied, he turns the phone to face Charles.

“Gorgeous Blue Eyes Charles” Charles reads aloud. Pierre chortles over his coffee as Charles feels himself blush and melt at the same time. Carlos’ smile doesn’t seem mischievous, though, it seems fond.

“We can meet here tomorrow?” Carlos offers, and Charles seems too engrossed in him and his magnetism to do anything but nod fervently. “I can buy you another tea and some pastries.” Carlos says, and Charles continues to nod like he’s a five-year-old boy completely taken by something fascinating.

“He’d love that.” Pierre says, and kicks Charles under the table. Charles finally comes back to himself as Carlos is drinking his last drop of coffee and taking his leave, standing up and grabbing the chair to return it to where it was originally.

Charles stumbles on his words, but he manages to say. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time tomorrow.” Carlos winks at Charles, nods at Pierre and leaves the café.

“So, was he flirting with you, blue eyes?”

“Shut the fuck up, Pierre.”

[fayes-fics]

Benedict +Regency+ spanking

Thank you our Queen O'Smut

Kinktober: Benedict + Spanking

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Paring: Benedict Bridgeton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, spanking, vaginal fingering

Author’s note: hi lovely 🫶 thanks for this. My muse settled on this idea immediately, and I hope you enjoy it! 🧡

Your fingers dig into the plush velvet chaise arm, your toes curl against the polished wood floor, hissing as you adjust to the sting, inner thighs damp already, betraying just how alright you are with what is transpiring.

“Do not pretend, darling wife, you are not enjoying this,” Benedict rumbles silkily into your ear as if intuiting where your thoughts have run. The tip of his nose grazes over your temple, and he inhales deeply, “I can smell how aroused you are.” 

You whimper at his words, his large hand rubbing a soothing circle over the dark bloom on your bottom. Then his hand is gone, and the room reverberates with the sound of his palm slapping down onto your flesh yet again as you groan and push back into his hand.

“Do you have any idea how exquisite this painting will be?” he queries, a rich chuckle into your hairline. “Your beautiful naked body, thighs glistening with want, cheeks daubed with my handprints. I could make a fortune selling such a risque painting in the salons of Paris,” he intones, swirling fingertips over your abused skin. “Luckily for you, I am a greedy man, and this one is just for me…” 

With another smarting slap, those are his parting words as he stalks away, rounding behind his easel. You pant lightly and stare at the rich emerald velvet before you as he picks up his paintbrush, wishing he would just throw you onto the chaise and fuck you so hard your teeth rattle. You imploringly whine his name after a few impatient moments, rubbing your thighs together, needy for relief for your pulsing clit.

“Use your words, darling,” he teases, muffled around a paintbrush he clenches between his teeth as he paints large strokes with another.

“Please… I am aching; please fuck me,” you are almost begging now, bum cheeks burning hot as your cunt.

There is a clatter of his palette and footsteps, then a large hard worms between your thighs from behind, an obscene wet sound as he buries two fingers inside you as you cry out at the invasion.

“So needy,” he huffs, bemused, but you don't complain as you hear his other hand fighting to undo his trouser buttons. 

No taglist as these drabbles are so short

[depressedhouseplant]

🔞 Just Fucking Write - Day 32 🔞

Prompt: Continuation of Yunho x Fem!Reader

Tags: Unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, pet names

A/N: You can find part one here

I did exactly as Yunho said. I excused myself, went back to my room, and tried to clean myself up. The dress was ruined. Fortunately it wasn’t the one I’d be wearing for the wedding tomorrow. Then I would’ve been in serious trouble. My panties were soaked from both slick and, apparently, come. I threw them out, took off my bra, and decided I had enough time to shower before dinner was over.

I’d just put on the robe after my shower when I heard a knock.

“Coming!”

“You will be,” Yunho smirked at me when I opened the door. He was still in his suit.

“Going to Walk of Shame it later?” I asked.

“I was hoping you’d ask me to spend the night and I could sneak back to my room in the morning so yes. If you’re not okay with that though…” he trailed off.

“I definitely want you to spend the night,” I pulled him into the room. “You finger me in public, ruin my dress, and you’re still worried about overstepping.”

“I have a large glass of Respect Women juice every day. Habit,” he replied.

“Has any woman ever turned you down?” I asked.

“A few. A few men too, if that part of my sexual history interests you,” he said as I pulled him down on the bed with me.

“I suppose we should go over our experience, but I trust you so I want you to raw me,” I hadn’t exactly meant to put it that way.

“I had come prepared, but I guess I won’t be needing it,” he laughed as he began getting out of his suit. I felt myself getting wet again as I took in the long lines of his torso and well defined abs. When he was down to just his underwear, he stopped.

“Anything off limits? Anything you prefer?” he asked.

“I mean don’t pee on me or anything,” I said.

“I was thinking more along the lines of can I call you pet names,” he replied.

“Oh,” I felt myself blush a little. “Pet names are fine.”

“Good. I’ve always wanted to call you ‘baby’ and now I can while fucking you,” Yunho and I had known each other for almost ten years since he was my sister’s finance’s best friend and that’s how long they’d been together. I’d never gotten any indication until tonight that he was interested in me.

“You’re blushing again,” he pointed out.

“Stop making me blush!” I put a pillow over my face. I heard him laugh then felt him get back on the bed.

“How do you want me to take you?” he pulled the pillow back.

“On my back. No one had ever made come on my back,” I said after some consideration.

“I like a challenge. Of course, now I’m naked and you’re still covered. We can’t have that, now can we?” he pointed out. I wiggled out of the robe and he began running his hands down my body. “Better than I imagined.”

“You imagined this?” I asked.

“I’ve imagined a lot about us, Y/N. I never thought I’d actually get to do any of it,” he kissed right below my belly button while teasing my nipples. I felt myself get wetter. What the hell was this man doing to me?

“Fuck,” I breathed.

“I’d mark you up, but I don’t want anything accidentally showing,” he said.

“My sister would kill both of us for ruining her pictures,” I laughed a little.

“Exactly,” Yunho agreed. He sat up between my legs and began running the tip of his cock over my folds. I realized I hadn’t actually seen his cock yet so I propped myself up on my elbows.

“Holy shit,” his cock was almost the size of those joke dildos.

“Think you can take me?” he asked.

“Definitely,” I nodded.

“Perfect. You ready?” the tip of his cock was barely inside me.

“Fuck me,” I told him.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” he replied.

“Yes,” I confirmed. He slid into me and I couldn’t stop the obscene moan that escaped from my mouth. I’d never felt this stretched before. He definitely wasn’t kidding when he said his cock was bigger than 3 of his fingers. He leaned down to kiss me and I started devouring his mouth as he moved his hips. I felt him smile against my lips as he weaved his fingers in my hair.

“Wanted me that bad too, baby?” he teased.

“Want you so bad,” I repeated as he began to speed up. Just like his fingers, his cock was hitting every sensitive spot inside me. Sex had never felt this good before. I had a couple guys I hooked up with regularly, but nothing like this. Nothing that made me want them so bad I started fucking myself on their cocks.

“You’re gonna squirt again,” he hissed into my ear.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I just do,” he smirked. I could feel the heat building in my hips, my pussy start to flutter, and that feeling like I needed to pee. A few moments later, I was coming. I’d also never had an orgasm sneak up on me like that before. I felt it in my whole body.

“That was…fuck…” I panted.

“Still want me to come inside you?” he asked.

“Fuck yes,” I gasped.

“Of course, baby,” he propped himself up on his hands over me and began fucking into me so hard the bed was moving. Then, out of nowhere, I came again. He came a few seconds later, growling and bucking his hips into mine. He carefully lowered himself onto me when he finished.

“I knew I could fuck a second one out of you,” he said smugly.

“I’m officially never having sex with anyone other than you again,” I announced.

“So my evil plan worked,” he chuckled.

“Yes, yes it did,” I replied.

[homohaamu]

I have a Thanos/Minsu/Namgyu scenario in my head that i can't get out so here y'all go. It's under keep reading 'cause it got pretty long and i am trying to spare my mutuals from the filth.

Basically Namgyu blowing Thanos in the bathroom (as he does). Thanos is being rough with him, tugging his hair, fucking loosely into his wet heat. Namgyu doesn't mind, loves it even, the heady smell of musk, the weight on his tongue and the way Thanos cuts off his airflow by forcing his head down. It's messy and the obscene sounds pounce around empty bathroom.

It all gets interrupted by sound of the bathroom door opening, and they still for a moment. There's shuffling of feet and light foot steps coming towards one occupied stall in the room. Hesitant voice calls out to Thanos and Namgyu outside of the stall. It's Minsu. Instead of telling Minsu to leave like a normal person Thanos opens the stall's door and pulls him inside before Minsu has time to react. Door slams back shut and Minsu gets trapped under Thano's arm, which is gripping his shoulder pulling him close to Thanos' side. Thanos laughs and says something about "My boy Minsu joining the fun"

Minsu doesn't hear him because he's finally comprehending what's happening in front of him and it's making his face heat up. Namgyu on his knees in front of them with Thanos' dick halfway down his throat. Namgyu looks up seeming just as shocked as Minsu feels. His eyes are wide making the tear tracks on his cheek that much more pronounced. His face is red and drool and precum paint his chin in slobbery mess. His eyes quickly morph from surprise to right up deadly. Minsu's terrified.

Namgyu's about to pull back, probably to give Minsu piece of his mind but instead he's forced down. The sudden intrusion makes Namgyu choke but the grip on his hair doesn't let up. Instead Thanos tells him to "behave", punctuating his point by pulling his dick out and thrusting it back in. Namgyu tries to put up some fight, pushing back against Thanos' hold on his head. The thought of Minsu seeing him on his knees gagging on cock like some two-bit whore makes humiliation and anger burn in his belly something fierce. But fighting against Thanos is like fighting against coming of a tide. Impossible. If he really wanted to he could just brandish his teeth and be done with it but the thing is he doesn't want to stop. The heat of the anger and humiliation have traveled from the pit of his stomach to his dick and he hates himself little bit more because of it. He decides to continue on his ministrations anyway.

Through it all Thanos has pulled Minsu even closer, whispering filthy things into his ear. Of how good Namgyu's mouth feels, How easily namgyu dropped on his knees for him. Tells Minsu to keep his eyes on Namgyu. Minsu's too mortified to protest. Thanos starts planting open mouthed wet kisses against Minsu's neck and it makes goosebumps raise down Minsu's neck and back. Minsu can hear every hitch of Thanos' breath so he's acutely aware when he's close to coming. Even if he couldn't hear him, the start of erratic thrusting into Namgyu's mouth is telling enough.

Minsu closes his eyes, when he's sure Thanos is too occupied to get upset by it. It doesn’t spare him from the sounds of drawn out moans or coughing and swallowing happening at their feet. Minsu feels relived because it's finally over and he can get out of there. His pants feel tighter that they did when he came here. He doesn't want to think about it or be in this situation in the first place.

As usual Thanos ruins his plan of quick and quiet escape. The arm around his shoulder that's loosened it's hold in post orgasm bliss suddenly tightens and maneuvers Minsu's body to the front of Thanos. Minsu almost steps on Namgyu but the junkie had fortunately sat back on his haunches after blowing Thanos. Minsu's back is pressed against Thanos' front, every point of contact radiating heat. Tattooed hand settle on his his hips to keep him still, fingers finding their way under his jacket and shirt, caressing his skin in what's probably supposed to be calming.

Thanos' once again managed to take Minsu and Namgyu by surprise, but Namgyu is fast to cover the surprise on his face by steely gaze. Demanding Thanos what is he's doing, though any authority on his tone is diminished by his fucked out and hoarse voice.

AND THIS BECAME LOT LONGER THAT I INTENDED but basically Thanos makes Namgyu blow Minsu too while he's plastered against his back, controlling all the movement.

Do yall see my vision?? Honestly we need some more thanos/minsu/namgyu or even Thanos/namgyu/minsu/semi content

[nightmare10101]

FemReader x MaleHusband

Written with a female reader in mind, but the said husband is up for you to decide which character to pick.

(In the original, Osamu Dazai, from the hit series Bungo Stray Dogs, was my pick for the husband.)

Summary: A helping hand from your husband is always worth being grateful for.

Work has been more than difficult lately. Long hours spent doing challenging, energy draining tasks is no easy provocation, but in the end it pays off with the biggest satisfaction. Being a headstrong, independent, determined young woman has made me always prioritise my passions, goals, achievements and dreams…I would have never guessed though that at the fortunate point where I’m at I would have found the love of my life already while also being succesful together. My husband is truly an angel, but God, could he be exeptionally depraved sometimes…

Like many other times, he was begging me for a taste. “Please, let me pleasure you, love,” he said in a low voice right near my earlobe. “Let me take care of you. Worship you like the queen you are, my darling.” Nonchalantly placing a soft kiss on my temple. “I know how hard-working you are. How high you aim for in every endeavor you’re facing.” The next few kisses trailed down from my cheek to my jawline. “You deserve to be taken care of, so please, my love, let me be your stress relief for tonight.” He ceased his husky whisperings and places a sizzling kiss on the sweet spot below my ear, where my neck instantly reddens at his obscene wishes.

I mean how could I ever decline…he was incredulously persuasing me to give up my tough front, that he always managed to break…make my stubborn mind flodded with scorching ideas that muddled my clear thinking. I looked right in his gorgeous eyes and saw the admiration he held so dear for me in his heart. I think I could melt only by the sultry promises his glance was entailing. I grabbed his cheek gently with the palm of my hand and dragged his lips to mine. He kisses me like there is no tomorrow, quietly glimpsing on the hem of my pants and silently moving my hips towards the bed while he was muffling every moan that escaped due to his astonishing intrusion in my mouth.

He places me on the bed and gets on his knees in front of me and I already feel a sweltering heat all over my body. This feels familiar. The flaming torrid was on it’s way to get me. My blushing husband took off my top and undergarment off only to blush harder and saying shyly: “I’ll come back to these later.” His normally brooding manner made me chuckle, that I make him so nervous. The man in front of me unbuttoned my pants shamelessly and grabbed onto the fabric while stating: “Lift your hips for me, love”. I did what he asked of me, raising my hips and dropping them back delicately when I was uncovered. He slowly pushed my thighs open with his enormous, strong hands and gingerly placed silky kisses on my inner thighs leading towards my sopping center.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, love. All for me?” He inquired hoarsely.

“Of course it’s all for you, sweetheart.” I reply breathily.

He planted his blazing tongue right on me and started licking with a fever never known to man. All his fiery annihilation due to his mouth were making me a mess…a loudly moaning and grunting wreck, tugging on his locks that seemingly got longer this past time. I was gripping his lenghtier hair so forcefully I was afraid of hurting him when I remembered he likes that…so much that he growls in between my legs: “Fuck, mommy, you taste delicious. I want to devour you forever.”

“Uuugh….fuck, just like that, baby” I say while the burning sensation on my bundle of nerves was shambling every sense of sanity and control left. My praise relieved him, so he relishes in my essence, murmuring “heavenly” akin a frenzied, starved man.

His tongue moved so skillfully, the knot in my stomach was undoing itself rapidly. My cries of pleasure are louder and louder…deafening the lewd, obscene, salacious sounds of his meal he so truly venerated with each of his arousing lick, every lascivious suck and loving stare he was giving me while reaching the unholiest desires of his. The look in his eyes turned stormier, hazed with bliss and enjoyment.

He loved this just as much as me, loved gratifying every inch of my body that he so joyfully claimed as his first when we married and every time since then. The only one who got to see me fall apart, rip at the seems of comprehension. Not that I didn’t have the chance of seeing him lose his rationality…God, how I loved that sight.

On the brink of release I pushed his head further, moaning intensely when suddenly my vision turned white, my hearing almost vanishing, my mind thumping, my soaked centre throbbing and his rowdy eyes blurred out of my view screaming his name repeatedly…after riding out my high he kissed all the way up to my lips when he finally let me have a taste of myself on his tongue, shoving it deep like he did as before, but in another area.

Breathless I managed to croak out due to my gruff voice from the whines and whimpers of satisfaction so extraordinary: “That was so fucking good…You did such a great job, my love.” He accomplised his goal of easing my stress, relaxing my body to the verge of exhaustion.

He smiled brightly and replied: “You taste like honey, belladonna. Thank you for everything.”

I chuckled and said: “I’m the one who’s thankful. You know my body so well. I know just the way to thank you actually…” and pushed his chest on the bed, getting on top of him and already feeling his heat twitch under me…he was in for a ride and the night wasn’t over yet.

[pfhwrittes]

Hello hello!!

Reading your wish for mysteriously wet socks on my stress-causers made me giggle evilly! I personally ABHORE wet socks, so it's such a devious wish imo. Fortunately, I got news that the people that have been stressing me have permanently move to work-from-home, so I think your wish worked.

I generally also get seasonal depression, so I get what you're talking about - I've already started taking shit tons of vitamin D trying to prep for the short days.

I'm starting to prep for Halloween and it's got me thinking of a few more questions:

What classic monster would each of the 141 dress up as for Halloween? I personally think Gaz would be a vampire, Soap would be a werewolf, Ghost would be Frankenstein's monster, and Price would be a zombie.

What would each 141 member do in a haunted house? Who would get the most scared going through a haunted house?

I'm so excited it's getting properly cold now! The summer heat held on for quite a while this year, and I've missed the cold.

hiya friend! i'm glad my little wish for them (and you!) came true!

What classic monster would each of the 141 dress up as for Halloween? I personally think Gaz would be a vampire, Soap would be a werewolf, Ghost would be Frankenstein's monster, and Price would be a zombie.

so i agree with you that gaz would be a vampire! excuse me while i spend a moment thinking of him artfully dabbing fake blood in the corner of his mouth to imply he's recently persuaded someone into letting him feed.... . anyway, he's drawing inspiration from bela lugosi's dracula and jacob anderson's louis de pointe du lac for his costume. definitely has the best costume out of the entire team.

soap watched mean girls a few times once with his sisters and the whole "slutty halloween costume" thing stuck in his head so you can guarantee that whatever costume he wears he's showing an obscene amount of skin. werewolf? tattered crop top and ripped up denim booty shorts, fake teeth and lets his beard grow out. ghost? he's cutting a titty window in the knee length white sheet he's wearing (and yes, he's treating it like a kilt). karen's mouse costume? oh you betcha he's wearing a lacy nightgown and mouse ears, duh.

ghost takes the wednesday addams (circa the addams family 1991) approach to halloween costumes. he's wearing his usual clothes and will grunt out that he's a homicidal maniac if someone pushes him. if he really has to make an effort with a costume he's going full grim reaper. is the scythe real? he's not telling.

i firmly believe price loves classic halloween creatures but also he really can't be arsed to dress up. he's throwing on his ghillie suit and claiming he's a swamp monster. minimum effort, maximum reward - even if he does end up sweating half to death under it.

What would each 141 member do in a haunted house?

you know i've never been to a haunted house! or a scare night or anything like that so i'm not sure!

i think out of all of them, gaz and soap are most likely to go to a haunted house and they'd definitely get caught up in the atmosphere. neither of them are going to admit to being freaked out though.

ghost couldn't give a shit, he knows it's all fake. someone coming at him with a chainsaw? he'd believe it more if they were pivoting their hips more. the only thing that gets more than a disinterested hum is one room with snake decor, then he's marching through without stopping and ripping open the next door, sweat prickling down his neck.

price will never admit this but haunted houses give him the willies. it's not the scare actors or the decor, it's the potential hazards. he can't get his brain to switch off from searching for threats around the corners, from wanting to clear a room. it's best he doesn't go into haunted houses so he doesn't.

Who would get the most scared going through a haunted house?

none of them are admitting to getting scared in a haunted house.

(it's soap)

[under-cotton-and-calicos]

Heavy Rain

Male Werewolf x AFAB reader

tags: oral sex, vaginal penetration, knotting, breeding, non-human genitalia, fluff, wholesome!

word count: 6.5k

You wiped a drop of sweat off of your forehead and sighed as you completed the last reinforcement spell on the apothecary's arched windows. They brightened the dark room with a  green glow for a few moments before dissipating as you withdrew your hand, a sign that they would be working.

 Based on the skywatcher’s reports, an exceptionally strong hurricane would be sweeping the land in a few hours. You were already well aware- the swell of waves when you traversed the shoreside and the gusts of wind that tore your linen sheets from their pegs led you to close shop. For a few days, you had been busy reinforcing the villagers’ homes, and you had made it in time to fortify your own. 

The sound of rain beating down on your rooftop and the howling winds was a bit of a comfort to you in your secure abode. Yes, you were alone, but with everyone locked within their own homes you felt a strange sense of serenity in the empty shop. It was always so busy and loud with human chatter, you could use this break from the bustle.

Just as you began lighting the candles around the house, a muffled thump and whine from outside shattered your moment of tranquillity. With a start, you bolted to the door and swung it open, half expecting a village dog that someone had forgotten to bring in before the storm.

“Amet!” You cried out in shock, the man lay on the cobblestone path towards your house. What was he doing here right before a godsdamned hurricane? You nearly slipped as you raced down to him, bare feet pounding on the stone beneath you. He gazed at you in a dazed manner, blinking past fat droplets of rain. As you bent down and pulled his arm over your shoulder, his body tensed for just a moment. He must have hurt himself falling.

It was no easy feat pulling the larger man to his feet and dragging him into your house. By the time you had both passed the threshold, you were just as soaked as him, shivering and swearing obscenities under your breath. Fortunately, he had just enough strength to stumble and slump gracelessly onto one of your wooden chairs on his own. Gasping for air, you had half the mind to slam shut and bolt the door, the green light from the enchantment flashing for a second and illuminating the wet streaks of hair pasted to Amet’s face like fresh black paint.

“Why, what is…I mean-” You could barely summon the proper decorum, much less form the right words to the man. Taking a deep breath, you shuffled together a list of priorities in your head. Right, you had a man in wet clothing dripping rainwater all over your rug. You’d have to outfit him with something dry, give him a warm drink, and clean up the puddles both of you were dripping onto the floor.

You managed to find some larger articles of clothing that you kept reserved for wandering travellers. Occasionally, adventurers would get injured and you would care for them, not unlike Amet’s situation at that moment. Handing over the clothes and a towel, you left him to undress and change while you busied yourself with the kettle and a pot of soup one of the villagers had given you as thanks for your help. After changing yourself and setting your mops to work, you settled down with Amet at the long wooden counter of your apothecary which stood in front of your shelves of instruments and materials. 

His hands shook when he tried to lift the spoon, so you fed him, blowing on the hot soup and lifting it to his lips. His tired face managed to muster an abashed expression but he nodded to express his gratitude. 

“Your hair is still wet.” You noted aloud, picking up a towel and carting it through his long locks. Amet’s head bobbed listlessly as you tousled his hair, a low, exasperated grunt from him made you giggle.

You didn’t know much about the man. He had moved into a cottage a ways away from the other folk just like you, but on the opposite side of the village a few months prior. You had seen him working odd jobs here and there, sometimes at the carpenters and other times travelling out to sea to fish. What you did know for certain was that he spent most of his free time in the orphanage as he dropped by your apothecary often to procure salves and medication for the children. Occasionally, he would bring them along to visit and it warmed your heart to see them cheerful and raucous, filling the shop with laughter.

After some rest, Amet regained some of his vitality.

“Thank you.” His voice was hoarse and he still moved sluggishly.

“It’s no problem. Would you mind explaining what urgent matter led you to my doorstep in such unfavourable weather?” You pulled the blanket wrapped around your shoulders a little more tightly. The chill still hadn’t left your skin. He hesitated for a moment, mouth forming a thin line until he broke the silence.

“This isn’t something I share with many. Given that you’re the pharmacist of this village, I have no choice but to tell you-” He loosened the blanket around his shoulders, exposing a mark on his deltoid that was barely perceptible under the flickering candlelight.

“That is-”

“The mark of my tribe, yes. And I’m sure you are wise enough to know what that entails.” 

Werebeast. Amet was one of them. Which would mean his dire circumstances… 

“The Lunar Mother’s power will soon peak, amplifying the storm and signalling the coming of your transformation. I’m assuming you’ve come for a potion to suppress it?” 

“Right. The ones I had on-hand have run out, and I have been delaying…that’s why I’m here at such poor timing.” He sighed, fingers absentmindedly scratching the stubble on his chin. “Sometimes I’d ride it out. I am not sure how much you know about my kind but we do maintain self-control, unlike what those fairy tales would have you believe.”

You nodded. By and large, werebeasts had several negative stereotypes attached to them. While larger towns and capitals that had seen a fair stream of them had a better grasp of their true nature, smaller villages like yours tended to hold onto prejudices quite fiercely. Of course, with your time spent travelling you knew better.

“Like I said, I could get by even without the potion but I’d need to hunt, and well...” As if to punctuate his point, a flash of lightning lit up the room for just a second before a deafening rumble of thunder sent vibrations through your rafters. “I came here as soon as I heard that a hurricane was coming this way.”

“But that was days ago! You mean to tell me that you have been camping outside?” You couldn’t control your shock, voice pitching a tone higher than you intended. You must have missed him just as you left for the village!

“Yes. I took cover from the rain in your shed. The fruits in your garden taste good, by the way.” Amet smiled sheepishly, rubbing his forearm and ducking his head down. You gaped at him, mouth open but unable to form any words.

“I overestimated myself. It was cold, and I got really hungry. Forgive me. I’ll compensate you, just please.” His green eyes met yours, an earnest and vulnerable expression of supplication. You sighed, disbelief dissipating at his plea.

“There is nothing to forgive, Amet.” You stood, moving around the countertop to pick out the herbs and distillator. He watched in silence as you measured, ground, boiled and mixed, the sounds of clinking glass and the mortar and pestle filling the gap of a conversation between the two of you. Despite his best efforts trying to focus on tracking your movements through blurry eyes, he dozed off, breathing lightly.

“Amet. Amet.” You called out to him softly, “Come on, wake up.”

After a few failed attempts, you blew lightly on his face, hoping that it would wake him without being startling. Nothing. As gingerly as possible, you brushed the back of your hand against his cheek. What you did not expect was for him to lean into your touch, eyes sliding open and blinking blearily.

“It is ready.” You could feel your heart thrumming in your chest and quickly pulled away, lifting the cup to his lips. You tipped it as he drank, his Adam's apple bobbing with each deep swallow until it had been drained. With a grimace, he licked his lips.

“Never gets easier.” Amet took both your hands into his, raising them to his forehead as he bowed. “I am in your debt. Once again, forgive me for intruding on your home. I will return once the storm ends with your payment.”

You frowned. Return?

“Out of the question. You are not even strong enough to stand, what makes you think that you can survive the trek home?”

“But you must understand that there would be complications if I were to stay…” His voice trailed off.

“I have a room for guests and plenty of stores to sustain the both of us,” your tone softens. He was clearly exhausted and you could empathise with him feeling beholden to you, however, you were resolute, “and I would hate to drag you back here if you were to collapse again. Please stay, Amet.”

At that, he quietened. You could see how he rifled between all options and quips to throw back at you, but he knew that you were right.

“...or does the notion of staying alone with the village witch disturb you so?”

“Never!” His reaction was immediate and stronger than what you would have expected in response to your jest. He struggled to summon the right words, shifting in his seat until he realised that you were smiling, the dark skin of his cheeks deepening with a red hue.

“Y-You sounded angry when you helped me in. And I don’t believe I’m the best company around to weather the storm with…”

“Well, you were heavy,” his cheeks and ears turned crimson “and I was expressing my exertion, not my displeasure at having you here. Be at ease, isolation has its perks but a companion would definitely make this experience more tolerable.”

Amet huffed and as he placed his hands back onto his lap you realised that he had been holding yours the entire time. With a pout, he nodded and shakily stood, grasping the counter and the chair for support. It was always a surprise seeing him at his full height, you noted that  he had a tendency to slouch, and at such close proximity he towered over you. After guiding him up the stairs and settling him into the guest room, you made for your own, tucking yourself in and letting your bone-weary body sink into the numerous cushions. 

By then, the storm wall had hit with full force. You could hear the battering of stones against the windows and roof, the gusts of winds strong enough to uproot great trees from the ground, and yet your home stood strong. Just as you began to think about how you would recoup the damages to your garden, beckoning sleep overtook your senses, pulling you into a comforting and warm slumber.

---

Judging by the strength of the hurricane and its unusual potency, it was likely that you would be stuck indoors for at least a week. By the second day, Amet was capable of walking unassisted, albeit a little slowly. 

You sat with him at your kitchen table, engrossed in your reading until you looked up and noticed him staring at you.

“Feeling unwell?”

“No, just bored.” He traced circles on the rim of his cup, leg bouncing under the table.

“Hah. Well…are you not a fan of reading?”

“I used to enjoy some of the epics when I was a boy but they were all read aloud to me by an elder. Never could get a grasp on how to read.”

You had met some individuals who had difficulty deciphering text during your time in the academy. Typically, they specialised in the arts, though others were able to have an easier time with an assistant. It sparked an idea in your head.

“I could read to you, if you wish. I am a fan of fantasy myself…”

At that, Amet visibly perked up. His ill-concealed delight made a smile grow on your face. After breakfast, you sat with him on your couch piled beneath layers of throw blankets. You had just started the Tales of the Hyacinth Prince but your voice quickly grew tired reading loudly to him. You shifted closer to him and you felt him stiffen beside you.

“Am I too close? I thought that you might be unable to hear me over the rain.”

“N-no. I am fine. Please continue.” 

A schedule formed naturally between the two of you. You woke early, cleaning wax from surfaces and lighting fresh candles and oil lamps. Since you had no customers and no changes in stock or finances to account for, you passed the time reading academic papers you had left neglected and checking on the fortifications scattered throughout the house.

Following the pendulum clock mounted on the wall, Amet would rise two hours after you. Without fail, he would greet you, wherever you were in the house before getting started on breakfast. He was a good cook, making the most of what limited ingredients you had at hand. Then, you would continue reading with him until lunch, which consisted of leftovers. 

Occasionally, you would play cards or dice as you fancied. Dull activities on the surface, but Amet’s company set you at ease. The man had an earnest and comforting aura and you never felt the need to try your hardest to entertain him- perhaps it was what drew the children to him as well.

By the sixth day, it was palpable that Amet was skirting around the topic of his background as you chatted. You were aware that werebeasts had the tendency to form packs- it was their greatest distinction from human culture. During mating season, the sires would acquire one mate or more, and leave when the season was over with the resulting children being raised within those packs. The thought was a little scandalous in your mind, but you wondered if Amet had participated in those cycles before leaving his tribe. And what made him leave at all?

Even though you were curious, you didn’t mind that he was disinclined to tell you. You had your fair share of bitter experiences, everyone did. Nevertheless, it was an itch you had to tamper down. As you continued Tales of the Hyacinth Prince and narrated the titular character striking down a brigand with bravado, Amet asked:

“Do you have any stories like that? While you were an adventurer?”

You hummed, wedging your thumb between the pages and closing the book.

"While I mainly took part in research expeditions, we did end up helping a few unfortunate souls along the way. My favourite mishap was when we were swallowed by a whale."

You glanced over at Amet, smug at the sparkle in his eyes and mouth hanging agape. That particular tale never failed to bedazzle the children…Amet included you supposed.

"It's a long, long story. Either way, we ended up in its belly, and I asked nicely for us to be let out."

Lifting your free hand into the air, you summoned her, and in a rush of familiar delight she popped into existence. A shimmering blue humpback whale the size of your palm dancing in the dim room, skirts of translucent waves crashing into nothingness, sprays of water sparkling and fizzing away. 

"A little while after, I summoned my very first familiar. Isn't she gorgeous?" 

"Wow…" Amet's hand reached forward, and your familiar swam towards him, breaching and flowing over his palm in a perfect arc before crashing back into unseen depths. Satisfied, you pulled her back.

"It sounds like you had a lot of fun."

"I did. But my adventuring days are over, I'm content dispensing medication and running stray errands here and there."

"Why?" Amet turned to you, his pretty eyes meeting yours. "Why did you stop?"

"I think…that there were certain expectations that piled up the longer I stayed and the higher I climbed. It was honourable and respectable work," You stared into the flickering candlelight, allowing its hypnotic dance to capture your gaze and hold you, "ultimately, it was…too much. I was so burdened, and while my colleagues seemed to thrive under it all I felt a little trapped." 

For a beat, you remained silent, heart heavy with memories.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I've made things dour, haven't I?" 

"No, not at all." A comforting hand laid itself on your shoulder, albeit a little hesitant and awkward. "I can only imagine how hard it was for you to be in that position…I have no words."

"None are necessary." Your mouth had widened into a grin. Before you could open the book in your lap once again, Amet's voice caught your attention.

"I-I didn't have parents. They died, or they abandoned me, I wouldn't know." He cleared his throat before continuing. "Always felt like a stranger in my tribe so I left. Hopped from place to place until I landed here. It's as though…I have been looking for a home this entire time." 

Blinking, you barely had time to take in the sudden information before Amet's nervous chatter overwhelmed your senses once more.

"Was that rude of me? I didn't mean to sound like I was comparing your troubles with mine. I mean…I'm sorry, I-"

Chuckling, you leaned in until you were tucked against Amet's torso. You were extremely unused to the skinship, and you suspected Amet was too. However, with his arm around you, in that moment it felt so natural to be close to him. It felt good.

"Would you like to continue with the story? I am fine with simply lounging for the rest of the day." You purposefully kept your eyes facing forward, struck by a momentary shyness.

"No…no. This is good- ahem! This is just fine."

---

You were beginning to grow worried. A week had gone and passed by but the rains persisted. Consulting your chart, the full moon when the Mother’s influence peaked was tomorrow. Perhaps once it waned, her power would weaken and the rains would cease?

There was little use in speculating. You sighed and tossed and turned on your bed, settling on your back and staring out to the window. Droplets of rain raced down its panes, collecting on leaves and sticks stuck on its frame. Inevitably, your mind wandered to Amet. He was gentle and sweet though you were unsure if your affections for him had bloomed from proximity.

You couldn’t help it. Your time together had been a little peek into domesticity, as much as you tried to think of it otherwise. On top of it all, a part of you believed that he harboured feelings for you in turn- in the way that he looked at you when he thought you didn’t notice, his lingering touch… 

You groaned into your pillow, beating your fists helplessly into the bedding. Yes, you did enjoy his company. And his soft hair that he always asked you to dry and comb since the first night. And the solidness of his chest under your cheek when you leaned on him to tell him stories. And the size of his hands when he placed them over yours-

Stop! You ground your teeth together, glueing your eyes shut and dispelling all of your thoughts. After a few hours, you fell into a listless sleep, waking the next morning with sore eyes and a fatigued mind.

The day proceeded as it usually did, though Amet noted that he felt out of sorts. Through force of habit, you checked the temperature of his forehead and neck by pressing the back of your palm against them, unable to stop the blood from rushing to your face. His face must have turned as red as yours.

"I-I think it's just the lack of sun getting to me." His voice was a little strained.

After lunch, you leaned against him, reading the Hyacinth Prince yet again. Despite the book's impressive heft, the two of you were approaching the story's end, due in no small part to the hours upon hours you had spent reading it to him.

"Wouldst thee taketh mine own hand? In a showeth of thy faith to thy king?"

The fair, flower prince did press a tend'r kiss to his hand…

Your eyes seemed to close for just a moment, the weighty book in your hands resting on your lap. Curse your lack of sleep. Amet was just so warm and you were full and you were so sleepy…

"Are you tired?"

Half asleep, you nodded, pliant to Amet taking the book from your hands and laying your head gently onto a pillow. Vaguely, you remember him smiling and planting a kiss on your forehead.

You woke up gradually, feeling warm and well-rested. Blinking the remnants of sleep from your eyes, you realised that you had taken a nap on the couch. Where was Amet?

You searched around on the first floor using a lamp to light the way. The kitchen, the pantry, back to the main room where you had fallen asleep. Empty.

As you climbed up the stairs, you noticed that the guest room, Amet's, had its doors shut. Had he taken a nap as well?

The keen sound of a groan and a pitiable whimper jolted you.

“Amet?” You called out to him from behind the door, beating you first against the solid wood. The sounds coming from within the room halted. “I’m coming in.”

The door was unlocked and it swung open, revealing a dark room. You brandished the oil lamp in your hand until the swaying light revealed a lump on the bed. You sighed.

“Amet, if you aren’t feeling well you could have just told-”

“Don’t.” He croaked. As you got closer to the bed you realised that Amet, as tall as he was, wasn’t that large. You flinched at the realisation.

“How…” You were certain that you had prepared the potion correctly, and it would have remained potent for at least one moon cycle. “Amet, I’m sorry, I’ll prepare another one-”

“It is of no use.” His voice had lowered a timbre, as befitting of his larger frame. “Your potion worked. I only turned partially."

“Then why?”

“I…you…” Was that fear you heard in his voice? “I-I have…fallen for you. While I am able to hold onto self-control, I am unable to inhibit my…urges.”

Amet was panting heavily, his partially humanoid form bunched together as he pushed himself as close to the bed frame as possible. He retained the limbs of a man though they had been covered with fur, and his face had transformed as well- ears and a wolfish maw sprouting forth with large canines. The revelation sent a shock through your spine. He had…feelings for you. While it did send your heart fluttering, you were still overwhelmed by the issue at hand.

“Are you…do you mean to say that you lust for me?”

A heart wrenching whine spilled past from his lips. Amet slumped forward, covering his face with his hands- they had sprouted talons. “Forgive me. Forgive me. I-I have offended you haven’t I? Oh, I am so sorry.”

You could bear it no longer. You cast aside the lamp and kneeled at the foot of the bed, hands stretched out to him.

“Please don’t say that, Amet. This is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Y-You are not…?"

“I want to help you. Can I?”

Amet stilled, as if in surprise that you were so receptive.

“Yes… but are you sure? My…my form…” He pulled aside the blanket and his cock sprung free. It was bright pink, a stark contrast to the black fur of his belly, and tapered at the top with bulging veins coursing up its sides. A conspicuous bump lay at its base. Indeed, it was large, and the sight of it sparked a coil of heat in your core.

You crawled onto the bed, sitting in front of Amet, his knees consciously drawing closer to hide himself from you. 

“If it hurts, you must let me know.” You gently brushed your fingers against its tip and he breathed in a sharp hiss of air, his cock twitching at your touch. Tentatively, you wrapped a hand around his length, your fingers did not meet around his thickest part. 

He had built up rivulets of precum leaking to his base so you slowly pumped your fist up and down, gauging Amet's reactions to your movements. Breathe caught in his throat, Amet let out a strangled gasp at your ministrations, hands releasing their grip on the headrest to cover his face. With your free hand, you pulled them away, revealing those green eyes you so loved.

"You musn't cover your face. I want to see." You whispered breathlessly. In a moment of spontaneity, you leaned down, pressing your tongue against his fleshy length and dragging it up until it met his tip. Amet let out a cry, thighs tensing. His hands, finding purchase on the soft bedding tore holes into them as he came, ropes of thick, hot seed shooting onto you. His body was wracked with spasms for a long while, what seemed like years of unspent cum dispensing itself from his cock and covering your face and chest.

"I…I'm sorry! I dirtied your face-" He pulled a blanket to your brow, attempting to wipe as much of his spill away. You placed a hand over his.

"Amet. It's not dirty." Looking straight into his eyes, you gathered a bead of cum that had collected near your eye and swiped it across your tongue. "And stop apologising. I want to do this for you."

Pulling your gown over your head, you discarded it to the floor, left only in your smallclothes. Leaning your weight on your arms, you placed a kiss on his maw.

"We're lovers now, aren't we?"

The line seemed to make him pause, a tail you had not noticed earlier thumping against the bedding. His cock still stood tall, looking painfully erect.

Capturing his gaze, you gently nudged him until he lay back against the pillows. Slotting yourself between his thighs, he shivered when your hands met his cock once more and continued to stroke. After a moment letting him get used to the sensation, you swirled your tongue over his tip savouring his moan in response.

“M-more. Please.” 

You took as much of him into your mouth as possible, sucking gently while caressing the rest of his length with both your hands. His heaviness felt good on your tongue, still salty and bitter from the cum that coated his cock. Amet huffed, a hand coming to rest on the back of your head as he watched you intently. You could feel him holding himself back from grabbing you as he waited eagerly in anticipation for your next movement, eyes roving over your face and your body, unable to decide on which one to focus on. Adorable.

Forcing back your gag reflex, you bobbed your head up and down his immense girth enjoying all the little noises that escaped his mouth- or maw. Steadily, you could feel yourself growing wet beneath your smalls from how good he felt with your mouth and hands. Oh, just the thought of him inside you, how hard and thick he would be, stretching you open…

“Oh-h gods. I’m going to…gonna…” 

Amet muttered your name like a mantra, breathing growing harsher as you continued apace, eager to draw another orgasm from him. With a groan, he came once again but this time you took all of his seed down your throat, swallowing greedily around him as he twitched and shuddered. His thighs clenched together, bundling you tightly as his hand on your head pushed you further down his length. Once he stilled, you pulled apart from him, gasping for air and wiping the spit and cum from your chin. 

Amet lay boneless, arms spread out on both sides with his chest heaving for air. You smiled down at him, waiting patiently for him to open his eyes.

“S...sorr-” He stopped himself, swallowing thickly. “That was amazing. Th-thank you.”

“Good boy!” 

Those two words seemed to draw something out of him. He sat up straight, ears perked with eyes large and round. His arms encircled your waist and he pulled you closer until his head lay on your chest. Instinctively, you reached up to cradle his face and scratch his cheek. Somewhere behind him, his tail began thumping against the bed again…just like a dog.

“Don’t stop praising me, please.” Amet said into your skin, hold around you tightening. You could feel his cock against your thigh, still rock solid.

“You did well.” 

Craning his neck forward, he kissed you, beastly long tongue wrapping itself around yours. As you broke the kiss, you noticed that his eyes had fully dilated. Amet buried his face back into your chest, nudging at your bustier so you reached back to unhook it, revealing your chest to him. He immediately latched onto a nipple, sucking on it and rubbing his tongue against it whilst he pawed at your other nipple, pebbling it under his touch.

"Ah…" You sighed, melting into his embrace and closing your eyes. The feeling of his rough tongue, encircling your nipple felt heavenly. "Feels good."

After laving your chest with his tongue, his wet nose poked lower and lower. Amet lay back onto the pillows once more, eyes sparkling at you as he nudged you forward until you hovered right over his snout. You removed your smallclothes and they met the rest of your clothing on the floor before you shifted up to meet him.

His long tongue, extending from his mouth, licked a long stripe over your cunt making you moan and hold the headrest for support. You could tell that he was inexperienced, but his enthusiasm and eagerness to please made up for it- Amet licked and bit on your inner thighs before circling back to your pussy, leaving you a quaking and leaking mess.

"Lick it." You tried to plead and your tone came off harsher than you intended, but it served its purpose in finally making his tongue collide with your clit. Amet's hands on your hips pulled you lower for him to ravage you with his tongue, using it as an appendage to thrust in and out while he nudged your bundle of nerves with his nose. The wet stimulation near drove you insane, and you encouraged him with your groans and plentiful praise.

The drag of his tongue against your insides sent you over the edge and you climaxed hard around him. Amet growled, reaching forward and continuing to fuck you with his tongue as you rode through your high and squeezed him between your thighs.

"Amet, stop." You whined, pushing him away from your oversensitive cunt. He pulled away immediately, gazing at you from the pillows reverently.

"You taste so good," he smiled at you, stroking your sides gently, claws raking your soft skin, "like salt candy."

You laughed at the strange comparison, bringing him up for another kiss and sinking into his soft fur. 

"How far do you want to take this?" 

Amet looked at you in a confused manner, quirking his head to the side as if you had suddenly spoken in the ancients. He sputtered.

"I-I was hoping I could maybe wed you one day…" 

You stared at him in silence, a part of you gratified and another amused.

"Is…is that out of the question?" He sounded utterly crestfallen.

"Amet…I meant-" you threw a palm over your mouth to cover the uncontrollable grin spreading across your face, "I meant to ask if you wanted to be inside me."

After a heartbeat, the realisation struck him like thunder and he shrunk away from you with a groan, covering his face with his hands. You giggled, clinging onto his arm and prising his hands away to uncover his expression.

"So, do you? Do you?"

"I-I do." Amet stuttered. It sounded oddly reminiscent of a vow. If his face had not been covered with fur, you bet your spice rack that he would have been beet red. "I mean, I do want to m-make love with you."

"You sound like a blushing virgin." 

Wait. You realised your mistake too late. 

"My apologies. I did not intend to poke fun. You've never done this before, yes?"

"Yes…you are my first."

"Then if it hurts or you want to stop for any reason, you must tell me, alright?" You pecked him on the cheek.

"I think that I should be the one to say that…" He eyed you warily as you positioned yourself above his cock, wedging his head between your lips. It was going to be a snug fit, but you were certain you were loosened up enough to take him.

Slowly, you sunk down onto him, taking inch after inch until you bottomed out. The stretch burned slightly, and he was so, so large. Gritting your teeth, you let yourself grow accustomed to his size as you leaned your forehead onto his shoulder.

"Does it hurt?"

"It's fine," you gasped, pleasure mixing with the pain. He was pressed up against that sweet spot inside of, easing any of the strain, "you feel good, Amet."

After a few moments, you braced your knees and slid up and down, the both of you sighing from the pleasure. Amet felt unbelievably wonderful, and his moans and growls that rumbled from his throat spurred you on, quickening your pace until the sounds of your lovemaking filled the room, making the rainpour and thunder seem distant.

"You feel so warm, so wet." His grip around you tightened, his claws digging into your hips. "My mate."

With his size and your strained thighs, you struggled a little to continue riding him. Amet held you, lifting you and laying you on your back whilst you were still connected to him. His hips pistoned into you, savage thrusts rocking you into the bed as you cried out, clinging onto his shoulders.

"Amet, inside please!" He was panting heavily by your ear, full weight pressed onto you as he fucked into you desperately.

"I'm going to breed you, my mate." Amet growled, thrust growing sloppy until his knot slipped into you, the fullness almost overwhelming you. Stuck within you, he rocked himself back and forth until he came with a whine, his seed filling your womb with warmth. Amet held you against him until his shudders subsided, cock twitching within its sheath and hot spurts of cum painting your insides. For a while, it was quiet between the two of you, both of your panting and moans filling the silence.

"Y-You didn't…"

"It's fine." You rubbed circles into his back, face tucked into his neck. Amet's tongue licked between the valley of your breasts, joining your nipple. You yelped as his hand slipped between your thighs.

"It's not alright with me." He muttered into your chest, rocking into you once more, the delicious friction relighting the fire within. Soon enough, you were close to cumming, the stimulation to your chest and your cunt steadily building and building. 

"A-Amet!" Your lock around his torso pulled him even closer to you, grip on his shoulders driving him faster. With a cry, you came, back arching off of the bed and into his body. He still drove into you, unrelentingly grinding into your cunt. Your vision grew white, spots dancing under your eyelids. Amet's hips halted as you gasped, and he licked the sweat from your cheeks while you closed your eyes and came down. 

"What an attentive lover you are." You sighed, laughing as his licks tickled your neck. 

"I will do whatever I can to please you." Amet lifted you once again, laying you over his body. His knot was still swollen and plugging you, a constant reminder of your joining. You snuggled into his soft body, absentmindedly stroking his fur. 

"You've always caught my eye." He confessed. You could hear the thrum of his heart under his chest. "I thought that you were pretty. And kind. The kids, they knew somehow, and made fun of me. They made up excuses for me to visit you…"

"I'm happy." You whispered into his fur. "Thank you, Amet."

His heart started to beat a little faster. For a few minutes, you smiled into his chest, head tucked under his.

"It may take a few hours…" He said, rubbing the aches in your back and thighs. You could feel his body loosening underneath you, he must have been as tired as you were.

"Well, with this storm we have nowhere else to be."

---

A few days later, the storm finally cleared in the night. When you rose in the morn, you hurriedly pulled Amet out of bed with you, rushing down the stairs and out of the door. 

The outside was a mess of sticks and branches and stones, but you were in awe at the pure blueness of the sky and the faint rainbow that arched across it. The humid, balmy air and the sun felt like a treat after all the days spent cooped up inside. Even the breeze smelled redolent.

With anticipation brewing in your chest, you made your way to your garden, fearing what damage had been done to it. Your treillage had been battered and some of them were completely gone, undoubtedly carried away by the winds. Only sharp, splintered wood in the ground stood as their remnants. Would that you had managed to fortify them in time.

The rest of the garden was similarly damaged, plots of fruiting plants and herbs uprooted and destroyed. You would have to clean it all up and seed them all over again. 

With a heavy heart, you made your way over to your rickety shed and where you guessed your lemon tree would have been obliterated. It was the landmark that made you choose this plot of land in the first place. By some miracle, it still stood there, glorious and tall though leaning heavily to one side and missing most of its leaves.

You ran over to it, eyes wide in shock. How…?

"I managed to brace it with some of the materials in your shed." 

Amet stood back, sheepishly scratching his head. You looked down. There were wires and wood strewn across the dirt.

"I learnt how to from the carpenters. It's a shame that I didn't manage to do the same for your- oof!" 

With tears in your eyes you leapt into his arms, laughing as he picked you up and spun you through the air like you weighed nothing.

[blatantlyright]

Hearing You

________________________

Ralph x Reader

Tw/tags: masturbation, praise kink, ralph is awkward, virgin reader, virgin ralph, touching, kissing

18+ minors DNI

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dozens of tiny pearls rested at your neckline. “There,” Ralph beamed as he clasped the necklace. “Now, they were unable to supply adequate pearls on such short notice, however, you deserve the very best and this was in fact the very best available. They will fashion you a much better set with haste.” His eyes darted to the floor, ashamed he wasn’t able to provide you with larger pearls. “Ralph, you have showers me with gifts all week. We are having our anniversary party tomorrow evening. I am far from disappointed by the beauty of these pearls.” You rested a gentle hand on his shoulder as your other hand drew his chin over so he was facing you.

“You’re the best boy, and I’m so very fortunate to have you as mine. You are so good,” you smiled. Ralph stared off, catching his breath. “Is something the matter?”, you asked with concern. Ralph’s face ran through a dozen emotions before he finally caught up with himself. He took a step back from your touch and stared down at the bulge growing in his trousers. “Oh,” you blushed. “Is that my fault?”

Ralph nodded shyly. “It’s inappropriate and I am deeply sorry for being so naughty,” he sighed. You took a step towards him. “Ralph, you’re a very good boy,” you started. His cheeks grew red and he covered his obscenely swollen erection. “Apparently not,” he stammered, gesturing towards his now impossibly tight pants. “Is it my attire?”, you asked, realizing the hem of your dress did go almost to your knees. “No, dear, you’re striking. However, my excitement isn’t as much from looking at you as it is from, uhhhh, hearing you.”

It was perplexing that your voice, which Ralph had heard almost every single day over the last two years, could arouse him to this extent. “Shall I stop speaking?”, you asked, your tone giving away your hurt. “No!”, he shouted. “No, it’s the, it’s more, well… it happened, this,” he gestured to his crotch, “I’m in this state because of what you said.” His cheeks were hot, sweat beading at his hairline. You still didn’t understand, but you were feeling terrible guilt.

“Please tell me what I can do, so you aren’t so frazzled,” you said. Ralph firmly grasped your hands and stared into your eyes. He looked like he was searching for his words in them. “When you tell me things like what a good boy I am to you, it does… things.” Once again he stared off, this time it was embarrassment. “Ralph you are a good boy. The best boy.” A moan fell from his lips.

The two of you had kissed plenty of times. You had even allowed him to hold your breasts once. The subject of his desires and his cock had never been discussed. “Do… do you think, maybe, if you’re okay with it, you could keep telling me?”, he asked. “I’d hate to keep torturing you like this,” you pouted. His tongue slid across his pretty pink lips as he gazed deep into your eyes. “I would like to please myself while you tell me how good you think I am,” he explained.

You pulled him over to your bed. Ferocious kisses fell upon your lips, Ralph’s tongue slipping across your own. Your fingers trembled as you undid his pants and pulled them down. You scooted over on the bed and pulled him in for another kiss. “Oh look how handsome you are, Ralph. You are so sweet to me,” you said as his hand slides into his underwear. His breathing is a deep pant against your ear. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he whispered, nibbling softly at your earlobe. The sensation caused your core to throb and grow wet. “Ralph, you’re such a good man to me. You’re doing such a good job,” you breathed.

His free hand found its way to your thigh. “May I?”, he asked. With a nod of your head, his fingers were sliding eagerly to your dripping folds. The groan that escaped didn’t even sound like him, it was so feral. His nervous fingertips made slow, deep circles around your bud. Your eyes rolled back in your head. You had never been touched by someone else like this. “Oh, Ralph, you’re doing so well. That’s so perfect,” you half cried.

With a snarl, Ralph’s body stiffened. Your eyes fell upon his steady hand in his underpants. His eyes were shut tight. You leaned into his ear as you grew closer to your peak. “You’re my good sweet boy, Ralph. You’re making me feel amazing. You’re doing a smashing job. You’re my perfect guy, just like that yes, so good dear.” A dark smile formed on his face. “You mean it?”, he asked.

“Yes, love. That’s so nice, you’re making me feel so amazing, oh Ralph,” you clenched around nothing as he massaged you through your orgasm. You gasped for air, coming down from your high. “Ralph that was the best feeling I’ve ever felt, I love you so much my sweet good boy,” and as the words fell from your lips, he was muttering and making a mess in his own hand.

When he caught his breath, he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “You’re quite beautiful,” he hummed, skin glowing with sweat. “As are you, my dear,” you rasped.

[embossross]

From His Mind to Yours

Chapter 1 >> Chapter 2 >> Chapter 3

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: graphic torture (not of reader); murder (not of reader); very very bad therapeutic practice

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; sex (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of suicide, trauma and abuse, and many more that I don't know yet

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: ~5k

Any day now, the rainy season will end, bringing a brief respite before the humidity of summer becomes unbearable. You often think about moving to a land with a more temperate climate. A country near the equator, where you could invest in a single wardrobe that works year-round, rather than switching out the contents of your closet five times a year to accommodate the seasons.

Raindrops break through the protective barrier of your hooded cloak. When you lick your lips, you taste cold and wet.

The trip from your apartment to your office is a long one, three-quarters of an hour by train plus a nine-minute walk from the station. Plenty of time for the elements to drench and shake you. Snow in the winters proves especially brutal. Waiting at your office is a change of clothes, cosmetics, and hair product. You construct your work attire like a suit of armor. A blank slate of dry-cleaned perfection distracts from your age and makes patients respect you.

Most patients anyway.

On the train, you scan an article about the winner of last year’s Nenmatsu Jumbo. Through the lens of your phone, you read how the lucky fortunate pledges half his fortune to a shrine in Hokkaido and will spend the rest on sending his four children to private schools, lavish vacations, and a plot of farmland. The winner says he has no intentions of retirement just yet.

700 million yen. A transformative amount of money. You have run the numbers, and with about half that much saved, you would be set for life. No need to worry about disability, disaster, or devils sweeping away your years of hard work. With 350 million yen, you would finally be safe. Happy even.

Hanma Shuji is your winning lottery ticket.

The price you charge for his treatment is obscene; more importantly, if you’re successful, it will unlock a new revenue stream with the Tokyo Manji gang. Their organization must be rife with degenerates, neurotics, and depressives, all with blood money to burn. Ten years of catering to the criminal class, and you may well reach your savings goals. When you think about it at night, you fall asleep with a smile.

Your happy dreams assume, of course, that Hanma doesn’t sabotage you at the get, which is not looking promising.

He’s late.

At the office, you change out of your rain-soaked clothes, blow dry your hair, and read your case notes three times over. Your eyes stray repeatedly to the time on your phone as Hanma’s lateness makes the move from possibility to definitive reality. Arriving a few minutes late seems like Hanma’s style, and arriving fifteen minutes late as a power play might be his m.o. as well, but half an hour? He doesn’t plan to show, and you know it.

You walk to the empty reception room. There are a couple other patients on your case load right now, but you are scheduling their therapy around Hanma’s, clearing entire days just to focus on your golden goose. You even gave your receptionist the day off to ensure his privacy. An hour-long train ride here and an hour back would be for nothing if Hanma ghosts you.

Frustrated, you hover over his name in your contacts. Calling and begging him to participate in his own treatment will cede all authority you have.

While your office is disturbingly minimalist – designed to keep your most distracted patients engaged – the reception room is livened slightly by large windows that overlook central Tokyo. The rain beats against the pane thunderously, but you can still see the activity on the street below. It’s an office district, so mostly fellow professionals leaving for meetings or a working lunch. The street is more active than typical as the Samurai Blue are playing a match at the stadium, and your office block is a well-known detour to the venue. You can make out the blue jerseys as lucky fans stream toward the game and unlucky fans look for a bar to catch the match on TV.

It sparks an idea, and you press Hanma’s name before fully processing it.

“Hello, who is this?” Hanma greets, voice twisted with mockery.

He knows exactly who is calling and why. Your number is already saved in his phone. You ignore the flame it alights in your gut. Hanma likes to play games, and you can oblige that.

“The Samurai Blue are playing right now. Are you near a TV?”

“Hello to you, too. Hide has been resurrected from the dead and is giving an impromptu concert at Tokyo Tower. Are you near a radio?” Hanma says, mirroring your bizarre introduction.

“That’s funny. You’re funny,” you say, momentarily surprised into laughing before you remember you are angry with this man.

“Mmhmm,” Hanma hums. It’s a filler noise. He’s waiting for the inevitable chastisement, to see you plead for his cooperation. He will be disappointed.

“I’m not going to waste your time asking why you are late for our session or if you’re coming in. if you were a typical client, I frankly wouldn’t care. I’d bill you for the session anyway and treat myself to pork belly on your dime. But Kisaki-san has impressed the importance of working with you upon me, so I want to keep this appointment. Rather than beg for you to have mercy and come in –”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing you try,” Hanma interrupts.

A spark of memory from your last session. Standing at full height, he was mountainous, easily one of the tallest men you have ever encountered. His wide-legged stance, so much space between to settle at his feet, legs lolled out because spaces weren’t designed to contain a man of his stature. The hint of tenting, possible erection. Predator’s eyes.

You ignore him.

“How about a wager?” Silence. You think that’s a good sign, so you bully on. “If the Samurai Blue score within the next minute and a half, we keep our session today. If not, I start looking for flights out of town for when Kisaki-san sends someone knocking on my door.”

“Kind of funny to imagine it might very well be me that he sends in that eventuality, huh?” Hanma says, though it’s not funny at all. “Fine. You’ve caught my interest. Ninety seconds. They score, we meet, and you can try your psychobabble on me.”

“Perfect.”

There’s a flatscreen to entertain waiting clients, mounted above a gurgling water tank. The remote is missing, so you manually press the power button and scroll until you find the match. On the line is silence as you assume Hanma also finds the right channel.

“Starting now?” Hanma asks.

“Time it.”

You watch as the match unfolds. The Samurai Blue are already down one, and their opponent, red jerseys, have possession of the ball. Blue streaks of activity as the national team tries to defend and retrieve.

You don’t have any special affinity towards football, but only the most stubborn could avoid watching the World Cup or Olympic matches, when the radios blared the action from the open door of every convenience store or market stall. In university, most of your fellow students were men, and you would join them semi-regularly at the student bars to watch a promising match; you would call it “making an appearance.” Your boyfriend keeps up with the international leagues, catching the scores on his phone and commenting on coaching decisions without ever bothering to actually turn on a match.

This wager is a shot in the dark from a gun that may not even be loaded. You have no insider insight to guarantee Japan scores, and probability is against you.

That’s why when the center forward retrieves the ball, barreling past the center circle, your heart rises in your chest. The impossibility of it, this quick drive down the length of the field, from winger to striker and now nearing the goalpost, is a pure shot of adrenaline.

What are the odds? Are they as impossible as winning the Nenmatsu Jumbo, a New Year’s miracle?

The goalie lines up to block, and you will the striker’s attack to land. Millions may be watching, singularly concentrated on this very play, but in this moment, you are on the field. Your will is all that matters.

When the ball connects with the net, Hanma roars on the other side of the phone. He doesn’t groan in disappointment; he’s celebrating the goal. Like you, the adrenaline has drugged him. You stare at the players taking their victory lap in disbelief. Your own celebration a quiet closing of your eyes, a silent prayer.

“How’d you do it, doc?” Hanma whistles into the phone. “Did you bribe the goalie in advance?”

“Pure luck,” you say, a little breathless at how true the words are. You have never been lucky, and it stuns you. You have to will yourself back to professional reserve. “You wouldn’t have been interested enough to take me up on a wager if the odds weren’t completely stacked against me. That’s what makes it exciting.”

While the Tokyo Manji gang runs underground casinos and Mahjong parlors across the city, no one reported Hanma as a gambler. Under the right circumstances, you speculate he would thrive on gambling. The moment of tension, when both the loss and the win feel equally possible, is an adrenaline high, and the kind of thing to electrify a bored misanthrope. You did not plan to test this hunch on Hanma so early, hoping to save it for future sessions, but you are happy to see your suspicions proved accurate.

“Smart, and a coin toss wouldn’t have worked because you couldn’t trust me to be honest about the results, and I wouldn’t trust you in return. You know, you’re pretty manipulative. Are you sure you’re not a sociopath?” Hanma says. It’s the first compliment he’s spared you, followed immediately by an attack.

“If manipulating someone occasionally was all it took to meet the diagnostic requirements, everyone would qualify,” you disagree.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking. Yeah, you say all these things about me being a risk-taker, unempathetic, manipulative, whatever, but am I really all that different than anyone else? In my experience, people are plenty self-serving when anything half important is on the line?” Hanma says.

Sampling bias, you think. Hanma’s line of work exposes him to society’s desperates, the people drowning beneath the weight of their previous mistakes and dying to breathe again.

“That’s a good topic of discussion for when you come in. I’d wondered what you thought about my assessment last week, especially now that you’ve had some time to process.”

“Oh, I’m not coming in,” Hanma says. You hear the slam of a car door and the beep of a lock. Now, the sound through the phone is distorted as Hanma walks through the rain to wherever he’s going that isn’t your office.

“Hanma-san, we had a deal…”

“I know that, and I won’t reneg. You can have your 90-minutes, but I never said I’d come to your office. You can come to me. I’m down by the Port. I’ll text you the address.”

“My office is in Ueno. That’s…over an hour away by train,” you say, knowing as you say it that your logistical concerns will be met with indifference.

“And I have a meeting that can’t be missed. I know, I know, self-care, put yourself first, but I think I might be a workaholic, doc. Work, work, work. They don’t even give me holidays off!” Hanma jokes.

Even as you negotiate with Hanma, you know it’s futile and start preparing to brave the elements once again. You zipper your wet clothes into a plastic bag and hang them in your closet. Your receptionist will take them for dry-cleaning when she stops by to lock up for the night.  Your raincoat hasn’t dried off from before and wets your clean clothes as you pull it on again.

“If I come to Koto-ku, will you still be there?” you challenge, imagining making the trek only for Hanma to move onto some other distraction.

“You have my word. I think it’ll be good for you to see me in action,” Hanma says.

You choose not to think about what that might mean.

“If I take the train out to Telecom Center, you need to pick me up. I’m not walking down to the port in this rain, and I doubt you want a random taxi dropping me off at your important meeting,” you say.

Reasserting some boundaries, not allowing Hanma to control the terms. It’s part of your role as therapist, but it feels seedy with him. Maybe because these power plays are standard for his job. Normally your clients are less aware of how you subtly maneuver them.

“I’ll send someone to pick you up,” Hanma concedes.

“We have a deal.”

“I love hearing you say that,” Hanma moans, and then a beep as he unceremoniously hangs up.

As the rain beats down upon your head once again on your walk to the station, you half hope a tsunami strikes the city and carries Hanma Shuji out to sea. But only half.

- - - True to his word, a yakuza decked out with a neck tattoo and everything picks you up from the station and delivers you to a warehouse by the harbor. The grey sea is frothing and angry. Here, the wind is twice as strong, tangling your hair and tripping your feet.

You enter the warehouse, off-kilter and a little afraid.

In the movies, these criminal warehouses are always empty, perfect for a drawn-out battle, but this one is in active use. Rows, stocked with packages, stretch up to the ceiling. A line of cranes sit powered off by the entrance. A couple yakuza stand off to the side, smoking and playing dice.

Your guide leads you past them to a row cleared from merchandise. Amid the narrow row are two folding chairs, in one sits Hanma, and in the other sits a man who is handcuffed and chained at ankle and wrist to his seat.

You swallow.

The bound stranger is in his thirties. He wears a satin button-up, probably a fellow yakuza or at least someone who works in the entertainment district. Freshly shaven, which means he hasn’t been hostage for longer than half a day. The man sports a black eye, but no other obvious signs of struggle.

“You made it, doc!” Hanma calls out. In contrast to his prisoner, he’s the picture of casual comfort. He sits backwards in his chair, chin propped against the backrest with plenty of room for his gargantuan legs to stretch out.

“Thanks for sending someone to pick me up,” you say primly, deciding not to rise to the bait and comment on the other man. You glance around and realize your guide has disappeared in the few seconds it took you to get your bearings. Apparently, this is Hanma’s show alone.

“I want you to meet Fujimori Hisao,” Hanma says, gesturing at the bound man. “I’m afraid I can only give you half my attention here. You can ask me your questions, but I need to ask Hisao-kun some questions of my own.”

“And if I don’t like your answers, can I do whatever you do to Fujimori-san to you, too?” you ask.

“Funny! I keep forgetting that you can be funny when you want to be,” Hanma giggles. “I promise to be completely honest in all my answers. I need to set a good example for Hisao here. Don’t want to have him thinking he can pick and choose when to answer me. Honesty is the best policy and all.”

Hanma likes to hear himself talk. Sometime during his monologue, Fujimori starts to silently weep. With his hands restrained, there is nothing to catch the tears until they streak past his chin and collect in the column of his throat.

The scene is unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. Sometimes you hear about violence in the past tense in a clinical setting, but never before your own eyes. Criminal acts are hypotheticals to you, who has never even noticed a shoplifter in action. Your boyfriend always tells you that you’re naïve in the ways of the world. Innocence must cling to your skin, despite your best efforts to conceal it, because Hanma smells it on you, too.

The surprise reveal, the casual greeting, all of this is an act, a performance to frighten you. He wants to see you break.

You decide to get comfortable, shrugging off your coat. There is no third chair, so you lean against the shelves. You situate yourself close to Hanma. The other man is in your periphery, but you can ignore him with effort.

“May I begin, Hanma-san?”

He grunts.

“We could have scheduled for later this evening when your…appointment wrapped up. Why did you want me to see this?”

“You’re gonna cure my boredom, right? I thought you should see one of the last things that still gets me hot and going,” Hanma says.

“You’ve thought about what we discussed last session. Do you have any thoughts or questions?”

“I told Inui that I was officially a sociopath, and he said everyone already knew. Go figure,” Hanma sneers, and the other man goes deathly silent at hearing his captor self-describe as a ‘sociopath.’ “I stand by what I said on the phone though. I don’t see what’s all that different about me from your average guy. Take Fujimori-san here, he betrayed his friends, giving information on Toman to the HKJ – that’s a triad we’re in business with – and for what? Money!”

“NO! I didn’t. I swear! Hanma-san, I swear I would never –”

The way Hanma bursts from his seat is violent, knocking his chair to the ground with a clang. The way his fist connects with Fujimori’s chin is something worse than violent. Fujimori’s neck snaps back, so hard, you fear it broken, before his head falls limply forward. Frantic denials turn to drawn out moans of pain.

“Don’t lie to me!” Hanma hisses.

Your heart thunders in your chest, as if the threat is directed at you. Rather than return to his seat, Hanma prowls around Fujimori’s limp body. A victory lap or another intimidation tactic.

“People can be self-serving, especially where money is concerned. That’s not enough for a clinical diagnosis,” you say as calmly as possible. “To be diagnosed with ASPD, you need to meet additional criteria. For example, right now, I’m having a physiological reaction to seeing you punch that man. I feel for his pain and wish it would stop. A sociopath wouldn’t have that kind of empathy for someone else’s suffering.”

Hanma drops large hands onto Fujimori’s shoulders, massaging them and getting into the beaten man’s face. “You hear that Hisao-kun? She feels for your pain! It’s true that I don’t, but you should just confess and tell me who your contacts in the HKJ are, so that I don’t have to hurt you anymore.”

Before Fujimori can answer and earn Hanma’s wrath again, you forge onward, “I’d love to know more about how you feel about other people, too. Have you ever felt something you would describe as love? Does spending time with your favorite people make you happy? And while we’re at it, why are your favorite people your favorites? What makes them special.”

“You’re asking too many questions at once, doc. Rookie interrogation mistake!” Hanma chastises.

“That’s because I’m not seriously asking those questions yet. We’ll save them for another day. But I wanted to answer your question about what makes sociopaths different than the general populace, and the answer probably lies in how you’d respond to those questions,” you say. “Here is a direct question for you. In as much detail as possible, since we last met, when were you most bored?”

Hanma seriously considers the question, “Last Thursday was collection day, where all the men who report into me, bring their cash for the week. I just have to sit there, watch people count bills, and threaten to split a few heads if they come up short. No one was short this week, so I just sat there until four, then dropped the cash off with Koko. I called Kisaki, but he didn’t need me for anything. So, I decided to try one of our new nudie bars, where the girls are all pros. Nothing worse than seeing the show and finding out they’re all amateurs that can’t deliver, right? Well, I get there, have a few drinks, and as I’m looking around, I realize, I’ve already fucked every girl in the place. A real drag, right?”

You note Hanma’s verbal tick, the tacking on of ‘right’ at the end of his sentences. Is it to make you complicit in whatever vile things he says or a bid for validation? The former seems more likely.

“You never sleep with the same woman twice?” you ask.

“Where’s the fun in that, am I right?” Hanma says, giving a comradely clap to his prisoner’s arm. “Anyway, that was probably the moment, when I realized there wasn’t a girl in the place to interest me and nothing better to do with my night.”

Like you hypothesized on day one. He craves novelty.

“This is a hard question for most people to answer, but please give it a try. What does your boredom feel like in the moment? Can you find the words to describe it?”

Once again, Hanma takes the question seriously, allowing a long pause to collect his thoughts. You find it impossible to watch him as he ponders because to look at him requires you to look past Fujimori. He has regained some of his wits, mouth shaping around silent pleas for you to save him. You, this strange woman who doesn’t appear interested in torturing him, appear like a guardian angel, but there is nothing you can do. You lack the leverage with Hanma, and you would find a bullet in your skull before you finished dialing the police.

There is a sheen of sweat about Fujimori’s lip that strikes you as especially pitiful, and you look away.

“Cold,” Hanma says, at last. “It feels like that one night in winter, the coldest night of the year, when your bones freeze from the inside. Rationally, you know it’s only a few hours until the sun comes back, but instinctually, some part of you thinks, ‘this is it.’ That all you’ll ever know again is the bone deep cold and the dark.”

A phantasm of cold slices through your gut. You didn’t expect such evocative words. A high school dropout with abysmal marks to show for his public education, you didn’t expect Hanma’s intelligence, but his words move you. They are so uniquely human and familiar to the worst days of your own life.

Softening against your better judgement, you continue your line of questioning, “When I’m cold, I usually grab a jacket, an extra blanket, warm up by the kotatsu. My instinct is to do something to get warm. On Thursday, when you realized there were no girls to seduce, what did you do to warm yourself?”

“This is damn poetic what we have going here,” Hanma laughs, breaking a bit of the spell his words cast upon you. “Let me see…Thursday, I took a bump, and then decided to wander around the city. See if I stumbled on something more interesting.”

“Did the change of scenery help, or were you still bored while you walked around?”

“Still bored. I’ve been walking these streets since I was eleven,” Hanma says.

“And did you interact with any people during this walk?”

“Some juvenile delinquent bumped into me. Literally. Landed on his ass. Then, he wanted to pick a flight like it was my fault. I had to shut him down,” Hanma says and then scoffs when a fissure of concern ripples across your face. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t kill the poor kid. I just flashed a gun, so he understood I was the real deal, and suddenly it was ‘a thousand sorries, sir.’ J.D.s in my day weren’t so quick to back down, but anyway. I ended up at my tattoo parlor. My artist was working on someone else, but she kicked him out when I came in. had her do a color touch up on one of my tattoos.”

“Do you have many tattoos?” you ask, thinking Hanma would fit the profile for a tattoo addiction.

“Not by yakuza standards. Wanna see it?”

Hanma undoes the lower button of his dress shirt, rolling the material up above his abdomen. You can’t see clearly around Fujimori’s shaking frame, so Hanma releases his victim and walks closer to show you. In this suit, Hanma appears deceptively lean, but he’s filled out beneath his clothes. Clear lines cut across a chest and abdomen of defined ridges and dips. Your tongue wets your lips.

A dragon winds around his side, roaring face toward the front and tail trailing to his back. The green ink is fresh and vibrant with an undercurrent of red as the skin is still inflamed from the touch up. The work on the scales looks intricate and must have taken dozens of hours to complete. It is the only tattoo you can see on his chest.

“Pretty,” you admit. “Dragons are associated with the Tokyo Manji gang, right? Do you feel pride in being a lieutenant? Many gangs operate almost as families with people willing to commit unspeakable crimes against outsiders because they’re so invested in protecting the sense of belonging they feel with their in-group.”

“I know what you mean, and it’s what guys like Hisao here should be willing to die to protect. But, for me, not really. I feel pride in how far we’ve come. I’ve been with Kisaki since the early days, and I was part of making all this happen. And, I have a…fondness for some of the top guys, but we don’t feel like a family. I followed Kisaki all those years ago because he promised me a more interesting path than what I could picture for myself, and that’s why I’m still here,” Hanma says.

Something electric is lighting you up from your intestines. The immediate transparency that Hanma offers is not typical of clients. You sense nothing but honesty from his words. There’s a speed to your back and forth, testing your ability to think of the next question and draw connections. The mental strain plus your muted fear on behalf of Fujimoto makes you feel hyper-present, more present than you have felt in weeks as you commute between work, home, and dates with your boyfriend. You don’t want the session to end.

“You don’t feel any loyalty? But you must have had so many opportunities to betray them over the years, and you never took them,” you point out.

“The opportunity never felt worth it,” Hanma shrugs. “But speaking of loyalty! Hisao-kun, I think we’ve neglected you too long.”

Two-pronged annoyance shoots through you. Are you more upset at the promise of pain coming Fujimori’s way or how easily Hanma drops your conversation? The magnetic aura that made you feel as if it were only the two of you in the world must have been one-sided.

“Hisao, I did my research before collecting you. Unmarried, no kids that you know of, parents in good health. No loan sharks breathing down your neck or out of control gambling addiction. So, tell me, what made the money worth betraying your family? Risking your own neck for a couple million yen. If there was some big reason, maybe I could understand it, but without one…you’re hurting my feelings,” Hanma teases.

He keeps his hands tucked in his pockets, almost like sheathing a sword or holstering a gun, but you know he will be quick on the draw. Fujimori suspects as much as well, eyes darting between Hanma’s face and pocketed hands. The purple silk of his dress shirt is stained almost black with sweat at the pits.

“I swear I didn’t do it, Hanma-san. I swear!”

There is no immediate retaliation. Instead, Hanma drops to his knees in front of his captive. You stare in awe at the submissive position. Even on his knees, Hanma’s impressive height puts him at eye-level with Fujimori, who senses nothing good from this change in posture. Unconsciously, Fujimori strains against his bonds. Your fingers flex and twist as if you too were bound.

“We’re both Toman, Fujimori, and that makes us brothers in a way. We both promised we wouldn’t lie, and an oath to a brother is not something to break casually. Do not look me in the eyes and lie to me,” Hanma says lowly. He leans forward so their foreheads are touching, spectacled eyes drilled into Fujimori’s own. You can’t see their faces, just the white column of Hanma’s arched neck. “Now, tell me who was your liaison from HKJ?”

“I didn’t do i–”

Lightning fast, Hanma’s hand darts forward. The attack is soundless. Rather than a blow of force, Hanma plunges a finger straight into Fujimori’s eye. The choice is so startling that Fujimori gasps rather than screams, and then reality catches up to him and he starts to bellow.

“I can’t stand when people look me in the eye and lie,” Hanma sneers.

He stands up to his full height and wipes his hand against his pants. Eyeball juices. His pants are wet with eyeball juices.

The screaming stops. Wait, no, you see Fujimori’s mouth still open in a wail. Above it, blood stains his cheek, and above that…No, the screaming continues but you aren’t processing the sound. You are in shock and dissociating from the stimuli around you as a method of self-defense. Looking at Fujimori’s battered face is impossible, so you look at his legs instead. Panic has set in, and the man is using all of his weight to thrust up against his bonds, arcing the legs of the chair into the air and back down. It’s futile; the chains holding him are too strong.

Eventually, you look to Hanma and realize he’s been observing you the entire time. There is a smile on his face, too obvious to be anything but performative. Like when he threatened to masturbate in your office, he is looking to unsettle you. This time he has succeeded.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Hanma asks.

Even under the traumatic circumstances, there is a fierce streak within you that refuses to back down. Hanma is watching you with a sympathetic expression as fake as the blonde streaks in his hair. You don’t want to reward his bad behavior, or worse, provoke more of it.

“What did Fujimori-san do?” your voice shakes through the question.

“We’re negotiating a deal with the HKJ, big opportunity for us to expand our slice of the Meth trade. If we can secure entry through Hong Kong and replace our current suppliers, we’ll cut our costs by 5% and mark up our prices by 10%, free money. It’s a good deal for everyone involved, but that doesn’t stop greed from setting in. everyone wants to walk away with the sweetest deal. That’s why we think the HKJ will try to infiltrate Toman, plant a few moles. If they can cause a problem for us – say an unexpected police raid or losing our current supplier – they can then swoop in, play the heroes in clean up, and then demand the better cut. In general, we keep a close watch on our subordinates’ bank accounts to make sure everything is on the up and up, and an offshore account wired Hisao-kun ¥5,000,000. Payment for services rendered, perhaps?”

The last question he directs to Fujimori, who sits paralyzed in fear. Denials could lead to another outburst of violence but staying silent doesn’t bode well either. Against your better judgment, you catch a glimpse of his eye. It isn’t dislodged from the attack, but the eyeball is swollen with blood, thick like the juices of a passionfruit.

You shake your head in disbelief, like the gesture might change things.

“That’s it? One suspicious deposit in his bank account is all you have to go on? All you have to justify…this?” you gesture helplessly at Fujimori.

“Uh huh.”

“But that could be anything! Maybe a relative died and willed him some money! ¥5,000,000 is a lot, but it’s not a yakuza-only level of money!”

You know that the Tokyo Manji gang tops police wanted lists not just for their role in organized crime but their penchant for violence. It’s rare to see a yakuza gang in the news for murder these days with so many yakuza fighting to keep their government-granted legitimacy, but Toman bucks the trend. Of the top lieutenants, Hanma is the guard dog, biting any hand that would near the leaders. If Kisaki directs the madness, Hanma executes it with extreme prejudice. You know that.

But you always imagined the violence unleashed against those who had “earned it.” The triviality of Hanma’s evidence, enough to condemn a man, shocks you more than his aggression.

Hanma flings himself back into his chair and says, “Hisao-kun, did someone die and will you the money? Mind I’ll have someone verify before we leave her, and if you’re lying to me, I’ll gouge the other eye out completely and make you eat it.”

“No! No one died!” Fujimori swears quickly.

“Welp, there goes that theory. Got any others, Doc?” Hanma waits for you to answer, but you shake your head. “No? See the truth is it doesn’t matter. Hisao-kun is hiding something, or he would have explained where the money came from already. Maybe he’s not in league with the HKJ. Maybe he’s taken a bribe and not given us our cut. Maybe he’s skimming off the top. Or maybe, he’s our little rat. Regardless, he doesn’t get to keep secrets from his masters, and so here we are.”

It makes sense in a cruel way. Maintaining a criminal enterprise requires absolute silence. You sign your secrets away at the doors. The way the movies depict it, you would have thought gangs were all about freedom and rebellion against society’s rules, but really you just trade for a whole new set of restrictions and far more dire consequences. Gangs are about money. And, if someone would try to steal hundreds of millions of yen from you…you might find yourself capable of gouging into a man’s eye, too.

The way the human brain can rationalize in moments of trauma is truly remarkable.

“You said this got you hot earlier? Are you aroused by this?” you ask, slipping back into therapy-mode.

“Nah, I mean hot as in the opposite of what we were talking about earlier, with the cold boredom. Now, if your skirt rides up any further, that might get my dick up,” Hanma leers.

Startled, you find that your skirt has risen up your thighs, so the dark band at the top of your stockings peeks through. You quickly pet it down into place, and Hanma play scowls at you.

“May I sit down?” you ask meekly.

“Sure, princess,” Hanma says, standing to offer you the seat he was occupying. “But we won’t be here much longer.”

You take it gratefully. Not until you’re seated, do you realize your legs are trembling.

Hanma returns to questioning Fujimori. You watch the back of Hanma’s head as he works, tuning out the particulars. You don’t like knowing so many details about a major upcoming yakuza alliance. It could make you a target. Even without carefully listening, you realize Fujimori has confessed and is starting to share whatever intel he can, like offerings to a malevolent god that demands human sacrifice.

Your stomach growls. Your eyelids lower. In the aftermath of a trauma, your body doesn’t know what is wrong and is cycling through possibilities to fix the problem.

There is plastic-wrapped melon pan in your bag, stashed away from a visit to the convenience store earlier that day. Would Hanma mind if you have a snack?

You are about to risk it when a pop rattles your ear drums. Ears ringing, you take several moments to process Hanma turning around and tucking away a gun. Behind him, blocked from sight by Hanma’s height, Fujimori has been shot. Somehow, you know it was aimed to kill.

Hanma approaches you, continuing to block out the dead man. He grips the chair you’re seated on and spins it around, so that you’re facing away from the body. The gesture of kindness pierces through your shock. You can’t thank him though, gaping like a fish at his blank expression. A smattering of blood and a chunk of something you won’t consider have landed on his clavicle, just above his heart.

“I’m going to take a shower and then take you out to dinner. You can sit near the entrance and wait for me. My men will be outside. Nine rows to the right and twelve up to reach the exit, okay?” Hanma intones slowly, making sure you process the directions through your shock.

You nod.

Hanma walks off in the direction of Fuji– no, in the direction of the body that was Fujimori. You ought to run. Flee the scene. While he’s in the shower, you could race out of the warehouse altogether, trick his men into letting you through, and then what? It’s a two mile walk to the station, and Hanma has a car. Unless he likes a lingering shower, he will catch you. Plus, he knows where you work. You promised him a degree of professionalism, a hardened mob-therapist who could roll with the darker sides of the job. He expects you to do just that.

But dinner?

Part of you understands. The back-and-forth before he lost interest in you had been intoxicating, and you still want to return to that. Like an abuse victim, who reminisces about the early days of love bombing and will ignore the abuse that just occurred. For a few minutes there, Hanma’s attention felt like magic.

Slowly, you limp toward the exit, following Hanma’s instructions. Plenty of time to think about whether you run screaming out the door once you’re there.

Reaching the exit, you stare at the unlocked doors that represent your chance at freedom from the day’s monstrosities. From your interviews with Kisaki and other members of the Tokyo Manji gang, you know Hanma has no history of violence towards women that fell outside the basics of his job. He doesn’t rough up the working girls or ape the girlfriends of his enemies. There is no reason to expect you are the exception. He wants to scare you, yes, but if you don’t give him cause, he won’t kill you.

You can’t forget the money on the line. The life-changing, Nenmatsu Jumbo-level miracle money to which Hanma holds the key. It is your dream, and you have come too far to abandon it now.

So, you lean against the concrete block wall and wait. You have a dinner to attend.