#◈ crack ── are you FUCKING with me?!

[muntitled]

Blink Twice

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: After pushing your body to the brink, it's finally giving out. You're rewarded for all your dazzling work ethic with a “nice” dinner. As ‘nice’ as ‘nice’ gets with him…

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Coercion, Murder, Abuse, Male Manipulation, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Handcuffs, Exhibitionism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Fingering, Somnophilia, Period Sex, Bodily Fluids.

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume

"H-How do you keep breaking into my apartment?" If it weren't for the fact that you were currently being fingered awake, you might have found it in yourself to sound more angry.

But you weren't awake, and he had taken advantage of your unconscious state just enough to bend down over your sleeping frame, and slip his hands between your legs.

You had promised yourself a quick power nap on the couch, anything that might lessen the pain that had been steadily blooming in your left arm. That nap had stolen you throughout most of the day until, here he hovers over you- the man who is undoubtedly the culprit for all this bodily pain you're in- with his fingers inside you.

“There you are, sleepy head,” His face is so close, you can see the smile wrinkling his face. His smile is bright and kind but his fingers aren't. They're stretching your cunt out, wrenching a moan from deep within you as you stare down at your hips moving off the couch.

“Fuck…” Your voice cracks as he scissors his index and middle finger inside you, still on a mission to split you apart. You drown in the scent of his cologne and his perfectly new suit- a black one today.

You throw your head back, feeling the pressure mount as you grind down against his fingers all while he watches with immense satisfaction.

“Can't- just-” you gasp when your wetness seeps out of you and onto the couch. “Can't-Do-This-” For all those moments you forget that you're nursing a sore arm. As you grind down against his ruthless fingers.

You forget that he might have seriously injured you this time.

“I couldn't help myself,” he whispers hoarsely, forcing an orgasm out of you before placing a kiss on your forehead. “You look breathtaking when you're unconscious.”

As the orgasm passes, you try to wake yourself up and become more aware of your surroundings.

Your body is shaking once he's done with you. Your cunt aches and reality sets back in. “Get out of my house.”

He straightens his tie before standing to his full height again, “You say that like I don't own the place,"

He's smiling stiffly as he stands before you, clutching that bloody briefcase, having come to collect you for another round of games...

Something inside your worn-out soul breaks at the sight of him so unfathomably fazed. You were experiencing another round of those 'realization moments'.

You have actually gone and sold yourself to a sadist.

Especially now that he's gone and done it again. After vehemently expressing that he 'please be a little more gentle with you', he insisted on pushing your body to the brink of its abilities. Toying with you and punishing you and releasing all the workings of those sick, sick, sick games on you, and for what?

It hits you more often than not these days.

A paid apartment? Paid university fees?

You try to keep your sleepy eyes unkind as you glare up at him but even you blanch at how much of a necessary force he's made himself in your life.

"And how often are you going to remind me that all my resources are tied to you?" You rise from lying supine, waiting for the world to stop spinning before you start stretching. None of your limbs protest as much as yours left shoulder that practically howls in pain. He watches you with robotic intrigue.

"I thought I should make good on that promise to take you out.”

"Take me out?" He notes the way your good shoulders tenses and smiles.

"I already said I've got no plans to kill you. You're the most fun I've had in years and years." He says "I want you to go to dinner with me."

"You wanna take your abuse victim out to dinner... looking like this?" you try to lift your arm but it protests, sending a sharp pain through your entire left side.

"I think you look rather beautiful."

"You would think this is what beauty looks like."

A tense silence falls.

"You're angry." He tilts his head, "And in pain."

You scoff venomously then, "Whomever might the culprit be?" You ask sarcastically before picking yourself up from the couch. You're cradling your arm, dragging your worn body across the floor to the adjoining kitchen.

"My fucking arm still hurts." You nearly cry as you squeeze the words out. Shooting a teary-eyed glare at your sadist from the kitchen.

"Tonight is your celebration dinner and it's way overdue." He busies himself by folding up the quilt that had been draped along your sleeping frame, "All my virtues rest on giving credit where credit is due, and you my dear..." the gaze he arrests you in is warm, and penetrative, like you were being reminded that he owns your body and soul, "-have done stellar work for me."

It's said in a wave of reverence you didn't really expect.

"Let me take you out,"

Sure he was sociopathic, and deranged, and everything you should most definitely be seeking refuge from, but the sentiment in his voice is genuine. As if, after 40 years on this earth, with the violent tendencies he had undoubtedly been born with, here is someone that's actually helping him. That's what you're doing, you're helping him. But it comes at a steep, steep price.

"You have virtues?" You ask sarcastically, causing the once intense moment to scatter and lighten.

"And your humor would be missed if I killed you. Where else would I find someone with such a stellar sense of humor and almost no sense of self preservation?" He asks aloud, as he walks towards the counter that separates you both. "You should've asked for help the first day you met me-"

"You offered to pay my shit if I played your games, who would walk away from that?”

"You should've." He smiles. "But I'm glad you didn't." His smile reaches those dead, almond eyes, "And tonight we have a celebration dinner."

"I can't go out," you say, turning your back on him to drink water.

His voice is dark when he says, "Can't or won't?"

"Can't." You slam your cup down against the sink, earning a thick wave of silence. You were never angry with him before. Never. "I think you broke something." You say, turning slowly, still cradling your arm like a baby.

There's a jarring amount of care in his voice as he rounds the counter to walk closer towards you. He examines your arm with deceptively soft eyes as he softly says, "I really did a number on you, didn't I?"

You look up at him with blank eyes, "Try not to get off thinking about it," you snip back. Sarcasm was your only weapon.

"I couldn't help myself," He rests his large hand on your arm, "you know that right?

"Y-Yes," your resolve falters and you're back to being his submissive. "I don't blame you."

"In fact." He nods along with you, conditioning you to accept his view of the events as he says, "Our session this past week had been nothing short of magical."

You're not quite sure if that was a reliable portrayal of the events but your weak mind is already fitting the memories to be so.

Somehow, you're thinking of the events with less anger: how he had snapped real, silver handcuffs on your wrists, resting them behind your back while you were being fucked from behind. It had been blissful until he pulled too hard on the left and you screamed and you blacked out.

Now here he stands before you, drenched in the afternoon sunlight, wearing a brand new black suit, smelling of fine cologne, telling you it was magical.

He came when you broke your arm.

"Alright, I'll come with you," he decides with finality, prompting you to snap out of your daze.

"No, I can go myself!" You move around him to gather your things.

"Unless you've magically obtained the ability to communicate in Korean then I suggest I come with you." He watches you race across your tiny apartment, gathering your things.

"There are English speaking doctors I'll be f-uck." As you were searching for your phone between the couch, you angered the arm, causing another wave of pain to blossom.

"I'm taking you." He stands by the doorway, "Let's go."

Your nostrils flare as the real reason for your discomfort rears its head. "B-but what if..."

You let the words die on your lips. Choosing instead to look at him, hoping your eyes relay the severity of the implications that might arise from a simple trip to the hospital. All those questions.

"Don't tell me you're worried about me." He says, still smiling.

"Worry?" You snort as you make your way to the front door where your sneakers sit, "If you go to jail who's gonna make me cum?"

He clutches at the space where a heart ought to be and says, "And here I was thinking you were falling in love with an old man like me."

"You can't love anything," you shoot back coldly.

"I can't," he confirms, "but you can."

You move away from the conversation like It's growing teeth.

"Let's just go," you mumble quietly, heading out the door, not looking back and knowing he'd follow.

𓂃

The hospital is bombarded by the smell of antiseptic and busy bodies in white coats whizzing all around you. It's dizzying actually being here as the severity if it all comes hammering down on you. You didn't like being around so many people at the best of times- even attending university everyday was met with its fair share of anxiety. Almost on instinct, you curl a little closer into his side, letting your right hand slither over his wrist. Surprisingly, he lets you.

"What should I say?" It only strikes you now that you probably should have rehearsed some script since 'I'd like to seek medical attention because I'm meeting with a homicidal sadist weekly who pays my bills and my body is finally giving out,' probably wouldn't be a good way to go.

The confidence in his stride leaves you brimming with nervousness. Your less than orthodox dynamic has already made a few passers by stare but here, inside the hospital, you feel like the only two humans to exist.

"I'll do the talking," he reassures and something inside you sighs. This is what made him such a necessary force for you. He handled way more than you ever could. He moved through the world, headstrong and in charge. He was everything you weren't.

"Good day-" he says to the nurse manning the front desk, "I'd like to get my wife treated for a possible fracture or broken bone-"

Wife.

It rings through your ears.

Meanwhile, kind eyes- genuine, human eyes- look at you from across the desk. You realize then how little contact you've had with anyone normal. Anyone real.

"Poor thing," the nurse murmurs and your heart tugs at the kindness drenched in her voice.

"Alright, Sir, it's just-" the nurse gestures towards the rest of the waiting room, "We're just busier than we usually are for a weekday so you might have to wait a while-"

"You have medical aid?" You enquire softly, letting your side bump against him. "Who the hell are you?"

He stares down the small woman as he reveals a glistening card from his wallet. She quickly looks at you before she tentatively takes the card and types away at her computer.

Somehow, up until this point you had fooled yourself into believing you were on the road to autonomy, that going to university and being a woman in her 20s away from home meant you were finally obtaining sweet sweet independence but in actuality... you were just a little girl, deluding herself into thinking the city might be kind to her. It's swallowing you whole. And you're being left to watch.

It made you aware of how completely vulnerable you had really been. You could barely afford rent, let alone something as luxurious as medical aid. For all your time in this city you tried not to get hurt because medical bills would eat you alive and here he was, whipping a card out.

"Right this way-" The little nurse moves from behind the counter, and almost immediately, you hear a distinct uproar in the waiting room behind you. "I think doctor Park will see you, but we'll first head over for X-Ray and-"

"Hey!" The sound startles you, causing your shoulders to tense as you grip on your Salesman's forearm, making sure he's still there, "We've been here for 4 hours," You meet the haggard glassy eyes of a middle aged man. He's scowling at you as if you've committed a grave murder right before him.

"I'm sorry, Sir." The nurse begins, her voice filled with concern, "This hospital is legally obligated to help out those with medical aid first-"

Shoes click against the cold floors. A shadow descends as your Salesman steps forward as if protecting you from the man's vehemence. Time stands still in the moments he makes his venomous proposition. A proposition so vile it nearly had you vomiting here all over the hospital floors.

"My wife needs a new heart-" he begins, gesturing to a woman- a ghost seated in the chairs behind him. Her skin is practically translucent as she stares off into space. "Who knows how much time we're wasting while we're being forced to wait here-"

"Are you up for a game of rock, paper, scissors by any chance?" Your salesman asks, causing your heart to sink. The man examines him as if he's grown a second head.

"If you win a single round against me, I will pay for your wife's medical treatment. New heart." At the peroration of his incredibly insensitive and evil proposition, your Salesman smiles.

"One round." He says, before his eyes snap to the woman pulling at her husband's arm.

"She doesn't look too well," The Salesman pouts and you walk up towards him, limbs shaking as you whisper-yell in his ear, feeling all your nerves being shot out of you.

"Jesus, you're fucking disgusting."

"Birds of a feather-" he whispers back, before refocusing his attention onto the man.

Meanwhile the nurse tries to pull you away but you're rooted to the floors. This whole ordeal makes you realize that you've never actually seen him interact with normal people. It makes you wonder where he goes when he's not with you. You'd almost believed that he's a fragment of your delusions, something your lonely brain cooked up to make you believe someone in this city cared about you. But he's real. And he has a life outside the two of you.

"Don't you wanna help your wife?" He continues to tempt the man, "Look at mine-" the Salesman said, gesturing to you. "She's a little battered and bruised but she's alive. You're not dying any time soon, right honey?"

You rip your eyes away from him just as your nurse returns. She places a warm arm on your forearm and in the midst of the game, she places a card in your hand. "Let's go for your x-rays,"

While they play their game, you look down at the piece of paper.

Blink twice if the man you're with is the one who assaulted you.

Call it female intuition.

You have no idea what could've led to the fact that he was the one but the nurse is watching you with a heavy gaze and bated breath. You almost drown in the concern she holds for you, a mere stranger.

In another life, you might've had a friend like her. She's relatively young, budding with youthfulness, actually. You imagine she has a boyfriend. An actual one. One who holds her bag while she's shopping. One who kisses her. These kinds of people develop empathy. The ‘fixed people’. You can tell she knows love.

“I-”

“Rock, paper, scissors-”

You blink once before looking away and the nurse sighs in relief.

"Better luck next time." You watch with bated breath as the man draws a rock to the Salesman's paper.

𓂃

An oblique fracture, they called it. The thing that's been plaguing your left arm for a week has finally been given its name. You're walking out of the doctor's office feeling light and remarkably relieved to leave this place and all its people. He walks confidently beside you, having sat through the whole ordeal. He had been there as they fashioned the pink cast over your arm and he walks beside you now, like your own personal well-dressed shadow.

On your way out, you pass by the receptionist's desk, she smiles over at you but glares at the Salesman. Just as you're about to make it out, you hear her voice.

“You said she's your wife,” the woman speaks up, causing you both to stop. “I don't see a ring.”

Cold, white, fear runs down your spine and your hand that was in his, squeezes as silence envelops you both.

“Good Day,” is all he says with an amicable smile before pulling you along.

Silence enveloped you on your taxi ride over to the Japanese restaurant comfortably situated in the Gangnam district. He had been remarkably quiet in the taxi driver over and he is remarkably quiet now as you're being led to a booth in the restaurant. It's adequately filled with its patrons. Families and couples like perhaps you two were. You wonder if he has these thoughts…

“She did make a good point,” you mumble as you take a seat in the booth, watching silently as he slips in beside you. “If you're going to be telling people I'm your wife and they don't see a ring…”

He sets his briefcase in the booth beside you both, sighing softly as he mumbles, “People don't usually marry their toys, do they?”

Before you're able to respond, a waiter walks up to your booth, having his pen and notepad at attention as he asks for your order. You watch your Salesman expertly lay down your order, everything from yakitori, to miso soup to onigiri. It's mesmerizing watching him order for you and you suspect it had the same effect on you. His hands on your thigh squeezes slightly, while you silently let him order. In a moment the waiter vanishes.

“You're so old,” you say suddenly, trying to make up for the silence and the nervousness raging through your heart. This is the first time you're out with him in a public setting and its setting you alight with worry. “I'm sure you remember when Korea was under Japanese occupation,”

“Keep making your little jokes,” he says, sipping on his complimentary water as he allows his back to rest against the seat, “And I might not be so forgiving…”

His hand rests his hand on your thigh, it's the only thing you're able to focus on. How his fingers cover so much space. The sheer size of it. The sheer size of him. You feel so completely small beside him, you almost don't realize that he's begun talking again.

“My father fought in the war when he was ‘round about your age,” that brings you clean out of your thoughts. Your eyes snap up to meet his but he's staring aimlessly ahead, as if reminiscing on something beautiful.

“Jesus I-” you swallow thickly, “That was a bloody war,”

He nods, momentarily removing his hand from your thigh to undo the buttons of his blazer.

“More than 3 million dead.” He says taking another sip.

“Right.” You nod, heart hammering when he places his hand back on your thigh. “2 million soldiers and 1 million civilians,” he places the glass back down on the table and he shakes his head slightly, twirling his index.

“Swap the numbers around.”

“Right…” you clear your throat, keeping your gaze locked on your lap, “That's... heartbreaking. I'm sorry.”

He turns his head, finally regarding you under the dimness of the hanging light fixtures. He tilts his head to the side in that way he does when he's particularly intrigued by you. “You are sorry, aren't you?”

You nod.

“But I have no idea why, you're not a Japanese fascist from the 40s.”

“No, but I have empathy.”

“Curious.” He replies back, before letting silence fall.

“Spread your legs,” he says so suddenly it gave you whiplash. Your head snaps up to him as you begin to plead.

He couldn't do this. There had to be some sort of refractory period in which he let your body recuperate.

“I’m in pain-” you grit out through your teeth, but his large hand is already seeping to the center of your closed legs, trying to pry them apart.

“Your legs work just fine.” He whispers, letting his mouth graze your ears, “Your cunt works just fine,”

You place a hand on his forearm. “The doctor said no strenuous activities.”

“Do you listen to the doctor or do you listen to me?” He asks, staring at you deep into your frightened eyes, forcing you into that liminal space of submission. Your eyes were brimming with not only fear but embarrassment.

“Spread your legs.” He whispers,

“I'm on my period,”

Another troubling moment of contemplation falls between you both and you're left to stare deep into each other's eyes as the restaurant's cultural music makes the ambience swell. It could be romantic, this energy that's festering between you two.

Even though you know it's anything but, you allow yourself to dip into those pools of delusion.

“You were fine this morning,” He says, and you note the grogginess that's begun to veneer his voice as he looks down at you.

Young, impressionable, darling you.

“I got it before we left, that's why I asked to use the bathroom again- point is,” you tug on his arm, “We can't.”

His eyes soften and for a split second, you think you see kindness there. Your gaze falls to his lips, anticipating the words they'd form.

“Spread your legs,” he says once more, before applying the necessary force to pry them apart yourself. “Let me in, Doll.”

A small whimper escapes you as you open your legs. You let him drift his hand under your skirt. His fingers are cold to the touch, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he inches them towards your cunt.

The second his fingers graze over your mound you gasp slightly before sitting forward with your head bowed. Your cast is behind the table as you hide your head in your hand. He watches you with heavy eyes, “It's rude to have your elbow on the table.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, trying to muffle yourself by the palm of your hand. You feel him swipe your underwear away. You feel his fingers dip into the pool of wetness at your entrance. Wetness you knew was not arousal.

“Don't look at me like that,” you mumble, staring down at the table as his fingers rub against your slick folds.

“Like what?” He asks.

In your periphery you can see him hunched over you slightly, his eyes on you and you alone. It was tiring having his attention. And so incredibly dangerous.

“Like you wanna eat me alive.”

He bends down, letting his fingers graze over your clit as he whispers, “I do. That's all I wanna do.”

The waitress returns with your food and you mumble a quiet ‘thank you,’ While your Salesman keeps his gaze locked on you.

“Grind down on my hand,” he urges and you shake your head,

“Do it.”

“Or what?” That was probably the worst thing to say to a sadist who looks like he's brimming for you to give him a reason to hurt him.

“Fuck my hand or I'll fuck you.”

You were feeling particularly stubborn today. The injury, the nurse, the hospital, the man and his wife… you're disgusted with this man beside. It dawns on you then that you have to get away from him.

“You can't do that-” you begin to whine but his voice is like steel when he reolies, “I thought we've established that there are many things I can do and very few I can't.”

All is quiet.

“Fuck my hand or I'll fuck you, I've been dying to play in your blood.”

You're still wrestling with either of your options, trying to outweigh the good against the bad was impossible when both choices just seemed bad. It puts you at an unfair disadvantage and you are drowning.

“W-Wait-”

“Times up.” He mumbles before removing his hand from your underwear. You're utterly horrified to find it stained in crimson.

He calls over the waiter, at least having the decency to hide his bloody hand behind your back as he politely says, “My wife is quite sick, could I be pointed to the bathroom, please?” He sounds so amicable, so deceptively kind, of course the waitress quietly urges the two of you to the bathrooms nestled at the back of the resturant.

“I'll do it-” you breath heavile as he urges you past tables, “I'll do just-”

“You picked too late," he whispers in your ear as he steers you into the female bathrooms. “Disqualified.” He says before pushing you into a sta. You could only thank your lucky stars that the stalls are empty but that is where you luck runs dry.

It's only you and your monster who's fervently unzipping his pants before locking you both in a cubicle.

“My arm hurts-” you begin but he turns you around, pushing your back against the door.

“Your cunt still works.” He repeats, “I didn't get to drive a knife into it the last time-” he whispers hoarsely as he plays drunken kisses all across your collarbone. You hate to admit how dizzying the effect of his kisses are. How they carry you off into a completely different mental state- where everything becomes morally grey. You felt like you could get off to almost anything in this state and so you don't bat an eye when he says, “I need to see your blood on my cock,”

In fact, you moan, trying to find your bearings as you slip so far into subspace. “You're not allowed to pass out on me-” he says, manically, breathing oh so heavily as he pulls his cock out over his slacks. “I'm not even using any of our favorite toys, you do not get to pass out.” He warns before slotting himself between your legs.

“W-wait- pull your pants all the way down, otherwise-” you hiccup, “I'll make a mess.”

A deep and low groan reverberates through his chest and you watch him lower his pants all the way down, revealing sculpted legs before he brings his cock to your cunt. It's wet enough to allow him to slide in smoothly, and he looks down between you, pressing down on your tummy as he watches your blood soak his cock.

“Here taste your blood,” He's prying your teeth open and you let him. Crimson floods your mouth and you moan around his fingers. There's a manic sort of edge to his laugh as he admits, “I’m not gonna last quick.” before he's kisses you deeply, grinding himself into you

“Fuck- you're filthy.” His eyes are absolutely insane as he drives his cock into you setting an unforgiving ppace. He snaps his hips against you, trying to drive his cock in further and further.

“Cum- I'm gonna cum-” He pulls back to urge, just as you hear someone walk into the bathroom. He's breathing heavily, surprisingly being mindful of your cast as he dips his hand down to your cunt. His fingers drag across the blood like it's the most fascinating thing on earth, and that has you cunt tightening around him.

A toilet flush, just as a whimper seeps through your lips. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you take his brutal fucking, watching him stab your cunt with his cock like he's daring himself to break you.

You place a hand on your mouth, muffling your violent cries as you buck your hips against him. Your own period pains that were flooding your system is beng fucked away. Your thighs and his pelvis are absolutely stained in crimson and his eyes are rolled back. Thankfully, the door opens and closes and you are alone once again.

“I love playing in your blood-” his voice cracks. Meanwhile, he's using you like a ragdoll. Through it all, you manage to ask the question plaguing your mind.

“Did he…” You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as the tip of his cock grazes your cervix, “Did your dad make it back?”

He rears his teeth, smiling in that twisted way that was far different from the smiles he gave everyone else. Only you got to see him like this. “Yes, Doll, he did.”

“W-What happened to him-oh god-” he picks up his pace grabbing your hips and pulling your cunt down on his cock.

“I killed him.” His eyes roll back into his skull and your mouth falls open. His cum floods your system and in that same moment his pelvis grazes along your clit, triggering your orgasm. You cum with tears in your eyes and it fills you with unmistakable dread.

If this man was capable of ending someone in his own bloodline, who were you in his eyes? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Don't look so scared.” He whispers, still grunting as he emptied himself inside you, “He was useless. You- you're not useless.”

He kisses your face. Everywhere he can.

“You look like you're about to have a panic attack. Compose yourself.”

You breathe in thickly.

In and out.

In and out.

[fairyofshampgyu]

Drive you mad !

genre: racer au, smut, e2l, rivals , crack

Pairings: sub ! race car driver ! beomgyu x dom ! gn race car driver reader (afab when comes to smut)

Warnings: kinda public sex, bratty beomgyu, sub beomgyu, grinding/palming, edging, creampie, riding, hand job, degrading, sex in a car, clubbing, alcohol, hair pulling, tit sucking, use of names ‘good boy’, ‘whore’

Word count: 4.6k

The engine roars in your ears as you bolt across the finish line, your car skidding and screeching to a halt. The cheers and claps of the crowd rise to an almost deafening crescendo, and you grip the steering wheel tight with furrowed brows, being able to feel how sweaty your forehead had become, adrenaline still surging through your veins as you pant heavily. A quick glance at the leaderboard tells you the result:

Second. Fucking. Place.

You grit your teeth, rather aggressively slamming the door shut, and getting out of the car. Yanking off your helmet, you storm over to where Kang Taehyun, your ever-calm, teammate, was leaning casually against the pit wall, sipping on his water bottle from the last round he had just raced himself. You on the other hand, are seconds away from combusting.

“Fuck him.” You seethe and grumble, arms crossed as both of your gazes switch to focus on Choi Beomgyu in the centre, soaking up the spotlight a few metres away, gesturing animatedly for the cameras with sparkling eyes, a stupid smirk and very satisifed look on his face as he tucked his helmet under one arm. He’s surrounded and swarmed by reporters with god knows how many microphones shoved in his face who hang onto his every single word like he was some goddamn deity.

He basks in it, always loved the attention. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to win every race solely for the purpose of being met with cameras and praises at the end. It’s like he got off on that shit. Attention seeker.

“What a fucking nepo baby.” You scoff and taehyun laughs, always amused for your hate towards Choi Beomgyu. But it was true! He was only here because his father was a famous legendary racer back in the day, his racing career practically gift wrapped by him at a young age. Choi Beomgyu had everything handed to him on a silver platter whilst you had to claw your way through to get where you are now. But, it seems to be that you’re the only one who has a problem with him. Everyone else adores him, the 'golden boy'.

“Oh—hehe. Stop it. Thank you! Yeah, honestly it’s all about hard work.” You hear him gush and chuckle in faux shyness and humbleness, waving his hand dismissively, eyes shaped into little crescent moons and running a hand through his long soft brown hair. “But I don’t think I’m that good personally heh.”

You can’t help how hard your eyes roll at that, muttering more insults under your breath only taehyun can hear who's certainly more than entertained. “Hardwork, my ass. His daddy got him connections and sponsorships, that’s why. He thinks he can just waltz in with that stupid smile and—oh my god, he’s winking at me. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Sure enough, Beomgyu catches your eye roll and winks your way before saying something to the reporters that makes them hysterically laugh. The audacity. You have half the mind of walking over there and strangling him right in front of the cameras. That surely wouldn’t end your career right?

As the crowd around him finally disperses and fizzles out, Beomgyu confidently saunters over to you and taehyun, helmet still tucked under his arm and still grinning annoyingly.

“Oh no.” Taehyun chuckles, throwing a knowing look your way and nodding to the direction of beomgyu, “Incoming.”

“Fuck my life.” You mutter, taking a big breath in, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite fan.” Beomgyu’s grin widens as he reaches you, snickering. He ignores your scoff in return, turning to taehyun instead with a smile and clapping his back. “Hey, Tae. Drinks after this? A bunch of us are going.”

“Yeah, I’m in. Congrats on first place today by the way.” Taehyun replies giving him a bro hug. To this day, you still can’t understand how taehyun can stand him. But Beomgyu has a lot of friends, and like you said, you really are the only one who dislikes him.

“How can you even hang out with him?” You make the most disgusted face you can muster towards Beomgyu to show the pure utter hatred you feel to him.

Beomgyu practically puffs out his chest, already expecting to be backed up and stood up against by taehyun.

Taehyun shrugs, “He grows on you. I guess.”

“Yeah, like a nasty mould.”

Beomgyu deflates, taking great offence, mouth hanging open and frowning, pouting at the both of you.

Beomgyu’s intense gaze then returns back to you. Taehyun, addressing the situation, and knowing how both your bantering can escalate, sees it’s best to leave, walking away to leave you alone with the cockroach. “Right, so as entertaining as this has been, I’m going to go now…preferably anywhere else...”

“What about you, y/n? No congratulations?” Beomgyu mocks and sighs boastfully once Taehyun has left. His voice dripping with that sickeningly playful lilt that always makes your blood boil. “No heartfelt speech on how I inspire you to be better? But hey, second place isn’t so bad.”

You narrow your eyes, standing up straight. “You won by, like,” you scoff, “a millisecond at best. Don’t get all cocky. It was just pure luck.”

He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh, come on, I didn’t think you were such a sore loser. It’s called strategy.”

“Strategy?” you repeat incredulously, “The only strategy you have is relying on your last name to get you ahead.”

“God, you’re still on that? I feel like you’re just using that as an excuse to use still. Just admit I’m as good as you. Better, even. I’ve won one more race than you now~”

The two of you kept a tally of how many races you both have won, you’ve had the same exact score as him for ages now, obviously, not anymore. But you’ll win next time, just he waits.

He takes a step closer to you, waiting and expecting you to make a snarky comeback at him like you always do as you angrily stare him down and he does the same.

For a second, just one second, your eyes flicker down to his lips and suddenly, you’re brought back to an incident that occurred a few months ago. A memory you’ve tried—and failed—to forget.

There is one thing you’ve never told anyone about. Not your teammates, not taehyun, and that is when you, of all people, made out with Choi Beomgyu one awfully unlucky night.

⸝⸝

THE SAID AWFULLY UNLUCKY NIGHT YOU AND CHOI BEOMGYU MADE OUT:

The nightclub was packed with racers, sponsors, and fans celebrating the after party of a big end of season race, air heavy with the scent of alcohol and sweat. You nursed your drink, leaning against the bar.

Of course, Beomgyu was at the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by a group of admirers, his laughter ringing out over the music. He was never hard to spot, the centre of attention always.

"Ugh," you muttered under your breath, taking another sip of your drink.

“And you’re still staring?” Taehyun had teased, sitting beside you.

"I’m not staring.” You snapped, rolling your eyes. "I’m wondering how he manages to be so insufferable and stupid all the time."

“Sure,” Taehyun stifles a laugh, raising his glass to you. “Just don’t kill each other before the next race.”

You down the last of your drink, slamming it on the bar counter and ordering another, “Can’t promise that.”

The rest of the night is a blur to you. Too many drinks, too many spinning lights, and far too much proximity to Beomgyu.

You’re not one to get shitfaced drunk. You prefer the comfortable state of slight tipsiness and anything other than that is not fun for you, because why would someone want to be so drunk off their ass to the point of throwing up and not being aware of their surroundings? Usually, you’d chastise people like that, wondering how they can’t even manage how much they drink. But on that night, you’d had one too many to count, you were drunk, too drunk. Not the comfortable tipsiness that you’re used to.

You know that at one point, either you or Beomgyu had come up to the other and the normal bickering had ensued. You know he was just as drunk as you so whatever you both were arguing about probably made no sense at all.

What you do remember was looking at him, really looking at him, in the shifting, almost epileptic lights of the club.

How big and brown his eyes were, how long and thick his eyelashes were and how they fluttered like a doll every time he blinked. How plump and pouty his lips were, especially now that he was drunk, he just kept on pouting his lips and his cheeks were flushed all rosy from all the alcohol he’d had. His long wolfcut was messy by now, bangs falling into his eyes.

He looked different that night, too. Not the usual racing suit and helmet, but a stylish black suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver necklace glinting against his skin.

All in all, beomgyu was a pretty boy. You get why he had a lot of fans.

He was still going on about something to you, slurring his words, probably insulting you, and the only logical solution to shut him up in your inebriated state at that moment, was to kiss his pouty lips. Luckily, you both were at the very corner of the nightclub shrouded in darkness, everyone else too busy dancing and whatnot to see you both.

You remember him gasping when you grabbed the collar of his black shirt, yanking him down and pressing your lips aggressively against his, but he kissed you back almost instantly, without a second thought.

You weren’t very gentle with him, pushing him forcefully against the wall even further and tugging at his necklace. The way you were making out with him was just pouring out all your anger you’ve felt towards him for years. But, he just let you. He let you do anything to him and you were surprised, so different to the cocky and confident beomgyu you knew. And that sheer control he let you have over him for once felt so good, you didn’t want to stop.

That, and the fact Choi Beomgyu was also just really good at kissing, he made it so difficult to pull away at all, lips so soft and plump and addictive, making you want more and more and more.

But, you never spoke an utterance of it afterwards, he never brought it up, neither did you. And honestly, it felt so surreal, making out with the Choi Beomgyu, the one who you no doubtedly hate his guts and him kissing you back so pliantly? You’d believe it more if it was all just a hallucination. You were so drunk you wouldn’t be surprised if you made it all up, dreamt it even. Maybe it was someone else you made out with and you were so drunk you can’t remember. It’d make sense than Choi Beomgyu.

Although, you do find yourself thinking about the makeout session often times than not, his lips on yours just felt so good. Too good. It was like, the best makeout you’ve had in your life and you curse it for being him. Why he had to be the one whose lips you still thought about, you don’t know. You’re certain he had forgotten and you wish you could have just like he seemed to.

But anyway, fuck that and fuck him.

⸝⸝

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Beomgyu is still sneering at you, awaiting your comeback but you can’t think well at the moment.

Your face heats, and you shove past him. “Go to hell, Choi.”

And his laughter follows behind you as you walk away. Oh, how he infuriates you.

You have one goal: beat Choi Beomgyu. Today is the day you finally get to race against him again. He’d held that last victory over your head, taunting you endlessly, with that invigorating, stupid smirk of his and you’d had more than enough. Today was your chance to shut him up and kick his ass. You’ll put him in his place and win. You’d been waiting for this.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another thrilling showdown! All eyes are on the two front runners y/n and Choi Beomgyu. These rivals have been neck and neck all season. Beomgyu won the last race but will he win again? Will today decide who’s truly on top?” The commentator’s voices boom over the loudspeakers.

The flagman waves the green flag, you slam on the gas pedal and you’re off, surging forward.

It wasn’t an easy race, beomgyu seemed motivated to win too. He was always either just ahead or just behind, not far enough for it be satisfactory, but nail bitingly tense, as anything could happen any moment. And right now, ahead, just barely, was him, blocking every attempt you made to overtake him.

“Y/n’s looking for an opening,” the commentators shout. “But Beomgyu’s defensive driving is flawless so far. Look at that precision!”

Loud noises of the engines are all you can hear, filling your ears as you manoeuvre around sharp turns, tires screeching against the asphalt. The laps all blur together but you’re nearing the end now.

You managed to get alongside him on the straight, your cars almost touching, crowd going wild as you both enter the next corner side by side, dangerously close.

“Neither driving is moving an inch!”

Suddenly, beomgyu’s car swerves towards yours, bumping and hitting at yours with such force, a dirty, blatant attempt at running you off the track and then he overtakes you. You gasp, fighting to stabilise your car, narrowly avoiding a spin. That was a new low, even for Choi Beomgyu. He’d never cheated like that before and you’re absolutely enraged.

The final lap is chaos, the audience on their feet now. You’re so incredibly angry, but you can’t let that get to you and hinder your focus, you clench your teeth, gripping your steering wheel so tight your knuckles are white, you’re even more determined to win than before.

The last stretch looms ahead and he’s just razor thin ahead of you, in the last second, you see your opening. Beomgyu had oversteered slightly on the turn, just enough for you to slip past him, you speed ahead.

“AND Y/N TAKES THE WIN IN A SPECTACULAR FINISH! THEY’VE DONE IT! WHAT A RACE!”

You crossed the line first. By a hair.

Everyone erupts, but your satisfaction is short-lived. Beomgyu’s cheating had completely soured your victory. The fucking nerve of him.

You barely register the reporters swarming you, bombarding your face with microphones. “Y/n! how does it feel to take first place?!”

“An incredible performance today, what was going through your mind?!”

The post race interview is a haze of forced smiles and generic answers. You’re barely listening as the reporters barrage you with questions. You’re still so pissed off at Beomgyu.

When it’s finally over, you make your way to the garage and that’s where you spot him leaning casually against his car, arms crossed in a nonchalant way. You clench your fists, blood boiling as you storm over to him. He’d crossed the line, well, not literally this time, but definitely fucking figuratively.

"You fucking cheated!" You shout, jabbing a finger at his chest.

He blinks innocently, tilting his head in a puppy like way. "Me? Cheat? That’s a very serious accusation to make. I’d never." There’s a slight smugness to him, almost mocking, he’s not even pissed he didn’t win like you’d wanted him to be, just calm and collected and being a bitch. It makes you even more livid with him.

“You intentionally tried to cause a collision with me. You should have been penalised. I don’t know how you weren’t!”

“Yeah, and you still won. So why are you even mad?” He shrugs, ridiculing you. “If you can’t handle that maybe you should switch to something lighter like go karting instead.”

"Can’t handle?!" You splutter, looking at him in pure disbelief, your voice rising. "You arrogant, nepotistic, spoilt brat!-” Each insult punctuated with a sharp poke to his chest and, yet he still finds it all funny.

Something inside you just snaps. It infuriates you how you’re the one who won and yet, you feel small. Why is he the one sneering at you? That should be you! You want to have the upper hand over him, some semblance of control— just like that night again when he was putty in your hands.

And so, before you can even register what you yourself are about to do, you grab him by his jacket, smashing your lips against his. He melts almost instantly, kissing you back so fervently and eagerly, as if he’d been waiting this whole time for this to happen. And you can’t lie, it felt almost euphoric to have his soft lips back on yours again. Almost like an addict getting their fix after a long withdrawal.

The kissing becomes heated fast, sounds of your mouths smacking filling the echoing garage as he lets you take over his mouth completely, letting you bite and pull at his bottom lip, emitting soft little gasps at this.

Even for the second time, it was disorienting seeing Beomgyu like this, nothing like the beomgyu you knew on the track or in the spotlight, and now with no alcohol in your system, neither of you could even blame whatever was going on right now on that. It’s all too intoxicating. It takes everything in you to pull back for air.

You push him against his car with more force than necessary, and Beomgyu stumbles slightly before sitting down on the top of the hood. His eyes are blown wide, flustered as you stand between his splayed legs, cupping his cheek and kissing him again, him responding immediately. This is how you like him. Your kisses trail down his jaw and the column of his neck, when you suck on his adam’s apple, he lets out a sharp intake and gasp, tilting his head back to give you more access, he already seems worked up from just a few kisses. Was his neck really that sensitive?

When your hand slides down to palm him through his trousers, his breath hitches and his jaw goes slack. “Oh…b-but we’re in public…” his cheeks flush a deep red and he protests weakly, plump lips all swollen and glossy and wet from the intense making out.

You raise a brow. “So you want me to stop?” You keep grinding your palm against his very hard length now, sucking on his neck and he shudders and whines cutely, very clearly enjoying it.

“W-wait no….” So you continue, he’s panting as you palm him, rutting into your hand himself. You pull back just enough to look at him, so dumb and lost in pleasure, lips parted with soft breathy moans and gasps as he chases the small friction you give him, his brows knitting together.

You roll your eyes at the sight of him, “Trying to run me off the track? You’re pathetic, beomgyu.”

“Pathetic?” He scoffs, still having the nerve to act like a brat when it’s all crumbling. “h-hah, if anyone’s pathetic it’s you—s-shit y/n—please. I need more, please.” Completely contradicting himself, because if there was only one word to describe him exactly right now, it would be pathetic.

“Admit it. Say you’re nothing but a dirty cheater first.”

“You wish.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you like this. All hard and horny.”

He hesitates, scowling, debating whether or not to challenge you, but when you stop all contact of palming and kissing his neck, starting to step away, he caves in.

“Wait!” He blurts, grasping at your wrist, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m…fine. Fine! I’m nothing but a dirty a cheater...” His face burns, embarrassed, humiliated, his pride hurt. The admission sends a thrill through you, he’s always been so full of himself, but now he’s just a needy pathetic mess for you. You’re having so much fun.

You grin. “Aw. What a good boy.” You coo sarcastically. The words have an instant effect on him though, whole body tensing and cheeks blooming into an even more impossibly vivid red and he whines, hands clutching at your hips to bring you back as he still sits pliantly on the hood of his car.

You unzip his pants, flushed pretty cock already leaking, slapping at his tummy and you brush your thumb over his sensitive tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there slowly, watching his reaction and he looks down at the action himself, drawing out a helpless shudder and whimper from him. He groans, eyes half lidded when you wrap your hand around his cock, moving up and down with a deliberate slowness that makes his breath hitch every few seconds and whine.

“God, you’re so easy, beomgyu. Are you this much of a whore all the time?” You murmur and tease, dragging your teeth over his cute earlobe, ears all red, feeling him shiver.

“Shut”, he whimpers cutely, “up. I-i could…ah…fuck you stupid right now.” He retaliates or attempts to, but his hands grip the edge of the hood like he’s barely holding himself upright.

You laugh. “Oh, really? Because you look pretty wrecked already.” He was so fucked out right now, you wonder if he’d even be able to take it when you actually fuck him.

He’s still trying to keep up the pretense of resistance. “I’m not wrecked. You’re—” You pump his cock at a ruthless pace, jerking him off fast, occasionally toying with the slit on the head of cock and his body goes limp under you touch, moaning out prettily and loudly, eyes squeezing shut and panting, chest heaving. He clings to you now, head buried in your neck, practically drooling, body jerking with every stroke. He still attempts to bite back at you but they come out as dumb babbles and mumbles of nonsense, mewling and gasping, completely at your mercy.

Beomgyu whines and moans deliriously. “F-fuck! Oh—need to cum. C-can’t.” He removes his head from your neck to look up at you with glossy doe eyes, so wrecked and hanging on by a thread. You move your hand up and down his dick unrelentingly and before he’s just about to cum, you pull your hand off him.

The pained, frustrated cry that escapes him is deliciously pathetic. His hips jerk into the air desperately to chase the sensation, but it’s long gone now. He looks at you in shock, eyes wide in utter betrayal and devastation, and now wet with tears of frustration. But then he frowns and scowls, annoyed he didn’t get to cum. “What the fuck was that for?” He pouts.

“I could think of a lot honestly. But, don’t you want to cum inside me?”

His jaw hangs open. “Please. Yes.” Beomgyu breathes out, nodding fervently and looking at you with puppy eyes, pupils dilating and dazed at the thought alone.

Sliding off the hood, beomgyu takes your hand like an obedient puppy, and you open the car door. He sits in his driver’s seat, his flushed face tilted up to watch you as you climb onto his lap. You rid yourself of your own clothes, watching as his gaze drops immediately to your bare tits, breath catching and lips parting as he stares, seemingly captivated. He’s so stupid.

You grab his dick and use the head to rub your clit, making him let out little stuttered gasps, sliding him over your entrance and folds a few times before you sink slowly down completely. The feeling of your warm tight pussy making him go cross eyed as he groans, sucking in air and throwing his head back, grasping at your waist, furrowing his brows and mouth in an ‘o’ shape, you beginning to ride him.

It’s so hot and cramped and sweaty in the car now as you bounce on his dick continuously, being able to hear the obscene slapping and sticky noises so loudly. Beomgyu looks in a state of absolute, pure bliss, moaning like a bitch, mind all fogged up and mushy at the feeling of your pussy, his messy damp bangs falling into his eyes so all you can see is his very glistening round lips, still in that sustained ‘o’ shape, just so dumbed and fucked out.

He’s a gorgeous wreck, thick doll-like lashes fluttering. If only everyone else could see Choi Beomgyu like this right now. It feels so empowering and satisfying after all these years of him being so infuriating. You love how, despite his attempts at being bratty, he’s so docile and such a simple whore.

You tangle your hands in his hair and tug and pull every so often, which he clearly very likes if the high and strained moans are anything to show for this. His hands squeeze at your tits when it feels too good for him. His lips latch onto one of your nipples, tongue flicking over it and sucking and kissing as he looks up at you with his big brown eyes. When you deliberately clamp your pussy tightly around him, he moans out your name in response, muffled from him still sucking your tits needily, body slightly jerking.

“You remember, don’t you?—at the club?” You ask, although it was probably obvious by now.

Beomgyu pauses for a moment, popping his wet droolly mouth off your boobs, eyes darting away for a moment before returning to look at you, nodding vigorously, “of course I remember…l-liked it.” You cup his cheek again, kissing beomgyu hard, hands still tangled in his hair, tugging, fucking him mercilessly as he moans softly against your lips. “Oh god, m’ sso close. Can I cum?”

You nod, kissing him some more, “Cum for me, beomie.”

“Holyy s-shitt—” Beomgyu’s eyes roll to the back of his head, squeezing one of your tits as if for support, his back arches, his tongue lolling out dumbly, whole body trembling and shaking. You bring one of your hands to your clit, rubbing and riding yourself on him harder. With a choked off scream, he spills so much of his cum inside you, and the gorgeous sight brings you over the edge too, cumming as well.

He doesn’t pull out though, burying his face in your neck, gasping for air, groaning and clinging to you tightly, he’s still shuddering and you can feel little spurts of his cum still dribbling in you, pussy completely milking him.

The two of you sat in the car still afterwards in a slightly awkward silence. Both of you panting, trying to come down from your highs, left to fully take in what had just happened and also how thoughtless it was. Fucking Choi beomgyu in the garage? You’re incredibly lucky no one walked in. Beomgyu was so loud as well. Beomgyu, for once, was quiet, his usual smirk replaced with a dazed expression, so far gone.

“This…this doesn’t mean anything by the way.” You mutter, beginning to button up your shirt.

Beomgyu scoffs, running a hands through his hair. “Doesn’t feel like nothing.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t. At all.” You roll your eyes, trying not to freak out, you open the car door, wanting more than anything to just get out. You walk away, leaving him there, disheveled and barely clothed, still slumped in the driver’s seat. And you don’t see it, but there’s a look of almost, somewhat hurt on his face.

A/n: happy new year !!<3 please give this lots of love it was such a bitch to write idk why but I really struggled with this 😭 also I’m so sorry to all the racing fans if makes no sense, I just made up my own kind of racing competition thing. Also the cars do not look anything like f1 cars 😭 more kind of like the nascar ones so they can actually fuck in it 😭 idk bro. I know no nothing about cars or racing. Also I’m sorry if the smut seems rushed and messy, I haven’t edited it and I was lowkey rushing to get this out

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️👎🤨. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

[verydirtyoldman-70]

You step out of the shower and head toward the room looking up you see the mirror, and me standing behind it.

Gasping in surprise you start to scream for help,

But I am ready and cover your mouth, muffling the sound . As my left arms wraps around your neck, you see my knife.

I push you forward into the mirror, shhhh. Be a good girl, no more screaming and no one gets hurt.

The tip of the knife traces a line along your shoulder blade as you gulp and nod .

Let's see what we caught today, my voice rumbles in your ear, and I force the towel covering your body...

Oh so pretty.. I wisper

Hands out, against the glass I command and you comply.

You feel my cock start to get hard as I grind into your ass

"my it must be cold in here. Are you cold princess?" With my hot breath on your neck you look down and see your nipples are hard, and no, you think.. it's not cold, though the next grind of my cock along your ass makes you shiver.

Please don't you begin as you feel my off hand reach down to my belt and I start to unbuckle..

Don't what? I ask as the edge of the knife scrapes the rigid edges of your right nipple, causing a pinprick of pain.

"Please don't rape me" you manage to say as the tears start to flow as you feel the belt fall away, and my pant with it..

"But you asked my to rape you princess. You nearly begged me to after reading my story. Remember how wet you said it made you?"

You look up at me startled, you had been sexting a man, and had read a wonderful story about being grabbed, held and used like a cheap whore.

You did in fact beg him to rape you just like the story.

You feel my hand caress you ass, and slowly wrap around to your crotch .

"Are you wet yet, knowing what's cumming? I bet you are"

My hand finishes reaching around to your cunt and as my fingers graze along your mound, involuntary you take a half step widening you legs.

"Oh" I exclaim in mock surprise.. " please don't rape me" mocking your voice.

Both hands begin to roam your body, your not sure what I did with the knife as you close your eyes and a soft moan escape your lips "

"That's my pretty slut, Moan for me.. " I slide my fingers into your wet cunt and finger your clit.. a heavy moan escapes as my fingers touch.

You feel my hand in your hair and I pull you head back "Open your eyes.

You look in the mirror and see my one hand fingering you. I kiss your exposed neck and you feel me grind my hard cock along the crack of your ass.

Your so fucking wet kiddo.. are you going to be raped? My hand slides a finger along your cunt, as my other plays with a nipple, kisses and hot breath on your neck.

Is this a rape? I whisper and reposition my cock so the tip is rubbing your cunt lips..

You shark you head no and try to slide yourself on my cock., but I pull back despite your desperate moans

Say it... Show me how slutty you can be.

You are already dripping onto the floor .

Tell me this isn't rape.

Tell me to fuck you,

My cock is rubbing along your ass crack again

Fingers playing with your clit and hand toying with your tits

Fuck me you whisper .

"What? I say.. didn't hear that "

FUCK ME! You nearly scream and thrust yourself onto my cock.

Look at yourself I tell you as you ride my cock, what a pretty little needy whore and slut you are . Fucking a stranger in your hall.

Are you a needy cock loving slut, tell me ?

Yes sir...

Tell me

Yes you say louder... I am a needy slut, just fuck me.

I grab your hair again and start thrusting

Hard, nearly violent thrust digging deeper inside you

"Play with your clit" I say as both my hands play with your nipples .

You begin to finger yourself while I fuck you in front of the mirror.

My thrusts are hard and fast and we both see your climax building..

You gonna come on my cock I ask

Yes you reply is a ragged grunt

Cum on me I growl I. You ear..

Or

Cum

With

Me...

I growl as you feel me thrust and throb as my cock dumps into you filling your cunt with my seed I can feel you cunt clench against me as you body spasms with mine .

"I am home". You hear the voice ring out from the front door.

Your day dream snaps as you pull you fingers out of your cunt and catch your breath, recovering from your orgasm..

"I am in the bath" you holler back and begin to climb out of the water...

[azzibuckets]

sweet [part three]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count: 2k

masterlist

Paige has only ever fallen in love once.

She knows that it’s wrong, everything against her moral code, to have a girl in her bed while thinking of another one entirely. But in the middle of the night, when Ella is fast asleep and Paige shifts away to her side of the bed, her thoughts can’t help but wander to soft brown eyes and long tan legs. When Ella chooses a sweater from her closet to throw on, she can’t help but think of how Azzi wore it better.

But these are just remnants of feelings, Paige reminds herself. She’d gotten over Azzi long ago, when she’d realized there was no chance her best friend could ever reciprocate the same feelings. Azzi was always the first one to slip out after sex, talking about having to study or do something important. More often than not, Paige woke up to an empty bed. Azzi was the one who always changed the subject whenever Paige brought up their situationship, clearly not wanting to take things further. Azzi was the one who had met Ella enthusiastically, patting Paige on the back.

In other words, Azzi Fudd was very much not in love with Paige Bueckers.

So Paige knows that it’s a good thing that Azzi seems to be distancing herself, that it would probably help snap whatever was going on them completely in half. A clean break from a universe where she’s not completely and utterly in love with the one person she can’t have. But Paige also knows that she’s going absolutely batshit crazy without her, which is how she finds herself outside of Azzi’s apartment in the middle of the night for the second time in two weeks.

As soon as the doors opens, Paige blurts out, “Did she say something to you?”

Azzi stares bleary eyed and dazed at her. Paige almost blushes at how cute Azzi looks in her little pajama shorts, the cloth riding up to show the smoothness of her thighs. Blushes. She needs to get ahold of herself.

“What?” Azzi’s sure she’s half hallucinating.

“If she said some shit to you, you can tell me. You know I don’t fuck with anyone who doesn’t fuck with you.”

“No, Paige.” Azzi rubs her temples. It’s always three steps forward and four steps back with them.

“Then what’s the problem?” Paige says, frustrated. “You‘ve barely been responding to any of my texts and you keep cancelling our plans.”

“The problem is that you’re willing to break up with your girlfriend for me!”

Paige’s expression turns sour. “That’s not what I said. I’m saying that you’re my best friend. And I care about what you think.”

“We’re not normal best friends, and you know it,” Azzi accuses. “Ella doesn’t deserve this. I know what it feels like, constantly worrying about another girl. It’s not fair of you to treat her like that.”

“You’re calling me a bad girlfriend?” Paige scoffs and looks away, a dirty taste in her mouth. “You don’t exactly have expertise in this area.”

Azzi’s lips tremble. “I can’t do this anymore, Paige.”

“Wait.” Paige reaches for her, flinching when Azzi pulls away. “I’m sorry, Az. I didn’t mean that.”

“I think we should-” Azzi exhales, gathering her thoughts. “We should take some space.”

“Space?” Paige wrinkles her nose. “We’re not even dating and you’re fucking breaking up with me?”

“It’s not like anything will change from the last few weeks.” Azzi folds her arms, looking like she’d rather be anywhere than here. “We barely even talk anymore and when we do, we’re fighting. This isn’t healthy. And - and Ella is good for you. She’s safe.”

“I don’t want space,” Paige says. “I can’t do space.” Her voice cracks, and Azzi only realizes now how bloodshot her eyes are, the bags underneath dark and pronounced. “Not from you.”

Azzi wipes her cheek with her sleeve. “I’m sorry.” She opens her mouth to say something, then cuts herself off by looking away, and Paige is well versed in everything Azzi - her body language, her habits, her tells - enough to know that the younger girl is hiding something from her.

“Say it.”

“Paige, stop.”

“Tell me!”

Azzi bites her bottom lip, worrying the skin with her teeth. “I was just gonna say…” she hesitates. “I was just gonna say that I’m seeing someone else too. So space would be good. For both of us. For me.”

“You’re seeing someone else?”

Azzi ducks her head. “It’s not any of your business, but yeah.”

“Who?”

“It’s really new. We’re not even dating yet.”

Paige’s heart drops. “Is it a girl?”

“Yeah.” Paige’s heart plummets all the way to the floor. A guy, maybe she could handle. A girl? There’s something so much more intimate about being with a woman, and she doesn’t know if she can handle even just thinking about Azzi lying in bed with another girl, touching another girl, loving another girl.

“Can I meet her?”

“I’m introducing her to the team next week. You can come if you want.”

Paige nods to herself, still trying to comprehend the fact that Azzi is with a woman - a woman that’s not her.

“I’m sorry.” Azzi repeats quietly. Then she turns her back, heading back to her room. “Lock the door on your way out.”

“Azzi.” It’s a last plea, a cry for help.

The younger girl halts, but she doesn’t turn around.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” Paige’s voice is trembling.

“Of course we are.” But Azzi doesn’t sound so sure of herself.

Paige approaches her slowly from behind, putting her hands on her waist, hesitantly at first. When Azzi doesn’t move away, instead subconsciously leaning back into her touch, she rests her forehead on the younger girl’s shoulder, breathing in her scent, breathing in her. They stay like that for a few moments, breaths ragged, cheeks wet. Then Azzi’s covering her hands with her own, squeezing them gently before moving them away, stepping away, walking away, closing the door, and she’s gone.

Paige has only ever fallen in love once. Now, she thinks her heart has broken once too.

••

“I don’t like her.”

Ella brushes mascara over her lashes, dabbing at a dark blotch that had accidentally streaked her eyelid. “You haven’t even met her.”

“Well, I can already tell she’s a bitch.” Page grumbles, pacing the room for the fiftieth time that night.

“Don’t be insufferable,” Ella fixes Paige with a scrutinizing glare. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.” She grabs Paige’s hand, and Paige grimaces. Ella’s palms are always so clammy.

Much to Paige’s chagrin, her best friend isn’t even at her own apartment when they show up. The rest of the team is about to start the movie, so she sits in the corner with Ella as the lights dim. She can’t even eat the popcorn her girlfriend offers her, too busy thinking about what Azzi’s girl looks like.

Halfway through the movie, the door opens suddenly, and Azzi and the other girl fall in, giggling over something stupid. They freeze once they realize everyone’s eyes on them, but Azzi quickly straightens up and grabs her hand. “Everyone,” she says shyly. “This is Micaela.”

The entire team stands up at once, going to greet her with open arms, but Paige stays fixed to her seat, staring stubbornly at the movie. “Come on,” Ella gripes, nudging at her shoulder. “Don’t be rude.”

“Movie’s not done yet.” Paige finally reaches for the popcorn, steadfastly chewing the kernels without giving Micaela another glance.

Ella gives up, leaning back and folding her arms as she tosses another glare to the blonde. It’s only when Nika clears her throat that Paige looks up and realizes that everyone is staring at them expectantly.

Paige is resolved in her refusal to get up, but then she finally looks at Azzi. And Azzi is staring at her, with so much hurt and hope in her eyes, screaming you’re still my best friend, that Paige’s own chest hurts and she forces herself to stand up. “Hey,” she says gruffly, making her way over to Micaela and sticking out a reluctant hand. “Paige.”

“Paige! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m a huge fan!” Micaela gushes.

Paige arches an eyebrow at Nika, trying to hold back a laugh, but the brunette gives her a warning glare. Coughing away her laugh, Paige nods. “That’s cool. It’s nice to meet you too.” She glances over to Azzi, making sure she did okay. Azzi’s shoulders relax, her smile becoming a little brighter, and Paige’s eyes soften.

Everyone gathers on the couches to finish watching the movie, but all Paige can hear is the low tones coming from the kitchen, where Azzi and Micaela had stayed to make food. But when she enters, Micaela is gone, and Azzi is alone.

“Bathroom,” Azzi responds to Paige’s lifted eyebrow. Paige nods, opening up the cabinet and rummaging through the snacks, feeling the weight of Azzi’s stare on her back.

“We don’t have anymore Chex mix.”

Cursing under her breath, Paige closes the cabinet.

“Your girlfriend’s wearing my hoodie, by the way.”

Paige’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Her hoodie. It’s mine.” Azzi tilts her head, studying Paige carefully.

Paige’s face warms. “Sorry. I didn’t notice. She just took it off my bed.” Her blush intensifies when she realizes the mistake she’s accidentally just admitted, and from the tense look on Azzi’s face, she’d caught it too. But instead of addressing it, Azzi turns away, busying herself with making her sandwich.

Paige waits a little longer, hoping the younger girl will say something else, but she doesn’t. So when she returns and KK’s pouring out shots, she takes more than a few.

“Okay, y’all. We playing truth or dare,” KK announces after everyone’s had a few drinks in their system.

Ignoring the complaints, KK gathers everyone in a circle. “I’ll go first,” she declares.

With the shots she’d taken earlier, Paige feels a little loose, a nice warmth in her tummy. She’s almost relaxed when KK says, “I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

As if on instinct, Paige’s eyes flick to Azzi. It’s brief, and she only hesitates for a second, but it’s enough. Ella shifts uncomfortably beside her. KK is smirking, not even trying to hide the look on her face. And Paige swears she sees a hint of a smile on Azzi’s lips before she looks away.

“Come here,” she says softly, pulling Ella in and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

“On the cheek is crazy,” she hears someone mutter. Jana elbows KK, who rolls her eyes.

KK goes around, insisting on a new version of truth or dare where she gets to ask everyone the question. Having grown accustomed to KK’s antics, no one even bothers to protest against her system.

“Azzi,” KK says. “Who was your New Year’s kiss?”

The whole team oohs. Last year, they’d been in a hotel for a game on the first day of January. Everyone had gathered in the lobby to watch the ball drop, but Paige had convinced Azzi to sneak off with her, saying that it just wouldn’t be right to start a new year without a kiss. Luckily, no one had put two and two together, but they’d all noticed Azzi returning with a goofy smile. Despite their pestering, Azzi had refused to tell them. Paige had thought it was to keep their situationship on the down low, but she realizes now that maybe it was because Azzi was embarrased of her. Her chest constricts.

“I can’t remember.”

Paige’s grip on her shot cup tightens. Azzi refuses to meet her eyes.

“Must’ve been pretty bad if you can’t remember,” Ice snickers. Paige swears she’s seeing red.

“Yeah.” Azzi pours herself another shot and drains it. “Must have.”

••

“I suck at a lot of things, but kissing isn’t one of them,” Paige says, her words slurring together.

“What did you want me to say? Both of our girlfriends were just sitting in there.” Azzi argues, just as buzzed as Paige is. The two of them glare at each other, the alcohol coursing through their bodies making them hotheaded. I wanted you to say that you kissed me. I wanted you to say that you liked kissing me. I wanted you to say that kissing you makes me feel alive in a way that nothing else can. I wanted you to feel the same. Paige’s chest heaves.

Micaela walks in, instantly picking up on the tension in the room. “Everything okay, babe?” Her hands circle Azzi’s waist as she eyes the blonde warily.

“Everything’s fine,” Paige says shortly. “We’re in the middle of something here. You can go.”

“I didn’t recall asking you.” Micaela snaps with a fire Paige didn’t know she had inside of her. “Are you good?” she directs the question at Azzi, drawing her closer.

“I’m fine.”

“Is she bothering you?”

Paige expects Azzi to open her mouth and tell Micaela off, like she always does whenever someone tries to pit the two of them against each other. Paige expects Azzi to laugh at the sheer thought of having to be saved from her best friend. But Azzi doesn’t do any of those things. She says, “Yeah, she is.” And she lets Micaela lead her away.

Is it possible to get your heart broken twice?

[lacydollette]

Lol, this is from my own current personal angst in my life but I was thinking it can be used for an angsty Rafe x Reader. I have very low self esteem, I don't think I look pretty so I have a hard time accepting that a guy could be interest in me or find me appealing, especially cuz guys have called ''mid''. Right now I'm talking to THE sweetest guy. THE most greenest flag of all. Super respectful, mature and kind. I had a freakout and pushed him away, wanted to stop talking. He got super upset, send me a drunk text basically being like ''I'm so attracted to u and your everything I've ever dreamt of. I just wanna make you happy and make you smile. Your so special to me. I keep saying that your beautiful, amazing and gorgeous but you won't hear it. Please don't let your insecurites get in the way of us. I fkn miss you'' I mean...hey feel free to take whatever inspiration you want from that, change it, build on it, whatever you want! We just want a sappy head over heels Rafe who is heartbroken being pushed away (but with a happy ending)

a/n tysm for sharing this with me! and please don’t let your doubts get in the way of your happiness. you are BEAUTIFUL and you MATTER ❤️‍🩹 i hope u like this little piece.

warnings rafe cameron x fem!reader, reader with low self esteem, situationship, angst, fluff, rafe being a sweetheart

Rafe couldn’t really tell when it started, but he could feel it in your forced smiles and short responses. He tried to convince himself it was nothing, but the ache in his chest told him otherwise. Every attempt to figure out what he had done wrong was met with your dismissive shrug and a short, “I’m fine.”

But what Rafe didn’t know about was the chaos in your mind. You liked him—really liked him—but your insecurities were keeping you from letting yourself fall completely. You couldn’t ignore the way girls seemed to flirt with Rafe at parties, the way people whispered that you weren’t pretty or cool enough, to be with someone like him. It didn’t matter how many times he told you that you were beautiful—the doubt in your mind drowned out his words. So, you began to pull away, convinced it was only a matter of time before he realized you weren’t what he wanted.

And that’s why Rafe ended up going to this party alone, although it should have been a night that you two spend together. You had promised to go, only to back out at the last minute with a stupid excuse about not feeling well. Rafe knew you were lying. Obviously he didn’t want to go without you, but after Topper wouldn’t stop begging him, he gave in.

He spent the first hour trying to lose himself in the crowd, nursing a beer and pretending to laugh at Topper’s jokes, but it was useless. Every girl who tried to flirt with him only reminded him of you, and every drink made the knot in his chest tighten. Eventually, he escaped out into the yard, needing space to think—or maybe just to breathe.

The cool night air sobered him slightly, but not enough to stop him from pulling out his phone. His fingers hovered over your contact before he finally hit call. It rang three times before you picked up.

“Rafe?” You said softly, voice trembling slightly. You winced at how vulnerable you sounded.

“hi, baby.” he said, his voice breaking slightly before going right in. “What’s going on with you? Please, just tell me. Did I do something? Did I hurt you somehow? Because if I did, fuck I swear to God, I didn’t mean to.”

Your throat tightened, guilt twisting in your stomach. He sounded so desperate, so unlike the confident, self-assured Rafe you knew. You didn't know what to say, how to explain something you couldn't even fully understand yourself.

“Talk to me, y/n,” he pleaded. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep guessing what’s wrong. I care about you too much to lose you like this.” His voice cracked, and he raked a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over. “I’m completely crazy about you. I don’t care about anyone else. You’re it for me. You’re the only one I want.”

Your heart shattered at his words. He cared about you, really cared about you. But how could he? How could someone like Rafe Cameron, with his perfect smile and effortless charm, care about someone like you?

"Rafe..." you whispered, unsure of what to say. “No,” he interrupted. “You have no idea how much you mean to me. I think about you all the time—when I wake up, when I go to sleep. You’re all I want, y/n. And if there’s even a part of you that feels the same way—then please, stop pushing me away.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Rafe leaned against a tree, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. Then he heard you breathe out, followed by muffled sobs, which you tried so hard to suppress by pressing your palm over your mouth. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words sink in and erase all your doubts. But the fear was still there.

“I didn’t think I was enough for you,” you finally whispered, voice trembling. “You could have anyone, Rafe. And people keep saying I don’t deserve you, and maybe they’re right.”

“Are you kidding me?” he said, his voice rising as he couldn’t believe that you’d actually think that. “Baby, you’re more than enough. You’re everything. Don’t let what other people say get in your head. They don’t know you. They don’t know us.”

Your sniffle came through the line, and he could picture you wiping your tears, head bowed like it always was when you were upset. “I just… I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back,” he replied softly. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane.” He paused. “Please, just let me in. Let me prove to you how much you mean to me.”

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and you believed him. Believed that he was serious about you two. “Okay.” You said. Relief washed over him, and he exhaled shakily. “Okay,” he repeated, his lips curving into a smile. “I’m coming to you right now.”

Your eyes widened, “No, Rafe, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said firmly. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to you. We’ll figure this out together.” And with that, he ended the call, his heart pounding with determination. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. You were his, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

[hoshifighting]

Ya’know how they say: “Dino never bows”… what if reader makes him… ?? 😋

“dino never bows” until you make him

WARNINGS: reader and chan are each others booty calls, dom!reader x sub!chan, smut, power play, finger sucking, cock/balls squeezing-punishment?, cock riding, oral (f. receiving), hair pulling, degradation, praising, arms pinning, dirty talk, dry hump, jealousy, reader is called by ''noona'', bowing.

“ya! dino never bows!!!!!”

hoshi’s voice pierced through the restaurant, loud enough to make you pause mid-laugh at jeonghan’s joke. you looked over your shoulder, just in time to see chan stomping back to the table, his jaw tight and his hands shoved into his pockets. behind him, a girl you vaguely recognized from campus was walking the opposite direction, her head held high like she’d just won a pageant.

wonwoo raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between chan and the girl. “what was that about?”

“he just got dumped,” seungkwan snorted, not even trying to lower his voice.

“i didn’t get dumped,” chan snapped, dropping into the seat at the farthest corner of the table. his arms crossed over his chest, and he glared at the drink menu like it would soothe his ego flames.

“then what was that, huh?” jeonghan chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “looked like a classic walk of shame to me.”

“it’s not a walk of shame if i wasn’t even interested in her,” chan shot back, rolling his eyes. but the tips of his ears were burning red, and everyone knew it.

hoshi leaned across the table, eyes wide with fake sympathy. “oh no… our poor dino… bowing to rejection for the first time…”

“i said i didn’t get dumped!” chan’s voice cracked halfway through, and the whole table burst into laughter.

you raised an eyebrow at him, your lips twitching as you fought to keep a straight face. “what’s with the attitude, chan? you mad or something?”

his eyes flicked to you, narrowing slightly. “why would i be mad? can we not do this right now?”

“oh, we’re doing this,” seungkwan said, his grin practically splitting his face in half. “because ‘dino never bows,’ right? except now he’s sulking like a kicked puppy.”

“i’m not sulking,” chan mumbled, his voice muffled by his hands.

“okay, whatever helps you sleep at night,” you teased, turning back to jeonghan. but out of the corner of your eye, you could see chan glaring daggers at you, and it only made your smile grow wider.

the car ride home was tense, to say the least. chan hadn’t said a word since you both left the restaurant, but the way he slumped in the passenger seat, arms crossed and face scrunched up, was louder than any tantrum he could’ve thrown.

“where are we going?” he finally snapped, his tone sharp.

“my place,” you said simply, not even glancing at him.

“your place?!” he sat up straighter, glaring at you. “why the hell are we going to your place? you were supposed to drop me off at home.”

“yeah, well,” you said, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, “plans change.”

“you can’t just—”

“shush,” you interrupted, cutting him off. “you’re being annoying.”

his jaw dropped again, and for a moment, he was too stunned to respond. but the second you parked the car in your driveway, he was back to sulking.

you got out without a word, leaving him to follow you up to the front door like a kicked puppy. when you finally unlocked the door and stepped inside, you turned to him, crossing your arms.

“bow,” you commanded, your voice firm.

chan blinked. “what?”

“you heard me,” you said, tilting your head. “bow.”

“are you serious right now?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

“as serious as you were when you tried to make me jealous earlier,” you shot back, smirking.

his face flushed, and he looked away. “i wasn’t—”

“bow,” you repeated, cutting him off.

“fuck no! i won’t!”

chan’s voice shot up an octave, like a toddler who’d just been told no more screen time. he crossed his arms and planted his feet firmly on your living room floor, his pout so exaggerated you almost expected him to stomp his foot.

you raised an eyebrow, your expression shifting into something that could only be described as menacing. chan froze, his breath hitching as he caught the way your eyes darkened—almost black, like a storm cloud about to burst.

“excuse me?” your tone was mean enough to slice through his little tantrum.

he stammered, backtracking immediately. “i mean—uh, i just—”

your arm shot out faster than he could process, your hand finding its target with exactitude that made his knees buckle. you grabbed a handful of his cock and balls through his jeans, squeezing just enough to send the poor boy to hell.

“oh my god—fuck!” he moaned, his head snapping back as his whole body curled forward, instinctively trying to escape the pressure. but you didn’t let go

“what was that? didn’t quite catch that.”

“i said—” his words were cut off by another involuntary moan, this one louder and more desperate. it was, admittedly, the best sound you’d ever pulled from him. his hands flew to your wrist, not to stop you, but to ground his shit, his fingers trembling as he gripped you.

“thought so,” you murmured, loosening your hold just enough for him to breathe. “dino never bows, huh? looks like dino’s about to fold.”

his eyes snapped up to yours, wide and pleading, his lips parted as he panted. “you—fuck—you’re evil,” he managed, though there was no real bite to his words.

“evil?” you echoed, tilting your head like you were contemplating the idea. “nah, i’m just practical. someone’s gotta keep your cocky ass in check.”

he whined—a genuine, high-pitched whine that made your stomach flip—and you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“you’re insane,” he gasped, his knees wobbling as you finally released him. he staggered back, his hands flying to his thighs as he tried to collect himself, but his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes betrayed him.

“insane?” you repeated, crossing your arms. “coming from the guy who just moaned like i handed him the meaning of life?”

“shut up,” he grumbled, his voice shaky. but the way he bit his lip and avoided your gaze told you everything you needed to know.

“say it,” you said, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between you.

“say what?”

you grabbed his chin, tilting his head up so he had no choice but to look at you. “say you’re sorry. and say you’ll bow.”

his lips parted, a soft gasp escaping before he quickly clamped his mouth shut. he stared at you for a long moment, his pride and submission warring in his head. but when your thumb brushed against his jaw, his resolve cracked.

“…i’m sorry y/n-nie”

“and?”

he swallowed hard, his cheeks flaming. “and i’ll… bow.”

you tilted your chin higher, arms crossed tight as you stared him down, the very picture of authority. “and you better bow with your waist, not like some punk. i’m your noona, after all.”

chan blinked, his mouth parting slightly like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. then, like the good little brat he was, he dropped his gaze and bowed low, his hands clasped nervously in front of him, hovering over the space between his legs.

“good,” you hummed, circling him like you were inspecting a new recruit. “at least you know how to listen sometimes.”

he stayed bowed, head low, but you could feel the tension radiating off him—his pride battling against the heat creeping up his neck.

“what?” you teased, stopping in front of him. “you gonna cry?”

his head snapped up, eyes blazing. “no!”

you smirked, stepping closer, your fingers brushing under his chin to tilt his head back up. “then what’s with the face, huh? all red and flustered. you look like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”

“you’re so—” he started, but you cut him off, pressing a finger against his lips.

“ah, ah,” you tutted. “no backtalk.”

his eyes widened, the defiance fading intothe face of someone who was growing needy he licked his lips, his tongue just barely brushing against your finger, and you felt the shift—the moment he gave in.

“that’s better,” you said softly, leaning down until your faces were inches apart. “show me what that mouth of yours is really good for.”

his breath hitched, but he nodded, sinking to his knees without another word. his hands found your thighs, steadying himself as he looked up at you, waiting for permission. you let him wait a moment, savoring the sight of him like this—wide-eyed, obedient, and completely at your mercy. then you reached down, tangling your fingers in his hair. “go ahead.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. his hands slid up to your hips as he pressed his face between your legs, no panties—chan doesn't even get surprised anymore—his lips and tongue immediately find you with a desperation that made you sit slightly on his face. you moaned, your fingers tightening in his hair as you rocked against him.

he groaned against you, the vibration making you gasp, mainly because his tongue is rolling inside your little hole, and you knew he was doing it on purpose.

“careful,” you warned, tugging his hair hard enough to make him pull back. his lips were swollen, his eyes glassy, and you could see the smugness lurking beneath the glossy lips.

“what?” he asked, his voice rough. “you’re the one who told me to use my mouth.”

“and you’re the one who’s about to regret getting smart with me,” you shot back, pulling him up by his hair and dragging him to the couch.

you pushed him down, climbing onto his lap and pinning his wrists above his head. “you think you’re so clever, huh?”

“i—fu-u-uck—” he stammered as you rolled your hips against him, the friction pulling a low, desperate sound from his throat.

your hands made quick work of unbuckling his belt, fingers steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. you pulled his pants down just enough to let his cock spring free from the navy blue briefs he was wearing, the fabric dampened at the tip where he’d been leaking. his abs flexed involuntarily as the cool air hit him, and you couldn’t help yourself—your hands slid under his shirt, pushing it up to expose his toned chest.

“god, chan,” you murmured, tracing the ridges of his abs with your fingertips. “you’re so fucking hot. like, unfairly hot. it’s distracting, y’know that?”

he froze for a moment, his ears turning bright red. he remembered the first time you’d said something like that—half-drunk at a party, your fingers poking at his stomach while you laughed about how annoying it was that someone could be this good-looking and have abs.

“you like my muscles, noona?” he asked, his voice pulling you back to the present.

you rolled your eyes, but your grin gave you away. “obviously, i do. doesn’t mean i’m gonna let you off the hook for being a little shit earlier.”

you licked your palm, wrapping it around his length and smearing the precum that had already gathered at the tip. his hips bucked slightly into your hand, and you tightened your grip just enough to make him gasp.

“noona,” he whined, his voice already high-pitched and needy.

“shh,” you soothed, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw. “be good for me, baby boy.”

chan nodded, his hands gripping the couch cushions like they were his lifeline as you lined him up with your entrance. you dragged the tip of his cock through your slick folds, teasing him, making him squirm beneath you.

“please,” he begged, his eyes wide and glassy. “please, noona, i’ll be good, i promise.”

you sank down on him slowly, the stretch making you both moan. his hands flew to your hips, but you slapped them away, pinning his wrists to his sides.

“don’t move.”

“yes, noona,” he said, biting his lip to keep from making too much noise.

you started to ride him, your hips rolling in a rhythm that had him whimpering beneath you.

“sorry,” he choked out, his head falling back against the couch. “sorry, noona.”

“say it again,” you demanded, your nails digging into his chest. “say you’re sorry, and that you’ll never pull that shit again.”

“i’m sorry,” he whimpered, his voice cracking. “i’ll never do it again, i swear.”

“good,” you said, leaning down until your lips brushed against his ear. “because if you ever make me jealous like that again, i’ll rip that girl’s throat out with my nails.”

chan’s eyes fluttered open, a small, breathless laugh escaping him despite the situation. “you’re scary, noona.”

“damn right i am,” you replied, nipping at his earlobe. “but don’t forget, i’m yours. i don’t want anyone else—not your hyungs, not anyone. just you, my handsome baby boy.”

his breath hitched at your words, his hips jerking involuntarily as you rode him harder, faster, chasing both of your highs. “ahh noona,” he gasped, his voice desperate and broken. “d-dont say that! i—fuck, i’m so close.”

“hold it,” you commanded, your fingers wrapping around his throat lightly. “don’t you dare cum until i say you can.”

his entire body trembled, his hands fisting the couch cushions as he fought to obey you. you could see the effort it took, his muscles taut, sweat dripping down his temples.

“good boy, cum.” you praised, finally letting yourself fall over the edge. your orgasm crashed over you, your walls clenching around him and pulling him over with you.

“noona,” he cried out, his hips bucking as he spilled inside you, his moans muffled when you pressed your fingers to his lips. he sucked them obediently, his eyes locked on yours as he rode out his high.

[swappermanent]

Freckles

Being a closeted trans guy isn’t easy for anyone these days. Trust me, I’ve got the scars—metaphorical ones, at least—to prove it. But when it comes to my family, the challenge isn’t what you might expect. They’re not exactly waving rainbow flags at every Pride parade, but they’re not storming drag shows with pitchforks either. They’re comfortably, frustratingly middle-of-the-road when it comes to identity politics. You know the type—“We support you as long as it’s not too inconvenient.”

So, no, the problem isn’t their politics. The problem is the Elber Family Reunion Swap.

Let me explain. Every summer, my grandparents rent this massive villa somewhere in the world—we’re talking infinity pools, tennis courts, and a “staff quarters” vibe. It’s fancy. During this week of forced family bonding, Grandpa Elber breaks out his magic for what he calls “the ultimate empathy exercise.”

Yeah, magic. Real magic. My grandpa is an actual wizard, and no, I don’t know why he isn’t out saving the world or something. He claims this is his legacy, his gift to the family. And the gift? A body swap. Each of us trades bodies with another family member for the week to “better understand” their perspective. Sounds wholesome in theory, right? Sure. Except it comes with rules.

The first rule: you can only swap with someone of the same gender. According to Grandpa, this is because “genders have different energies” or some other magical nonsense he uses to justify it. The second rule: while in someone else’s body, you must act like that person. It’s considered bad form—borderline taboo, even—to behave “out of character.” The goal is to fully immerse yourself and live as them for the week.

This is the part that fucking sucks for me.

Growing up, I naturally got shoved into the women’s group. It didn’t matter that my hair was short or that I always would hang out with my male cousins all the time. When swap week rolled around, I was guaranteed to end up in the most hyper-feminine body available. Cousin Leah, with her long curly hair and pastel sundresses. Aunt Beth, whose shoe collection was a stiletto-filled nightmare. Once, I even got swapped into Great Aunt Carol, whose hobbies include flower arranging and oversharing about her cats.

It was torture. Absolute, unfiltered dysphoria. Butvery year, I’d smile through gritted teeth as relatives gushed about “seeing life from a different perspective,” counting the minutes until I could escape back to my flawed, but familiar, body.

But this year was different.

Nine months ago, I started taking T and told my family I wanted to use he/him pronouns. While their reactions ranged from awkward to mildly confused, they mostly rolled with it. And over time, my voice got deeper voice, the angles of my face sharpened a bit, and I started carrying myself more like a guy. Sure, I wasn’t "there" yet, whatever that meant: I hadn’t had top surgery, and my voice still cracked when I tried to lower it too much. But for this year’s reunion, I was cautiously optimistic that there was a chance—however slim—that I might finally swap with a guy.

The thought alone made my pulse race. Grandpa said he had no idea what would happen, that the magic would sort itself out. But if it worked—if the spell actually recognized who I was, not who I’d been forced to be—it would be life-changing. For once, I might not have to endure a week of floral prints and makeup. For once, I might get to experience a body that offered a glimpse into my future as a man.

---

On the evening of the swap, the family gathered in the villa’s massive living room, the air thick with incense from whatever mystical preparation Grandpa had cooked up. I sat cross-legged on the floor, trying not to look too eager. Across the room, Uncle Marco—rugged, broad-shouldered, and looking like he belonged on the cover of Men’s Health—was chatting with Cousin Dylan, who somehow made even a hoodie and jeans look effortlessly cool. If the magic did swap me with a guy, I hoped for one of them.

Grandpa raised his hands, muttered something in an unrecognizable language, and completed the spell. A wave of dizziness hit me like a truck, and everything went dark.

When I came to, the world felt... different.

Looking down, I saw strong, freckled arms with pale skin peppered by coppery freckles. The faint lines of veins ran beneath the surface, threading down to hands that felt capable, solid, real. My breath quickened. A quick glance at the mirror across the room confirmed what I already realized: I was in Theo’s body.

Theo. My cousin Theo was the only other openly gay member of our family. He was always unapologetically himself, and—if I was being honest—so effortlessly masculine it made my chest ache.

I tried not to stare too long in the mirror across the room—tried not to make it obvious—but I couldn’t help but take in the details. My hands shifted tentatively, brushing over the flat expanse of his chest. I could feel the firm definition of his pecs under my fingertips, the strength that lay just beneath the skin. A shiver ran through me as I slid my hands up to his shoulders, savoring the way they tapered down to his arms. My fingers traced his biceps, squeezing lightly, marveling at the power there.

My throat tightened as I flexed one arm, watching the muscle shift and ripple under the skin. For the first time in my life, I looked at a reflection that didn’t feel foreign. This was it. This was who I was supposed to be.

I feel a stirring in my pants, an undeniable reaction to the overwhelming experience of feeling up my own muscles. For the first time in my life, I have a dick. Hesitantly, I let my hand drift lower, subtly pressing against the fabric of Theo’s jeans. The weight of it, the reality of it, is electric.

Across the room, Grandpa—now in Dylan’s body—continues explaining the rules of the swap. His deep voice fills the air, and I catch myself half-listening. My attention flickers to Dylan’s slumped form, unlucky enough to be swapped with Grandpa for the third year in a row. Poor guy. I thought the swaps were supposed to be random, but maybe Grandpa has a knack for landing in his sexy body every summer.

I glance over at my former body. Dysphoria is etched into his—my—features. Theo’s jaw is tight, his hands clutching at my chest as if trying to make sense of the reality he’s been thrown into. It hits like a punch to the gut. I know that feeling all too well, and it sucks to see it written so clearly on my face. Worse still, it’s a stark reminder that I don’t fully look like a guy yet. Not the way I want to.

Grandpa’s voice booms as he finishes his speech. “Let’s all have a fun week!” he declares, his tone lighthearted but commanding.

I turn back to the mirror, drawn to my reflection like a magnet. My smirk curls naturally, unbidden. For once, the face looking back at me feels real, tangible, mine. And damn, does it feel good. Fuck I hope this week never ends

[gamblersdoll]

perv kirishima, fluff to semi smut, massaging with oil :3

“cmon, baby,” kirishima was on you like a hound, behind and hands on your waist.. mouth on your neck. “yer so tense and mean to big ole’ me.”

“because you act like a goddamn mutt.” you were almost like katsuki, cold and hard when it came to certain things. “get off—“ you grit your teeth, but he chuckles in your ear. “what do you have planned?”

“i can feel all the knots in your back, baby.” he acts surprised, but how can he.. look at you. “do you not massage yourself or relax?” he asks, kneading his knuckles into your shoulder— eliciting a groan from you. “oh yeah, you dont ever relax..”

“im fine, riri.” you mumble.

he shakes his head, pushing you towards the bed. “uh uh, let me make you feel good, kay?” he asks, and he can see the disapproval in your eyes. “pleeassssee?” you sigh and nod, pulling your arms up and feeling your clothes be stolen from you.

“dont get any funny ideas, dog.” you roll your eyes, laying onto your stomach.

he snickers, moving first to your shoulders and digging into the dips, hearing your moans when he hits a spot good. hes slow with it, moving to your shoulder blades and he coos. “fuck, you carry stress here.” he giggles at your grunt, the knot of it going away as he moves to the line of your back to dig and slide his thumbs into your back— hearing several pops and cracks. “you gotta stop slouching, babygirl.” he reminds, watching your back relax. “thats why you get so much problems.”

“uh huh..” you moan, ignoring his tantrum of his.

he finally got to your lower back and the start of your ass, pressing his thumbs down and hearing cracks. “carry alot of stress back here, too.” he kisses the round of your ass, feeling the goosebumps raise against your skin. did he forget to tell you about the massage oil that was warming up and a muscle relaxer? you started to relax, the hardness of your heart going soft.

“kiri..” you mumble, feeling his hands massage your rear in circles.

“hm?” he grunts, squeezing the flesh.

“feels good..”

“yeah? want me to keep going?” he asks, moving to the back of your thighs. he sees your nod, him going back up and pressing kisses along your ass. “so pretty when yer bein’ good.” he jiggles and grips it, spreading you open just a bit to press a kiss to your slit.

“hey.. easy..” you mumble, pressing your hand against his head.

“seems like your body knows what it wants.” he kissed your palm, staring at you over your ass. he winks with his left eye, his tongue poking out for a moment to alert you. “i wont do anything you dont want..” he grins, licking from your slit to your neck and kisses you.

he tastes like peaches.

“did— did you just kiss me with oil lips?” you groan, too relaxed and almost tired.

“its edible.” he argues back, sitting on your legs to work into your shoulders. “now hush it so i can be a man and make his woman feel good.”

[zerocoded]

summary: headcannons about what is like do date xavier.

authors note: i promise to you i am a zayne girlie through and through but xavier has been testing me lately damn. so this is my xavier bias wrecker appreciation post.

warnings: freak xavier because that is what he is • a little bit of nsfw headcannons • minors, pls do not interact

word count: 0.6k

☆ dating this man is so diet pepsi coded you cannot tell me otherwise.

☆ personally i think he is the prettiest and most innocent-looking among them. what you can affirm though is that he is not innocent at all.

☆ his voice timbre? perfect for you to enjoy calmness during the day and little grunts when you are making him feel good at night.

☆ if you have sensitive ears or get easily startled, this man is the perfect match for you.

☆ funnily enough, i think xavier cracks dad jokes in the most random places. while you both are fighting, for example, he likes to distract you with his little jabs and comments.

☆ expect little arguments about him putting himself on the line to protect you during a fight. you know you are capable, he knows you are capable, still it is an instinct for him.

☆ bro is JEALOUS. in all caps. like he is the type to interrupt you during your rant because you mentioned ONE male name he hasn't heard before. he is like that tiktok audio "you know other men!?".

☆ lumiére? he is jealous of him too. and every time he catches you asking jeremiah about anything related to his alter-ego, he stares at you with crossed arms and an angry face that you need to praise him nonstop for a whole ten minutes to compensate.

☆ alexa, play jealous by nick jonas.

☆ if you are a hunter like him and he gets injured during a fight, this man will act so reluctant about going to the hospital that you almost have to drag his body to get himself properly treated.

☆ if you are the one who's hurt though? xavier would likely be silent the whole way to the infirmary blaming himself for not taking the hit on time - your hit.

☆ "xav, it's not your fault" "..." "stop blaming yourself for something that is normal in our line of work" "...", - bro would only speak when he sees that you really need his nursing or when you are finally taken care of. still, he blames himself.

☆ man has a thing for thighs and is so blatant about it. like he would WORSHIP your body - regardless of what it looks like.

☆ if you have thick thighs, he would probably never leave them alone. restaurant? his hands are gripping them. are you both watching a movie at home? his fingers are buried between them. favorite place to take an afternoon nap? your thighs. you are his personal pillow and you just have to deal with it.

☆ if you are more on the petite side, bro would have a hyper fixation about the fact that he can wrap his hand around your thighs and completely envelope them (have you seen how big his hands are?). like he would be staring at his hand on it in the most inappropriate places and would instantly get hard. you would look at his bulge and stare at him with your cheeks flaming hot. "are you serious?", you would say to him, "give a man a break", and he wouldn't look ashamed at all.

☆ xavier has a potty mouth but is so slick with it. like his voice is so serene that the majority of the time nobody hears his constant "fuck" "suck my dick, andrew" "fucking hell i want to sleep" at work.

☆ when you caught him for the first time, you would be so surprised and he would be so embarrassed his ears would turn pink.

☆ speaking of work, expect him to seize every opportunity to send you a kiss or whisper dirty things in your ear when everyone is busy around you. he also has the habit of placing his hand on your bum when no one's looking. you would fake hit him and he would go on about his schedule like nothing happened.

☆ one time simone caught you both trying to poke each other's ass and sent you the most offended glance a person can muster.

☆ i'll leave it here, for now, byee.

author's note: i have not been the same since i saw him getting jealous of HIMSELF in that card. i will probably make another one of this with more nsfw content. send me a request • my masterpost

[stararonia]

BANGUS

– for cookbook collaboration

– nsfw: inexperienced!law, oral (m receiving), piv, experienced!reader, Heart Pirates are rooting for you two, kinda porn without plot, hair pulling

– summary: much to Law's dismay, hiring you as the Heart Pirates' expert fisher and talented cook came with the unexpected role of him constantly wanting to be around you when you cook. And it's not just the food he's watching...

Law wasn’t sure what convinced him to hire you. Sure, the Heart Pirates needed someone who could fish and cook, but he hadn’t anticipated the chaos you’d bring—unintentionally, of course. It seemed to follow you like a bee drawn to pollen. A month into your life as a Heart Pirate, however, the chaos wasn’t physical. It wasn’t a fight or an accident. It was mental, emotional, and it had taken root in your captain’s mind.

When not preoccupied with his duties, Law found himself lingering in the galley, watching you cook. Unlike the other crew members who mingled for the aromas, Law had a different reason. He was there for you. The way you moved effortlessly in the kitchen, confidence radiating as you worked with a smile, was mesmerizing.

“Captain,” you said one evening, glancing at him over your shoulder as you fried some fish. “Do you need something? Or are you just here for the show?”

His face twitched, his usual calm demeanor threatening to crack. “I’m inspecting,” he replied curtly, crossing his arms.

“Inspecting my cooking?”

“Your…process,” he muttered, realizing too late how absurd he sounded.

“Right.” You turned back to the stove, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

He ignored the teasing lilt in your voice, but his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have. You noticed. Everyone in the crew did.

“Captain.”

You repeated his title for the third time.

“What?” Law asked, his voice low and strained.

“Look at me.”

Law’s gaze shifted from the ceiling of his study to the warm plate of bangus on his desk. His fingers tightened around something soft, and when he glanced down, his breath hitched. You knelt before him, your lips glistening with pre-cum, a satisfied gleam in your eyes.

“You’re acting like you’ve never had a blowjob before,” you teased, voice light yet sultry. “Or fucked someone’s mouth.”

Law’s fingers threaded through your hair as he nodded, the pleasure coursing through him unlike anything he’d experienced. His head tilted back again, eyes closed as he struggled to process the sensations.

“I…” he started, voice shaky.

“You need to eat something,” you cooed, standing briefly to break off a piece of the fried fish. You placed half in your mouth and straddled his lap, motioning for him to kiss you.

Hesitant but unable to resist, Law placed his hands on your hips and leaned forward, biting into the piece of fish. As he did, you pressed your lips against his, pushing the morsel into his mouth with your tongue. Your lips trailed from his, leaving a path of kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

Law swallowed the fish, his breath hitching when he felt the tip of his arousal teasing your entrance. You circled him slowly, your movements deliberate.

“You’re so wet…” he whispered against your lips, his voice tinged with awe.

“And it’s all for you,” you murmured, your lips grazing his in a ghost of a kiss.

Slowly, you sank down onto him, savoring the delicious stretch as his hands gripped your hips. Law groaned, the sensation of your warmth and tightness overwhelming.

The plate of bangus sat forgotten on the desk, untouched for the rest of the day.

[cameronwillow]

Talk to me

Rafe Cameron x fem reader hurt comfort blurb.

You and Rafe have been dating over six months. But your mental state is preventing him from getting closer to you. And he can’t hold it in.

CW: Angst with comforting ending. Dialogue/actions by reader depicting depression and borderline personality disorder. Drawn from my own feelings and experience. Non graphic descriptions of self inflicted bruises and other things.

Rafe hadn’t dealt with anything like this and it was apparent. He knew of his own suffering, seen it in his father and sisters with his mom’s death. You had been dating for over six months but Rafe still felt like he couldn’t get completely close to you.

As much of an asshole as it made him, Rafe hadn’t been around a woman who wasn’t expressive like others. You pulled back. Became…cold and distant.

It hurt to see you like that. Compared to the moments where you were so full of life, when you smiled or laughed. Rafe was scared to admit he loved you, had fallen for you quickly. It was selfish but he hadn’t told you yet either.

He hadn’t heard from you all day. Rafe constantly checked his phone, paranoid that maybe he’d miss a text message but nothing. He was very worried. You were spiraling. He’d even seen you get so angry that you slammed a glass table and broke it.

Rafe sped to your apartment, broke a speeding law but he didn’t care. He did a barely decent parking job as he let himself in with a key. And the code to the security system because you armed the house like you were in mission impossible.

It was dark and you weren’t in the living room. He called out your name but stopped when he saw the bedroom door cracked.

Rafe saw you in bed, seeing your hair in the midst of messy blankets. It was almost seven pm. And it didn’t look like you left much.

“Baby,” He called out and you stirred. He walked over and sat next to you. His hand gently shaking your shoulder.

You groaned and sat up. Your hair was messy and you rubbed your eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry have you been here long?”

“Nah, just got here. You haven’t answered me. Have you been asleep all day?” Rafe didn’t intend on sounding angry but it came out. You bristled and put your hair up.

“Mostly yes. I’m sorry. I was so tired. Even now I could sleep.”

“Well sorry to disrupt you. You couldn’t pick up the phone just once and tell me?” Rafe crossed his arms and he was shocked when you rolled your eyes.

“God, Rafe, for one day I’m too tired and you’re biting my head off. I wasn’t ignoring you, I was asleep.”

“You’re just rotting away lately. All you’ve been doing this week has been-less than normal. You barely eat when I take you out and I’m pretty sure that’s the only time you even do. You’re pushing me away and I don’t know why.”

“Rafe. I slept today. I didn’t fucking commit a crime. Get off my back.” You snapped at him and got up. Rafe gasped sharply when he saw your exposed skin.

Bruises, scabs and other things he couldn’t see quick enough because you turned away from him. You wore an oversized sweatshirt, long enough to reach your knees and Rafe got up too.

“Why are you covered in bruises?” You swatted his hand but Rafe was stronger and saw the split knuckles on your hand. He gripped your wrist and pulled it closer. His eyes were wide in horror.

Rafe then noticed your dresser. The top drawer was cracked.

“Did you punch that?! Give yourself bloody knuckles? Did you do all this on purpose?” Rafe took your clenched jaw and lack of response as a yes. “God, why the hell would you do this? You do that instead of calling me?”

With a surprising amount of strength, you jerked your arm away and started to walk away. But he was quick to step in front of you.

“no, stop avoiding this! Just talk to me, why won’t you just talk to me? I’m right here!”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You ground out and Rafe sighed in frustration.

“Okay we’ll do it for me-“

“This isn’t fucking about you, Rafe Cameron!” You screamed and Rafe flinched back. You’d never raised your voice in front of him or at him. You looked furious and you were breathing heavily. “I’m. Fucking. Tired. I’m tired of breathing. I’m tired of eating. I’m tired of feeling like this. I’m tired of not feeling at all. And I’m tired of myself. I stay up all night looking at the goddamn ceiling wishing for anyone to take away all this pain and shit memories I live with!” You were so loud that Rafe’s ears hurt but he was silent.

“How am I supposed to call you and say anything when I don’t have the energy to move? How am I supposed to burden you more than you already are? Oh yeah, Rafe I’m gonna call you up and whine, cry and ask you to help me. Are you kidding? No one has ever given me mercy. Any compassion and I’m not gonna put myself in that position ever again. Everything hurts. Everyday hurts. I don’t want to be awake. I don’t want to look at myself.” You took a deep breath as the mask started to come again.

“So, it’s better to just take it out on myself, sleep whenever I’m able to, suck it up and keep moving. And the last thing I need is you yelling at me when I’m just trying to survive!”

Rafe blinked as you trembled with suppressed emotion and he wanted to kick himself. He was such a dick. He felt awful and he wanted to fucking grovel. It was so unbelievably hard to hear you talk like that. And he didn’t know what to say.

He crushed you into a hug, his arms around you fiercely tight. His head leaned against yours and he pressed kisses against your head. You were still.

“What are you doing? Why aren’t you just-“ Rafe pulled back and cupped your face. He kissed you, hard and deeply. You made a noise of surprise and he lifted you into his arms.

Rafe set you down on the bed. He knelt in front of you. He set his hands on your marred skin, as if not concerned at all as you shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m shit at this. Everyone thinks im a fucking idiot and sometimes I am. But I’m sorry. For being an asshole and…” Rafe brought your knuckles up and kissed the skin. “I’m gonna get you patched up. I’ve had to do it myself a fair amount. Princess, I love you. And I want to be here. I don’t want you to push me away.”

His sincerity moved you and you gave him a small smile. “I love you too.” Rafe enjoyed it for a second and cupped the back of your head.

“Cmon, baby. Let’s get you at least…physically okay and then we’ll go from there, alright?”

Tagging @bloodibambiidoll @cxrrodedcoffin @sturnioloshacker @starkeysbabygirl @evansroses @marchsfreakshow @stillwjk-channie-lixie @rafesheaven @rafeyscurtainbangs @redhead1180 @oceanblvd111 @oceandriveab

[rueclfer]

evergreen

𖤓 part vii. | series m.list | prev | part viii.

touya had been at camp for less than 24 hours and he could already feel himself cracking. you were insufferable, stubborn, and self righteous, but it doesn't take him long to remember that you always had been.

betweens silent sips of the beer bottle twirling between his fingers, he thinks back on the summer after his sixteenth birthday- which he concluded was the last good summer before things started getting bad.

this was the year that touya had forgotten to pack deodorant for one of japan's hottest summers within the last decade. knowing you, it didn't take much convincing for you to practically beg him to take your spare. you two spent the entire summer smelling like lilac and white tea.

touya distinctly remembered all the teasing from other campers that so obviously made its way under your skin. you've always been so easily irritable. he probably spent that entire summer warning you about getting a crinkled tan line right in between your eyebrows from all the scowling.

he almost audibly laughs to himself. compared to the look on your face when you two made eye contact earlier today, he half-way wished it was that scowl instead.

touya leans his head back and lets it hit the smooth wood of the cabin wall, bringing the opening of the bottle up to his lips. this wouldn't be the first night he'd be drinking with you on his mind.

"dude, get your fucking shoes off my bed." tomura tosses a pillow off of hawks' bed, hitting touya's shoulder.

he rolls his eyes and straightens his legs, letting his feet dangle off the side of the bed.

"loser." he mutters into the back of his hand as he swipes it across his lips.

"and if you throw up on my bed, i'm setting your cabin on fire." tomura downs the remainder of the contents in his red solo cup. "y/n in it and everything, you fuckers can die together."

touya rolls his eyes with a glint of a smirk on his lips. 

“always such a romantic, shigs. you’re more than welcome to burn with us.”

"shut up, I can't stand emo on emo crime, or flirting or whatever the fuck you guys are doing." hawks slurs, swivelling back and forth on the desk chair with his cheek pressed against the palm of his hand. "y/n is just another one of touya's victims, leave them out of this."

tomura drops his head into his lap, slapping a hand over his mouth to suppress a fit of drunken giggles. hawks look over at him with a wide grin.

"that wasn't even funny, shigs." he giggles. "shut up or else touya's gonna beat your ass."

"me?" he exclaims. "you're the one who said some stupid shit, not me. i'm gonna tell y/n and have them beat your ass." he says in between laughter.

touya's eyes flicker between the two bickering and laughing back and forth in their drunken daze. if he was a bit less intoxicated, he'd have more to say to his idiot friends and their antics.

maybe that was a cue for him to leave.

touya sits for a bit longer. it would be wise of him to sober up before stepping out into the open woods and making the trek back to his cabin- especially if he had to come to face you this late. is this feeling excitement or dread?

he taps on his phone screen. 12:37 AM.

he wonders if you were done packing. it's been almost three hours since curfew. what would you be doing now? making a summer bingo card? read a book? going through his things? plotting his demise? you were always a mass of type-a unpredictability.

the cabin door suddenly swings open, bringing the bickering to a halt and inviting in the warm summer night breeze.

while the breeze rolls in, the air sucks out of touya's lungs.

"what?" you sheepishly say, suddenly self conscious over the amount of eyes on you.

touya noticed the familiar old jacket slung over your shoulder. there was really no need for one on a warm summer night like this, but of course you had to grab it.

just in case!

your voice rings in his head.

"am i interrupting something?" you cock an eyebrow, eyeing the line of empty beer bottles lining the wall. "weren't you losers just saying something about missing me? what're you guys so quiet about?"

"you're late." hawks exclaims, breaking the wall of silence. "shots. now. you need to catch up." he reaches down from under the desk and pulls out a half empty handle of vodka.

"nah, put that shit away." tomura slides himself off of hawks' bed and stumbles onto his own beside touya "i wanna go to sleep."

"pull it together, crustbucket." you huff, taking his spot on hawks' bed across from the others. "you can handle a couple more shots."

you silently said your prayers. you and touya haven't seen each other since the bonfire, and he hadn't bothered stopping by the cabin before heading off to hawks and tomura's. you weren't sure if you were unintentionally-intentionally avoiding each other, or if things really are different now.

get a grip.

you silently curse to yourself, accepting the handle of vodka that you were sure had been passed around many of the other counselors that had stopped by earlier.

you squint your eyes shut in anticipation before tipping the bottle back, taking in a deep swig of the lukewarm alcohol.

you hold your breath through the burning sensation crawling down your throat. a beat passes. then two.

your eyes slowly open and catch touya's. he doesn't notice his lips curling into a smirk or his head nodding in approval as you pass the handle over to him.

you were grateful that in this weather, with this alcohol settling in your stomach, the heat prickling your cheeks and ears could pass off as nothing.

"where'd you learn how to do that?" he casually brings the spout up to his lips, the smirk never disappearing.

"you don't think i know how to drink?" you cock an eyebrow at him.

"can't i be impressed?" he playfully rolls his eyes. "you used to be such a wimp when it came to this stuff."

you don't reply, but instead press your lips together and avert your gaze down to your shoes.

if they were kids again, touya would take this as a success. you don't let him win often- or at all, really, but there's something bitter laced with your silence.

things feel different.

a/n: ok time to check in how r we feeling abt this fellas!!!! i rlly do writing shigs n hawks like this like i lowkey think they should all kissssss heh

tags:

@iluv-ace @bitchyfestivalbouquet @redr0sewrites @babylambdietcoke @bnhabadass @hanmastattoos @1ndee @starsryi @nesrynsblog @twoplayergaymers @suksatoru @ita606 @pookiebear16 @fictionalcharactersownmyheart @in-the-marina-trench @haruhi269 @itgetzweird08 @ilophilia @chimimon @emluvs-sugu @punishblue @whorror-complex @akumakitsune21 @maddie-rose-1 @ixeyi @commonmisery @ggriwm @exselily @kryscent @starrmage @vannyinthestars @burnishingbagels @soobhns @kaybug88 @lantsovheiress @0skullyard0 @albakugo @sleepyk0dyz

[fftwy]

I moved through the little cul-de-sac with my head on a swivel. Ryegrass only gets to about two feet when left untended, but between my scavenged clothing and the grime that covered me, it made effective camouflage for crawling. There were no signs of people, but you could never tell.

You'd think four years into an apocalypse people would adjust, but a lot of these idiots really thought they were going to be part of the 1-4-4 when the day came, and they still aren't taking it well.

As an atheist--well, a former atheist, of course--it was very funny to me when they found out. Alas, it turns out that in a country with more guns than people, sudden widespread loss of faith can get pretty ugly.

There was a sound to my right, and I froze. The day was nice and still, and just as I'd started to relax, I heard it again. I couldn't quite identify it, but I had no doubt it was a living creature. Could be an animal. Could be a person. Either way, it was probably bait.

Instead of entering the church from any obvious angle, I crept around to the back and peered through a window. I don't know how I knew what I was looking at; I just knew. That was God, no two ways about it. In a cage.

He looked ... absurd. Short and stout, with broad shoulders and an unkempt beard. He wore some manner of tattered robe, but the fabric was the purest white I'd ever seen. Legs crossed, seated on the floor, idly stretching and muttering. Utterly human, utterly mundane, absolutely oozing Divine Grace. He really had created us in his own image--and apparently we're all variations of Danny DeVito.

I stared for a long time. Then I just stood, woodenly, and walked toward the front door, not even looking for threats. I could tell there wouldn't be any. The doors creaked open and then God was looking at me. The weight of the gaze was almost literal, and my temples pounded as I walked slowly down the aisle.

He stood up as I walked in. His expressions were easy to read, almost prototypical: first I was assessed as a threat, then evaluated as a potential savior. He leaned on the bars and smiled. It was every fake smile I'd ever seen on celebrities and politicians. It was perfect and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Greetings, human! It is indeed I, your Lord and Creator! you are burdened with the glorious responsibility of freeing Me from this detestable cage!"

I could hear the capitalization: uppercase for his pronouns; lowercase for mine.

My mouth was starting to get dry, so I closed it. My legs were kind of wobbly, so I sank into the nearest pew. His mighty brow furrowed. I thought wildly that he looked like a cartoon character.

"Lo! Only come forth and undo this latch that I might bless you with salvation! Surely you know that this is a rare prize, especially in this terrible age!" He chuckled at his own joke, as though the desolation that surrounded us was whimsical.

Finally I spoke, my voice cracking. "How long have you been in this cage?"

His eyes narrowed. "Since the final Seal was sundered."

"So like, half a decade?"

"Something like that. Look, are you going somewhere with this? Because I would really like to get Myself out of this cage. I can't even imagine how impatient the Raptured must be getting up in Heaven, and since they're kind of my core demo, if you know what I mean ..."

I did. God help--well, no. But the point is, I did know what he meant. But I focused, even though it was hard to do. I don't know if the constant reeling of my mind was biological, psychological, or supernatural, but it wouldn't stop even when I closed my eyes and shook my head. I opened them again and found God still staring.

"So everything about the world up to the actual ending, that was your hand on the wheel the whole time."

That fake smile again. "Who else?"

"So all of the horrible fucking things that happen in this world are one hundred percent your fucking fault?! Like, I already thought you were an asshole, but, like, you designed this!"

It seemed like maybe he hadn't been expecting that. "I work in mysterious ways," he began, but I was shouting again.

"My parents died slow, painful deaths, of cancer, too young, and they had to beg for medical coverage the whole time! The system was already about to go tits up even without your fucking rapture!"

"Ah ah," he tutted. "Render unto Caesar. Don't bother me with economics."

Then he ducked, as a chunk of stone I'd thrown bounced off a cage bar near his head. He stepped back, hands up in a placating gesture. "Whoa, hey now. You can't actually harm me, and you are definitely sinning right--"

He stopped as more rocks followed. There was a handy little pile where some statue had collapsed, and some of them were small enough to go through the bars. They didn't seem to cause any injury, but it was the best catharsis I'd had in years. Finally the pile was gone, I was panting, and the rage seemed to pass. My arms hurt.

I settled back into my seat and regained my breath. God was waiting with surprising patience. I cleared my throat and told him, "If you want me to actually flip that latch, you're going to have to answer an awful lot of questions first."

He assessed me for a cosmic instant that seemed to last forever, then gave me a glare that burrowed into my literal soul. "I am your God," he said slowly, incredulity building. "you were created in My image, to take My tests, and to be judged accordingly. your entire world is nothing more than an experiment that I set up. you think you have the right to question Me? To judge ... Me?!"

I looked at him blankly before I realized the question was not rhetorical.

"You created us in your image, buddy. Who the fuck else could give you useful feedback?"

You have survived the rapture for 4 years killing anyone to survive but one day you find God caged in an abandoned church

[kunasthiast]

Blackmail

Playing boardgames and Stardew Valley are your and your husband's favorite pastimes. But, do you really have to take it so seriously? Even going as far as blackmailing your husband?

a/n: i've just been SOOO addicted with playing Catan and Stardew this holidays that i actually "craved" for some wholesome, crack Sukuna fic playing these!! also, if u don't know, Catan is a classic boardgame where u really need to strategize LOL (and i always take games so competitively serious) >.<

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff, Husband AU, Gamer AU, board game playing Word Count: 882 Warnings: cursing, laughing hard (please) All characters are of age.

“Oh my God, I needed that fucking ore! Come on, here’s 3 sheeps for 1 ore.”

Your husband then laughed at what you just said. You both have been playing Catan for the past 3 hours, with all 3 games owned by your husband. And now, you just need 1 point to win but instead he rolled a ‘7’ on the dice and stole your one and only ore resource – to upgrade your settlement into a city (which is worth 2 points, by the way). Thank God, you still have your 2 hay resources.

“No can do, babe.” Sukuna continued snickering at your misfortune. “This is a game of luck and I’m one lucky guy,” he continued and winked at you from across the table.

Groaning, you rolled the dice for your turn and landed on a ‘4.’ And you got a sheep resource, again. For the 5th time. “What the fuck am I gonna do with 5 sheeps?”

“Make ‘em steak,” Your husband said as he collected the dice to roll them, landing on a ‘7.’ Laughing at this, he said “Told ‘ya, the Catan gods are with me today.” He then moved the robber from your mountain territory to your wood territory – making you give up all your lumber resources, which amounts to a total of 3 by the way.

“Oh come on, why are you sabotaging me? I thought you love me?!” You’re overreacting at this point.

“Who else am I gonna sabotage? Me?! You just need luck today, babe,” Sukuna answered with a fucking boisterous laugh that makes your ears bleed.

“If I don’t fucking get a ‘9,’ I’ll be ignoring you for a whole week,” you said and rolled the dice. Sukuna laughed at you so hard with your dice ending up at the number you said. “Aww, see? The Catan gods love me so much that they wouldn’t allow you to ignore me.”

 With a ‘9,’ you got a brick resource. Not the ore. Please, Catan gods – just two more ores.

Glaring at your smug husband, “You know what? After this round, we’re not playing this game anymore. Clearly, this isn’t for me. I’m just gonna play Stardew Valley and water all my seeds there – thinking about how that made me happier than ever playing this game.”

“Babe, it’s just a board game. Why are you taking this seriously?” Sukuna stared at you and yes, he’s still laughing. But, this time. Hard laughing.

“No. This is betrayal!” You said so seriously. How you said it without laughing made Sukuna fell down the chair and now literally rolling, laughing at you from the floor.

“As if you can play long enough at Stardew without bothering me,” he said in between his laughs. And yes, you two play Stardew Valley in co-op mode because it gets boring when you play it alone – so you always, always play it with Sukuna. He does the mining, fishing, and other heavy works there and you just water the seeds.

Crossing your arms and glaring down at him who is laughing like he just won the fucking lottery, you then said, “Keep laughing, ‘Kuna. When we’re done here, I’m selling all the gold ores you mined. Every. Single. One.”

That finally shut him up. He sat up so fast, you swore you heard his back crack, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s sabotage! Let me remind you that it’s our livelihood. You can’t sell that – they have to be gold bars before we sell that!”

“As if you didn’t sabotage me here. Stealing my ore and lumber?!” You leaned closer, poking his chest for emphasis. “Not just that. I’ll also marry Elliot just to spite you.”

Now Sukuna was actually frowning as he sat back up on his chair. “Elliott?! The poetry guy with the flowy, long hair?”

You grinned. “Yep. And I’ll make him recite me sonnets every morning.”

Sukuna grabbed the dice, clearly forgetting it’s his turn and now desperate to shift the power dynamic. “Roll. Right now. You’re not marrying that Shakespeare wannabe.”

You picked up the dice, shaking them dramatically before dropping them onto the board. And lo and behold—a ‘7.’ 

“YES!” You screamed, throwing your hands in the air as you finally get to move the robber and drop it on Sukuna’s mountain territory – robbing him off all his fucking ores. Sukuna groaned, throwing his head back.

“No! No, no, no!”

Looking at him, you stick your tongue out, “Oops, I think the Catan gods had a change of heart, babe.” You then upgraded one of your settlements into a city. “And now? I’m building my city. Suck on that!”

Sukuna looked at you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline, “This isn’t over.”

“But, it is,” you leaned over the board and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You just lost to a girl with five sheeps and one brick.”

As Sukuna sat there, counting all your victory points and comparing it to his for ‘fairness of the game’, you added, “Also, Elliott and I are getting married this fall.”

That’s when Sukuna lunged to tackle you—and the game board—straight onto the couch, laughing so hard that you almost forgot why you’d been mad in the first place.

Almost.

[cybrasigilism]

NSFW alphabet with Player 230 (Thanos/Choi Su-bong)

warnings: smut and all things of the like, of course | not proofread! | lowercase intended | these are my head canons for this character, please be respectful even if my opinions for the character differ from your own

character: player 230 (thanos/choi su-bong)

A/N: these are way too much fun to do, any letters in the alphabet that i skip are just ones i either couldn’t think of for the character or i didn’t feel comfortable writing about! also, thank you so much for the love on my min-su alphabet! i am currently working on a requested se-mi x f!reader fanfic but consider this a writers warm up! p.s welcome to the thanos world 😈🤟

MDNI! 18+ content ahead, reader discretion is advised!

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A= Aftercare what are they like after sex?

↳ you know damn well that this man knows very little about aftercare. don’t get him wrong, he will do the bare minimum just to make sure you aren’t in any genuine pain, but aside from that, don’t expect much

B= Body part their favourite body part of theirs and of their partner’s

↳ due to the fact that thanos clearly loves himself so much, i would be surprised if there was a part of his body he didn’t like. however, when it comes down to it, he’ll most likely choose his dick as being his own “favourite” body part. as for his partner, he is an ass man and comes by it very honestly

C= Cum anything to do with cum, honestly

↳ he almost never cums inside, most of the time he will cum on your back/stomach (it all depends on what position you guys are in)

D= Dirty secret what dirty secrets do they have?

↳ he’s a switch. do with this what you will

E= Experience how experienced are they? do they know what their doing?

↳ i want you to look me in the eyes and tell me this man isn’t experienced. of course he knows what he’s doing. in fact, he may be a little too experienced. but fret not, he will get tested if you ask him to

F= Favourite position this one speaks for itself

↳ Doggy style, without a doubt. he loves that he can grab your hair and pull you back into it as he fucks you. (its also a great opportunity to bite your neck)

G= Goofy how serious are they in the moment? are they humorous etc.

↳ he takes sex very seriously, but he will probably crack a mocking joke at your expense in the heat of the moment

I= Intimacy how are they in the moment, the romantic aspect?

↳ he’s not exactly comfortable with intimacy, solely because of how vulnerable he feels. but, if you insist on taking things slower and softer, he won’t object

J= Jack off masturbation headcanons

↳ he likes to watch porn to get off, but he doesn’t need it. phone sex is also a big yes for him

K= Kink one or more of their kinks

↳ degradation, DACRYPHILIA, and bondage. need i say more?

L= Location favourite places to do the do

↳ thanos does not strike me as someone who would be opposed to public sex. anywhere that you two can be concealed is fair game for him

M= Motivation what turns them on, gets them going?

↳ no surprise, dirty talk totally gets him going. also if you match his energy and act like a little brat? you will be walking funny for a few days and that’s a guarantee

N= No something they won’t do

↳ anal, thats an exit only area (this includes pegging)

O= Oral preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

↳ in the words of lil wayne, he’ll eat it ‘til you cry, call that whine and dine. he doesn’t have a preference in giving or receiving, but if he’s the one getting head, you best believe you’ll be deepthroating him

P= Pace are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

↳ if it were up to him, rough sex would be the only sex you guys had. he’s willing to accommodate, but he might jokingly be begrudging to do so

Q= Quickie their opinions on quickies, are they game and how often?

↳ he’s always down for a quickie, he finds them super hot

R= Risk are they game to experiment? do they take risks?

↳ of course! he lives by the “try everything once” motto, and he really does mean everything. how else are you supposed to figure out what you like?

S= Stamina how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last? etc.

↳ whether it’s the drugs or not, his stamina is almost frightening. he could probably last for hours if you let him, especially if he pops an ecstasy pill beforehand. at most, he could go up to 12 minutes per round

T= Toys do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or on themselves?

↳ he’s definitely got a few toys of his own, mainly ones he can use on his partner. if he really wants to be mean he’ll tease you with a vibrator while he hits it from the back

U= Unfair how much they like to tease

↳ he loves to tease you, to see how far he can push your buttons. he secretly loves it when you tease him too

V= Volume how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

↳ when he tops, he’s not much of a moaner. he’ll grunt and maybe moan a little if he’s getting close, but as for dirty talk in the thick of it he’ll call you his little whore or refer to you as a cock-drunk bitch. when he’s bottoming however? he whimpers and whines like a little bitch, especially if you tug his hair or choke him lightly.

W= Wildcard a random headcanon for the character

↳ it drives him wild if you LIGHTLY use teeth when you suck his cock

X= X-ray what’s going on underneath those clothes?

↳ he’s pretty lean, but that’s no surprise. as for size, he’s slightly above average hard, around 7” (he’s well aware of how big he is so he will allow you time to adjust during your guys’ first time. he isn’t a monster after all)

Y= Yearning how high is their sex drive?

↳ he’s got a relatively high sex drive. he’s always up for fucking

Z= Zzz how quickly they fall asleep afterwards

↳ circling back to the aftercare piece, this dude does not wait for you to sleep before he does, but it all depends on how tired he is afterwards, too

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As always, advice and constructive criticism for my writing are always appreciated! I hope you enjoy, and more to come of course :>

[mumblesplash]

prologue…

2!!!

J hears the shot go off above her. Hears O-piece suck in her breath.

"Fuck," L says somewhere to J's right, somewhere in the washroom the three of them just cleared.

A gentle gurgling echoes in her ears. J, blindfolded in the Hold, could tell herself it was just the sound of temperamental plumbing. She doesn't.

The hem of her shirt is damp from the blood of one of Z's alternates, and her fingers still thrum with the memory of the blade that spilled it.

When the Boss holds onto J-piece, she's always given a blindfold. Today it's a metal mask locked onto the top half of her face. Her head bows under its weight, but at least the rest of her bonds are light this time. The bars that appeared around her have left her space to move a bit. Her hands are merely cuffed in front of her.

The Boss must be almost over that fuck-up from last month.

And the fuck-up currently happening is not her doing.

"I's gone off-script again?" O says, his tone sharp but unsurprised.

"He must've spotted something up front," L responds. Hearing her, J-prime can picture the exact crease in her brow—the way her lips purse as she switches into damage-control mode.

"He won't have sightlines into the club from up there," says O. "J counted four alternates on the dance floor and one behind the bar. No pairs yet, but it's only a matter of time."

If it were anyone else presuming to speak for her, J would hate it. Even though she hates drawing attention to herself when Held even more. It's the sort of thing I-prime does all the damn time, and justifies himself with "If you didn't want me to say something for you, you should have spoken up sooner."

It's O-piece talking, though. And it's L he's speaking to. So she's alright.

"Someone needs to cover the front," J-piece says. She keeps her voice low, casual. She's pretending they're back in the office, by the vent next to the water cooler. Her shackled hands pull a cigarette from one pocket and her matchbook from another.

"You guys go handle it—I'll be safe."

It's true. Nothing native to this dimension can touch her within the grip of the Hold.

J places the cigarette between her lips and and struggles for the light—

Then a pair of warm, wide hands close around her own.

"Allow me," O says.

J smiles. Relinquishes the matchbox. Hears the strike—feels the flame come in close. Breathes in warm toxicity and the sweetness of O's scent.

She looks up as she exhales, to keep the smoke from O's eyes.

"Thanks, bud," J says.

Another hand brushes J-piece's shoulder—a gentle warning—before cupping the side of her face. This hand is slim, with perfectly rounded nails and a pinky ring.

J doesn't need those details to know that hand belongs to L. Only L-piece touches her like that.

L plucks the cigarette from J's mouth. There's a sharp drag, a slow exhale. J parts her lips wordlessly, and L returns the cigarette.

"We'll handle the set up this time," L says. "See you soon."

"We should hurry," O adds. "Those alternates are gonna be on the move now that I's kicked the hornet's nest. I'd hate to lose this world, it's got a pretty good funk scene."

J starts to agree—

But the shattering of glass and the howl of rending metal swallows all further discussion.

"That's—" J says.

"S and Z," O sighs.

"We gotta run!" says L.

And so they do, and J is left alone and blind with her tiny roll of warmth—too slight to even be called a flame.

And she could easily drown in the unfairness of it all, were she not a fucking professional.

It's time to go to work.

The fabric of reality above J's head splits like cracking eyes. A knife falls from the space between the worlds and catches itself, hovering. Another knife follows the first. And another. And another—

alright here's the rundown. more detailed version coming soon probably. the things i do for you guys

(transcript of prologue below the cut)

It's a lavender sky this time, this world. A lavender sky deepening to aubergine over a city of neon and brass. It's beautiful in it's way, just like any other city on any other world.

I-prime hasn't bothered to learn its name.

He stands in the hotel window, watching the burnished streets below gleam with fading light. The rhythmic thrum beneath his feet signals the rousing of the club below. They're playing a song that I has never heard in his life, yet part of him remembers it all the same.

The blank-faced watch on his wrist chimes a single long tone. I-piece taps its face without taking his eyes off the path into the nightclub.

"Hello, T."

"You're not in position," T says through the speaker. Their voice betrays none of the frustration that I knows he must feel.

"I'm where I need to be," I-prime says.

"We talked about this—"

"Yes, you talked, that's what you do. I make decisions."

T-piece's response is cut off by further chimes from the watch. Short, long, short, short—then the voice of L comes through.

"There's no time," she says. "The Boss just Held onto J. It's on, it's now."

"As expected," says I.

With a snap of his fingers the air before him splits. I-prime reaches into the crack between two universes and retrieves his sniper rifle. He looks down its sights, out the window, down the gleaming street.

Someone approaches the door to the club. A tall, svelt man with a face that I-prime is so sick of seeing other people wear.

I wonder what this one's named, I-prime muses as he lines up the shot.

Izaak? Ignacius? Indigo?

As he pulls the trigger on himself from another life, I-prime knows it doesn't matter what this alternate is called.

He lost track of their names a long time ago.