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[yieldtotemptation]

RITUAL ft. Yujin

yujin x male reader smut

7k words

Let’s be clear: you’re well aware of what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

For you, it’s just a job. You’ve been fired from plenty before, and there will be plenty more after.

But for her, for Yujin, it’s her career. Her life. Her everything.

And yet, here, in the cramped confines of a bathroom stall, your hand on her ass and hers diving down your jeans; you can’t let go of the nagging suspicion that maybe that’s the fucking point.

“How much time do we have?” Yujin’s lips are on your neck, tiny, hot breaths tickling your skin, nimble fingers at your waist, negotiating with your zipper.

“We had fifteen minutes, an hour ago,” you remind her. “We’re gonna miss soundcheck.”

“It’ll be fine.” Yujin’s unbothered, dismissive of anything that isn’t freeing your cock from its denim prison. “They’ll wait for me. They always do.”

There’s that hint of arrogance, that unshakeable confidence of youth, the invincibility that comes with being that absurdly hot. You can’t blame her at all for it.

What Yujin wants, she gets. You've seen it first hand.

It’s one of the many things you’ve learned about her over the past few weeks.

Well one of the few that don’t concern how good her cunt feels when she rides you, or how her eyes roll to the back of her head when you hit that spot just right, or the way her voice goes hoarse when she screams your name.

“Oh, it’s so perfect.”  Yujin’s seen your cock before, tasted it, taken it, had it in every way possible (in every place available), yet that still doesn’t stop her eyes from lighting up the second she sees it springing out from the waistband of your briefs, standing tall and throbbing painfully. “I’d say this is worth being late for.”

You’ve got a groan for her when she takes you into her hand, her grip firm and familiar. A half-hearted protest, too: “Yeah, but if we’re late, Princess Yujin gets a slap on the wrist, whereas I get fired.”

Yujin scoffs at that. “Well, I am your boss, so I think I get the last say if it comes down to it.”

Part of you wants to correct her, wants to explain that technically you’re not her employee but an independent contractor hired by the touring company. However, that part of you needs to shut the hell up, because the intricacies of employment contracts for musicians-for-hire really don’t seem pertinent at this moment.

Regardless, it all becomes trivial in the face of Yujin. So annoyingly, unfairly pretty, not even the unflattering harshness of the bathroom lights are capable of marring her in the slightest.

You’d probably give her the world if she asked.

She’d happily settle for your dick.

Her hand’s moving now, her fingers dancing around your shaft, exploring the contours of your cock from base to tip, and she's forcing you to resign, “Your logic, as always, is flawless.”

“See?” Yujin smiles up at you, that wide, confident grin that’s graced a million posters, been on every magazine cover and TV channel, and is now laser focused on you. “I’m always right, aren’t I?”

Her point's made with a squeeze around your length, stroking you in earnest, building to a rhythm that’s become so familiar over the past week—quick and precise, dangerously efficient. Like she was made for this. Made to tease your cock. As natural for her as breathing, really.

Yujin’s had plenty of practice, after all—on the morning of every concert, in the evening back at her hotel, on tour buses and in dressing rooms. On a plane once, even. It's the same torrid routine that’s now become a required pre-show ritual. A quiet spot, a secluded room, and she steals you away, bringing you to the brink and back.

And to think it all started because she asked you to help her ‘calm her nerves’.  

Or more correctly, fuck all the worries and concerns out of her pretty little head.

Still, she's never pushed it this far, never cut it this close.

You lean back against the stall door, your breath catching in your throat, the cheap plastic giving slightly under the pressure. Outside you can hear it, hear the bustling sounds of the venue coming to life—staff moving about, the distant roar of fans, the occasional clang of sound equipment. But in here, it’s overpowered by the noisiness of her palm sliding along your shaft, slick with her saliva, and it fills the small space, echoing across the cold tiles beneath your feet.

She’s undeniable—you know you’ve spoilt her. You’ve let her get her way with you far too many times, let her push this arrangement past any semblance of professionalism. Let her poison your mind with whispered sweet nothings that have you pounding her into the nearest available surface whenever she gets a twitch of stage fright.

But you’re also acutely aware of the fact that without these moments, without the promise of her tight, wet cunt wrapped around your cock, you’d be out there on that stage sleepwalking through just another concert with nothing but a drum kit and a bunch of songs you could play with your eyes closed.

“Fucking hell, Yujin, you look too good doing that,” you manage to get out, doing your best to endure her fingers gliding along your length, to last under the microscope of Yujin's dark, hungry eyes.

Another thing about Yujin: there's a special thrill she gets just from watching you, eyes glued to your face, taking in every single nuance of agony she’s wringing out.

“So fucking—” you settle on the most obvious word in your lexicon, “pretty.”

Yujin keens at the praise, her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, her teeth grazes the soft skin of her bottom lip. It's hardly new for her to hear this, to have people rave about how she's the hottest piece of ass this side of the equator. Yet there's something about hearing it from you that has her eating up your words every time. "Am I, now?"

You nod, voice momentarily failing you as she pumps your cock, her grip never wavering, never faltering, like she’s milking you, milking words of adulation from your lips.

You still haven't pinned down exactly what it is about you that unwinds Yujin, that makes her chase you so hard. Maybe it's because you're slightly older, a touch more mature than the usual plastic smiles that try to charm her out of her pants.

Or maybe it's because you said 'no' the first time she sniffed in your direction, and then made her scream 'yes' every time after.

Whatever it is, it has Yujin’s other hand reaching up to fiddle with the choker at her neck, flooding your mind with memories of your hand around her throat, her gagging on your length, her eyes watering while you fuck her face.

“And what about this outfit?” She asks, oh-so-innocently. “You think the fans will like it?”

“Yujin,” you say, like she doesn’t already know the very obvious answer. You’ve seen her in it all—tiny hot pants, tight little bralettes, that fucking leather catsuit. Yujin’s a fucking goddess in anything she wears, even a blind man would burn from the sheer heat radiating from her body. “You look fucking incredible, as always.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

“I heard a ‘but’,” Yujin ponders, her hand still working your cock like it’s her favourite toy. “Like: ‘but the shorts are too short, and everyone’s gonna see my cheeks when I bend over’.”

A blatant invitation to take a glance, to look down, down at those denim shorts so tight against her curves, the fabric stretched so taut that it might split open at any moment. Look down at her thick thighs, the way they flex and release as she jerks you off, every movement making the material cling tighter to her skin, moulding themselves around the outline of her perfect, round ass, those juicy cheeks that you’ve had the honour of spanking and biting and bruising.

“Or is it: ‘but your top is cut too low, your tits are gonna spill right out’?”

She’s drawing your gaze upwards, over that smooth, creamy expanse of skin, her stomach flat and toned, up the thin fabric of her flimsy excuse for a shirt, that dips just enough to tease the tops of her breasts, squeezed together and pushed up by her bra. It's so thin, wrapped so tight around her, highlighting the faint outline of her nipples poking through, already stiffened and calling for your tongue.

“Or maybe it’s: ‘the outfit looks good, looks nice and slutty, but you’d much rather rip it off me and just fucking ruin me like I deserve?'"

Yeah, that’s more like it.

You take that as permission, and reach for the hem of her top, eager to finally see those tits, to feel their warm weight in your palms, to have her stripped and laid bare like she knows you’d love to. But Yujin’s too quick, slapping your hand away with a laugh.

“But unfortunately, there’ll be none of that, drummer boy.” Yujin stops, her grip on your cock tightening for a brief, painful second. “Can’t have you ruining my outfit before I go on stage, can I?”

There’s a challenge there, a test to see if you’ll argue, maybe grab her, throw her against the wall and show her just how little of a fuck you give about anything that takes place outside of this toilet stall. But you know she’s right. You're the adult here, remember? Besides there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

You settle for her lips, leaning down, pressing the pad of your thumb against her chin. You tilt her head up towards yours, only for Yujin to pull back, leaving you kissing air. “Seriously?”

Yujin grins, clearly delighting in denying you again, in making your blood boil and cock throb. “Can’t ruin the make-up either,” she explains, making sure to bat her long, fake lashes for extra effect.

“So, I take it that means the pigtails are off limits too?” You ask, idly toying with the ludicrously slutty hairstyle that’s framing her face, bobbing slightly with every stroke she gives you.

“Now you’re learning.”

So, with a frustrated grunt, you keep your hands at your sides, resigning yourself to Yujin’s sweet torture. It’s maddening, just standing there, panting and so horny, at the mercy of Yujin’s slow strokes. “And no concern for my outfit, whatsoever.”

Yujin’s eyes wander over your choice of clothing, and laughs, rather insultingly, if you're honest. “I’m sure all the fans will be very focused on the drummer’s fashion choices,” she says, trusting you to pick up on the sarcasm.

You feign injury. “Ouch, I put a lot of thought into my clothing.”

“Sure you do. Thoughts like: how easy will it be for your little fuck buddy to tear them off?” Yujin’s thumb finds that sensitive spot just beneath the head of your cock, swiping over it with a smugness that’s both infuriating and incredibly hot.

“You’re going to get it later for that one,” you warn, your hand curling into a fist.

“Oh, I know.”

Yujin picks up the pace, her hand a blur, running up and down your shaft, fingers sliding across your slit, smearing the pre-cum that’s beaded there over your cockhead. And there’s a glint in her eye, that needy look that tells you she’s getting off on this, getting off on having you, having someone she shouldn’t be left alone with, squirm and beg and be so desperate for her.

“Look how big you are for me, daddy.”

There’s that word, that sweet, sweet ‘daddy’.

The first time she called you it was an accident, a slip of the tongue during a particularly intense moment when you had her against the window of her hotel, tits squashed against the glass, cunt dripping with your cum. But every time since, it’s been deliberate, calculated, a button she knows she can push to make you give it to her as rough as she wants; as rough as she craves.

“Look how big you are in my tiny hand.” She’s got you moaning now, melting between her fingers, bucking your hips for that extra bit of friction. “You love it when I jerk you like this, don’t you, daddy?”

‘Daddy’ again, rolling off her tongue like a fucking love letter, a song to send your head spinning and your cock pulsing in her hand.

There’s another challenge, can you last a little bit longer? Can you resist the urge to cum all over her fingers? Paint her pretty nails a fresh shade of white? Or would you rather wrap your hand around her lovely neck and force her to admit that she loves all this just as much as you do.

You swallow down the groan that’s building in your throat, your teeth grinding together to maintain some semblance of control. Yujin catches it, sees the effort it’s taking you, and she shakes her head, her lips pursed in a perfect little pout.

“Don’t hold back, daddy,” Yujin's chiding you, disappointed with your restraint. “I want to hear it. I need to hear how good it feels, how desperate you are. Need you to show me just how much you want to see me filled with your cum.”

She twists her hand down on your cock, squeezing when she reaches the base, her other hand coming down to cup your balls, tickling them with her fingers. That has a moan escaping your lips, a low, desperate sound that makes Yujin preen.

“That’s it,” she’s overjoyed, getting what she came for, basking in your pleasure, “tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you want to cum for me.”

And so you do. You tell her, your voice strained with the effort of keeping your orgasm at bay. Not yet, not until you’re deep inside her, not until you're sure that not a single drop will go wasted. “You're too fucking much, Yujin, too fucking hot,” you manage, the words a choked noise that you hope she can hear over the blood pounding in your ears. “You’re driving me fucking mad.”

Yujin’s strokes keep building, one on top of the other, and she’s pressing herself against you, the warmth of her, soft breasts pushing into your chest, her lips sucking at your neck, kissing into you hard. After all, who will notice? Who gives a fuck if the drummer shows up on stage with a few extra bruises on his skin?  

You fall into the crook of her neck, your forehead on her shoulder, as her lips make their way up your throat, across your jaw, until she’s nipping at your lobe, whispering in your ear, “You’re desperate for my cunt, aren’t you, daddy? You want to fill me up right before I go on stage?”

“Yujin,” you grit out, and you’re holding her, hands on those perfectly round cheeks, holding on for dear life, pulling her close to you so that she can feel just how right she is. The words spill out of you like a confession, “I need to fuck you now, Yujin. I need to feel your cunt, make you cum so hard you won’t be able to fucking move, let alone dance.”

And Yujin leaves one last, lingering kiss on your pulse. “So do it, daddy.”

Her words are a fucking gunshot, and you’re off to the races.

You spin her around so fast she yelps, your chest to her back, your cock trapped between her ass cheeks. Her shorts are barely an inconvenience, yank them down, denim catching on her hips, sliding down to her ankles, leaving her in just her panties.

Yujin gasps, the cool air meeting her bare skin, and she braces herself against the wall of the stall, needing something to keep her on her feet. She’s all soft curves and sweet smells, so insanely proportioned, like she's built for this, curvy and thick in all the right places.

While she’s distracted you sneak a kiss onto the creamy-white skin of her shoulder, hard enough to give her a mark to match yours, a badge of honour that brands her in the same way she’s done to you.

Her panties never stood a chance, completely drenched to the point of ruin, sticky with anticipation, snug against her lips. You pull them aside, thumb brushing against her swollen clit, making her hips jerk forward. She’s on your time now, you’ve got the green light to turn the tables and drag her through the same torment she’s put you through.

“Look at this,” you’re in her ear now, taunting, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Yujin’s cheeks burn red, and she’s pushing back against you, grinding her ass into your cock. “Of course I am. I can’t help it,” she’s a little breathless, a little shaky, “I need it.”

“You’re so beautiful,” your hands like magnets on her bare ass, squeezing, marking her in places only you'll ever know. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” Yujin whimpers, as you slide your finger down, between her legs, tracing her wet slit, testing her tightness, feeling her warmth, feeling how ready she is. “Please, fuck me now.”

You can’t resist her, you never can, not with so little time left and so much of her to ruin. Your cock dips, lining up with her pussy, the tip nudging at her entrance, and all it takes is one strong thrust, and you’re pushing into her, burying yourself to the hilt in a swift, brutal motion.

There’s a scream from her, a grunt from you, blending and echoing through the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles and the stall walls. Someone’s going to hear it, someone’s going to come in and see you fucking the star of the show and that’ll be it for the both of you.

But really, fuck all of that.

Fuck the concert, the venue staff, the fans, the tour managers, the PR nightmare that will follow.

Fuck everything that isn’t inside this stall, that isn’t Yujin’s tight cunt squeezing around your cock, that isn’t the way she’s shuddering in your arms, gasping your name, needing her daddy to fuck her harder, faster.

There's no easing her into it, not like you know you should. You fuck her hard, just like she’s begged. Your hips snap against her ass, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out the noise outside, again and again, in and out, over and over.

Yujin’s never needed much to get started, always so easily soaked, so easily ready. She'd told you as much one late night (or one early morning): "I can take it, take anything, as long as it's coming from you. "

Her walls clamp down around you, she’s already pulsing, her cunt desperate to wring you dry. You’re gliding in and out of her, using her, letting her mold herself so perfectly around you, her juices coating your cock, making it slicker with every thrust.

“Yes—that’s what I fucking need.” Yujin cries out, her voice high-pitched, her head thrown back, and the flimsy plastic isn’t enough anymore, she needs you to hold her steady, to dig your fingers into her hips and nail her into the wall.

Each stroke, each thrust into her cunt, each time you fill her, stretch her—each one could be the last one, the one that has you exploding inside her. Could be the one that overwhelms you, the one that makes you forget where you are, that there’s anything that exists besides fucking this needy, little brat.

It’s the way Yujin clenches around you, tight and perfect, like she’s made just for you, like she’s never been fucked this way before, will never be again.

(Even though you have. Even though you will.)

Each time is like the first, you’re discovering her all over again, peeling back layers of this beautiful, untouchable idol, and finding something new, something beneath the sheen of purity and perfection. Something that makes you want to ruin her, bring her down to your level, to roll around the filth with the rest of you mere mortals.

And Yujin knows it.

There’s a need to make her feel it, and there’s her fucking pigtails, dangling in front of you like a carrot, flicking up and down in front of your face with every thrust. You need to grab them, to yank her back onto your cock, to force her to take it as hard as you want to give it. It’s almost too much to resist.

But even in your haze you know better. Instead, you settle for that choker on her neck, your thumb sliding under the black leather band, feeling the pulse of her blood racing beneath her skin. You grip it, tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make her gasp, to make her cunt tighten, to make her cry out—

“Gah—God—fuck—”

Strangled cries have her screaming, have her needing you to go deeper.

“Fuh—fuck—yes—right there—right—fucking—there—”

She’s chanting, almost sobbing, doing her best to take everything you’re giving her, everything she’s needs, everything she deserves. You’re tapping into that deep, dark desire within her. The one that gets off on being treated rough, the one that loves having a daddy, the one that needs to be nailed to a wall and reduced to nothing but a shaking, mewling mess of climaxes.

You dare to snake a hand under her top, you’re not going to mess her outfit, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a taste of what’s underneath. Your fingers stretch under her bra, testing the elasticity of the cotton, before finally finding the swell of her breasts, cupping it, filling your hand with it.

Yujin’s moan is all the encouragement you need, a wordless permit to squeeze, to pinch her nipple, roll it between your thumb and forefinger until it’s a hard little nub.

“Oh fuck yes—touch me. You love touching me, don’t you?” She's feeling it, really feeling you, the stimulation of your palm on her breast, the sting on her nipples. “You fucking love my body.”

It’s the damn truth—these past weeks have been a crash course in Yujin, and you haven’t found an inch you didn’t immediately fall in love with. Every curve and dip and line, every soft place and every sharp edge; the weight of her in your arms, the way she fits against you, how she responds to your touch like she’s been waiting for it, for you, for fucking ever.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, daddy, just like that.”

“You’re so fucking perfect, Yujin. So tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

You slur words into her, words that make her shiver, make her tremble against you, make her so fucking happy to hear them. It’s the words that she loves, hearing you talk like that, like she’s the only one who can make you feel this way. And maybe she is.

So you keep talking, keep whispering those loving, filthy soliloquies into her ear, keep telling her how good her cunt is, how desperate you are for her body, how much cum you have to give her. And her body has an answer for you each time, each syllable a caress that sends shivers down her spine.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Yujin. So beautiful when you’re like this, when you’re all mine.” You can feel it boiling up inside you, that pressure building with every smack of your hips against her ass. “I’m going to cum so hard for you, princess.”

There’s the guitar, the bass, the keys, the band tuning up outside, noise filtering into the stall, faint but unmistakeable, the only thing missing is the beat of the drums, the only thing missing is you.

Yujin’s grinning, knowing she’s the one keeping you occupied, knowing it’s her cunt that you’re buried in, that’s not letting you go.

“If only they knew,” she’s giggling like a schoolgirl (she might as well be with those pigtails), “if only they know how good you’re fucking me right now. They won’t have a fucking clue, will they?”

“Such a fucking tease, Yujin.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and sends a coy, “Who, me?”

“Yes, you, you little slut,” you answer, not bothering to mince your words. Your hand tightens around her choker, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to keep her right there, panting and needy and yours. “You know exactly what you’re doing out there. I see how you dance, how you move. Like you’re forcing them to picture you fucking, making them all want a taste of what they’ll never have.”

The truth makes her shiver against you. “They all wish they could do this to me, all wish they could fuck me and fill me like you are.”

There’s a tension building inside her too, the blend of your words and the reality of the performance she’s going to have to put on afterwards. It has her body tightening like a bow string, ready to snap at any moment.

And you’re going to be the one to release it.

You venture a hand downwards, gracing over her stomach, her belly button, until you reach the wetness of her pussy. There's her clit, ripe for teasing.

You fuck your cock in deeper still, matching the swirl of your finger with the pounding of her cunt, timing it just right to make her leak all over you.

“That feels so—fuck,” Yujin purrs, so, so blissful. “Only you—only you, daddy. No one else will get to have me—fuck—fuck me like this.”

“Whenever I want, any time I want,” you’re telling her, promising her, even though it’s more likely to be the opposite. That it’s Yujin that will seek you out on those lonely nights and those quiet mornings, or just whenever she’s bored and needs someone to fuck all the nerves and stress out of her system.

“They’d be so—gah—so jealous if they knew. I see it when they look at me—how much they want me,” she’s straining to say it, but needs you to hear it, needs you to know it. “I see it—read it in places they think I don’t look.”

She’s lost, lost in a sea of her own musings, thoughts of how everyone with a working pair of eyeballs wants to fuck her. Relishing in the knowledge that she's found the only person that can fuck her right, and that their cock is buried in her cunt, their fingers working her clit.

“They call me a slut, a whore, but that’s not true, is it, daddy? I only fuck you,” Yujin repeats, “I’m only a slut for you.”

There’s an edge to her voice, a raw, animalistic need that makes you want to prove her right. Want to erupt inside her so badly that she’s forced to carry a part of you inside her when she’s on stage.

“Yours to use,” Yujin taunts. “To fuck, to fill...”

Jesus.

“To break.”

Fucking.

“Maybe I should let you rip off my clothes, fuck up my hair—fuck—my makeup. Go out on stage with all the marks you’ve left on me, with all your cum—gah—all over me.”

Christ.

It hits you like a sledgehammer, adding another layer of taboo to this already fucked up situation. The thought of it is fucking wild, ridiculous to contemplate, you’re sure it’s all just part of the game, another button Yujin’s pressing for her own thrill… right?

“Then everyone would know—everyone would know that it’s you—that you’re the one that’s fucking my brains out when no one else is watching.”

You’re all over her and deep inside her, lips on her throat, her jaw, hands at her tits, her cunt. Devouring her, all of her, from those tightly binded pigtails all the way down to her carefully manicured toes.

And then she stops dancing around the subject and demands it.

“Ruin me. Fuck me, please, daddy. Just—kiss me, now.”

“You said—”

But Yujin’s already twisting around at her waist, angling her body so she can seize your lips, smear her lipstick across your teeth, flood your mouth with her tongue. She’s got fistfuls of your shirt, pulling you closer, as if she’s trying to claim you, claim every inch of you as property of An Yujin.

Now that you’ve got permission, you thread your fingers into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her by the pigtails like you’ve been dying to, kissing her like your life depends on it.

You’re getting rougher with her now, tugging her head back, peeling her lips away from yours, sliding your cock out of her. You ignore the whine, ignore the tears. It’s game over for her makeup, for her hair, her outfit. She’s a beautiful, chaotic mess—so shamelessly yours, so perfect in every way.

The separation barely lasts a second, you’re lifting her up, turning her and depositing her atop the toilet seat, spreading her legs wide, putting her on display.

This is the real show—Yujin looking up at you, eyes dark with need, tits out and heaving with every breath; thick, toned thighs glistening with her juices, your precum; and her pussy, all puffy and so ready to be filled again.

“Daddy—” Yujin starts, and ends, as you’re inside her again. Inside her tight, welcoming cunt, her back arching off the cold porcelain, her legs wrapping around you, ankles crossing and locking in place.

Just one hard thrust and you see it—it's in the watering of her eyes, the wobble of her lips.

She’s close, and you’re not far behind.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, nearly lost somewhere between your haggard breaths and the sloppy wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

But you hear it, and it’s all you need.

It’s her pigtails in your hands again, strands wrapped around your fist, and you’re taking a front row seat in the spectacle that is Yujin falling apart.

“Please, fuck me.” There it is again, louder now. “Fuck my tiny little pussy, daddy. Make me yours.”

It’s every single sound out of her mouth, every folding and crumpling of her perfect features, every single drop of sweat sliding down her neck, every time she says fuck me, or break me, or over and over again—make me yours.

You want to savour this, burn this image into your mind, live off the memory of Yujin’s cunt pulsing around you, but there’s no time, no time to do anything but kiss her again; clumsy, hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Please,” she’s biting into your lip, licking into your mouth, clawing at your shoulders, “say my name.”

“Yujin,” you give it to her, offer her name like a sacrifice. “Yujin, I’m so fucking close.”

The porcelain is doing its best to bear your weight, to survive the punishment you’re hammering into Yujin’s tight, perfect body, to outlast your relentless fucking. “Cum for me daddy, cum for me.”

But it’s her, it’s Yujin that crosses that threshold first, coming apart until she’s nothing but a mess of whimpers, moans, and cries of your name. Of pleases and thank yous, until she’s just a hot, tight cunt getting used for your pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—daddy, I can’t—it’s so—”

It’s all there across her face, all in the way she’s shaking, the way her cunt is gripping you, her walls fluttering around your cock like a fucking heartbeat, tightening and releasing in endless waves that crash down on her.

“So good—you’re so good—you’re so—fuck—fuck—cum—cumming—"

Her entire body seizes, tenses all at once, and you’d be worried if you hadn’t seen it countless times before, if you didn’t know to expect her to lose all control of her limbs, to not be able to do anything but stare at you, all teary eyed and feeling so, so good.

But you keep going, hips pumping, cock driving into her, keeping her steady, helping her climb to her peak, filling her tender, creaming cunt over and over again. You want to make this last, want to keep her like this, unable to think about anything but you, unable to think about anything that isn’t your cock.  

“So fucking good for me, Yujin, so good, princess.”

“God, fuck—daddy!”

It’s the praise that pushes her over, unravels her, has her mouth frozen in the shape of your name, like the idea of you is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. That, and her nails digging into your skin, adding to the tapestry she’s already engraved on your back.

And then the silence comes, and that’s the real killer.

Yujin’s always loud when she gets fucked, always desperate to tell you how good it feels, needy for you to know how good you are to her. But when she cums—when she loses herself on your cock—it’s like she relinquishes all ability to articulate, to make any sound other than a whine or a gasp.

You know what she wants to say—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—know what she wants to tell you—thank you, daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you—and it’s your responsibility to see her through it, to plunge your cock deep into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt, to have her rocking and creaming all over you, again and again and again.

And then she falls apart.

So beautifully, so perfectly.

But you’re not done yet.

Your thrusts come in thick and fast, making the whole stall shudder, making your vision swim. Yujin’s still reeling, snapped back into the land of the living by the force of your fucking.

She’s leaning forward, pressing her forehead to yours, able to form whole words again, whispering something that you can’t quite catch, something sweet and needy and demanding.

“I’m all yours, daddy.”

It’s a trigger she’s been waiting to pull—the moment she says it, you let go.

There’s no holding back anymore, you’ve been fighting it for what feels like hours, trying to keep your shit together, but it’s no use. You’re going to cum, the only question is, where.

You can’t shake the image of her covered with you, painted all over her face, her chin, her neck, her chest, her perfect, perfect tits. You want it, want to see it realised, want to parade her out on that stage looking like a fuck doll—your fuck doll.

But not now, not today.

So instead, you bury yourself inside her, so, so deep. Yujin’s nodding, teasing “deeper, deeper, please,” begging you with her whole body, watching you with those eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, licking at her lips, bracing for you to fill her.

It’s your turn to shake, your turn to let go of that knot in your gut that’s been twisting ever since she dragged you into the bathroom, pushed you into the toilet stall and told you she needed this.

You throb, tighten, the base of your spine tingles, and that’s all the warning you get before you’re cumming, rushing Yujin’s greedy cunt with your hot, sticky load.

“Daddy, daddy—daddy—yes!”

It’s an addiction now, she needs your cum like she needs oxygen, and you need to fill her as if you’ll die if you go another day without pounding her cunt.

“So good, so fucking good inside me—all yours, all yours—"

It’s a thousand blissful little moments stacked on top of each other, her clenching, you throbbing, her grinning, you grimacing, but it all comes together in this heated space that leaves you both boneless, breathless catastrophes.

Yujin’s the first to come down, slumping against you, drooling down your chest, staining your shirt with a sheen of her saliva. Her legs go slack around you, finally letting go of your waist, still shaking in the aftershocks of her orgasm. You can feel your cum leaking from the corners of her cunt, oozing down the inside of her thighs, sliding past her knee, down to her ankles.

A finger under your chin to tilt your head to her, to kiss you. One of those quiet, intimate kisses that will have you spending the night trying to decode its meaning. But, for now, there’s just the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“Thank you, daddy,” Yujin says, so sweetly, so sincerely, and it’s like a knife twisting in your chest.

“Always.”

And slowly, carefully, you’re pulling out of her, even though she’s still clenching, still trying to keep you in. Your cock exits her with an audible slosh, and you need to brace yourself against the stall door, lean into it hard as you take in the sight of Yujin, sprawled on the toilet seat, well fucked and utterly ruined in all the best ways.

She reads your mind, “You really made a fucking mess of me.”

“I only claim fifty percent of that responsibility.”

Yujin pouts, makes sure you’re watching her, and dips her fingers into her defiled cunt. “This is all you, daddy.”

She drags out her digits, holding them up for you, your cum glistening on them like a prize. And then she’s slipping them between her lips, flicking out her tongue to catch a drop that dribbles down her wrist. She licks it all up, slow, savouring it, making sure you’re watching, making sure your eyes are glued to her as she devours the last traces of you from her hand.

That sound she makes, that little “Mmm” of satisfaction has you feeling heady, makes your cock twitch, eager to be back inside her, to fill her right back up so you can watch her do it all over again.

“Cumslut,” is the only word you have her for her, as she slides her fingers in deeper, tickling the back of her own throat like it's the most natural thing to do. Her cheeks hollow out, and after a long, dramatic suck, she pulls her fingers from her lips with a wet pop, all shiny and clean.

She corrects you. “Your cumslut.”

And then a switch is flipped, and she’s putting herself back together.

Yujin’s graceful, at odds with the confines of the cramped bathroom stall she’s just been fucked in. It amazes you every time, the way that she moves. All liquid and soft, as if she’s not really touching anything, as if she’s floating.

She licks droplets of cum off her lips, scoops the remainder up her legs, her thighs, and you’re just staring, gawking at her with something akin to awe, because she’s just so fucking beautiful, so utterly composed, so untouchable.

You help her, you try, help her tug down her shirt, pull up her panties, her shorts, help her slip back into the role of Yujin, the perfect idol, the star that can’t be tarnished by something as dirty as a quickie on top of a toilet seat.

She nods towards the stall door, and you let her past you, help hold her steady as you lead her to the bathroom mirror, give her a chance to assess the damage you've wrought on her. The smudged lipstick, the kiss bruises, the hair sticking to her neck—all evidence of you.

And yet, she smiles, looking back at you over her shoulder. Like she’s got it all under control, like you haven’t ruined her, not really. Not yet.

“Well, that’s something,” she says, her voice a little too breathless for the breeziness she’s aiming for.

But then she’s got her compact out, the tiny bag she's had hidden in her back pocket specifically for occasions like this. You stand back, giving her space to work her magic. Cheeks are patted for colour, lips glossed for plumpness, eyes relined with that dangerously smoky look that makes them pop.

“How do I look?” She turns, looking at you through the mirror, hand on her hip, posing.

“Like you’ve just been fucked in a toilet stall, honestly.”

That makes her laugh. “Good.”

She’s heading to the door, smoothing out her skirt, fixing her top, stopping along the way to give your forearm a quick squeeze.

There’s that look in her eyes again.

One you’ll be revisiting once the show’s over and the doors are closed.

“I’ll take off first,” she says, tying her pigtails back in place. “Wouldn’t want to make it too obvious.”

You catch her hand before she can get away, pulling her face close to you, wiping away a stray bit of cum still shining on her chin. “Good luck out there.”

And there’s that smile. That smile that’s going to make an audience of thousands fall in love with her. That’s going to make you fall in love with her, if you’re not careful. “Don’t need it,” she says, pressing her lips to yours, ruining her lip gloss all over again. “I got you, daddy.”

[littlemisshyperfixation]

Hoshi Fic Recommendations

a - angst f - fluff s - smut

One Shots

What? Like It's Hard? (f a) by @starsstuddedsky ✩♬ ₊˚. With the help of a little bit of bleach, Soonyoung is certified legally blonde–complete to last minute-dedication to scoring as high as Elle Woods on the LSAT. While he has no interest in law school, he’s notorious for never turning down a dare. So how does a frat bro in serious danger of failing his senior year get a 179? He asks the smartest person he knows. 

The thing about love (a f) by @gyuswhore ✩♬ ₊˚. The slap you sent across Kwon Soonyoung’s face sent a reverberating sound across the dance studio. He looks up, eyes bloodshot and swimming with fury. There’s a hint of a smile on his face for some reason, which you realize may be out of disbelief. You don’t register anything else other than the rage that accelerates down your own veins. There’s a part of you that wants to do it again when he utters his next words.

“That was a bad fucking idea”

driving lessons for dummies (f s) by @shuaflix ✩♬ ₊˚. ❝ i can't parallel park, but i know all the lyrics to 'driver's license' by olivia rodrigo now. ❞

Main Thing (s) by @hannieehaee ✩♬ ₊˚. after years of insistence from soonyoung, he finally convinces resident social butterfly seungkwan to introduce him to his unrequited crush; a fellow idol at hybe who he has not been able to take his eyes off since moving to the company.

high-rise (s) by @sluttywonwoo ✩♬ ₊˚. walking around your apartment naked has never been a problem, since you live in a high-rise and no one can see in, at least that’s what you thought…

vowels and veracity (f s) by @hansolmates ✩♬ ₊˚. after a blind date that makes you feel like a giddy teenager all over again, you’re forced to grow up and take a chance when you realize that special someone is your daughter’s kindergarten teacher.

Bluff and Nonsense (a) by @thepixelelf ✩♬ ₊˚. “Soonyoung? Yeah I know him, you should too. He’s on the uni’s dance crew, and ever since he joined them, their popularity’s skyrocketed. I’ve met him a few times, great guy — got a tendency to run his mouth but hey, no one’s perfect. He’s smart anyways, probably knows how to deal with the consequences, right?”

sweatshirt season (s f) by @eoieopda ✩♬ ₊˚. your fuck buddy is good at a lot of things. taking hints isn’t one of them.

warm (s) by @cheolism ✩♬ ₊˚. you are so warm beneath the blankets and, like a moth drawn to a flame, soonyoung was helpless to resist your body.

charity f*ck (s) by @ncteez ✩♬ ₊˚. Have you ever taken anyone’s virginity before? Well, yeah, your first time was both losing your own and taking someone else’s but, that was a long time ago. Have you ever taken the virginity of a twenty-six-year-old man who probably should have gotten laid by now anyway? Nope. Are you about to? Yep.

crazy stupid love (s f) by @toruro ✩♬ ₊˚. your best friend, turned fuck buddy, seems a little too upset about your latest instagram post ...

good influence (s) by @cheolism ✩♬ ₊˚. slowly soonyoung begins to influence you into making some questionable decisions

Delicate (f) by @idyllic-ghost ✩♬ ₊˚. You've been friends since he could remember, and since that summer night last year it's been different - you can both feel it. So why is it so hard to just say it?

worth it (f) by @fallinnflower

best friend hoshi (s) by @97-liners

7PM (s) (ft. seokmin and seungkwan) by @onlymingyus

[nnight-dances]

SWEET BOY

PAIRING: lee seokmin x f!reader (ft. choi vernon)

GENRE: fluff, angst

TROPES: older brother figure to lover, childhood friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, jealousy, skinship, dk being a blushy idiot and you being a plain idiot.

lines are funny when it comes to your life. lines drawn from one point to another, lines forced to keep your work life and your personal life, but most important the big daunting line between you and your crush of nearly two years now, dokyeom. 

it's funny, it really is, given how much time you've spent riling yourself up over him, telling yourself that he should retain the role he always had in your life: the older brother figure. because dokyeom's heart-warmingly kind, no even more so– blood-curdingly kind, painfully nice to everyone he meets, patient beyond imagination. he's worse than any nice guys you've met, simply because he fits the archetype too well to be real. 

"don't you get tired?" you ask him, when he shows up at your door, clutching bags of take-out food, no doubt after hearing from your mom how you haven't had a chance to eat. yet, you'd emphasized to her after you'd made the mistake of letting her know you were too busy to cook. 

"shouldn't i be asking you that?" dokyeom grunts as he lets himself into your house, familiar with the place like the back of his hand. "i know mr. ko called you in and gave you an earful for missing the last deadline, but that's no excuse to skip meals."

okay, worth mentioning is the fact that while you knew dokyeom since childhood thanks to the fact that you grew up in the same household, you'd also ended up moving to the city to sign a contract with the publishing company where he worked at, as an editor. it was half a coincidence, because you can't say you sought out the company simply on its merits. 

you sigh as you stretch out a crick in your neck, "i'm not doing this because mr. ko told me to. i'm fine, i'm just trying to clear up my schedule before the end of the year. god knows i don't want to be working on new year's eve."

"and you won't," dokyeom takes off his coat, revealing a light blue sweater underneath, one that you've grown fond of. it's a sweet sweater, for a sweet man. 

"well, thanks, anyway. for the food. sorry if my mom pestered you into doing this."

"i don't want to hear a word out of you till you've eaten."

you obey him silently, taking out the lukewarm bánh mì from its bag and starting to eat. dokyeom watches with a slight smile, noting how your hair was in a ponytail, a rare occurrence. just another indication that you were forcing yourself to work too hard. 

"what am i going to with you…" he muses to himself, slowly tidying up the mess on your writing corner. the little wooden table you'd spent hours studying and testing before buying, is crowded with stationery and a few notebooks. your laptop sits blank, screen indicating that it was close to dying. dokyeom brushes off the stray balls of napkins off and into the small trashcan next to the chair, followed by all the tiny eraser dust particles. he's just plugged in your laptop when he hears you call out his name softly. 

"hmm?" he calls back. "you want some coffee?" you ask and when dokyeom arches a brow at you, you wave your empty hands, "i'm done eating! can a girl not want a warm liquid post-meal?"

"fine, fine. i'll have some, thanks." he laughs as you glare at him, mumbling incoherencies about him. 

"oh, right, i almost forgot to tell you," dokyeom pulls out his phone, ten minutes later when the two of you are settled on the couch, waiting for your steaming mugs to settle down a little. "there's a department-wide party this sunday, an end of year gathering or something. you should come, i hear the budget this year's crazy. it's at a fancy hotel and everything."

you narrow your eyes at dokyeom, "i don't know about that. work parties are a slog, dude. i can't stand to get drunk with the people who literally torture the creativity out of me."

"that's harsh, y/n. and an exaggeration."

"whatever…" you fiddle with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, "i… i don't even have a date. it's kind of a short notice to find someone anyway–"

"i'll be your date," dokyeom offers, faster than either of you could comprehend his response. his ears flush, "um, i mean, i'll go with you, if you don't… mind."

"why would i mind? i just thought you'd have someone to go with already," you say and when you catch the shy look on your friend's face, "unless of course, nobody's asked you. which i totally understand."

"hey! i don't want to take names but i've had to tell some people no already. so don't–"

"oh? so you rejected the people who did ask you? i thought you were too nice to do that. "

"yeah, i did. i didn't want to go with them. i don't know them well enough to guarantee they'll be fun for the entire night. plus, it's messy going with someone from work. you agree once, who's to say they'll keep asking you for life?"

"i'm someone from work, too," you point out, averting your gaze to the coffee, watching the evaporation swirl around. 

"you're different, silly," dokyeom chuckles out, arm hitting yours, "we're already messy. i knew you before work, and i'll know you long after. we're more than that, you know?"

that? whatever he meant, you find your heart soaring ever so much, "hm, i suppose you're not wrong. fine, i'll come to the party." if it's with you. 

that night you find yourself obsessing over this conversation. what did dk mean we're already messy? you were messy? you knew he didn't mean that like a bad thing but the word unsettled you anyway. your feelings for him only made it harder to listen to him objectively, especially when he says stuff like we're more than that. more than what, exactly?

– 

dokyeom's having a hell of a day, carrying around a headache he's had since this morning and a heavy to-do list that doesn't seem to be going anywhere despite the fact that he's been at his desk for about five hours now. he sits back with a grunt, taking his eyes off his screen for a moment to take a break. 

as soon as he tunes back into the physical world around him, he overhears his coworkers chatting near his desk, instant coffeee in hand. 

"yo, you're kidding! how'd you get her number finally?" ren, a newbie, elbows the man next to him. vernon, the man in question, is grinning too wide for his own good. 

"i just asked her for it. i told her i had some important doubts about her new manuscript."

"that didn't annoy her?"

"nah, y/n's chill like that. she was super nice about it, too, telling me she would love to hear from me."

ren gasps dramatically, "no way, do you think she–"

dokyeom clears his throat with a start, having had enough as an eavesdropper for the day. he stands up, making eye-contact with vernon who shoots him a nonchalant smile. it pisses dokyeom off, how wasn't he bothered? 

his headache's only getting worse so he decides to get himself something to eat while he's at it. some fresh air might help him. he shoots the pair a stiff smile as he leaves the office, hand clutching his phone a little too hard. as he gets into the elevator, he's alerted of a message.

speak of the devil, he thinks when your name pops up on his screen. am i expected to dress formal for this party? you ask. 

only if u want to :) he shoots back.

… what kind of an answer is that. 

an honest one. expectations are only as high as you want them to be.

you know i hate you right 

enough to ask me to be ur date? <3 <3 

you're befuddled on the other side of the chat, "who asked who?" you mumble, choosing to not respond to dokyeom's frustrating reply to your very genuine question. 

dokyeom, on the other hand, is feeling much better now that he's had a chance to talk to you. where you're reserved about your feelings for him, dokyeom really couldn't be more transparent about them. or so he thinks. but really, he's convinced he couldn't be clearer about how he feels about you– instantaneous responses to your texts, making sure you eat on time, corresponding with your mom to reassure her of your good health, careful attention to what you're into at the time so he can buy you the things you refuse to splurge on. 

to dokyeom, this was the clearest confession of his love for you. the only reason he hasn't vocalized it in person is because he doubts any good would come out of it. he's more than happy with the relationship he has with you, a safe enough distance but a warm closeness anyway. besides, he's pretty certain you think of him as more of a brother than anything. an older brother figure you've known since you were children. better to keep things the way they were. right?

– 

dokyeom's increasily unsure about his convictions to keep things the same. maybe it had something to do with the fact that you look breathtaking tonight. you're adorned in the prettiest pink dress, eyes sparkling more than usual thanks to the glitter you'd dabbed on and hair cascading down to your shoulders in curls that has him a little weak in the knees.

he does visibly gape at you when you greet him at the door with a small smile. he's flustered enough to be out of words so you're left speaking to a shell of him. "hey, you're a little earlier than i imagined. i'm almost ready. come in though." 

when he stands still despite your invitation, you frown. "dokyeom?" he bites his lip as he comes to and nods, walking in after you. "you good?"

"yeah, just a little nervous."

"nervous?" 

"you look really pretty," he musters, reddening when your eyes widen at his honest confession, "i'm a little dizzy." the two statements are correlated but you don't pick up on that, instead becomes concerned. you take his arm and your cold touch on his arm only sends him further down his dazed condition.

"dizzy? that's no good. come sit," you pull him to the couch, making him take a seat. god, dokyeom thinks he's dreaming when you touch his cheek, "do you need medicine? warm tea? water?"

he clears his throat, "n-no, i'm fine," he lets himself fall against the cushions, closing his eyes against the rush in his veins. "just– you should go get ready. i'll be back to normal soon."

you look at him in confusion for a prolonged few seconds before giving up and doing as he said. when you come back, you have a lip gloss and heels on. "okay," you announce to the back of dokyeom's head, "i'm ready, dk."

he sits up quickly, head clearing up now. he turns around to you and smiles a cheerful smile that is much more like him. "alright! let's go!" 

you watch him warily anyway, all the way to his car. "ah, your hair–" you reach out to the back of his head where some hair stuck out from his earlier meltdown. gently, you brush the disturbances away, fingers swift in their adminstrations. dokyeom thinks he might break down again, the gesture making him feel giddy all over again. it doesn't help when he feels your warm breath on his neck when you sigh, returning to your seat. "ok, no more hair casualities, we are set to go."

dokyeom can't afford to look up at you so he simply starts the car, keeping his head straight so he can drive the both of you to the venue safely. 

being in a room bustling with people he knows really helps dokyeom, for as soon as you reach the hall, he takes off in a rush, something about having to greet everyone that's important. you don't know to feel about his flight but you manage to shrug it off, trusting him enough to know he'll be back before long. 

you station yourself near the refreshments, finding yourself a flute of champagne and some hors d'oeuvres to keep you company while dokyeom does what he does. you find yourself mildly enjoying yourself, people-watching all sorts of groups and downing your second serving of champagne, when you're joined by someone. 

it's kitty, a coworker you're less than fond of, thanks to her loud mouth and overwhelming beauty. she's dressed in an immaculate white dress, face glowing even in the harsh light as she smiles at you. "y/n!"

"kitty," you acknowledge her with a cordial nod of your own, hoping this wouldn't take too long.

"how've you been? you look much better than the last time i saw, so not too bad i hope!"

your smile sours, "i'm fine, kitty. nice to see you're feeling as chatty as usual." 

"i am! what better ocassion than a party to be social," she remarks pointedly and you contain a sigh. kitty was an important coworker, unfortunately for you, with her in charge for your public image and general likeability. it really should be criminal how little she likes you for someone who has to make sure you appeal to the masses. 

"i didn't even think i'd see you around. you have a date?"

"i'm here with dokyeom, yeah." 

this seems to startle kitty, because she's speechless for a moment. "dokyeom? he said yes to you?"

ignoring whatever undertones of disbelief kitty's giving off, you roll your eyes, "it was more that he forced me to come with him, but yeah, sure, however you wanna say it." 

"wow, dokyeom's really kind to do that. he even turned me down. he must really treasure your friendship."

now you've had enough of her insinuations, so you cut the chat short. "sorry, kitty, i need to use the bathroom. excuse me." 

you break away from her, feeling the weight of her glare at your aloofness. you really don't care for her snarky remarks usual, long-accustomed to the kind of gossip she likes to generate. but tonight, your tolerance was low. you didn't want to think about why dokyeom asked you to come to the party, and you certainly didn't want kitty's suggestions marinate in your mind. but it's too late, you feel your chest tighten at the thought of dokyeom feeling pity for you, asking you to come because that's just how kind he was, and you, his best charity case. 

dokyeom spots you from across the room where he's eventually recovered from his weak condition. he feels guilt spike through his veins when he sees you storm away from kitty, who's no doubt spewed some obnoxious nonsense to make you leave the room with that tense expression of yours.

he excuses himself from his conversation to run off after you, managing to catch you as you leave the hall. 

"y/n!" he calls out, catching ahold of your shoulder. "where are you going?" 

you stop, startled by dokyeom's interception. you slowly turn around, trying your best to neutralize your expression. "um, just using the bathroom. i drank that champagne a little too fast." 

"oh, you sure you're okay? i saw you talking to kitty earlier and i know how frustrating she can be."

you laugh mirthlessly, "i'll be okay as long as i don't run into her in the next five months or so." you turn away, presumably toward the washroom. you'd hoped your explanation would be enough to soothe dokyeom's curiosity but then you hear him follow after you. 

"dk?"

"i'll go with you."

"to the washroom?" 

"uh, yeah. i'll walk you in case you can't find your way back."

"they have signs everywhere and the party's in the biggest hall here– i– whatever, i need to pee too bad to argue with you right now." 

from thereon, dokyeom doesn't leave your side for a second. you don't know what to think of it but you don't complain because your mood's much better when you spend your time by his side, shitting on the ocassional passerby and laughing at each other's jokes. 

dokyeom regrets leaving you by yourself in the first place, especially because he's almost too certain that kitty had told you he'd turned her invitation down. it was awkward to even look at her, let alone talk to her. but then again, she's never been one to care about other people's comfort because about halfway into the night, you spot her trailing back to your table with a few people following her. 

the group crowds your table and you find yourself pressed against a stranger who no doubt works with kitty. he shoots you a sleazy smile and you're grateful when you feel dokyeom subtly pull you closer toward him with a hand around your waist. what you don't expect is him to leave him arm there, draped down your back, finger resting against the small of lower back, sending chills up your spine.

"hey, you two! what're you upto, you've been stuck to this table for the entire night," kitty laughs. 

dokyeom notices vernon among the group, much to his chagrin, smiling at you boyishly. you wave back at vernon with a soft chuckle, thankful that not everyone in this crowd was a snoozefest. 

"just talking," is dokyeom's curt response. "are y'all enjoying the party?" he adresses the larger group, making it a point to not look at kitty. 

"i wish there was more real food," someones pipes in with a grunt and people laugh in agreement. 

"the wine's really good though. expensive stuff," vernon points out, looking at the wine glass propped between you and dokyeom. 

"yeah, it's maybe the best thing about this party," you chime in with a smile. before dokyeom can somehow bring up the fact that he'd been drinking out of the same glass as you, ren gasps out loud, "oh my god, guys, the mistletoe man's back!"

you look around in confusion and find a man dressed in green overalls walking around with some mistletoe stuck his chest, neatly tied with a red ribbon stuck to his chest. "the fuck?" you mumble out and dokyeom laughs at your bewilderment. "it's a stupid tradition," dokyeom says softly to you, "heard someone say it's to foster closer connections between workers."

"by forcing them to kiss?" you whisper back with a grimace as you watch a pair break away from their kiss with bitter expressions. it's fine though because they look at each other's disgust and break into laughter, their table cheering them on. 

"i think it's cute!" kitty remarks, watching the man as he turns around from a few tables over.

"shit, i think he's coming over here," ren curses. "why's that a bad thing?" kitty questions, smiling, eyes glued to the side of dokyeom's face. you might gouge your eyes out one of these days. you're too busy ignoring the ruckus kitty's causing with her frantic giggles as the mistetoe man approaches her. but then he goes past her and she goes silent, eyes coming to still behind you. that's when you realize the mistletoe man's standing square between you and dokyeom. 

you turn around to the man with wide eyes but he simply smiles, "the mistletoe man knows when he sees two lovers!" you don't know what he means till you become aware of dokyeom's arm around you. he pulls away in surprise and his face is red when you look up at dokyeom. 

"this is stupid," you murmur, hoping he'll agree and you wouldn't have to participate in this tradition.

"kiss! kiss! kiss!" ren starts a chant and everyone but kitty and vernon is quick to join in. dokyeom looks bewildered at the unison, and he looks at you, then down at your lips. "we don't have to do this," he comforts you.

"do you want to?" you ask him under your breath. you feel yourself flushing. 

"i'll do it if you want to."

you hate how agreeable dokyeom is sometimes, wishing he would decide for you, for this once. you don't want to think about all the eyes on you, the whispering that's no doubt been reignited. everyone knows you and dokyeom have been friends and maybe something more for years now, but to witness conclusive proof is thrilling to them. 

you feel frozen with the weight of the decision upon you. but then kitty opens her stupid mouth, "ah, dokyeomie, you don't have to do something you don't want to–" 

that spurs you on, you find yourself pressing yourself against dokyeom, raising yourself to his height so you can press your lips to his. he meets you halfway, as if he'd been waiting for you to do exactly this, his large hand finding your cheek so he can seal the deal. 

this goes without saying, you've never kissed dokyeom before, but the way it feels so natural has you questioning if this really was the first time. his lips are pillowy against yourself, his breath hitting your face sweetly when you finally pull away. his eyes are hooded like you've never seen them and you really wish you could memorize this feeling, ingrain it into your mind for later. 

but the moment breaks when you hear the table around you erupt with all kinds of reactions. you don't care to look though, too busy with your own reaction to handle. your heart's fluttering but your eyes feel watery when you pull away from dokyeom. you don't know what to think of all the lines you've been worrying about, the line between you and dokyeom cracking the moment you leaned into his lips. 

–

dokyeom's scared for his life right now. after the chaos around you settled a little, you'd looked at him and quietly asked if he could drive you home right now. he'd been quick to agree, following you out of the door without bidding anyone goodbye. but you're silent the entire walk to his car, not answering him when he asks if you're okay. 

now that you're settled in the car, he pauses before starting the engine. "y/n," he starts softly. you focus on your breathing, staring down at your hands blankly. "i'm sorry."

this makes you look up at him, mouth slightly ajar. "...why are you sorry?" you ask quietly, lips set in a narrow line.

"i– that must have made you uncomfortable. i didn't know what else to–"

"i was the one who kissed you," you comment, looking away and out the window, hands now fists in your lap. dokyeom watches as you tuck some stray strands of hair behind your ear, "i should be sorry."

should be, because you weren't a bit sorry about the kiss. the circumstances that caused it? sure. but the kiss itself wasn't something you would undo. 

dokyeom doesn't know what to say because there's so much to say. where does he even start? "i thought you always saw me as a… brother." 

"what?" your eyes hold a sea of disbelief in them but then as you blink back at a solemn dokyeom, you think it's not that crazy for him to think that after all. "well, i used to. how could i not? mom had drilled it into my system to rely on you like you were family."

dokyeom hums, "...and?"

"i mean, i clearly don't think… i don't have the feelings of a sister toward you," you mumble, your cheeks on fire when you hear your poor phrasing. "if i did, it would be a problem that i wanted to kiss back there."

"you did?" dokyeom gapes and you look at him with a slight tilt of your head. "i– obviously!" you tell him. 

he swallows, "wow. i don't even know what to think–" it's his turn to look at his hands that are trembling, "honest to god, i've never harboured anything but romantic feelings for you, y/n." he says this, head lowered as if in shame, ears revealing how embarassed he was. "i love your mother, but i swear she wanted to kill me the way she encouraged you to call me your brother when you were out with me." 

you grimace, holding back a chuckle, "i'm sorry…" 

"don't be," dokyeom sounds truly defeated, as if the work of hiding his feelings from you had finally caught up with him. "i'm sorry i didn't make myself clearer sooner. never imagined we'd talk about this because we got bullied into our first kiss."

you sigh, nodding as you mutter an agreement. dokyeom rises from his slouch slowly, coming to lock eyes with you. one of his hands comes to rest atop your own fist, prying it open so that you were holding his. you feel warm beyond imagination, feeling like you might burst open with the intensity of your feelings for dokyeom, wondering how you'd ever managed to keep them secret. 

"can…" you stop, voice hoarse, licking your lips nervously, "will you kiss me? for real this time?"

it doesn't take dokyeom a moment's hesitation to close the distance betwen you, his soft lips back on yours, not soon enough for you to get used to the gentle saccharine daze that overcame you. your unoccupied hand card through his hair, similar to a few hours ago when you'd been fixing it, but this time dokyeom lets out the mewl he'd been contatining last time.

he pulls away with a somewhat grunt, eyes starry, "there's no way you didn't know what your were doing." you look back at him, a little breathless with a look of complete confusion. 

he sighs, giving in and rest his head against yours, "when you were fixing my hair earlier, i thought i'd die of a heart attack. finally give up and move on from you, if only in death."

"don't say that, dk," you scold him, hands around him in concern, "and i don't understand why– i mean i feel like we've touched… in other ways before so–"

"i don't know either!" he exclaims, "i just– you looked so fucking gorgeous tonight and then you kept being oblivious to how obviously down bad i am for you– i just couldn't."

"hey, you weren't obvious if i didn't know! that's unfair…" you mumble, looking away with flushed cheeks. it didn't make sense to you.  but dokyeom simply laughs into your shoulder, pulling you into a hug, not much of a change for your dynamic. you'd hugged dokyeom countless times before but now you feel unimaginably closer to him, like you were actually holding him, the entirety of him in your arms. it was incredible, the warmth that blossomed inside you in the silence that surrounded you. it was love.

love shows up even in the early mornings when you're with dokyeom. he'd slept over after your date last night, when you'd insisted you would be too lonely to sleep if he promptly took off (like a gentleman, he commented). you'd laid in bed till 2 am, kissing and talking the night away, his hands finding their indents underneath your worn-out tee. 

you wake up to his nose snuggled in your neck, breathing softly in slumber, hair sticking out every which way. you can't help the loving giggle that leaves you, making him stir in his sleep, arm coming to sit atop your bare stomach. 

"sweet boy," you mumble, placing a kiss atop his forehead and watching in awe as his brown eyes come to life at the action. "you awake?" you jokingly ask but dokyeom responds with a groggy grunt, smiling with fluttering eyes. 

you run a finger through his hair. he groans, "don't wake up yet." you laugh, stroking a strand behind his ear, "but i'm already–" 

he cuts you off with a pout, "no, don't wake up, love. please, want to sleep some more." 

you sigh and shift impossibly closer to him. "all right, then. can't argue with that logic." 

with that, you doze off again. how you manage to fall right back asleep is beyond you, though it might have something to do with the fact that dokyeom's presence brings you a serenity you didn't know you could feel, a feeling that's better than the soft comforter that he himself had picked out for your bed. his arms hold you close, the sweetness melting your heart the whole time you dream, dreaming of dokyeom and of love.

[sweeterthanficstion]

𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝖍𝖆𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖕𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖊 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖞!

to celebrate halloween, kinktober (sort of), and my return to writing, i’m hosting a fun event here on my writing blog! over the next few weeks leading up to halloween, i’ll be dropping a collection of spooky shorts for you to explore. but beware—there’s more than meets the eye. pick up the clues, uncover the secrets, and if you're brave enough, ask yourself what really happened at the haunted homestead, tucked away in the isolated prairie?

four stories over the course of decades, two souls bound by a forgotten past, one forsaken prairie. do you believe in fate, or something darker?

𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖔!

the spirits of the prairie do have a special request, though. they’d like your input on what’s to come. drop by the ask box and tell us which version of leon should take part in each story. after all, time isn’t just a linear line, is it?—it falls around us like confetti. remember though, first come first serve! the masterlist will be updated as each role gets filled. they also ask that you keep to one request per person, so choose wisely!

while not all work throughout this event will be nsfw, they will contain generally dark and/or heavy themes throughout (it's halloween after all!), so i ask politely that this event remains 18+ if you'd like to request or participate!!

navigation ⭑ masterlist ⭑ playlist

between here and there. — (9th oct. 2024)

ghost!leon x ghost hunter!reader | ft. Luis Serra the year is 2001, and you've just found out about a haunted homestead on a prairie, sure to hold a million mysteries within its rotting walls. you've chased rumors of the supernatural before, but this place feels... different. maybe this time, you'll find the evidence you need to prove the existence of the other side—and finally go viral. but quickly you come to learn that some doors, once opened, can't be shut.

do you think i'm spooky? — (16th oct. 2024)

cop!leon x detective!reader | X-Files adjacent AU 1998, and you're given a peculiar case to crack with a cop to keep you company. something's amiss in this abandoned town, there's a chill in the air that has nothing to do with the weather and strange things move in the shadows. you've seen enough to know that this case is more than meets the eye, but as the darkness begins to close in, all evidence points towards the homestead tucked away in the thicket of the prairie. it’s getting harder to tell what’s real… and who you can trust.

darling, won't you ease my worried mind? — (23rd oct. 2024)

slasher!leon x final girl!reader | MDNI 18+ in 1974, you attend a halloween party that your friends manage to convince you will be worth it. at first, it's just bad music and tacky decor, nothing out of the ordinary—until the lights go out. one by one, the guests begin to vanish, leaving behind a bloody trail for you to follow. now you're the last one standing, with a masked killer hunting you in the dark.

velvet ring. — (30th oct. 2024)

vampire!leon x cattle farmer!reader | Wild West AU | MDNI 18+ in 1896, a stranger arrives at your doorstep, bloodied and weak. in the wilds, it's custom to help a man in need, so you do what anyone would—you take him in, and tend to his wounds out of the kindness of your heart. but as the nights grow longer, and your cattle start turning up dead, you begin to wonder if danger may be closer than you think.

© sweeterthanficstion — don't copy or steal, that's common sense i fear

[spiderlily-w1tch-blog]

𝚃𝚘𝚗𝚢 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚔 - 𝙿𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚓𝚘𝚋|𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐|𝙾𝚛𝚊𝚕

𝕎𝕀𝕊ℙ𝕊𝕀𝕄ℙ𝕊

— — —

ft At a Restaurant, Fem!Reader

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: I do not own Marvel or its characters, all credit goes to its creators and actors

WC: 1,625

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Obligatory exhibitionism/public sex warning (Series Warning)

【Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】

— — —

Tony has always been adamant that he needs to treat me like a goddess, and that, apparently, entails taking me to fancy restaurants at least once a week. That, and buying me accessories and clothes worth more than my entire hometown, all on a whim. I’ve tried to get him to stop, telling him that I don’t need the actual sapphire necklace Rose wore on the Titanic. Luckily, he’s starting to let up, slowly. In his own way. He’s still buying me presents for seemingly no reason, but they’re actually a reasonable price, now.

Usually, anyway. He insisted on taking me to a fancy restaurant that just opened in an area I never would have expected a Fancy Restaurant to be. He also insisted on buying me an evening gown specifically for the restaurant. I initially asked him why I couldn’t just wear any of the dozens of elegant evening gowns he’s gotten me thus far, and his response was just that this one “needed to be special.”

Now I can see why he specifically chose a dress with double leg slits that each reach up to practically my waist. I can also see, now, why he told me not to bother wearing panties underneath.

Tony’s sitting diagonally behind and beside me, his right arm curled around my body, resting on the booth’s seat just next to my hip. My leg is hooked over his and the front of the gown he’d bought specifically for tonight is laying over my other leg. My pussy is fully exposed to the entire restaurant as Tony plunges his middle and ring fingers in and out of me fast enough that the lewd squelching noise is almost louder than the moans he’s pulling out of me.

Apparently this restaurant is specifically for rich patrons who have an exhibitionism kink. My cheeks almost glow with how red they are, not only because of Tony’s assault on my insides, but because I can feel all the pairs of eyes on us, on me. I can feel so many if the other patrons staring at my dripping cunt as Tony shifts his hand just enough to position his thumb over my clit.

“Fuck, Tony!” I moan out in a high pitched voice when he starts to roughly rub over my sensitive bud and dually licks, sucks, and bites on my neck.

“You feel that, baby? All these people appreciating how fucking gorgeous you are and how spectacular all your noises are.” Tony mutters directly into my ear, his hot breath fanning over me and making my thighs shake.

“Fuck- fuck- yes- yes, yea. Yea, I fuckin’ feel ‘em.” I manage to whine out as he speeds up. His other hand moves to brush feather-light touches over my hip, up over my waist, until finally, he can reach into the strapless top of the dress and pull my tit out. The air is cool enough, despite the heat if sex flying all throughout the air from all the patrons alike, that my nipple pebbles immediately and Tony takes that in stride, palming my breast before squeezing my nipple in the juncture of his fore and middle fingers.

“You’re doing so good, baby, so so fucking good.” Tony presses more kisses to my neck and jaw. “Look up, baby, c’mon.” He prompts me to lift my head from where I have it angled down to watch him thrust in and out of my sopping cunt with low lidded eyes. I look up, as he instructed, and I can see men fucking up into the women accompanying them, some dually working their fingers into another. There are some men closer to us than the rest that are staring lustfully at us, a couple have a woman or two bobbing on their cocks.

Watching the men thoroughly enjoy their company reminds me of my own position. My legs drawn open with my womanhood fully on display with my fiancé’s fingers fully buried inside. My left hand is drawn back and clutching at Tony’s shirt, desperately trying to ground myself from the mind numbing pleasure he’s pounding into me, with just his fingers. My right is clutching on the clear glass table in front of us, my knuckles white as paper.

“F-fuck.. Oh, god, Tony, oh fucking god yes!” I saw a few couples look up at us and most of them continued to watch even as they sped up their own acts of pleasure. “Oh, fuck, yea..” I let out in a high pitched whine, the adrenaline coursing through my veins pumped even harder when I made eye contact with a man sitting parallel to us, fisting the hair of the woman choking on his dick. Looking down, I saw her bouncing on a dildo suctioned to the floor, the moulded balls having the restaurant’s logo printed boldly. The sight made me clench, feeling every part of Tony’s fingers pressed against my walls. The feeling had me nearly screaming as he curled his fingers, pressing directly into my g-spot.

“Fuck, Tony! You really got yourself quite the catch, huh?” One of the servers walked up, shamelessly palming himself through his tight black pants.

“Oh, you know it, Thomas..” Tony smirked, resting his chin on my shoulder as he smugly spoke with the man he, apparently, knew, not once halting his movements. Both his hands continued to pleasure me, his thumb pressing tight, hard circles on my clit while his other hand continuously groped my breast and tweaked my nipple, “Go on and say ‘Hi’ baby, this is an old friend of mine. He’s actually the one that told me about this place. You wanna thank him, sweetheart?” Tony prompted me, smug as ever as he knew I could barely get out his name through my moans.

“H-Hel-lo.. Fuck- Oh god- T-thank you.. Thank you!!” I called out, my back arching when Tony simultaneously curled his fingers into my g-spot, pinched and pulled my nipple, pressed harder against my clit, and sucked right on the most sensitive part of my neck. My orgasm ripped through me, making my vision go white, all my muscles tense up, and cum gush from my pussy.

When he felt my orgasm, Tony immediately began thrusting his fingers again with a new vigor, moving his hand up and down as well as he made me squirt. My fluids landed on the table in front of us, all over the smooth seat, and drenched his hand and part of his sleeve, as well as over parts of our clothing I couldn’t get myself to pay any mind to.

“Oh, fuuuck, baby. Oh that was gorgeous. So. So. Fucking. Gorgeous.” He punctuated each word with sloppy kisses to my neck and hard thrusts into my spent cunt.

“Oh, god, Tony. You really got lucky with her… My wife could never squirt like that..” The man, Thomas, I vaguely remember, ushered in an airy tone and pumped his cock that I haven’t a clue when he’d even pulled it out. He bit his lip and watched as my juices dripped from the seat and table onto the floor, almost looking like he wanted to lick it up.

“Oh, you have no idea, Thomas, no idea.” My fiancé smirked at his friend as he pulled his hand away from my overstimulated folds and began licking his fingers clean. He gave my breast one last squeeze before releasing it and haphazardly sliding my dress back up over it.

Looking away from his friend and cleaning his saliva from his hand on the restaurant’s napkin, he reached his right hand up and turned my head with it to face him. He pressed a loving kiss to my lips as opposed to the lustful, wanton kiss I was expecting, though the lewdness was still present when I could taste myself in his mouth.

“Mind bringing us the check, Thomas? I think my fiancée, here, would prefer we continue at home.” Tony spoke without looking at his friend, too busy looking in my eyes with love that overpowered the wafting of sex and lust around us.

“Sure thing, Tones, and, uh, make sure you give her another good one for me..” Thomas said with a smirk audible in his voice as he zipped himself back up.

As he left and Tony leaned in to press kisses to my cheek and up to my temple, I sighed happily as I chanced another look around the room. There I saw men all around us panting, seemingly from their own release, a few of their women with equally heavy breaths. Some of them, each, were still looking over at us and marveling at the glistening pool of my orgasm still dripping down. A woman bouncing on the man’s dick, she was with, was watching me as she clutched onto his shoulders, his back facing us. She made eye contact with me just as she came and her face as she reached her climax was gorgeous. Her expression sent a new wave of arousal down my spine and made me clench around nothing.

“Are you enjoying being the watcher, too, sweetheart?” Tony asked, smugness clear in his voice as he felt my shiver.

“Yes.. Oh god, yes.. You have to promise me we’ll come back here.” I rolled my head on his shoulder to look at him with a small smile on my swollen lips, both from his heated kisses and how much I was biting my lip to hold back full screams of pleasure. It was then that Thomas returned, a smile both filled with lust and joy at hearing a promise of return.

“Of course, honey. I’m so glad you liked it.” He leaned in and pressed another kiss to my lips.

— — —

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥:

@frosch-thefrog

[kidlit-queen-competition]

Train fact: the longest* train ever

like all things to do with railways, you can get pretty granular and pedantic with this one, so this is likely to also be the longest post ever. Sorry, but actual facts (and pretty pictures) under the cut!

The longest passenger train in regular service is Australia's 'Ghan, a luxury tourist train that runs between Adelaide and Darwin, and averages 774 m/2,539ft in length. that's twice as long as the Empire State building is tall.

(id in alt)

The reason I say "in regular service" is because the longest passenger train EVER was run by the Rhaetian Railway in Switzerland, to celebrate 175 years of Swiss railways, and that was more than twice that long at 1,910m/6266.4ft. Almost an entire Kentucky Derby worth of train! It had to go incredibly slowly, maxing out at 35km/h, to avoid overloading the electric systems of the railway and local power grids.

[Video desc: a youtube video from CBS news of the recordbreaking passenger train. The train is made up of several red electric trains coupled together, and moves through alpine landscapes of mountainds and coniferous forest. It is so long that it is visible only in coils, like a snake. Some shots show the train leaving one tunnel while entering another, or driving under a viaduct while the tail end crosses it, and several shots show people watching and taking photographs.]

But, the thing with passenger trains is that they have a lot of rules and regulations applied to them that freight doesn't have to follow. So freight trains get HYUGE.

The average American freight train (I consider the USA to be freight trains' natural habitat because there is a whole bunch of wide open space for for them to crawl around) is 5400 feet long, and the standard in Europe is around 3000ft. That's a 10-20 minute walk at average adult walking speed, just to go from end to end. You know when you stop at a level crossing, and a train goes by, and it seems like it's going by forever? That was probably one of these.

But the average frieght train is peanuts to mining trains. Trains came from the mines, and they still dominate there. The biggest trains in the world are consists of ore and coal, run by tiny crews from extraction point to export. This has always been true.

For example, the Datong–Qinhuangdao railway in China runs coal trains daily that are 2.614 km/8576 ft long. That's more than 1.5 miles, or three times as long as the burj khalifa is tall. And that's the standard for that line.

(id in alt)

But that doesn't break any records.

The longest production train, running regularly, is the Sishen–Saldanha railway line's maganese/iron ore train. These trains are four kilometers long. 4,000 meters, almost half the height of the highest peak on earth, in wagons full of metals. Too long to be seen in a single photograph- the one below was stitched together from four separate pictures, taken from the air:

(id in alt)

and that's still not the record!

The record for longest frieght train is held by BHP, an Australian mining company. It was made for the record, but the capacity is still there. This train ran on june 21st 2011, and was 682 wagons long, over seven kilometers. Almost twice the length of the Sishen–Saldanha's, and a quarter the height of Olympus mons. If you stood this train on its end, it would be taller than Mt Denali. If you started at the front of the lead locomotive, and ran as fast as you physically could, you wouldn't reach the last wagon for an hour.

There are entire branch lines shorter than this train.

Unfortunately, there are no good photos, because nobody in space had time for railfanning that day, but there are plenty of pictures of other BHP trains!

(id in alt)

[greatwhitemoving]

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[yieldtotemptation]

REPUTATION ft. Minji

minji x male reader smut

9k words

“So, you’re the one,” Minji says, an accusation to make you look up from your drink. “The one they warned us about.”

Firstly, you didn’t plan for this (you never do).

The night began, as always, with the best intentions. You promised your manager that you would follow his instructions to the letter: show face, smile for the cameras, and then slip out before the real party kicks in and you find yourself knee deep in scandal. Again.

And (if you were extra good) you would end the night by scrolling through the greatest hits on your contacts list, looking for a fellow insomniac needing to past the time, needing a bed to share.

A normal, everyday kind of night.

But yet, here you are now: cornered by the girl on everyone’s playlist, all fierce determination and pouty lips wrapped up in a tight black dress.

She doesn’t bother with an introduction—no, that would be silly—instead she just stands there, looking pretty, expecting your full attention.

You quirk an eyebrow. “I require a warning?”

There’s a smile there, just a hint, playing at the edges of Minji’s mouth, like she’s in on a secret that you’re not privy to. “Beware of male seniors. Specifically,” she adds, tilting her head to the side, raising her hand, peeling one finger off the drink she’s holding so she can point a single glossy nail at “you.”

“Hm,” is all you have to say, playing coy, like this is all news to you. Like you’re not aware of your own reputation, of the things you’ve been accused of, the things your company has scrambled to cover-up, the things you’ve actually done.

“So,” she says, so carefree, so easily charming. It’s all an act, of course, a meticulously curated ‘cool girl’ image, something well-rehearsed and played a thousand times before on a thousand lesser men, a tightrope walk between relatable and unattainable. “Should I be worried?”

You know what she’s really asking for: an assessment. Do you find me attractive? Do I tempt you? Am I the type of girl worth risking your career over?

And so, you take her invitation and do the one thing that always gets you in trouble. You look. Look at her legs, long and toned and smooth, begging to be wrapped around your waist. Look at her thighs, creamy-white and barely covered by the hem of her dress. Look at her chest, the soft swell rising and falling with every breath, her collarbone glittering with the sweat of excitement.

Look higher—at how effortlessly perfect she looks, as if she wakes up every day looking like the ideal type of every man and woman in Korea. Oh, there’s make-up, it’s subtle but it’s there, playing up her best features: the height of her cheekbones, the almond curve of her eyes, the fullness of her lips.

She’s so undeniably, obviously gorgeous: a bombshell wrapped in the guise of a girl-next-door.

It’s no wonder she’s so fucking popular.

You give her a non-answer, “Depends what they’ve been saying about me.”

Minji takes a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving yours, her full pink lips curling around the straw as she sucks in the sugary liquid. It’s a deliberate move, so casually erotic—borderline pornographic, in fact—designed to make you want to grab her and kiss her and prove everything they’ve been saying about you right.

But she’s busy assessing you, you can tell, trying to reconcile the rumours with the reality—Can you really make a girl like her lose control? Make her beg? Make her forget about her image, her obligations, her entire life outside of your cock?

“Word gets around HYBE quick.” Minji’s eyes narrow just a smidge, she’s biting down into her bottom lip, and it has you imagining all sorts of things you’d rather she was doing with her mouth. “The girls at SM can’t stop talking about you. The guys at JYP hate your guts, so that says a lot.”  She smiles at that last point, before listing off, “fuckboy, heartbreaker, group-wrecker, industry villain.”

It’s funny, hearing your dirty laundry aired out like that, and you can only shrug, give a casual smile as if to say ‘who, me?’. It’s admittedly a practiced move, one you’ve used to get out of sticky situations before (you may have even used it as an ending pose once). “Is that what they told you?” You ask, nodding in the direction behind her.

Minji follows your gaze, glancing over her shoulder, the wall of noise and flashing lights of the club framing her face, painting her skin with a rainbow of neon shadows.

There’s her bandmates, doing a terrible job of spying, a trio of worry and concern and gossip: they’ve found their little bunny, and she’s been caught speaking to the big, bad wolf.

She muses, “we’ve all heard the same rumours…”

“And so you came to… what?”

Minji takes a step closer, close enough for you to get a whiff of her drink; one of those sugary mixes, deceptively sweet, but just as strong as the one in your own hand. “To find out for myself,” she answers, “to see if you’re really as bad as everyone says, to see if it's all hype, or if there’s actually some truth to the legend.”

“Legend,” you repeat, trying the word out on your own tongue (it sounds sweeter on hers). “That sounds a bit much, don't you think?” you ask, trying to ignore the way she’s leaning forward now, letting the top of her dress dip, revealing just enough cleavage to stimulate your imagination. A simple gesture, so perfectly choreographed that you'd think it was incidental if you didn't know better, if it didn't have you picturing what it would be like to rip that dress off her, to expose her bare tits, to grab, lick, kiss, and—

She’s giggling out loud now, like she can hear every single filthy thought racing through your mind. “I think I'd like to be the judge of that.”

There’s an alarm bell going off in your pocket, the vibration of your phone buzzing with messages—who else but your manager, demanding to know why you haven't gone home like a good little idol yet, begging you to please, please not make another mess.

But you ignore it and take another sip of your drink, savouring the burn of the cold liquor down your throat, giving you a moment to consider. You’ve got Minji figured out, you think. It's nothing you haven't seen before (nothing you haven't dealt with before). The dream girl, the ‘ideal type’ who’s growing tired of maintaining a perfect image, looking to see how far she can push, how much she can get away with (how much you’ll let her get away with).

Because she’s probably never been told no in her life. Because she's used to getting what she wants with a bat of those lashes or a pout of those lips.

In a way, coming to you is safe, because if the worst were to happen—if you were to get caught—no one for a second would believe that one of the nation's precious daughters was the instigator.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, cutting through the din of the club like a knife, making you believe that she just might be telepathic. “You're thinking: she’s just another innocent idol playing at being naughty for just the night, but the second things get too wild, she’ll be out of here faster than you can say ‘Dispatch’.”

“Because you’re not like other girls.”

“Please,” she scoffs, dismissing the idea entirely. “I always see things to the end.”

“Alright then,” you say. She’s thrown down the gauntlet, and you’re going to pick it up, if for nothing else than to see just how far she’ll go. "Shall we do this here? I'll rip off your clothes, nail you in the middle of the dancefloor in front of all our friends and peers?"

She’s grinning now, not backing down, in fact she’s moving closer, like yes, that’s exactly what I was hoping for. “From what I’ve heard that would be tame for you. Is it true, what you got up to at Inkigayo?”

“That was in a parking lot.”

“And at M Coundown.”

"Under the stage.”

“Music Bank?”

“The staircase, of course.”

“See,” Minji’s whispering now, close enough that you can hear her over the thumping bass of the music, her breath warm against your ear, “you are a man-whore.”

“I have a name,” you reply, dryly.

“That’s nice.” She’s touching you now, her hand sliding up your chest, fingers playing with the buttons of your shirt. “Wanna hear me scream it?”

Your phone is still buzzing, and you know that you should be walking away. It would be the right thing to do: it’s far too public, she’s far too popular, and getting caught leaving hand in hand with her would be nothing short of an announcement that will hit the top of every social media platform by sunrise.

But it’s too late—it was over the second you locked eyes with her from across the dancefloor, when she caught you staring, blatant and unabashed, lingering on the way her ass bounced, mesmerised by how her hips swayed to the beat. 

You just had to let her know she was wanted.

"Look," Minji says, her hands sliding higher now, fingers idly adjusting the collar of your shirt. "There's no angle here, no game. I'm not looking to get caught or land in a scandal, and I'm definitely not looking for love or a boyfriend or whatever fairy tale shit you sing about. I just want what all the other pretty idols are getting."

She's forward, no shame in saying exactly what she wants, daring you to dispute it, but all you can do is cock your head to the side, and flash a smirk of your own. "And what makes you think you're my type?"

Minji laughs, her teeth glinting in the neon lights—you both know it's a very, very idiotic question. "Please," she says, rolling her eyes, "I'm everyone's type."

Another glance over her shoulder, where her bandmates have been pretending not to hover, and now there’s a new face in the mix: Yunjin. Her eyes narrowed to slits, her arms folded, and her jaw is clenched so tight you can almost hear her teeth grinding from here. Unlike the other three, she’s not playing the concerned friend card; she’s the pissed off mother bear, ready to pull Minji away from the walking, talking red flag.

And so adds to your stellar reputation.

Minji notices your eyes flicker in that direction, and looking back at the group with amusement, she takes it as the cue she's been waiting for. "We better get out of here before they take your head off."

It's inevitable, really, this is how it always ends up: the sweet, innocent idol lured into the jaws of the industry monster. But you can’t help it, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she wants to be eaten alive.

You know the score, you’ve danced this dance before, and you’ve got a role to play. The only thing left to do is to take her hand and lead her out of the chaos—through the throngs of familiar faces, not giving them a chance to register what you're doing, or who you're with, or what's about to occur, again.

Not like anyone could stop it now, anyway.

"So, this is how it happens," you hear Minji murmur as you lead her out of the club, through a hidden metal door, and into the cold, night air.

-

Minji tastes like gin and lime cordial, her lips sticky and sweet against yours, her arms around your neck, her back pressed up against the back-alley wall. There’s something in the way she’s kissing you—giggling between breaths—like she can’t believe this is happening, like she’s getting away with the crime of the century.

Her hands are in your hair now, tugging gently, the cool metal of her rings pressing into your scalp, begging you to kiss her harder, to burn the memory of your lips onto hers. Your tongues meet in a dance that’s more battle than ballet, and she’s matching you move for move, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip, her nails scraping down your neck.

She’s eager, she’s pressing her chest against yours, making you feel just how hot she is. But yet, there’s still that annoying voice in your head, the last shreds of your conscience, telling you to give her that final out, to let her walk away with her dignity intact, go back to her members and tell them she just had to get some fresh air.

So, you pull back, tearing your mouth away from hers, giving her room to gasp for air, to let the world come back into focus, and you ask her, loud and clear, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Minji’s panting, breaths coming in short gasps, little puffs of steam out into the winter air, and she smiles. It’s a wicked little grin, equal parts surprised and thrilled, like you’ve just passed some kind of test she didn’t think you knew existed. “Are you asking for my consent?”

You balk at that. Your reputation can't be that bad. “Is it so unbelievable that I'd ask?” Even though you already know, deep down, she’s not going anywhere, there’s a power in hearing her say it. Saying that she wants you, specifically, to ruin her.

“No, it’s just…” Minji starts, looking up with those big, dark eyes, and you can almost see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out how to play this, before ultimately landing on the word, “nice.”

She pulls you back towards her, kissing you again, those soft, pillowy lips of hers meeting your mouth in a kiss that’s so inappropriately sweet, like she’s sealing a deal with sugar rather than ink.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice steady, sure. “I want to do this. More than anything.” Minji tilts her head back, exposing the column of her throat, inviting you to kiss it, to suck, to bite. “I want you."

You don’t need any more convincing than that. Your hands are on her body, running over the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her chest. And she’s leaning into your touch, needing to feel more of you, wanting you to explore her. And you do, greedily, feeling her breath hitch when you graze her nipples through the fabric, feel her hips jerk when you trace the line of her panties.

“Are we going to—gah—go back to your place?” Minji tries to ask, her question punctuated by a moan as your fingertips dance over the smooth skin of her inner thigh, the hem of her dress whispering against your skin.

You’ve already made your decision—you're not taking her home, you're not taking her anywhere with a bed, or even a chair. You're going to have her right here, right now. There’s no need to answer her, you just let her work it out for herself when you push her back against the wall, when your thumb finds the slick, wet heat between her legs.

“Here?” She gasps, turning to look down the darkened end of the alleyway, at the distant streetlights, at the crowds of people oblivious to what’s about to happen beneath the shadows.

“It’s not the dancefloor, but it’ll have to do,” you murmur, leaning into her, pressing your lips against her cheek, her jaw, her earlobe.

“B-but, what if—” Minji stammers, but you’re busy toying with the lace of her panties, nothing more than a mere formality at this point, only existing to get wetter, to be unavoidably ruined by you.

“What if someone finds us?” You finish her question, nibbling at her ear. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we leave them something to talk about, won’t we?”

She’s shivering at the thought of it—the headlines, the think pieces, the whispered scandals that will follow you both for weeks, maybe months, maybe forever. But you can feel her resolve hardening, her spine straightening, her body arching towards yours, and she replies, “Then don’t hold back.”

The challenge is clear: she’s embracing the thrill of the forbidden, the rush of potential disaster, the heady feeling of need overshadowing the fear of getting caught.

You don’t disappoint. Your fingers slip under the soaked lace, and she’s sensitive, so, so sensitive. She’s staining your fingers, needing only the smallest amount of pressure to garner a reaction. You tease her, drag your finger across her tender folds, dare to skim over her clit, torture her with anticipation.

Whatever concerns she has evaporates as you kiss down to her collarbone—you’re going to leave a mark—and she’s already asking for more, “Please.”

She’s whining, parting her legs, desperate for you to do more than just touch her, needing you to rip through her panties and take her.

“You're right—I don’t care,” she sighs into the wind, handing her fate over to you. “I need you. Now.”

That's all you need to hear, everything you've ever wanted to hear someone as seemingly untouchable as Minji say to you. You pull down her panties, needing an extra tug as her slickness sticks them to her thighs—she’s so fucking wet for you—and you draw a circle around her entrance with your finger.

“Right there,” she cries. She’s much more honest when she’s desperate—gone is the posturing, the taunting, the act—she’s just a girl who needs to feel something real. So, you give it to her—push your finger inside, gliding in smoothly, a perfect fit around your digit.

Only knuckle deep but she’s already got you like a vice, squeezing around your finger like she’s trying to keep it captive—so wet, so tight, so fucking good. Her nails dig into your shoulders as you push in another finger, stretching her just enough to make her gasp, just enough to make her fulfill her promise to cry out your name, “Fuck—!”

Her pulse is racing like a runaway train, hammering against your lips—you’re pushing both fingers all the way inside her now, sawing them in and out of her, making her groan, making her repeat your name over and over again.

You’re in her ear, “you’ve got to be quiet, Minji.”

But she’s not having it. “Make me,” she laughs, daring you, another challenge she’s putting down.

You kiss her hard, replacing the laughter in her mouth with your tongue, muffling her cries as you fuck her with your hand, you’re going to ruin her now. You curl your fingers up to hit that spot that makes her toes curl in her sky-high heels, making her gasp, her head thunking back against the wall.

She’s trying, she really is, to keep it in, but she still needs you to keep her standing, to hold her up as your fingers delve deeper; to keep her from melting into a puddle all over your hand.

Still, you’re relentless, feeling her out, learning her rhythm, her reactions, the spots that make her sigh and fall apart. You know you’ve found it when her breaths turn harsh and ragged, and she’s rolling her hips against your hand, and there’s that noise—the sweet, slick sound of her pussy swallowing your fingers whole—and she’s whining into your mouth, “This feels so—”

“Hot,” you finish for her, watching as her cheeks flush a delicious shade of pink, her pupils blown wide, those angelic features of hers contorting with every thrust of your fingers. “You’re so fucking hot, Minji.”

And she is, she’s hot, she’s so hot around you, against you, her hips bucking at the praise, and she whimpers, your name a staccato prayer on her lips. “More,” she demands, but she’s tripping over her words—“more—please—how does it feel so—”

“I’m going to make you cum now, Minji,” you state, your voice low and sure, your fingers continuing their persistent rhythm inside her. She nods, panting against your neck. “And after that, I’m going to fuck you and make you cum all over again. Until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget every other name but mine. Do you understand?”

Her eyes flutter closed, and she nods again, a whine escaping her throat, and she’s biting her lip so hard it’s going to bruise—another mark she won’t be able to explain tomorrow.

You lean in closer, whispering, “Good girl.”

You’re finger-fucking her in earnest now, her body moving in sync with your hand, the alleyway walls echoing with the slap of skin and the wet sounds of your digits plunging into her, your knuckles smacking against her clit. She’s trying to keep it together, trying not to scream out loud, her eyes squeezed shut tight as if that could hold back the orgasm that’s barrelling down on her.

Her breaths are coming out in little pants, and you know she’s close, so close, she’s nearly crying. “Just your fingers—fuck—it’s just your fingers,” she’s repeating it in disbelief, like it shouldn’t feel this good, not yet, like she needs the mantra to keep herself grounded as your hand lights up every nerve in her body.

She’s there, right on the edge, only needing that extra push, that pressure in just the right place, just waiting for your word to send her spiralling over. “Cum for me now, Minji.”

And that’s all it takes.

You hold her steady, fuck her hard with your fingers, rub at her clit, and she’s clenching down, all tiny shakes and choked gasps, her eyes snapping open and then squeezing shut as she reaches the precipice.

"God—fuck—I can't—"

It hits her hard and fast and all at once—her whole body seizing around your hand, her cunt tightening, her hips thrusting forward, needing more friction. Her mouth opens wide, but you trap her lips before she can make a sound, kissing her fiercely, tasting the sweetness of her release on her tongue, feeling the tremors of her orgasm travel from her core to the tips of your fingers.

Her hands are all over you, her nails digging into your shoulders, leaving little half-moons in your skin as she clutches you closer, her tongue dancing with yours as if her life depends on it. You keep going, not letting up until she’s fully ridden the wave, and it’s a sight to behold—Minji coming apart against a dirty alley wall, her legs trembling like they might give out at any second.

When she does finally go still, when her breathing starts to even out, you break the kiss, pulling away to look into her eyes, searching for the usual signs of regret or embarrassment that often follow these kinds of moments. But she’s looking at you with something else entirely: a mix of awe and excitement, like she’s just experienced something she never knew existed.

“You okay?” You murmur, the question more of a formality than anything, because she looks absolutely anything but okay. She looks fucking amazing, a breathless, boneless mess against the wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every inhale.

Her eyes are still glazed over, wide and dark, her mouth slack and swollen from your kisses. You can see her trying to process what just happened, the reality of it all, but she’s still too lost in the aftermath of her orgasm to form coherent thoughts.

“Yeah,” she breathes out finally, nodding shakily. “I’m—yeah, I’m good.”

You withdraw your hand, giving her pussy one last gentle squeeze before pulling away, and she whines, a high-pitched noise that makes you twitch.

She’s flushed, her hair a mess from your hands, her lipstick smudged, her dress hiked up around her waist, panties around her ankles. The way she’s looking at you now, it's worship, like you're a secret that she’s just discovered and is desperate to keep to herself. “I fucking knew it,” she says. “The rumours were true.”

You smirk, wiping your hand on the side of your pants, watching her struggle to stand straight. “Ready for round two?”

Her gaze flicks downwards, to the bulge in your pants, and she nods, swallows hard. “Yeah, I—fuck yes.”

There’s no hesitation now, no pretending she doesn’t know what she’s signed up for. She’s all in, and you want her, here, now, because that’s what you do—you take what you want.

You kiss her again, deep and greedy, one hand on the wall behind her head, the other gripping her tight, keeping her in place as you grind against her, letting her feel the hardness of your cock, everything she’s been waiting for.

“Please, don’t stop,” she pleads, and you don’t—you can’t.

Not now, when she’s letting you tug down on her dress, letting it pool around her ankles like a discarded secret. She’s a vision, standing in the cold, stark alley in just her heels and her underwear—and there’s her tits, perky and perfect, begging to be touched.

You don’t even bother with the bra, you just yank it down, the straps snapping and the fabric falling away to reveal her nipples—pink and stiff and so fucking tempting. You can’t help yourself, they’re practically calling for you to taste them, so you draw one into your mouth, feeling her gasp against your ear, her hand sliding into your hair, holding you against her chest.

Her skin is hot against your tongue, and you suck, and bite, and lick until she’s whimpering, until she’s pushing herself into your lips. Your hand is exploring the rest of her naked body—running down her stomach, tracing the lines of her abs, feeling her stomach muscles clench with every breath she takes. She’s so tight, so toned—it’s like you’re touching a sculpture, or a personal playground made just for you.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, “so good, so, so good, how does it feel—?”

Her words cut off as your teeth graze her nipple—she’s so reactive to every touch, and it has you wondering—has she ever been touched like this before? Has her body every truly been explored like this, pushed to these heights?

“You want more?” You murmur into her chest, your fingers returning to her wet folds, your thumb reintroducing itself to her clit.

“Your cock,” she says, sucking a harsh breath through her teeth. “I want it, I need it—please—I’m ready for it.” It’s that word—please—how it rolls off her tongue, the desperation in it, how it makes her sound so needy and vulnerable.

“Then take it,” you command, breaking away from her chest, stepping backwards to give her room to do exactly what she's been begging for.

Minji doesn’t miss a beat, hands gentle but determined, her fingers at your belt, fumbling with the buckle, loosening the zipper. She’s hungry for it, for this moment of truth, to verify for herself—what’s been talked about in whispers and rumours, what’s been taunting her all evening.

Your pants hit the ground, and she’s staring at your cock with wide eyes, and for a second you can almost see the doubt creeping in. But she swallows it down, and with a soft grip, wraps her small hand around you, stroking you from base to tip.

“So this is it,” she says, taking the full measure of your length, her thumb smearing the pre-cum over your head. “This is the cock that ruins idols. They said it splits women in half.”

You chuckle, but she’s completely ignoring you, well, ignoring all parts of you that isn’t your cock. Her hand is tentative at first, working its way up and down, feeling you grow harder by the second in her palm. You can feel her wonder, her excitement, a hunger matched only by the ache in your cock.

It's the way she’s not saying anything, just touching, feeling. Not that you mind the quiet—it's intimate, just the two of you, the sound of her breaths, your heart beating in your ears, and the distant thump of the world you left behind.

She’s gaining confidence now, her strokes more deliberate, a smug smile gracing her lips as she watches how you react to her touch. You bite back a groan, not wanting to give away how much she’s getting to you, but fuck, she’s getting good at this. She’s clearly learning on the job, eyes keen to see just how you like it—how fast, how tight—how to make you fall apart in her hands.

It’s time to reign her in, you’re heading into deeper waters now. You grasp her wrist, stopping her, ignoring her pouts and whines. “Not yet,” you say, “I’m going to split you in half with my cock now.”

That makes her grin. She does this thing, this cute little twirl, spinning around on her heels to face the wall, and posting herself up against it. Her legs spread wide, giving you a perfect view of her splayed pussy, glistening under the dim neon light. She’s got her hands above her head—she’s putting herself on display for you, like your own private Mona Lisa.

A look back at you and she catches you gawking—eyes glued to her ass, her pussy—and she winks. “Are you just going to stare, or do I have to make you fuck me?” She says it so casually, like she’s back at the bar ordering another drink. “Hurry up, please. I need it. Inside me. Now."

No more waiting, no further invitations needed—there’s teasing, and then there’s both of you craving it, dying for this.

You’re behind her in an instant, pressing her into the wall, her cheek against the cold brick, her juicy ass up in the air. You guide your cock to her entrance, the head nudging against her—she’s soaked, pussy drooling on your tip—and she gasps, looking back at you with those doe eyes, all wide and innocent—like she hasn’t been begging for this since the moment she looked in your direction.

“Fuck Minji, you're so fucking wet for me,” you say, running your cock down her slit, coating it in her juices, “so needy for me, aren’t you?

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice strained, like every moment without your cock inside her is torture. “I want it all. Every fucking inch.”

The first push is a slide into heaven—she’s tight, so fucking tight, so, so wet, like she’s never had anyone else—like she’s been waiting just for you. She’s teary, gasping, and you feel her body tense, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t dare ask you to stop. Instead, she arches her back, pushing herself back onto you, urging you deeper.

“God,” she’s chanting now, feeling inch after inch sliding into her, “it’s so—it’s already making me so—”

It’s slow, deep, fucking, stretching seconds into an eternity, stretching her pussy out with your girth, stretching her to fit you, to keep you, to never let you leave. It’s careful, almost tender at first—let her set the pace, let her show you how much she can take.

She’s moaning, low and guttural, and you wrap one hand around her waist to hold her steady as you thrust into her, let her get comfortable with your size, make her tits bounce with every pump, make her legs shake beneath her. And then there’s that lip bite again—she’s trying to keep quiet, but little moans are escaping her, getting lost in the night.

You ease out, then push back in, setting a steady rhythm that’s got her rocking back onto you. Minji seems like a delicate little thing, but there's a strength to her, a suppleness—she’s meeting you thrust for thrust, her pussy like pure velvet around your cock, gripping you tight, trying to milk you.

Hand finds her chin, tilting her head back so you can kiss her again—long, deep, tongue-filled kisses that make her whine and buck against you. She’s slowly, but surely adjusting to you now, her body learning the rhythm of your cock, getting used to being so completely filled.

It's in the way she's moaning into your mouth, like she's never been fucked like this before, never had someone so big, never had a cock so demanding of her tight little cunt. But she's so eager for it, her pussy so warm and welcoming, swallowing you up with every thrust.

It’s not normally like this—you’re not normally like this—but something has you asking between kisses, “You okay?”

She laughs, pushing herself back against you, pushing her cunt down on you, taking you deeper, burying your cock to the hilt. “I’m not going to break, I promise,” she says, looking over her shoulder, needing this. “I need you to fuck me—no holding back—I can take it all—everything you’ve ever given anyone else, all those other girls. I can handle it.”

“Show me.”

It’s throwing gasoline on a fire—she's asking for it, burning for it. You fuck her like you mean it—pull out all the way, force it all the way back in, hard, deep, rough. A shriek and she's wailing now, true to her word she’s taking it, taking it all, utterly lost in each perfect push into her cunt. She’s so beautiful like this, so open and raw—gone is the perfect idol, she’s just another girl getting fucked in an alley by some guy she just met.

Both hands are gripping into her hips, holding her in place, holding her upright, feeling her walls clench and release around you. Marks are going to be left there too, your fingerprints on her skin, bruises that she’ll have to hide with makeup tomorrow.

“So good—so fucking good—just—“ Minji can barely make out full sentences, let alone words as you fuck her, as you own her. “Harder! Fuck! Rougher!"

It’s like a drug, this power, watching her come apart for you, knowing you’re the one making her feel this way, knowing she’ll let you do whatever you want, whatever you need as long as it makes her come apart. And you’re feeding off of it, her words pushing you closer to the edge, letting her need for you drive you, unlock that primal part of your brain. Fucking her like this, so filthy and wrong and everything you love about this life.

You pick up the pace, driving your hips forward—"harder—fuck—harder"—until she’s shaking, her legs giving out, and the only thing keeping her on her feet is your cock and your arms.

“Fuck—I know what they said but—fuck! Is this what they all felt?” She gasps out, “is this how it always feels?”

Your lips on her neck, her hair sticking to your face, the scent of her perfume, of her, intoxicating. “It doesn’t always feel like this,” you answer, you grunt. “But you do. You feel so fucking good, Minji. So fucking perfect for me.”

“You're so big,” she says, her voice trembling, “I feel so—fuck—full.”

It’s not just the way she’s clenching around you, how she’s now able to take every inch of you like she’s been fucking you her whole life—it’s how she says your name, like you’re the only one that could ever make you feel this way, like you’re the one who ever will.

You grab her tits, squeezing them, seizing them, pinching and twisting her nipples between your fingers. All it does is make her beg, “fuck—I love it—how rough you are—” needing more of everything you have, “your hands—your cock—please don’t stop, don’t ever stop—I can take it please—rougher please—fuck!”

Something cracks inside you, and your hand comes down on her ass, the sound bouncing off the walls like a gunshot. Minji jolts, yelps, but the noise is quickly swallowed by a moan, a squeezing of her cunt around you.

“Fuck that felt—”

You do it again, and again, each slap a little harder, a little more punishing, the sting making her flesh jiggle deliciously with every impact. She doesn’t retreat, she’s slamming her ass back down on you, slapping her cheeks against your waist, needing to feel more.

“Gah—fuck—harder!”

She can’t help herself, minutes ago she could barely handle your size, now she can’t hold back from crying out for more pain, more excruciating pleasure.

Each smack, each groan, each breath that’s ripped from her lungs is a declaration of your power, of her need. And you revel in it, your hand coming down on her ass, leaving a trail of red marks against her creamy-white skin.

“More, please, more,” she calls for it, calls for the sting, the heat, her pussy clamping down on you, walls pulsing with every hit, her body needing the release that’s building up, inevitable and intense.

Her ass is nothing but a canvas painted by the strokes of your hand and the relentless pounding of your cock, and you can’t help but admire your handiwork, you're struggling to suppress the urge to lean down and kiss each spot you’ve marked.

“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” you say, your teeth grazing the shell of her ear.

“I know,” she answers, her voice a whine, a plea, a moan. “But this is what I wanted—to feel—to remember this—this moment—getting fucked like you own me—because you do—so don’t hold back—don’t ever hold back.”

You’re both sweaty, panting—you can feel her orgasm building, like a storm in the distance, thunder rumbling closer and closer until it's right above you, ready to break. And there’s your own, too, that delicious pressure at the base of your spine, the promise of release, coming at you just as quick.

But you’re not going to let her get there—not yet—not when you’ve got her like this, pliant and open and so in need. You lean forward, your chest pressing against her back, and slide your hand down, reaching around to find her clit.

It’s slick and stiff and wanting, and Minji screams—a high, keening sound that you want to hear again and again. You’re playing with it, swiping it with your thumb in tight circles, feeling her clench around you with every pass.

“I’m almost—God that feels so good—I’m almost!”

But you stop, pull out of her, abruptly, making her cry out, making her turn around, a mess of emotions on her face—desire, confusion, awe.

“What are you—” Minji tries to ask, but you’re spinning her around and pressing her back against the wall. Her leg comes up, wrapping around your waist, but you take it and lift it higher, testing the extent of her flexibility, throwing it over your shoulder.

She’s right on that edge, you can see it—her pupils dilate, her mouth opens in a silent scream, her body tenses, her cunt melting around you. But you weren't going to let her cum like that, not without watching her face, not without seeing the moment she cracks and shatters.

Now you’re face to face, chest to chest, her eyes needing yours to anchor herself to, needing to know what you’re going to do to her. No time for breaks—in one, deep thrust you're all the way back inside her, making her scream with the suddenness of it, the shock, the bliss of being so perfectly filled.

She groans, weeps with each pump into her, and she’s smiling through it all. “So—” she asks, struggling to form intelligible sentences. “How do I—fuck—how do I—mmmph—compare to the others?”

You grunt, barely registering the question, your mind clouded by the spasms of her cunt around you. “What others?”

“The other girls—God—the other idols,” she says, strained. “The ones you’ve fucked before—the ones you’ve ruined—how do I—aah—compare?”

You kiss her again, a bruising, punishing kiss that steals the question from her lips. You don’t need to answer that. You’re showing her. You’re fucking showing her how she compares, how she’s the best, the tightest, the wettest, the most eager. You’re showing her how she’s going to be the one they whisper about in the halls of HYBE and beyond, she'll become the story that will be told as a warning, about the sweet, innocent idol ruined in a dirty alleyway.

Your world is spinning around you now—there’s your hand on her throat, a gentle squeeze, just enough to make her eyes water, to make her breath catch. But she’s not scared, not with the way she’s grinning, not with how she’s grinding her hips to meet yours.

“Fuck—make me scream—” It’s a plea, a demand, she’s so stunning, so tortured in her need for it, “do whatever you want to me, whatever you need—just—make me cum harder—God please—harder than any of them ever did.”

Any care you had for getting caught, about the consequences of what you're doing—where you're doing it—dissipates into the ether. Nothing exists outside of the race to her orgasm, outside of your hips recklessly pounding into her, reducing her to moans and shakes and trembles.

“Cum for me,” you growl, “right here, right now, Minji—cum for me again—show me that you’re mine.”

“I was made for you,” she says, and it’s not just the heat of the moment talking, it’s something else, something deeper. She’s not just saying it to get off, she’s saying it like it’s a revelation, like she’s been waiting for you, for this exact moment.

“Prove it.”

It hits her like a fucking truck, and Minji’s screaming, filth belted from her mouth and into the night, her pussy quaking around your cock, her whole body entering into seizure. You keep going, riding out her orgasm, feeling her cum on your cock, feeling her body go rigid, her muscles tense, it’s those abs, so tight, it’s those absurdly strong contractions that have you falling after her.

“God—fuck, I—can’t believe—can’t believe—”

You’re fucking her through it, not giving her a moment’s reprieve, not letting her come down from that high, because you’re not ready for this to end, not when she’s so helpless. You hold her tight through it, let her shake, rattle against you, let her nails dig into your arms, let her cum drench you.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

It’s too much for her to take, and once the storm has finally subsided, Minji is just a ragdoll in your arms. Her legs are limp, held up by your grip alone, still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her makeup is ruined, a mix of sweat and your kisses, leaving dark streaks on her cheeks. Her hair, plastered to her forehead, her eyes half-closed, and there’s her body—marks of your teeth on her chest, her breasts, the bruises of your fingers around her hips, the mottled red of her ass, a map of your dominance painted on her perfect skin.

It’s not just the physical marks you’ve left on her; it’s the way she’s looking at you now, awe, desperation, realisation that it’s all true, every rumour, everything they’ve said about you—and she’s the latest filthy chapter in your story.

But you’re not done yet, you haven’t finished. You’re pulling out, and she’s whining, making your cock throb with her pleas. You guide her to the floor, to her knees, her dress puddled around her, the cold concrete biting into her skin.

You’re standing over her, looking down at her like she’s a prize, your prize. “Open your mouth,” you tell her, and she does, without hesitation, without question.

You grab your cock, still slick with her juices, and stroke yourself, watching her tongue dart out to lick her lips, watching the anticipation build in her eyes.

It’s the sweetest, most erotic sight you’ve ever seen—Minji, the girl that's everyone's type, the girl who could have anything she wants, anyone, on her knees for you—tongue out, mouth wide open, waiting eagerly for your cum.

And then you do it—you let go, shooting ropes of hot cum, painting her face, letting it dribble down onto her chin, onto her chest, onto her toned stomach, covering her until she’s a sticky mess of lust and desire. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away—she loves the feeling of it, shivering as your hot cum hits her skin.

She holds position through it all—knees on the ground, eyes closed, a serene smile as if she’s just been blessed. And when you're done, when your cock is finally spent, she looks up at you with a grin that's pure sin.

Minji takes a finger, dips it into the mess on her chin, and tastes you. It's a bold move, it’s messy, it’s wrong, it’s perfect. There’s the glimmer of triumph in her eyes, the knowledge that she's made you do something so raw, that she made you lose all control.

For a second there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the come down from your euphoric high. Minji speaks, still shaky from the orgasm that ripped through her. “That was—” she pauses, searching for the right word. “—incredible. Fuck!”

There’s a rush of arrogance, a smug smile of satisfaction at her confession. “So, do I live up to the legend?”

Minji wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing your cum across her cheek. There’s a glint in her eye, like she’s got a secret that she’s dying to share. “More than I could have ever imagined. You’re not just a man-whore, you’re a fucking artist.”

You laugh at that, as you tuck yourself back in, smoothing down your shirt, trying to compose yourself, pretending like her words don’t mean anything to you, like you don’t take pride in the validation of every girl you fuck.

“How do I rank?” she asks, the question coming out of nowhere, and you blink down at her, your brain trying to catch up. “I mean, out of all the idols you’ve fucked?”

“Rank?” you repeat. "I don't keep a list, that would be..." You trail off, realizing what you're about to say, and now it’s her turn to laugh.

“Crass?” she supplies. “I know, but I’m just curious.”

“You’re fucking fantastic, that’s for sure,” you reassure her, making her giggle, the laughter bubbling up from her chest like it’s the best compliment she’s ever heard. “Why—do you keep a list?”

Her smile falters for a moment, but then she’s grinning again, looking even more wicked with the cum pasted across her face, and it makes you want to bend her over and fuck her all over again. “Of course I do. And you’ll be happy to know that you’re number one.”

“That’s good to know.”

But then she says, “Of one.”

And you freeze. The air around you turns to ice, and she’s looking up at you with those big, dark eyes, and you realise what she’s saying, what she’s just admitted to you. You’ve taken her virginity, and she’s looking at you like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

“You were…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Don’t,” she says, her voice firm. “Don’t make this something it’s not. I wanted this, and I wanted it to be with you. I told you: I can handle it all.”

But that doesn’t stop your mind from racing, trying to process what she’s saying. You had your suspicions—she was so tight, so new, so untouched—and now she’s yours, in a way that no one else can claim. You wiped away her innocence, and she’s not running, not crying, not regretful.

The weight of it settles in your stomach, a strange cocktail of pride and guilt. You’ve ruined her, in the best way possible. You’ve claimed something precious and pure, and she’s given it to you willingly, eagerly.

“Fuck, Minji,” you start, trying to find the words. “If you had told me, I would’ve—”

“You would’ve what? I lost my virginity by having filthy, mind-blowing sex in a dark alley with the best cock in all of Korea,” she says, pridefully, with her entire chest, fully believing every word she's saying. “Can you really tell me your story was any better? I bet whoever it was with didn’t scream like I did. Or cum so hard she couldn’t see straight.”

You cast your mind back to the past, and you have to concede the point. “I see what you mean. But still—” You feel like you should say something, but what? It’s not like you can apologize, not when she’s looking at you like that, like she’s just won the fucking lottery. “How does it feel?”

“A-ma-zing,” she draws out, rising to her feet. “Everything I’ve ever heard about, multiplied by a million. You might’ve ruined sex for me completely.”

You watch as she puts herself back together, sliding her panties back on, tugging her dress over her head and down her hips. She’s smoothing her hair back, trying to fix the mess you’ve made of her; wiping at the cum on her chin, her cheek, trying to erase the evidence of your encounter, trying to put the mask of the sweet, innocent idol back on.

But you know better. You know what’s hiding beneath that polished exterior.

“Come home with me,” you find yourself saying before you can think better of it.

Minji turns to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and there's that hint of challenge again. “Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “You want to cuddle and fall asleep together? Wake up, have breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, honestly. “After I’ve fucked you senseless again, of course. But yeah, come home with me.”

“That would be nice,” Minji says, a soft smile on her face. It's surreal, this moment, so at odds with the grimy alleyway and the smell of sex sticking to her skin. She looks so pure now, in complete contrast to how roughly you were fucking her just moments ago. Her innocence wasn’t lost, it was just painted with a fresh coat of your sin.  “But—you know I can’t. They’re waiting.”

“Worth a shot,” you shrug, not bothering to hide your disappointment.

And then she produces your phone, holding it out to you. “You need to be more careful with your things.”

“When did you—”

“Now you’ve got my number,” she says. “You’re welcome to do whatever it is you want with it. But I’m hoping you use it.”

You take it out of her hands, swiping away the string of missed calls and messages, the digital proof of how much trouble you’re going to be in come morning. But for now, it’s irrelevant. For now, there’s only Minji, and the way she’s standing there, looking up at you, smiling like she’s just stepped off the stage.

“You’re going to go back to them?” you ask, gesturing towards the club entrance, to where the rest of her group are probably still gossiping, plotting your downfall.

“Of course,” Minji says. “They’re my friends. They care about me. They’ll want to make sure I’m okay.”

“And when they find out what we just did?”

“Oh, they’re going to want to kill you,” she answers, with a giggle. You’ve had enough of these types of conversations to know she’s not joking. “Except Dani, maybe. She’ll probably want a shot at you too. If I let her.”

"Noted," you say, trying to keep the image of Danielle, splayed against the wall like Minji before her, out of your head. "What exactly are you going to tell them?"

Minji pauses, thinking, before landing on a succinct summary. "I’ll just tell them that you fucked my brains out and then ditched me in an alley.”

You sigh, “sounds brutal.”

“Well, it is what it is,” Minji says, and she’s pressing a kiss to your cheek, her lips still sticky with the residue of your cum, the last traces of what's just happened.

You watch her go, watch as she turns away, walking back towards the club, a little stumble, a little trouble keeping steady. You should be feeling guilty, you should be regretting this, but all you can think is how good it felt, how right it felt. And you know you’ll do it again—you know it deep in your bones.

Minji turns back to you, catching your eye, catching you staring again, and she smiles. “You better go now. You do have a reputation to maintain, after all.”

[casanovawrites]

rp sentence prompts ft. clancy by twenty one pilots

i created this world to feel some control. destroy it if i want.

i won't hesitate to maybe overcompensate.

i feel like i was just here.

where am i from?

i'm wanted dead or alive.

stand up straight now.

i don't wanna be here.

can you die of anxiousness?

i don't wanna be here. what's about to happen?

i remember certain things, what i was wearing.

hey, kid, get out of the road.

can't change what you've done.

it's a taste test of what i hate less.

i don't mind if it's lonely, i don't mind if it's fair. i don't care.

you control me, leading me anywhere.

i don't wanna backslide to where i've started from.

there's no chance i will shake this again.

i'll take everything you have.

i should've loved you better.

do you think that now's the time you should let go?

is that a stain? you should change.

are you doin' good? did you solve all of your problems?

what happened to what i brushed under the rug?

i used to be the champion of a world you can't see.

i don't mind if it's lonely.

you can be so cold... i'll try again.

you make me sad and second-guess myself.

concentrate on the little gap in the ice about as wide as our chances.

did you forget we're tight on time?

i want love and sunny days.

i'm a bit too old to run away.

while all the world's asleep, i walk around instead.

here comes a new night.

i'm testing the limits of what a mind can do.

i'm keeping my eyelids up, no matter what.

so beautiful, the space between a painful reminder and a terrible dream.

i've been here before, and i've got time to give you the tour.

it's reassuring to keep coming around.

it's tough to find good company.

i'm still learning what this is. just keep me company.

where do i go from here?

i'm clinging to promises.

now he can't hold out his hand without it shaking.

testing what is real, what is good, it's been a long night.

it's for a friend.

i don't know why i can't stop crying.

i'm getting old, and i don't know a lot about you still.

seems i get in my own way the more i think, the less i say.

i hope i communicate the craving.

now i see intentions don't mean much.

i'd lay down and wait and hope she looks for me.

i hope that i can satiate the craving.

welcome to the new way of living.

you try your best to look like this is not your first time.

you're looking real nice.

pardon my delay. i'm navigating my head.

give me some advice. i'm wasting all this time.

i find my self esteem then turn so cold.

kind of feels like everybody leaves.

i'm feeling the reality that everybody leaves.

got a bad feeling that i'm about to break.

is it even good for my head to keep track?

if i'm gonna snap necks, then i gotta snap back.

got a bad feeling i'm gonna lose the lead.

have i burnt all the bridges?

got a bad feeling that i'm about to break. been a good streak, but the pressure's overweight.

guess i better move to a fresher approach.

i have seemed to run out of excuses of why i am this way.

future's coming fast.

in a season of purging things you used to love, everything must go.

make an oath, then make mistakes.

start a streak you're bound to break.

when darkness rolls on you, push on through.

before you know, you lose some people close, forcing you to manage your pace.

you learn what you can and can't take.

your favorite song was on the oldies station.

i don't want anyone, know me or not, to see me at my lowest.

nothing you can do this time.

used to be you and me.

keep it in mind, check on your friends every once in a while.

at the risk of feelin' dumb, check in.

it's not worth the risk of losing a friend.

those night terrors are not something to take lightly.

i can't be alone. guess i never told you so.

here's my chance, time to take it. can't be sure that i'll make it.

even though i'm past the point of no return, i'm all in.

[rosalyneslover]

IS YOUR BEDROOM CEILING BORED?

character: kaedehara kazuha

desc: kazuha hides his feelings well within the confines of his bedroom.

content: gn!reader, slight fluff, slight angst, modern!au

wc: 552

song inspo: is your bedroom ceiling bored? - sody ft. cavetown

Kazuha wonders what you're doing at this time of night.

He's always been wondering about your well-being these past few weeks and he only just found out why. He has never had crushes in the past, thinking that such things didn't matter at all. They're just crushes, these feelings will leave eventually. But he learns that they tend to be a little overwhelming to the point that you just couldn't ignore them anymore.

Tomo had told him about his own crushes, but he couldn't relate. When does he start to feel his heart thumping a little faster? When does his stare become too long to not be called anything but 'admiring'? When does he start to do things for you even if he wasn't asked to? Or… how does his smile soften when he looks at you?

You answered all his burning questions.

When you're around, he could feel his heart racing. He knows he's staring for a little too long but you're far too captivating for him to look away. He notices the way you look at a question when you don't understand it, so he explains it for you. He could feel his smile widening when he looks at you, laughing at something he said.

He could feel himself catching feelings.

The vibrating of his phone on the nightstand interrupts his messy thoughts. He sits up in his bed then smiles when he sees your name at the top of his notifications. He doesn't care why you texted him. He only cares that you made a move to interact with him.

Everyday and every night, you two would talk about almost anything. Even in study sessions in the library where Miss Lisa has to hush you two down because one of you said something funny or in the middle of class where you would hide your smiles behind your notebooks while Ms. Yae is teaching at the front. God knows what she'd do if she caught you two having fun in her class.

But those were just the happy moments Kazuha would reminisce about. He wished he could go back to those moments when he doesn't have to think about his growing attachment to you. His… feelings for you.

Days, maybe weeks—he has written numerous letters containing his admiration for you but all of them are safely hidden away under his bed. He spent so many hours on those pieces of paper. He put so much of his time to the things he wasn't able to be proud of. All because he was scared.

Is it worth it? Does he want to risk breaking your friendship in order to call yourselves 'more than friends'? If you do get together, there's no guarantee that you two will last. What if it all comes crashing down and he's not given enough time to build back what you two had? Is he enough for you?

These are the questions he asks his bedroom ceiling as he tries to catch some sleep. He has a big day tomorrow with an early study session with you in the library. He wouldn't want to fall asleep in your company but maybe that will be alright. At least he could ignore these questions plaguing his mind if he did. He'll be alright.

You two will be alright.

— 07/16/22

[insane-control-room]

i dont have a pairing prompt but what if you just put some guys in a situation - working for the company? :3

tysm for the prompt <3

Coi_ Factory

Jack's in a bad mood. T'ḥiát takes care of it. May has a not great time.

ft. @greenghostlyjekyll's Jack & @ichaisme's May :3 based on a real conversation lmao

words: 1,250 general fic warnings: light/playful violence; coil-heads

Fic under cut!

Generally, Jack was pretty chill, T'ḥiát would tell you. But really, you should not trust T'ḥiát’s opinion for diddly squat, as they tended to be an idiot. People who had worked with them would tell you that it must be that TZP that they were constantly inhaling like it was oxygen that muddled their brain to hell and back.

Jack was chill, sure, but they also did not mind if you ended up becoming mulch, as long as quota was hit and enough was made to head out to that desolate, far away planet Titan. 

Jack, dissatisfied with the newbies, and finding that they had lost one of them on quota number two, decided that the 120 chip price was more than sufficient to enlist T'ḥiát’s services once again - an idea assisted by the fact that T'ḥiát’s price of a fresh TZP can (instead of the empty canisters that the company begrudgingly gave them as payment) was 70% off in the shop. Well worth it, in Jack’s eyes. 

Especially after they were bunked up with one of the newbies on the next moon, who asked something so stupid, so ridiculous, so uneducated about Jack’s home planet that Jack only looked at them like they were crazy and stormed off, hoping they would get eaten by a spider or something.

Unfortunately for Jack, the “or something�� happened, and that something was ‘got back to the ship only minorly injured from a stupid fall’. 

T'ḥiát, darting around the ship in a spazzing manner that defied some law of physics (clearly trying to savor the canister of TZP, only using it on the moons) noticed their bad mood, and zipped over. 

“What’s the matter, Jacks?” they asked, bouncing up and down. They stilled suddenly, head tilting. Someone who did not know T'ḥiát might have been unnerved. “You seem a bit miffed!” 

“Nothing, nothing, it’s fine, just…” Jack gave a quiet growl. “Somethin’ stupid is all.” 

“You can always talk to me,” T'ḥiát shrugged, hopping up on top of the controls console. “Even if you think it’s stupid, if it’s bothering you, it’s bothering me.”

“Someone just asked me, and I quote,” Jack said, raising their fingers to make bunny ear quotations in the air. “‘Does Titan have coil factories’?”

T'ḥiát stared at them - or one could assume so, by the way their blank visor was pointed directly at them without moving. 

“Oh, no.” they remarked, in denial. “No one could know that little about the moons.” 

“Well, they asked!” Jack gestured without any specific motions. Their helmet was off, so they took the advantage of being able to pinch the bridge of their nose. “Like! Buddy! Where do you think all the damn coil heads come from, Experimentation? Yeah, right, the only good that place is for is faulty V-type engines!” 

“Who asked that?” T'ḥiát wondered aloud. Jack pointed at the person ringing the company bell, and growled, “The FNG, who else?” 

“I see!” T'ḥiát replied lightly. “I’ll go give ‘em a talk.”

“You go do that, buddy,” Jack grumbled, though their mood was a little uplifted. “I appreciate it.”

“A lesson they won’t soon forget,” T'ḥiát went on, probably with a smile. Jack blinked, raising an eyebrow. “Bye!”

Jack watched them leave, and put a stick of gum in their mouth contemplatively. 

“Alright. I guess.” 

T'ḥiát came back after a few minutes of chatting with the new employee. 

“Done,” T'ḥiát remarked. “We’re going to Titan next quota.”

--

The snowy expanse of Titan loomed around them. The FNG was already in the complex, gathering loot with T'ḥiát. 

Said addict slammed down into the ship, and nudged Jack. 

“Doing well!” T'ḥiát chirped, then pressed the can of TZP to the inhalation module on their suit for exactly nine seconds. Their voice slightly higher than normal, they went on, “Going back!” 

The next time they came back with a haul, Jack grabbed their arm.

“What did you do to the newbie?” Jack asked. “Why was she so excited to come here?” 

“I told her that there were no coil factories on Titan,” T'ḥiát replied calmly, ignoring the eye twitch that was no doubt occurring behind Jack’s visor. “I told them that there’s a coin factory here and that cash registers are all the rage.”

“Mhm,” Jack contemplated their words for a long moment. Then they nodded. “They're gonna die.” 

“Ya, probably,” T'ḥiát agreed, then their arm was by their side again, as though Jack was never holding it in the first place. “Unless I feel bad enough for them. Well, going back.” 

Jack nodded, and watched them sprint off, chuckling to themself as they went back to the monitor. 

Sure enough, there was a red dot in front of the new guy. 

The new guy was strafing, one inch at a time.

Jack leaned back and smiled.

--

“Uh… can I get a bit of help?” 

The newbie’s distressed voice bounced along the corridors. T'ḥiát sighed, making their way to the sound's origin. 

“Ask nicely!” they called out, gauging the location of the lost employee. “Quick!”

“Please?” 

T'ḥiát came up swiftly, tilting their head and walking up to the coil head. They circled around it, and nodded once. 

“That there’s a coil head, alright,” they commented unnecessarily. The new guy gave a wheeze of fear. “Don’t you worry, I’ll get you out of here just fine. I see you got your cash register. May, was it?”

“Yeah- yes,” May replied, trembling hard. “I want to get out of here. Now.” 

“Calm down princess,” T'ḥiát soothed, shaking their can of TZP. “If you want, you can have a bit of this, it’ll help your nerves. Just promise that you’ll apologize to good ol’ Jack about the coil factories question when we get back. They got pretty offended by it.” 

“I didn’t think that it was an offensive question!” she defended herself with some bewilderment. T'ḥiát sighed and pushed her along. “Where are we going?” 

“Fire exit. Keep moving forward. I’ve got Mr. Crybaby.” 

“Crybaby?” 

“Don’t question it. Make a left. Your other left.” 

“To the glowing red dot?”

“That’s it. Right out there.”

T'ḥiát waited until they heard the door shut behind them before they phased through the crack.

May was breathing hard outside of the door. T'ḥiát nudged her to get her to start moving. 

“You’re a jerk,” May hissed. T'ḥiát shrugged. “I’m going to- to hurt you.” 

“Sure, doll,” T'ḥiát replied, just as peppy as usual. “That’s a nice cash register you’ve got there. Better make it count. Better crack my skull open in one shot.” 

“I’m not going to do that!?” May gasped, shocked. T'ḥiát tilted their head at her as they jumped down onto the lighting - May taking the stairs, like a normal person. They asked; “Why not?” 

“Because- because I’m not going to kill you!” 

“Coward,” T'ḥiát hummed. May stared at them through her visor. “Jack’s probably going to kill me when we get back onto the ship. Be more like Jack.” 

“Why would they kill you when we get back?!”

“You.”

Sure enough, as soon as they stepped onboard, Jack clonked T'ḥiát on the head with a shovel. They dropped like a popped balloon. May did not like thinking about the fact that their suit looked the part.

--

“Why did you save them!?” Jack demanded when they were in orbit again, shaking T'ḥiát violently. They shrugged, now next to the computer and out of Jack’s grip. “T'ḥiát! Stop teleporting!” 

“I don’t teleport. Also - I felt bad.” 

May rang her cash register. 

[percervall]

lo arriesgaría todo (pa ti)

Pairing: Rodrigo De Paul x fem!reader Words: 1126 Request: Carlos Sainz (or whoever) + Jennifer Lopez ft Maluma - Pa Ti + smut Warnings: AU, inappropriate workplace relationship, power imbalance, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise kink, subby!RDP

In which Rodrigo is so fucked -in more ways than one

---

He knows this is wrong, knows that if it gets out he is going to be in so much shit with his bosses. The weight of the oath he took hangs around his neck like an albatross and yet-... Rodrigo has had to bite his bottom lip to refrain from doing something stupid every time she makes her way down the stairs to the foyer of her mansion, dressed in a suit that costs more than the rent for the stamp of an apartment he calls home and a lace corset top that will sustain his fantasies for years to come. He is supposed to be her private security detail, and it would absolutely cross a boundary if he gives in to her flirting. She always smiles sweetly at him, running a perfectly manicured hand down his bicep as she wishes him a good morning, strutting out the door. He’s refrained from ever making a move on her for so long, she’s his employer, he’s here to do a job. Getting involved would complicate things far beyond his pay grade. When his bosses came to him with the assignment, it was meant to be only for three months. Infiltrating a billion dollar company to gather evidence on their CEO had sounded so simple on paper. However, when he finds himself on the couch, legs spread and shirt half unbuttoned as she leans over him to steal a sip from his whiskey, the view she gives him of her perfect tits wrapped in burgundy lace is the proverbial last drop as his self-restraint snaps, consequences be damned. 

Rodrigo wraps a hand around the back of her neck. Fingers resting against her jaw, he pulls her closer, his lips brushing hers. She’s quick to steady herself on his shoulders as she chases his lips.

“If I had known all it took was show you my tits and steal your drink, I would’ve done so a lot sooner,” she muses a little breathlessly after she breaks the kiss. Rordigo can’t help the chuckle that escapes as he kisses her again, tasting the whiskey on her tongue. 

“You’re gonna get me in so much trouble,” he murmurs, kissing his way down her neck, unbuttoning her blouse even further in the process.

“Mm, good. You better make it worth it then,” she quips, straddling him. He groans against her skin as he feels her pussy against his groin, hips bucking up at the contact.

“Desperate already I see, just how I like ‘em,” she comments with a smirk. He has no reply to that, can only moan and gasp as she unbuttons his trousers. 

“Please… Need to see all of you,” he murmurs, fingers fumbling with the buckle of her belt. She just grins at him, rising back to her feet and discarding her clothes, leaving her in just the matching thong and bra before taking those off as well. Rodrigo can feel the blood rushing south, his cock straining against his trousers. He quickly attempts to shuffle out of them but she’s quick to stop him with a look.

“Take your cock out but remain clothed. I like seeing you needy like this, unable to wait any longer.” 

He’s pretty sure his brain short circuits at that request, but he does as he’s told. She straddles him again, a hand now on his cock as she slowly pumps him.

“I’m clean and on birth control,” she whispers in the space between their lips.

“I’m clean as well,” he manages to say, swallowing hard as she squeezes the base.

“Good,” is the only warning he gets before she sinks down on him. Rodrigo can’t help but look at the way her pussy takes him, struggling to keep his eyes open at the feeling of her tight cunt around him.

“That’s it baby, look at how perfect your cock is, how it’s just made to be inside of me, stretching me so good,” she coos in his ear, nails raking over the back of his head. He nearly comes right there and then at her words alone, manages to hold on for dear life. 

“Use me,” he chokes out, hips bucking up again as he bottoms out. 

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Just sit there looking all pretty as I take what I want from you? Think you’ve deserved it? Or should I make you bend me over the back of the couch and make you work for it, make you fuck me so hard we scratch these hardwood floors?” The only sound Rodrigo is able to make is a whimper, moaning at the image she paints for him as she clenches around him. It’s too much, her words combined with the tight heat around his cock.

“Please,” he chokes out, “Can’t- I need- Please.” 

“Already on the brink and I’ve barely even touched you, baby. You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes,” he grits out, fingers digging into her hips, “Please, ‘m so close…” 

He watches her lean back slightly, fingers rubbing tight little circles around her clit.

“Not yet baby,” she coos, moaning as she rubs faster. Rodrigo can’t do anything other than hold on for dear life as he watches her grind down on him, using his body for her pleasure only. 

“Fuck… Feels so  good…” she moans. He can feel her clenching around him, can feel his orgasm approaching rapidly.

“Please… I need- I need to cum.. Please can I cum..” he whispers, desperation settling in even more. The feeling is all-consuming now, fingers clenched so tightly his knuckles are white. 

“Oh, you beg so prettily for it,” she muses, teeth biting down on her bottom lip, “Fill me up, Rodri.. Wanna watch you spill out of me..” she adds in a hushed murmur, eyes locked on his and it’s too much. He can feel his abs tensing up, eyes fluttering closed and with a whimper, he spills deep inside of her. Afterwards, it feels as if someone has cut all the strings and his body slumps into the cushions of the sofa. He moans when he feels her clench around him, the feeling almost overwhelming. 

“Look at me, look at the mess you’ve made baby. So full of your cock, even after you’ve cum,” she tells him, fingers still rubbing her clit. Rodrigo watches with a fascination as she comes undone on his half-hard cock, back ached with his name on her lips, his cum spilling out of her. The sight is so debauched, it leaves him breathless. Her body collapses against his, and for a moment Rodrigo allows himself to forget that he’s here to collect evidence and not to give her the world and promises of always he so wishes he could give her.

asdfghhjkl 🫠🫠🫠

This nearly broke me. The research that went into this is, frankly, silly but look at me and tell me this man is not a lil' subby??? The biggest simp to ever walk the earth

Massive thank you to @footballffbarbiex for being my beta reader. If Amy gives you a thumbs up on an RDP fic, you know you've done a good job (even if it almost kills her. so sorry babe!!)

Please let me know what you think, your comments, tags, and likes mean the absolute world to me 💜

[xxn00bpwn3rxx]

zilly zhort fic that fuelz my autizm over Lethal Company and Regretevator (ft. Poob, Pest, and Infected) :3 i waz going 2 draw it in comic form but i dunt hav teh patience 2 draw a comic that long zo i juzt decided to write it!! lol (i might try eventually but i hav other thingz i wanna draw firzt zo it iznt a priority)

ㅤInfected sat in the ship nervously, watching Pest on the monitor as he neared the ship, the map making his indicator a suspicious red dot instead of the usual yellow one that indicated a person. He heard a light clang behind him, and Infected slowly turned his head towards the sound, coming face to face with Pest in the doorway of the ship. Infected paled slightly when he noticed Pest wearing the mimic mask, and he was just standing there, staring him down, unmoving. ㅤHe sniffled nervously, hand on the stick that would turn the ship on. When Infected sniffled, 'Pest' started moving forward and Infected let out a small shriek, slamming down on the stick and starting up the ship. 'Pest' suddenly stopped, and as the ship flew off, the mask deactivated and fell off at his feet. He blinked a couple times, taking his helmet off and staring down at the mask. ㅤ"y0U [Content Deleted]!!!!1! u kN0 no7 2 PuT 0n t3H Ma$k!!!!" Infected yelled at Pest, getting frustrated. He growled at Infected, his mandibles twitching slightly. ㅤ"I didn't put the #### thing on! Something PUT IT on me!" He argued back, kicking the mimic mask, making it slide across the floor and underneath the filing cabinet. He cringed, knowing it was worth some money, so he quietly hoped that he didn't break it by doing that. ㅤInfected rolled his eyes, and went back to the monitor. Fear slowly dawned on his face as he realized he started up the ship and Poob wasn't here. Which meant they were either dead, or he accidentally left them behind, which was basically leaving them for dead. Pest slowly came up next to him and looked at the monitor as Infected switched it over to Poob, showing them unmoving in a random part of the map on the planet they just left. Infected muttered something that sounded more like an upset whine than actual words, and Pest snickered softly. "Oh they're definitely dead."

ㅤThe ship made a small jingle sound, and both of them turned around when they heard the sound of boots softly hitting the ground. Poob had appeared next to the filing cabinet, teetering on their feet lightly as if they were dizzy from the recovery and instant teleport back to the crew's ship. Infected sighed softly in relief, looking back over at the monitor and grumbling as it now said that they were fined $50 for the death of Poob and not recovering their body and items. ㅤPest walked over to Poob and leaned his shoulder on theirs, tilting his head down slightly to look at them and smiling toothily that made his face crinkle up around the eyes. "So, how was being dead?" He said, placing his other hand on his hip, acting a bit sassy. ㅤPoob recovered themselves, and whirled around to face Pest, pushing him away and taking their helmet off as well to frown at him more effectively. "u KILLED ME! WIF A STOP SIGN!" they pouted. ㅤInfected looked at Pest in surprise, then looked at Poob, growing angry again. "h3y!! H3 tr13d 2 d0 tH@t 2 M3 T00!!!11!" ㅤ"now becus of u, we hav a $50 fine and we r barely gonna meet quota!" Poob went over to the cabinet and opened it to grab more backup supplies, Pest snickering again at seeing them so riled up. ㅤ"Surprising that you're only worth $50. あなたには5ドルの価値しかない。(You're only worth $5)" Pest joked with the last statement, crossing his arms and leaning now against the ship wall, still smiling at Poob. They grumbled and walked over to him, flicking his beetle horn with a smile back, purposely trying to piss him off. Pest growled, swatting their hand away. "Excuse you!" he retorted. ㅤPoob retorted back, "o im sory am i supposed to feel BAD towerds my MURDERER?" They flicked his mandible now, knowing Pest wasn't going to bite them. Infected had a small smile on his face as he heard this little argument between them, busy calculating the loot they had in the corner and hoping it was enough money, with some left over.

ㅤSnarling, Pest pushed past Poob and walked over to the computer. "#### you. We're going to Titan." He smirked, typing in the coordinates with fast precision as if he had done this many times over before. Infected twirled around, looking at Pest in fear. Both him and Poob yelled in unison, "N0!!!!" while running over to Pest, not realizing it was too late and he already redirected the ship and started it back up. ㅤ"we r so ded." Poob hissed out, picking up their party horn from the monitor desk and blowing it obnoxiously loud at Pest, smacking his cheek with it. ㅤ"We'll be fiiine. Have faith, Poobear."

[ They were not fine. They all died on the third day and lost everything. :1 ]

[posttexasstressdisorder]

A breathtaking scam: Inside Georgia's newest voter suppression tactic

Thom Hartmann

August 2, 2024 12:07AM ET

Photo by Olesya Yemets on Unsplash

Republicans in Georgia have been champions at pioneering new ways to disenfranchise Democratic voters. Their latest scam is breathtaking.

First, the background.

When Georgia’s Republican Governor Brian Kemp was Secretary of State — the state’s top elections official — and running against Stacey Abrams for Governor in 2018, Abrams’ organization had registered 53,000 people (70% African American) to vote. Kemp put those registrations on hold so they couldn’t vote in the 2018 election, which he won by 54,723 votes.

But that was just the beginning for Kemp. By the year prior to the 2018 election he’d purged a total of 1.4 million voters from the rolls, claiming he was just removing people who’d died or moved. On a single night in July 2017 he removed half a million voters, about 8% of all registered Georgia voters, an act The Atlanta Journal-Constitution said “may represent the largest mass disenfranchisement in US history.”

ALSO READ: We asked 10 Republican senators: ‘Is Kamala Harris Black?’ Things got weird fast.

Investigative reporter Greg Palast hired the company Amazon uses to verify addresses and ran the names and addresses of those 534,000 people Kemp purged that July day through their system: 334,000 of them, most Black, had neither died nor moved. But they’d sure lost their right to vote.

Then Kemp shut down 8 percent of all the polling places in Georgia just before the election, the majority — recommended as a “cost saving move” by a white consultant Kemp had hired — in Black neighborhoods. Did I mention that he “won” that election by only 54,723 votes?

In 2020, when Stacey Abrams again challenged Kemp for the governorship, Kemp’s Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger (pronounced “Raff-ens-purger”) purged another 309,000 voters from the rolls; Palast hired the company again and found that 198,351 of them had neither died nor moved.

It’s worth noting that if Brian Kemp wanted to take away a gun from any Georgia resident, Republicans on the Supreme Court have ruled that he’d have to go to court and prove his case; to purge voters from the rolls and take away their votes, though, Republicans on the Supreme Court have also ruled that Kemp doesn’t even need to notify those voters.

This year, Kemp signed a new law allowing any citizen to present a list of voters they believe must be purged from the rolls; one person, Marjorie Taylor Greene ally and Republican activist Pam Reardon, submitted a list of 32,000 voters, and the Chairman of the Ft. Benning area GOP, Alton Russell, challenged over 4,000 voters. A total of 149,000 voters were challenged by a handful of white Republican activists.

These tricks have helped keep Republicans in charge of Georgia politics, a state that would almost certainly be blue if every citizen were allowed to easily vote.

But there was some blowback to Kemp’s and Raffensperger’s “mass purge by vote vigilantes” strategy, so now comes Kemp’s latest trick.

This week Georgia rolled out a new website where people can let the state know they’ve moved (or their relative has died) and cancel their voter registration online. It’s super easy; you just plug in your information and, poof, your voter registration vanishes.

This would seem to be a solution in search of a problem. For example, over the past 50 years I’ve lived in Michigan, New Hampshire, Germany, Georgia, Vermont, Oregon, Washington DC, and then Oregon again: I never once let a state know I’d moved. Nobody does.

Instead, states track death records and the expiration of drivers’ licenses to determine who’s died and moved so they can then cancel registrations appropriately. My being registered to vote in both, say, Washington DC and Oregon when I only live in Oregon, is not a problem for DC if I don’t try to vote there. And nobody ever tries to vote twice just because they’ve moved; it’s a form of “voter fraud” that just doesn’t happen in any meaningful numbers.

But “keeping the voter rolls clean” — as if it were an urgent imperative making the wait for drivers’ licenses to expire just too dangerous — is the new excuse for Kemp’s Georgia website. Nobody’s believing the GOP’s “mass voter fraud” schtick anymore, so they’re reverting to this rational-sounding new way of getting Democrats removed from the voting rolls.

The problem with the new “cancel my registration” site is that bad actors, if they know a person’s name, address, DOB, and either Social Security or drivers’ license number, can simply go in and cancel other people they don’t want voting.

The “safety barrier” is that Republican activists who want to delete voter registrations in areas they know are heavily Democratic might be deterred from trying to do that with this new site, because they don’t have all that data on every Georgia voter.

Until this week.

For an hour Monday, the entire Georgia voter database — including names, addresses, dates of birth, and Social Security and drivers’ license numbers — was publicly posted on that very site. Oops, Kemp said! Anybody could download it and share it with others, including Republican activists who might want to keep on purging Democratic voters.

As the Executive Director of the Georgia Democratic Party said, “This portal is ripe for abuse by right-wing activists who are already submitting mass voter challenges meant to disenfranchise Georgians.”

When the Associated Press — which downloaded and printed out the list — showed it to the Georgia State Senate Minority Leader Gloria Butler, she was horrified, pointing out, “If someone knows my birthdate, you could get in and pull up my information and change my registration.”

This is nuts.

Vice President Kamala Harris has promised that if she’s elected president and gets a Democratic House and Senate, the first piece of legislation she’ll sign will be the John Lewis Voting Rights Advancement Act, which will put an end to Kemp’s games in Georgia and similar Republican stunts across the nation.

If you think it should be harder to take away your vote than your gun, double-check your voter registration (especially if you live in a Red state) and show up this fall!

ALSO READ: We asked 10 Republican senators: ‘Is Kamala Harris Black?’ Things got weird fast.

[itsohh]

Reapply

A/N: GN reader, hehe yes you are very much on your knees. That being said- beach episode ft: Spetsnaz boys™ and SASR (because I love those two)

Day 21: Body worship

Word count: 2167    

Warnings: NSFT, smut, semi-public

AO3 Kinktober Masterlist

Hot. It was insanely hot. The sun beat down in the cloudless sky, a beautiful blue ocean for a view and it was hot. Yet you were prepared, a beach umbrella quite literally screwed into the ground, a thick layer of sunscreen, a big floppy hat and a thin layer that covered your swimwear. The benefits of being in Aussie, they said, go to the beach and enjoy the sun, they said. Get eaten alive by the mosquitos, get sand literally everywhere, sweat like a waterfall, is what they negated to say.

But it was all worth it, because as you sat there on the beach, book in hand Shurat to keep you company, Alexsandr was a little further down on the beach. Shirtless. He wore rather short swimming trunks that grip his body with its drying fabric, a light layer of water covering his body which shone in the summer sun. A carefree smile on his face with the plastic cricket bat in his hands. Tori crouched behind him, her eye on the ball. A ball that swiftly left Max’s fingertips and flew through the air only to be deflected by Alexsandr which had him sprinting past them, his spot swapping with Timur. San was kicked up into the air as they moved and you were glad your sunglasses covered your eye line as your mind wandered back to when you had helped him apply the sunscreen.

His body had been so firm and he had a knowing smile on his face while you had rubbed the liquid into his skin. It had glistened on his skin and he had let out a light hum as you massaged it into his chest, not leaving a single spot untouched. Well after you had rubbed it in you had continued to touch him, only stopping when Max had come to ask who was playing. “Water?” You were snapped out of your thoughts by a hand in front of you. Shuhrat who had been content to sit on the bank with you, held out a large bottle in front of you.

“Huh?”

“Do you want some water?” He asked, face completely neutral. He was in a similar situation to you, mostly covered and safe from the sun.

“Yeah sure, thanks.” You took the bottle from him and squeezed it, the water shooting into your mouth, your eyes focused on Alexsandr, leaning on the cricket bat while Timur waited for Max to bowl. The familiar sound of the ball hitting plastic came but unfortunately, you were too focused on Alexsandr to notice the ball being sent flying towards you. Only seconds before impact the movement drew your attention and you squeezed your eyes shut waiting for the impact which never came. Slowly your eyes open to see the ball in Shuhrats hand directly in front of you.

“Oh fuck, thanks, Shuhrat.”

“You're welcome.” He threw the ball back towards Max who promptly caught it, Alex was on his way towards you. Any shock from your ball was soon cut off as Alexsandr practically ran in slow motion towards you, his pecks bouncing as he jogged.

“You alright?” His voice snapped you out of your starting and you could feel the flush on your face as you cleared your throat.

“Yeah, Shuhrat has good reflexes. I didn’t even see it coming.”

“One must always keep their eye on the target.” Yeah, I certainly was. The thought ran through your head, an unvoiced reply.

“I guess I had just zoned out, must be the heat making me sleepy.” You shrugged off. Alexsandr paused as he thought about your response.

“Perhaps you should come out and play with us, maybe find Maxim in the water.”

“Yeah a dip sounds good but I need to reapply, it's been a couple of hours.”

“If your gonna reapply there are some showers just down there that you can rinse yourself off in, know the sand can be a real bitch.” Max jogged up and he paused. “Real sorry ‘bout the bowl, should have pitched it the other way.”

“It’s alright really, just gave me a bit of a fright. A tennis ball isn’t going to stop me.”

“Ah that's the attitude, right I guess it’s Timurs turn to bowl then.” He started to turn, making sure his voice projected so Timur could hear. “God I hope his aim doesn’t carry over to bowling.” Max muttered under his breath.

“Shuhrat, we might be a while did you want to take my place? I’m sure they would be happy to keep the teams even.” Shuhrat looked down at Alex’s words. “Go on! The sun will be good for your skin, it’s not very often we are in such a sunny country no?”

“Alright.” A grin broke out on Alexsandr's face and he held an arm out for Shuhrat to grab before he promptly pulled the man up. He slapped the man on the back as Shuhrat headed out from the large umbrella into the sun.

“Timur!” Glaz paused his bowl at the sound of Alexsandrs booming voice. “Shuhrats watching your back. Put him to good use.” Timur replied with a nod and Alex’s focus was on you once again.  

“I could have use for a reapply myself. Shall we?”

The pair of you strolled your way to the deserted wharf. Due to being the middle of the week with school holidays yet to start, there were few people at the beach. The lifeguards were set up at the other end of the beach at the main area leaving you and Alexsandr rather alone. The sound of birds and crickets filled the air as you found your way to the public showers. The pair of you walked into the area. The bathrooms were next door, unconnected. The shower area was split into small stalls while there was a large area with seating. Sand covered the floor while light streamed in through the sides. “Oh.” Alexsandr whispered as he came into the shaded area. “Guess I’ve been out there a while huh? Hope I’m not going red.”

“Your not.” You immediately responded far too quickly for someone who had briefly seen the man.

“An expert are we?”

“I mean I would have noticed by now, you're hard to miss.”

“Mmm.” He hummed as he dragged you under one of the shower heads, pressing his hand on the knob which started it. Cold water immediately shot out and you practically screamed as you jumped into his arms, the ice water giving you a shock. Alexsandr laughed as he started to push away the sand on your shoulders, the rest coming with it. With your hands pressed against your chest, you slowly adapted to the water and turned your face to the man. The water hit his shoulder and you couldn’t help but watch as it travelled down his chest, dipping into his belly button before soaking his trunks. He knew as well, he knew the effect he had on you. Yet he didn’t say anything, his chest tensed up and down for a moment which cause your eyes to flicker up to his.

Alexsandr had that smile on his face, a challenge, he was daring you to do something. Anything. With his hand still on the tap, continuing the water, you leaned towards him. Your hands pressed against his chest your lips found his for a sloppy, messy kiss which you soon parted from. Your lips continued your open-mouth kisses down his neck until you found his chest. He tensed his chest and your fingers glided over the skin, massaging the hard muscles. A trail of kisses was left until your mouth and you grabs his tits. His pecks soften as he tensed allowing you to feel them up easier, now soft until your fingers as you kiss down to just above his belly button.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his before you placed the flat of your tongue against his skin. There was a light taste of sunscreen and salt that covered him but you could still taste his taste that was so uniquely him. From your slightly squatted position, you started to rise up, your tongue against his torso until you reached to just below his nipple line. Your hands dropped down and steaded yourself against him, small pecks of kisses placed on his ribs. There was a small sound as Alexsandr stopped leaning on the shower knob, the shower now ticking down, as he started to pet your head, very much enjoying the attention. The tent in his pants which pressed against you also showed his approval.

Slowly you started to squat back down before eventually turning into a kneel, the water on the floor cleared any sand making the ground not too uncomfortable. Your fingers found the top of trunks and slowly pulled them down where they fell and pooled around his ankles, his impossibly large cock sprang free. Being so close to it always made it feel so intimidating and you had to mentally remind yourself that you very much had taken the entirety in the past. On your knees, you silently prayed to the man, flushed you didn’t move but simply watched the man in all his glory. The shower flicked off leaving droplets of water to slowly roll down his chest then over his belly past his dick.

“Your drooling.” He teased and you were snapped out of your trance to wipe your face only to find nothing there. Alexsandr's grin grew as your hand finally made contact with his cock. Your thumb traced over the rather pronounced vein that ran alongside it and your other hand gript onto his strong thigh. Your thumb moved to the side and you held him firmly at the base as the tip of your tongue traced the same vein again.

With a deep exhale you moved back just an inch before you opened your mouth fully, wide and relaxed you allowed his cocked to slip past your lips and down your throat. A groan vibrated throughout Alexsandr and both your hands found the base of his cock. Even though he was down your throat there was still enough for you to wrap both hands around the very base of his dick. This time drool had started to develop around your lips and you fully pulled him out with a gasp. Your spit covered his cock and you allowed some to fall from your lips onto the tip of his head, lubricating it better. This time when you took him into your mouth there was far less resistance and it slid in with ease. He knew to let you make the case, he was big, far larger than most and he knew it. He knew the complications that could come with it. Alexsandr leaned against the shower stall, the door still slightly ajar as you started to suck on him. Your tongue padded underneath him as your hands moved, twisting in time to your pace.

The liquid sounds of your ever-messy mouth echoed carelessly off the walls and Alexsandr did everything not to fuck into your needy mouth. Saliva ran down your chin and his eyes fell closed. His grip was on the top of the stall while his groans turned into moans. His voice grew rough as he started to swear out in his native tongue. He held nothing back as you could feel his cock pulse in your mouth, twitching right before… Alexsandr let out a long moan of your name as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat where his seed pumped out and directly down your throat. Alexsandr’s head slumped against the stall and you slowly pulled him from your mouth and wiped away the saliva from your mouth with the back of your hand. A pleased look as you looked up at his panting chest.

Meanwhile, Timur bowled to Tori who smashed the ball towards the shore, far from where Shuhrat had been standing. Before he had time to go after it, a familiar shape rose from the waters and stalked out. Completely soaked, Maxim came from the ocean. He wore a long sleeve rash shirt and trunks and due to the shallow tide, slowly made his way to the group. The ball was closest to him and he picked it up before throwing it with ease to Timur. Maxim’s eyes scanned the small set-up when he neared, now in speaking range. “Where is Alexsandr and-”

“They went up the road to rise before reapplying sunscreen, hear ‘em talking about hating the feel of sand and sunscreen mixing together earlier.” Max started to explain but a deadpan Shuhrat spoke up.

“Fucking most likely.” Tori stifled a laugh as Max paused and nodded at Shuhrat's comment. He picked up the bottle of sunscreen that had laid next to you, right next to your sunglasses, and waved it in the air for them all to see. You had forgotten it.