#GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HEREEEEEE

[phantomtrax]

seeing the price tag on this font is making me leave my body THIS IS HELVETICA. YOU ARE SELLING ARIAL TO PEOPLE

[gelarshiesprofruitboarder]

im normal im. ormal im. normal im normal im normal im nomrla im normal im normal im norm,am im nomral im nomrla im normal im normal im nomram im normal im normal

[arledrone]

p5 suou au microwaving in my head thinking about shiho's parents' change of heart eventually lead to katsuya and maya taking her in. hmm. oh i could be so unhinged about this. akechi has shit to Say about this and none of the Phantom Thieves are going to enjoy it because they always strive for the ideal outcome and. well. akechi does not. and i think too much peace so suddenly with her parents would just leave Shiho on edge after so long under their scrutiny anyway.

[carcarrot]

just got chewed out for like half an hour by my stupid supervisor 🤪

[livingproofoftbd]

handed in the assignment. watch me get a 50 and my partner get an 80. she did nothing. the teacher adores her.

[t4tdanvis]

me going about my day, happily scrolling through tumblr: :3333

me seeing a literal fucking radqueer in the mystreet fandom:

[philodendrongirl]

Me: yeah I could get this done in a weekend. Yeah man I just won’t do anything else like eat or sleep or breathe. It’s fine

Me 3 weeks later with the same half completed project and choosing to actually take breaks to eat and sleep: ah fuck

[0dotexe]

Feeling it this month

[dykerikki]

can this library job get back to me before my depression blows up please please for the love of god

[hoseoksluna]

STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch. 

That’s a good girl. Messy for me. 

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is. 

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully. 

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses. 

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth. 

He is not, in fact, on his way home. 

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy. 

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny. 

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.” 

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?” 

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display. 

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.” 

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself. 

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen. 

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking. 

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do? 

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice. 

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on. 

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.” 

Naked. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.” 

And with that, he hangs up. 

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you. 

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend. 

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form. 

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer. 

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience? 

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad. 

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you. 

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done? 

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you. 

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer. 

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you. 

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had. 

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to. 

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all. 

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream— 

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment? 

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call? 

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person. 

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult. 

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there. 

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.” 

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred. 

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body. 

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man. 

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water. 

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober. 

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross. 

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially. 

Was it out of the question or would he consider it? 

Your leg jitters harder. 

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.” 

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion. 

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek. 

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?” 

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one? 

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks. 

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness. 

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you. 

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.” 

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?” 

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did. 

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently. 

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side. 

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.” 

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?” 

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself. 

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.” 

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you. 

“Can I feel how wet you are?” 

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.” 

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted. 

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue. 

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?” 

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.” 

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?” 

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?” 

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine. 

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?” 

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.” 

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?” 

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath. 

“Spank my pussy again, please.” 

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while. 

“Apologize first.” 

“You didn’t tell me how.” 

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.” 

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours. 

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples. 

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged. 

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?” 

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times. 

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think. 

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants. 

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing. 

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half. 

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath. 

Such a stark, sudden change. 

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that. 

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.” 

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving. 

“Keep your legs where they belong.” 

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage. 

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin. 

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under. 

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?” 

A question for a question. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration. 

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home. 

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy. 

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?” 

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start. 

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down. 

You fight against it. 

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness. 

And you decide to repeat history. 

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants. 

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat. 

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?” 

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether. 

And then, you collect your essence again. 

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest. 

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.” 

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you. 

He parts his lips for you. 

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally. 

You’re in charge. And it feels divine. 

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue. 

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.” 

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you. 

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince. 

And then—then he manhandles you. 

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does. 

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden. 

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter. 

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?” 

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening. 

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion. 

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.” 

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit. 

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free. 

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off. 

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.” 

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused. 

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.” 

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation. 

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way. 

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum. 

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.” 

Yoongi has had enough. 

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’. 

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.” 

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?” 

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix. 

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone. 

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?” 

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him. 

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.” 

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you. 

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.” 

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.” 

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something. 

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.” 

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you. 

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.” 

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come. 

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them. 

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.” 

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes. 

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.” 

With that, he hangs up. 

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again. 

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself. 

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you. 

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing. 

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?” 

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.” 

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief. 

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you. 

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you. 

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind. 

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles. 

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.” 

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours. 

But you don’t let him take charge. 

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.” 

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you. 

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed. 

You hold onto his neck with your dear life. 

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.” 

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours. 

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.” 

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him. 

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock. 

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit. 

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life. 

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” 

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too. 

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring. 

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.” 

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation. 

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?” 

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness. 

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him. 

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.” 

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.” 

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part two 

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Regulus on his period

Regulus: *from the bathroom* Jamesss… James: What is it, Reg? What’s wrong? Regulus: … It’s the time of the month again… James: *immediately worried* Wait, really? Okay, okay, I’m trained for this. Eh, can I get you anything? Just say the word and I’ll get it for you! Regulus: James, we’ve been over this. You don’t have to worry for me every time, it’s fine. Just… bring me some pads, will you? If you know where I have them by now? James: Yeah, of course I…! *pause* Regulus: James: … Regulus: … James, no. James: *smirks* Regulus: I SAID NO James: PAAAAAAAADDDDDSSSSSS James: GET OVER HEREEEEEE YOUR BROTHER IS ASKING FOR YOUUUUUU Regulus: For fucks sake, James, you’re on thin ice- James: *immediate regret* My bad, I’ll stop, I- Sirius: *storms in* Well SOMEONE is having mood swings again! Does little baby brother Reggie MISS me?! Regulus: If I weren’t bleeding a waterfall right now I’d come out there and break your nose. James: I’M SORRY REGGIE James: THE LOVE OF MY LIFE James: FORGIVE ME Regulus: I might consider if you give me chocolate and hugs Sirius: EWWWWWWWWWW *runs out*

[my313]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ perv!huening kai

mdni 18+ only!

⋆ pairing: bobarista!kai & bobarista f!reader

⋆ summary: your shy and unbearably handsome new co-worker seemed normal. that is, until you catch him peeking through the back door to watch you change.

⋆ genre/themes/warnings: pervy!kai, no strong dom/sub themes, semi-public masturbation (m), getting caught (?)

⋆ word count: 1.7k

a/n: ITS TIME HE IS FINALLY HEREEEEEE. might do a pt 2 cuz im not very satisfied w this and i need them to fuck JDKDJF 😭 tysm to @boba-beom for helping me brainstorm <333 enjoy :3

kai never meant to keep this habit up.

the first time was an accident. it was the one time you both were doing the closing shift, and like the nice boy he is, he let you get changed out of your work clothes first.

by the time he finished, you still weren’t out to greet him by the counter. kai decided, he’ll just take a slight peep at the back since he needed to discard his apron and hang it up anyway. it’s like the universe set the pieces perfectly in front of him, because the locker room door seemed to creak softly until an opening formed.

there’s been a number of times where he’s tried to make his broad frame smaller, curling behind the wall while watching you take off your shirt, memorising the colours and patterns of your underwear. kai could probably recite it the same way he does the boba shop’s menu – probably even better. it’s no wonder that you’re the first thing on his mind when his fist closes in on his length, and the last when he’s hiccuping your name while spilling for the third time every other night. the guilt only catches up to him when he feels the slimy ooze of his cum sliding down his stomach, wincing at the feeling.

he says this each time, something along the lines of, “i just passed by!” or “the door was open anyway…” to his own conscience. he knows you’re not hearing anything he says to justify why he starts to stay outside the locker room five minutes longer, ten minutes more — why he urges you to change clothes first, and why he keeps signing up for shifts that line up with yours.

at first, you thought kai’s constant efforts of being around you while blushing and barely being able to look at you was a small crush. something that dissipates once you undergo the weekend rushes, but kai continues his advances.

he makes you your favourite bubble tea and watches intently as your lips latch onto the thick straw then suction out the pearls. he helps you arrange boxes of ingredients when you can’t reach the tallest shelf, always hovering behind you and says he’s just “making himself useful.”

what you don’t know is that he’s grown an odd liking to watching your lips plump up against the roundness of the straw, fueling his feverish dreams of having you on your knees and doing the same to his cock. you don’t know that when he offers to ‘make himself useful’, he’s often thinking with his dick. he’s dazed by the delicious view of your skirt riding up, inwardly cheering when he catches a glimpse of where your thigh high socks squeeze the fat of your thigh.

on other days, he goes mad from seeing your shitty tights rip from the smallest movements. he pictures ruining them entirely, your face pressed against the very same lockers where he watches you undress.

the first time the bells started to ring in your head that kai may not be as innocent as you think, you’re just a bit shocked.

you recall the door being slightly ajar, and in hopes that your co-worker was still at front, you slung your bag over and went out, only to be greeted by kai’s blushing face and obvious boner. your eyes met for a brief moment, and while you expected some sort of explanation, kai only flashed an awkward smile like always and walked past you.

“s-see you tomorrow, yn.” he said, as if the huge elephant in the room wasn’t ghosting over your skin as he made his way into the locker room. if you hadn’t looked down, you would have thought you just caught kai in his natural state – flushed pink and too shy for his own good. but that definitely changed your mind.

so, you decided to run a few experiments to test your hypothesis.

the next few weeks consist of essentially testing your potentially perverted co-worker. it should be a harder pill to swallow, finding out kai had been watching your half-naked body for a good ten minutes per day. yet, you find yourself taking pride in the way you make kai act. you don’t bother to check if the door closes fully behind you each time you go change.

kai’s on his first toilet break of the day. he blames you and your choice of outfit. lately, you’ve been coming in in mini skirts and thigh highs, and today, you’re in one of his favourite pleated skirts and another one of your flimsy tights.

he swears you’re doing it on purpose, because on restock day, you’re typically grumpy and wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. but just the other day, you were fishing out the packets of pearls from the delivery, bent over with your cute, strawberry-printed panties immediately drawing out a “g-gonna take a break real quick!” from kai.

as if masturbating to you in the privacy of his bedroom wasn’t enough, he’s developed a sick routine of jerking off in the unkempt staff toilet. kai spends more of his lunch hours with his hands enveloping his cock at the thought of you than actually taking a break.

when it’s time for you to leave, your normal routine ensues. you go into the locker room with kai not-so-discreetly following behind, acting as if he’s double checking if the stock in the back is the right amount.

today though, kai doesn’t know what overcomes him. maybe it was the fact that you wore a matching set; pretty pink lace adorning your skin, holding you in places he wishes he could get his filthy hands on. maybe it’s the fact that you’re half-naked for a good five minutes, distracted on your phone to even proceed switching to a comfy sweatshirt.

within those five minutes, kai’s palming himself over the thick material of his jeans.

in the next two, he’s fumbling over the zipper and hastily unhooking the button. his cock is very obviously staining his briefs, leaking profusely and begging to be freed.

kai is quick to fall prey to his urges; what really does it for him is the way you bend over to pick up something that fell to the floor. he doesn’t notice nor care what it is. it’s tunnel vision from here on out, eyes trained on the plushness of your ass, deliciously cradled by your panties and pushed out for his viewing.

his mind is overtaken by obscenities. everything from smothering his face in your cunt to your knees faltering from how he’s made you cum.

he pictures his leaking tip soiling the crotch of your panties, imagining how he’d rut in and out between your thighs, like some makeshift fleshlight, before pulling your underwear off. his eyebrows scrunch at the thought of your skin covered in streaks of white. he thinks that you’d look up at him with wide eyes that ask for “one more?” even when he’s given you his load over and over, grunts morphing to sensitive whimpers.

kai’s body is on overdrive; eyes threatening to shut as his mind drifts into familiar territory but not wanting to miss the sight in front of him. his teeth are digging into his bottom lip to the point of tasting blood, while his arms are starting to give out from the speed he’s stroking himself at.

when you finally snap out of your phone break, kai takes it as a sign to speed up more than he already is. his hips chase after his tight fist, desperate to finish before you find out about his little secret. his stomach caves from the spike of euphoria until it peaks and he can’t stop himself from shooting out ribbons of his cum, his bottom lip surely taking a cut from how hard his canines have sunk into the skin.

he finally releases his bottom lip and takes a quick breather, cautious about whether you’ve put your clothes on. kai scrambles to rip a tissue roll to wipe the floor when he sees you absentmindedly smiling at your phone and walking towards the door.

he leaps into the staff toilet in a rush, just before you step out of the locker room.

you’re still on your phone when you move to the front of the shop, waiting on kai before taking your leave. glancing up at the toilet door from where you’re seated, you stifle a laugh as you think back on the delectable view you caught a peek at earlier. you shake your head at your co-worker’s antics, finding it a mix of silly, pathetically weird and also… sexy? hot?

kai makes an entrance with his apron snug against his body. you try to hold back a full-blown laugh and settle for a polite smile instead, waving your hand at him. “i’m gonna head out now– oh, wait,” your eyebrows knit together upon seeing the fresh tear on his lip.

you rush to his side, pressing your chest against him as your hands reach out to his face. your thumb rests on his bottom lip but you can feel his cheeks heat up against your other fingers. you know what you’re doing, and kai knows that you do. he’s thanking his self from five minutes ago for putting on this apron, because if not, you’d be stuck feeling his awakening hard on again.

“did you get hurt today? i didn’t see this earlier.” you frown, pressing your thumb against his bottom lip. he winces slightly, trying to pull away. a breath is stuck in his throat, the closeness rendering him to just a couple of meek nods or shakes of his head.

kai finally manages to get you back in your space. he shakes his head, “o-oh.. yeah! just– just cut my lip while eating earlier..?”

“be careful next time, yeah?” you chuckle, playfully bumping into him with your hip. “that face is our best seller!”

he laughs nervously, “that’s all you..!”

you’re leaning towards him again, coy with your hands folded behind your back. just enough to have him hitching his breath and anticipating more, but not so much to touch him.

you smile mischievously, hinting at what you just saw earlier. “both of us then? we put on a good show, hm?”

he gulps, “uh– no, you’re definitely much better.”

“i dunno,” you tease, finger tapping your lip almost mockingly as if pondering. “you’re a quick thinker.”

oh shit. you knew.

[simp4wom3n]

The Quiet One Pt.II

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: After losing Dewey right in front of their eyes, y/n decides to try and run away with the only other person she can trust. That plan however, turns sideways as Tara and y/n experience yet another real-life nightmare. ~ Word Count: 6.319k ~ Warnings: swearing, a lot of description of blood and gore, scream 5 spoilers obvi

A/N: HELLLO pt2 is finally hereeeeee!! I'm sorry it took me so long uni work has been killing me + I think this might be my longest fic yet so. Hopefully, you guys enjoy it and I did end up listening to the poll so hopefully everyone is happy with the ending <3

Pt1 ~ Pt2 ~ Pt3 ~ Pt4 ~ Pt5

"I would fucking love to."

"Let's get you out of here then", Sam smiles at you, a stray tear escaping your weak grasp at her soft words. She gives your hand one last gentle squeeze before she stands up to get the nurse, your soft gaze shifting to Tara, whose warm smile still adorned her face. Your eyes scanned her tired features, the mental and physical weight of the situation clearly catching up to her - and yet her smile still managed to set your body alight.

When Sam returns with the nurse, you gingerly sit up as they help you swing your legs off the side of the hospital bed. With Sam holding one arm and the nurse on the other, they balance you as your feet touch the ground, your knees shaking slightly as you stand up. You chuckle lightly when the young nurse hands you a black walking stick. You catch Tara choking down her laugh in your peripherals, causing you to playfully glare at her as you try to get used to walking again.

After some initial help from the nurse, you were allowed to leave. When you walked towards Tara on your own, hobbling like a stiff post due to your aching torso, she offered you another small smile before teasing your rigid form. "Hey there, old man". She chuckled at her comment as you made your way towards the elevator, your mouth dropping in feign offence as you placed your hand over your heart. "Jeez, It's good to see you too."

You were so focused on not falling on your face when you all entered the lobby that you didn't notice the two familiar figures watching you as you approached the door. It wasn't until the Sidney Prescott approached the four of you that you lifted your head away from your walking stick, your eyes widening considerably when you noticed Gale sat just behind her.

The familiar burn of tears returned as your eyes lingered on Gale, and as her broken eyes met yours, you ripped your gaze away from her as your tears escaped down your cheeks. You had no idea whether Gale knew who you were, hell, you didn't really care if she did or not, but you certainly knew who she was. You and Dewey were each other's safe haven; for every piece of information you ranted to him about, he returned in the same volume, meaning that you had heard many of Dewey's rants about his ex-wife.

Knowing how strongly Dewey felt for Gale only made your heart ache more as waves of grief started crashing down on you. The more you tried to grasp that you had lost the one person who had always been there for you, the further you sank into the endless depths of grief, the ice-cold water infiltrating your lungs as you started to drown.

You were the first out the door when Richie suggested that the three of you bring the car around, the rush of fresh air causing your tensed muscles to relax slightly as you slowly inhaled. Richie was leading the way to the car with Tara in front of him, leaving you trailing behind with nothing but the sound of your stick connecting with the cold concrete beneath you and an emotionless and blank stare on your face.

As Richie helps Tara out of her wheelchair and into the backseat of Sam's car, you cautiously lower yourself next to her, a huff escaping your mouth when you're finally seated. You close the door before letting your head fall back in exhaustion, your eyes glued shut as you attempt to take the world's shortest power nap, the tidal wave of emotions finally starting to drain away.

Even as the car started moving, your eyes remained shut as your breathing began to steady, continuing to be blissfully unaware of Tara's worried gaze. It wasn't until Richie honked the horn obnoxiously that you finally opened your eyes. Catching a glimpse of Gale and Sidney, who continue to talk to Sam, makes you immediately regret looking out the window.

Turning away from the window, your eyes land on Tara, who had been sending you a worried gaze. "You okay?" she asks, her voice so soft that you almost miss her. The corner of your lips flutter with the essence of a smile as you send her a slight nod, your heart singing at her gentle words.

"Let's get the fuck out of town, huh?". Internally chuckling at Richie's words, you watch the two women try to stop Sam from leaving, failing horribly as she moves to get in the car. "No. We're leaving. That's the only way I can protect Tara.". You cast a hesitant glance in Tara's direction, her face dropping ever so slightly as her sister's words sink in.

Those exact words had you on the verge of tears once more. You had no idea where Sam had been all this time, having never met her before. Still, Tara obviously meant a lot to her, which made you both feel relieved that Tara was receiving the love she deserved and jealous that you lacked that same unconditional love.

You wanted to be cared for and loved - and not because they felt bad for you.

Obviously noticing the absent look on your face, Tara inhales slowly, trying to compose herself, before she gently reaches for your hand. You flinch slightly at the contact, not used to the affectionate and comforting gesture, but you take her hand nonetheless. Your heart is pounding as her fingers interlock with yours, and she gently squeezes your hand.

As Sam got into the car, she explained what Gale and Sidney wanted, and whilst you understood where they were coming from, there was no way you were letting whatever psycho was behind that mask take the only two people in this fucked up world that you cared about - one was already too many.

"Fuck that. Let's go."

The silence of the car trip was both eerie and serene. Both you and Tara had been tenderly looking at each other in silence for minutes on end, your eyes glancing back and forth between her flawless features and your conjoined hands.

Whilst losing Dewey was easily one of, if not the worst thing that has happened to you, as you admire Tara in the backseat of her sister's car, the passing street lights dimly lighting her face, you finally face the thought that you could have lost her too.

"I'm really happy that you're ok." you whisper, trying to hold onto your emotions as you swallow the lump in your throat. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you too". Squeezing your hand gently in response to your words, Tara looks similarly overwhelmed with emotions, her breathing becoming erratic.

"I don't know what I would've done if I lost you either", she responds breathlessly, her hand finally slipping out of yours as her attention shifts to her packed bag. Her sentimental words fail to sink in as you worriedly watch her search through her bag in a panic.

"Fuck, where is it?" "Where's what?" you asked worriedly, her frantic search causing your heart to race with anxiety. "My inhaler. I usually keep an extra one." "Should we go back" Sam chimes in, which causes both you, and apparently Richie, to internally panic. "Whoa, okay. I vote for not going back to the murder hospital" he speaks as if stealing the words from your mouth. "Should we stop at a pharmacy?" Sam suggests. "I'd need a prescription, but I left one at Amber's."

The pounding of your chest grew as you diverted your eyes outside the window. Just when you thought you had finally escaped Amber's murderous gaze, here you were finding out that not only were you probably about to go pay her a visit, but for Tara to have left a spare inhaler at her house, they must have been close - closer than you would like to imagine.

The thought made your body burn in unwarranted jealousy. You scolded yourself for feeling such a childish emotion. After all, you were the one who started ignoring her, not the other way around. "Is there seriously no other way we can get you one?" you spoke sharply, earning a confused glare from Tara at your tone. You refused to look at her as you felt her eyes scanning your side profile, your clenched jaw apparently obvious as her gaze softened slightly, "No..."

You slowly nodded your head in defeat as your heart plummeted. Your body clenched in agony as you turned back to the car window to watch the passing scenery in an effort to block out Richie's request for the location.

You would have preferred the murder hospital.

"Oh, perfect. She's having a party"

The loud music echoed through the car's closed windows as it came to a stop. The modest home on a dark and ominous street was now full of drunk teens who, for some unknown reason, decided to gather during the middle of a killing spree.

"I'll go in quickly and get it. I'll be back in five" "I'm coming too." Tara moves to unbuckle her seatbelt as Sam gets out of the car. "I'm coming with you" You follow Tara's movements as you unbuckle your seatbelt, albeit a bit more stiffly than Tara, a dull ache still in your torso.

Your words had caught Tara off-guard, her eyes studying you for a moment before she exited the car with Sam's help. She knew how you felt about Amber, how uncomfortable she made you. Even from miles away, she could tell how your body shifted uncomfortably whenever she was around you or how your usually lively expression would drop instantly when you caught a glimpse of her - or at least that was before you stopped talking to her.

Situated with her crutches under her arms, she looks over at you as you pull yourself out of the car, your posture still incredibly rigid as you close the door behind you and walk hesitantly around the vehicle until you are standing next to her.

"You ok?" she asks faintly, a hint of concern evident in her tone despite her inability to walk. "Yeah... You?" The ghost of a smile passes over your lips as your eyes meet hers, the softness in her gaze causing your heart to melt. "Yeah", she nods, her lips creeping upwards before Sam pulls her attention away from you.

The blaring music overwhelms your already delicate senses, the coloured lights straining your eyes as everyone starts the cheer at Tara's arrival. Although you felt like you were going into sensory overload, you couldn't help but admire how Tara looked under the euphoric lighting. Her typically gorgeous features now completely captivate you as you stare in awe - how could someone be so fucking perfect.

Your blissful admiring ended abruptly as Amber pushed her way through the crowd. "What are you doing out of the hospital? Should you even be up and around?" she said as she hugged Tara, your eyes averting themselves away from their affectionate embrace.

"I need my spare inhaler." "Why? where are you going?" You notice Tara's eyes shift towards Sam, who shakes her head at the question - a relief, considering you really didn't want Amber to know where you were going. "It's fine. Don't tell me. I get it. Just be safe, ok?.... I think it's in my room."

You couldn't help but scoff at her words. Of course it was in her room. Where else would it be. Your internal rant about how insufferable Amber was was sadly cut off by her words, "All right, everyone! Thanks for coming, but the party's over!" As you leant on your walking stick, your brows furrowed as the music stopped playing and the confused and angry calls of the partygoers came from all directions.

'Why is she ending the party?'. As far as you knew, she didn't need to do that. All she needed to do was disappear into her room for a minute to get the inhaler, and you would all be on your merry way. You now watched as everyone started to walk out the door, but your eyes were drawn to Tara as she shifted uncomfortably at Richie's mention of her attack. 'Prick'

Amber captured her attention as she rubbed her back sympathetically, earning herself a small smile from the girl. Your scowl grew due to the interaction, and your feet now carried you instinctively towards the one person left who meant anything to you.

"Can we just get the inhaler and get the fuck out of here" you interrupted, both of the girl's eyes landing on you with confused expressions - and a hint of anger on Ambers's part. "Sure thing, ghost face... but you're staying right here, away from Tara." her harsh words stung, your pained gaze landing on Tara, who simply looked at you blankly.

You tried to find words before Tara eventually spoke up, "Just stay here, y/n I'll be fine." she spoke plainly, already moving away from you with Amber on her tail. "You sure?" you call out. Tara turned her head back towards you with a small smile.

"I'll be right back I promise."

Sam was pacing around the house as you stood awkwardly in the entryway, shifting your weight between your stick and your feet as you tested whether you could walk without the irritating clicking that now followed your every step. If you were honest with yourself, you just wanted to leave. You wanted to run after Tara and pull her out of this goddamn house.

You obviously didn't know the layout of this house, but you were sure there was no way she could have taken this long to just grab her inhaler and go. You tapped your finger anxiously against the handle of your walking stick as Sam walked towards you, yelling, "Tara! We're leaving!". 'About time', you thought before you heard a phone start to ring.

You watched as Sam pulled out her phone, staring at it hesitantly before she inevitably pulled it up to her ear. "Hello?" you always hated only being able to hear one end of the phone call, but this one particularly angered you as you stared expectantly at Sam. "How do you know where I am?"

Silence.

You watch Sam's eyes flash with fear, her face going blank as she slowly scans her surroundings. As she finally stops still, terror overtaking her features, you begin to panic. "Sam? Sam, what's going on?" She blinks out of her trance, her mouth ajar as she sputters. "We have to get the fuck out of here."

As the last words left her mouth, a high-pitched scream pierced the air, followed by the sounds of furniture breaking, shattering the overbearing silence of the house. Sam bolts in the direction of the screams whilst you, being far less mobile, stumble in no particular direction, your head whipping around for any evidence of where Amber's room might be as your desperation to find Tara reaches your bursting point.

Eventually, stumbling into what looks like the living room, broken lamps and blood splatters covering a corner of the room. In that same corner, you notice Sam standing over Mindy's weakening figure. "No, Mindy, stay with me." You hobble further into the room, using the remaining furniture to support yourself as you make your way over to Mindy as quickly as possible.

Just as you make it over to the two girls, now covered in blood, you hear another piercing scream from behind you, causing your head to whip in its direction. "What did you do to her!?" Amber screams angrily as she storms into the room. 'Wait, is that Ta-' your thoughts are cut off as Amber throws you into the wall, her eyes staring daggers into your own.

You grunt in pain as Amber presses you into the wall, her hands gripping your shirt as your torso erupts in pain, causing your words to catch in your throat. "N-nothing. No, I didn't do anything." She scoffed before she let you fall to the floor, a whimper escaping your lips as you landed with a thud.

Curled up with your back against the wall, you squeezed your eyes shut in pain as your body throbbed. Feeble whimpers escaped your throat as your mind fogged over, the rapidly approaching clicks of crutches flying over your dazed head.

"God, Y/n!" your eyes crept open at the sound of a familiar voice calling your name. You watched as Tara made her way over to you in a panic. You couldn't tell whether it was the traces of painkillers left in your system making you loopy or whether you were just that desperate to feel like someone cared about you, but you couldn't help but admire her as she 'ran' over to you, her face painted with fear and yet you found it kinda cute.

She was stopped in her tracks when the sound of glass breaking echoed through the room. You silently scoffed as Amber stood protectively next to Tara, everyone's eyes darting towards Richie, who stood at the kitchen door with a broken beer bottle at his feet.

"What the fuck?" "Richie, where the fuck were you?!" Whilst everyone shouted at each other and Liv had at some point stumbled into the room, fuelled by pure desperation and jealousy, whilst Amber threw names around, you tried your best to stand up and close the remaining distance between you and Tara. Pushing with all the strength you had left in your legs, you managed to grasp onto a wooden set of draws and pull yourself up, now resting against them.

"Fuck you, Amber. I'm not the fucking killer!" Liv screamed in agony as you finally returned your attention to the chaos unfolding before you. Tara was already glancing at you with fear written all over her face as you glanced back and forth between her and the other group members.

"I know"

Liv's body fell to the floor with a loud thud as the sound of a gunshot filled the room. Breathing heavily, your eyes widened as they darted towards Amber, a smug smirk on her face as she proudly swung the gun around and pointed it directly at you.

"Welcome to act three"

You think you hear Richie scream 'Run', but as your eyes stare down the barrel of her gun, you remain frozen. A wave of nostalgia washes over you as your stitched wounds start to burn at the memory of the very night in the hospital. It slowly sank in that Amber was behind the mask that night.

The one that stabbed you mercilessly whilst undoubtedly plastering a smile all over her sick face.

The one that killed Dewey and, in doing so, took everything away from you.

The one that was about to kill you.

Your face was emotionless as she smirked at you. You had accepted your fate. The world hated you, so why not let it take you. Anticipating a bullet straight to the head like Liv had suffered moments ago, you were surprised when the gunshot went off, and your lights weren't immediately turned off.

Instead, you watched Tara intervene at the last second, putting Amber off as the bullet missed your head. You would have sighed in relief if your leg hadn't collapsed. Dropping onto the wooden floor, you gasp in pain as your eyes divert to your thigh, which is now spewing blood

"Y/n!" you hear Tara desperately cry, your eyes diverting away from the gaping hole in your leg to land on her tormented figure as Amber drags her out of the room. "Tara! Tara, no!" You attempt to push yourself off the floor, getting up onto your hands and knees as you work up the strength to follow her.

"Y/n! please!" she screams again, her voice becoming more distant every second. Sucking in a deep breath, you struggle to pull your good leg up from beneath you before your hand slips in your own pool of blood, causing you to fall flat on your stomach.

"No... N-No" you cry softly as you bleed out helplessly on the floor.

The sound of a distant gunshot causes your eyes to shoot open. The house has been eerily quiet for the past few minutes. When two more gunshots ring out, you turn your head from your position on the floor, attempting to see if you can see anything through the doorway.

The sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention as Amber appears from around the corner, gun still in hand. When she spots your fragile figure lying in a small pool of blood, she tilts her head playfully as the corner of her lips crack into a smirk.

Taking slow, calculated steps towards you, she crouches in front of you so her eyes meet yours. "Oh y/n... y/n, y/n, y/n." She taunted as you chewed on your bottom lip, knowing that if you made a snarky remark, she wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet right between your eyes.

"This feels awfully familiar, but I can't seem to think where from... Oh yeah, that's right... the hospital" she chuckles as you begin to cry, a solemn tear falling down the side of your face. "Look at you, so pathetic... Dewey can't save you now, can he." Any grip you had on your emotions was broken as soon as his name left her mouth.

"Fuck you", you spat, your body now seething with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. "Aw, aren't you feisty? You know, normally, I would just shoot you right now, kill you while I have the chance, but... I don't know, I think I'd rather see you die slowly... painfully."

She gave you a sarcastic pat on the shoulder as she stood back up and walked away, probably going to put her costume on. The eerie silence returns as Amber disappears, the front door opening, which you presumed was her leaving to continue her bloodbath. However, when you heard what sounded like Sidney calling out, your head lifted in hope.

"Anyone hiding, killer or not, you have five seconds to show yourself!", "In here! I'm over here! Help me, please." you begged as you continued to keep pressure on your bullet wound. When Sidney enters the room, you let out a wet chuckle in relief before she points the gun at you.

You raise your spare hand up in surrender, your eyes pleading with her for her help. You see her eyes flash in recognition. Although extremely hesitant at first, she eventually takes one last glance over her shoulder before she comes closer to you, kneeling down next to you as her eyes follow your hands to your thigh. She sucks a breath in as she reaches for a blanket on the couch behind her, tearing off a strip of its fabric before she ties it tightly around your leg, causing you to hiss in pain.

As soon as she tied the knot, she quickly got back to her feet and had her gun ready. "Stay here, okay?" You nod softly as she retreats from the room, a soft thank you escaping your lips as she disappears further into the house.

Staring at the ceiling, your hands sticky and painted a crimson red, you take slow, steady breaths to calm your racing heart. With numerous gunshots ringing through the house as Sidney undoubtedly searches every inch of it, you take in what will most likely be your last peaceful moments, knowing that this nightmare will only get worse.

Your suspicions were confirmed when the ground shook violently underneath you, the sound of gasps and groans accompanying it as your ears perked up in concern. Despite being riddled with pain, your leg feeling like a dead weight on your already weakened body, you push yourself up off the ground, grunting as you finally reach your feet.

Using the remnants of furniture as your crutch, you limp towards the commotion as a steady stream of blood escapes from your tourniquet, painting a thin red path down your leg. Your head spins as your heavy blood loss starts to take its toll, your eyesight becoming blurry as you eventually slump against the doorway leading towards the home's entrance.

"Yes! Yes!" "Shoot him!" Your jaw went slack as your eyes focused on what was happening before you. You watched as Sam stood over ghost face, who you presumed was Amber, with a gun pointed towards their head. You couldn't help but sigh slightly in relief at the thought of Amber getting what was coming to her, but that was cut short as Richie forced a knife into Sam's side.

A gasp fell from your lips. Both you and Sam are in complete disbelief. "I really, really wanted to be the one to kill you." You cringe in pain as Richie twists the knife in Sam's torso, the girl screaming in agony as her knees buckle underneath her. The smile on Richie's face made you sick, diverting your eyes away from the pair to try and escape the torturous sight.

However, you didn't find any relief as your eyes landed on Amber as she took off her mask before grabbing the gun from Richie's hand. She smirks at you as she harshly grabs Sidney's hair, pulling her head back so she grunts in pain and points the gun at you again.

Your strength starts to drain from your legs as you slowly slide down the wall, your face becoming a ghostly white as you slump against the floor. Your breathing is laboured as you look back towards Sam, your drooping eyes opening in disgust as Richie pulls Tara's inhaler out of his pocket.

"I can't believe this worked", he said, chuckling maniacally. "You son of a bitch!" you berated him from your place on the floor, staring at Richie with pure hatred burning behind your eyes, begging to be set free.

This was the last time you would let them take advantage of Tara.

"Where is Tara!? Where the fuck is she!? What did you do to her!?" you continued to yell, moving from your place on the wall to try and reach Amber, only for her to hit you across the face with her gun, your back violently falling onto the floor.

"Why do you care so much about her, huh? It's not like she cares about you. Why would she? Hell, I don't even know how she tolerated you... but if you seriously think Tara likes you, oh y/n, you've got another thing coming" Your eyes swam with tears, her words reawakening your most significant doubt about every 'friendship' you had ever had.

Why the fuck would they like you?

"Let's get'em into the kitchen"

"Dewey had to die to make it real. To show that this wasn't just some bullshit, cash-in, run-of-the-mil sequel". Pushed up against the kitchen counter, Amber points a bloodied knife dangerously close to your face as she yells her so-called 'reasoning' for taking your best friend's life, your adopted father, the one person you could wholly rely on.

Her and Richies speech had gone straight over your head, your mind instead focusing on Tara's absence from what would appear a vital part of their plan where they wanted everyone alive to be. They even brought an injured Gale into the conversation, perhaps just to taunt her about Dewey, but it still left you panicking. You had had enough of their useless justification.

You had to find Tara dead or alive - preferably the latter.

"Because our movie has fucking stakes! Cause anyone can die in a requel" As Amber turns her head away from you, you take your opportunity as you reach for a knife left carelessly on the counter. Your fingertips graze the knife's handle as Amber's is shoved into your torso, a hoarse groan escaping your throat as your legs buckle underneath you at the burning pain.

At this point, your entire body is riddled with pain. Your stitches stretch with each way you turn, your legs throb with every step you take, and now with every heavy breath you inhale, your torso burns in agony, the familiar crimson liquid cascading down your body one too many times.

"Whoa, whoa, who do we have here?" Richie mocks as he kneels down in front of you. "Y/n was it?... well y/n, I'm so sorry, but we can't let you live either, can we? I mean..." he humorously chuckles, "you weren't even supposed to be here in the first place... but now that you're here, the more bodies, the better." he smiles at you as if he thinks he is doing you a favour, the bitter taste of defeat begins to resurface as you squeeze your eyes and drop your head.

"Get Tara out of the closet. We got to start staging the bodies!" Your eyes dart towards Richie as Tara's name leaves his mouth, the desperation of your movement causing your head to spin. "What the fuck did you do to her!" You screamed brokenly at him as Amber left the room, your voice cracking in pure exhaustion and fear. His previously playful look turned dark as he stared at you menacingly.

He playfully juggled the gun between his hands before shoving the barrel point-blank between your eyes. "You wanna say that again?" he smirks arrogantly, both of you knowing he has all the power in this situation. With the pistol pushing against your forehead, the barrel still warm from its recent kills, you aggressively bite your lip as you swallow down all the words on the verge of spilling out of your mouth.

"Um, she's not here." You hear Amber shout from a different area of the house. You watch as the smug look on Richie's face quickly drops as he gets back to his feet, his pistol still aimed at your head. "What the fuck do you mean 'she's not here'?" "She's not here!" Your head turned to Sam in conclusion, the hint of a smirk evident on her face causing your own to begin to grow on your lips.

"I untied her." You couldn't help but chuckle at her words. You push yourself back, so your back is leaning against the kitchen cabinets, your body naturally relaxing in relief as the thought of Tara being alive becomes much more realistic.

"Guess you're not as persuasive as you thought" "Fucking idiot", you laughed, the agony your body was in turning into some kind of high as a giddy smile crept onto your tired features. You giggled weakly, blissfully unaware of Richies approaching figure until his face was a few inches in front of yours.

He didn't say anything, instead swinging his armed hand across your face violently, the blunt end of the pistol connecting harshly with your cheekbone as your head turned sideways at the force. You weakly reached your hand towards your now stinging cheek, your fingers gently travelling across a new cut that painted your fingers red.

Your eyes were pulled away from your newly painted fingers when you heard Amber's shouts interrupted by a loud thud. The sound of a struggle echoed through the house and into the kitchen as Richie tried to hide the worry evident on his face as his plan unravelled before him.

"Amber?" he called cautiously as he looked in the direction the girl had gone, leaving the four of you now unnoticed. With him distracted, Sam takes her opportunity to try and grab the gun from Richie's hand. A stray gunshot goes off as Sam tackles him to the ground. You watch as the two of them struggle before, as quickly as you physically can, you frantically crawl out of the kitchen, determined to find Tara.

In your admittedly weak and dazed state, the halls and rooms of Amber's house turned into a maze. Each corner you turned and each room you checked came up empty - and you had no fucking clue where you were. You had been silently stumbling around the dark house, avoiding and hiding from the screaming and shouting coming in the direction you thought was the kitchen.

"Tara?" "Tara, where are you?" "Tara come on, where are you?" "Please, where are you?" you desperately whispered as you navigated the house. With each step you took, you could feel your body growing weaker, your adrenaline beginning to wear off as your energy finally began to deplete.

The echoing of screams and gunshots, as much as you wanted to ignore them, eventually pulled your attention away from your distraught search for Tara. After all, for all you knew, she was the source of said screams, a thought which made your stomach twist in fear.

With a thick trail of blood following your every move, you essentially drag yourself towards the sound of Richie's maniacal laughter. Now apparently incapable of feeling shocked, you eventually find yourself watching blankly as Richie leans over Sam's figure with a gun to her throat.

"Never fuck with the daughter of a serial killer."

You stare, amazed, as Sam begins to 'stab the shit' out of Richie, blood splattering all over the girl's figure as the pool of blood underneath Richie's now mutilated body grows. When she slits his throat, his body begins to seize underneath her as she glares at his dying figure with a vengeful look on her blood-covered face.

Stumbling as she stands up from his body, you limp towards her, the sound of your heavy footsteps catching her attention as she looks over at you. You watch her eyes flash with relief at the sight of you still alive, her lips twitching ever so slightly upwards as you finally reach her side.

The sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen caused both of your heads to turn in fear, a feeling which instantly dissolved as you watched Gale and Sidney walk in behind you, eyes fixated on Richie's body.

"Careful, they always come back." You turn your head away and squeeze your eyes shut as you hear Sam fire three shots into Richie's mangled body, the sound of his blood squelching sending shivers down your spine. After a beat of silence, you look back at Tara's older sister, a new sense of fear reawakening.

"W-Where's Tara?" you ask shakily, Sam's face similarly painted in worry as tears flow down your cheeks. "W-Where the f-fuck is she? Please s-someone t-tell me where s-she is" you begged, looking between the three women surrounding you.

None of them answered you.

"I-I need to find Tara." you said flatly, moving to limp away from the group before your plans were cut short by a harrowing scream. Your widened eyes watch as a disgustingly disfigured Amber comes running at you from the kitchen, a blade in hand as she causes you to stumble back in shock.

Her rampage was quickly ended by yet another gunshot, this time not from one of the girls around you. With a confused look on your distraught face, your eyes dart towards where the bullet came from.

Tara.

You let out a heavy sigh as you spot her shaky figure holding up a smoking gun. "I still prefer the Babadook", she inhales shakily after her words, finally lowering the gun as the realisation that both of the psychos behind the masks were finally dead.

You let out a wet chuckle in relief as you breathlessly limp towards her. She meets you in the middle, where despite your numerous injuries, you wrap her in a crushing embrace, sobbing into her shoulder in pure happiness. "A-are you okay?" you whisper shakily into her ear. She nods as she pulls back slightly, your teary eyes meeting hers as you give her your best attempt at a comforting smile.

"Are you good?" she asks you, her fear still evident in her tone. Your hands are clutched to her clothes as you nod in response, desperate to shut up the terrified part of your brain that thinks all this is too good to be true.

Your eyes soften in her gaze, all the pain throughout your body melting away as Tara hesitantly reaches her hands towards your face, resting gently on either side as her thumb caresses your cheek. She stares at you momentarily with a euphoric look on her face, her eyes scanning yours for any sense of discomfort.

You were moments from pulling away when you noticed her gaze flicker down towards your lips. Catching your bottom lip between your teeth, butterflies erupt in your wounded stomach, and your breath catches in your throat as your eyes now risk a glance at her delicate lips.

Deciding she had waited long enough, Tara eagerly pulls your face towards her own as her lips capture yours in a desperate kiss. Despite having wanted this to happen for longer than you could remember, the feeling of her warm lips against yours surprises you, nothing but her overwhelming your senses.

Your hands snake around her waist, forming a tight grip, your lips beginning to move against hers with a renewed passion whilst remaining gentle in both of your fragile states. As your pace began to slow and your harboured breathing mirrored hers, you entered a state of pure bliss.

You couldn't fucking believe this was happening.

Unfortunately, due to your shared need for oxygen, Tara's soft lips hesitantly left yours as your foreheads remained connected. As your e/c eyes met hers once again, a giddy smile overtook your tired features as the realisation that Tara does like you back sinks in.

She was alive, and she was with you.

And that was all you could possibly ask for.

Tag-list:@nitchxhdc @emeraldevan @looseheartedlady @the-night-owl-blr @badassjaguar @txmxav @oh-thats-cute @blckrwidow @cacciatricediartemide @flaiire1805 @rainbow-love4ever @fall-08 @simp4nat @natashadeservedmore @livingforwaddams @alexkolax @ssinfulprayers @wifeyjennaortega @thenextdawn @zhasmindoesntknow @faunusrubyrose @harleyspunchingbag @yourmamacom @rockwyn @androgynouscloudenemy @padf00ts-l0ver @wol-fica @captainbeat

[ticklishthoughts1]

Hyperfocus: Tummy

I smirk down at the little lee, straddling their waist with my knees, digging them in gently, but firmly, and sitting on my own legs, the weight effectively pinning them there. We lock eyes, and I can't help but let out a little giggle at the flustered whine they let out. God, they're just so CUTE when they're like this! Smiling at them in a silly, playful way, I begin wiggling my fingers, over their stomach, and slooooowly lowering them. They giggle softly, Whimpering out "Nooohohohooo" and sucking in the sensitive spot as much as they can. I let my fingers fall as they suck their tummy in, and juuuuuust when it's about to touch, I pull away, grinning slightly evilly. They pout, extremely giggly already, and whine out "Dohohohon't teeheaseee". Playfully pouting back at them, and mimmicking their expression, I say "Don't tease? I'm not teasing! You said no, and I listened! I love you, and no means no!~" Then, as if I had undergone a transformation, I lean in, grabbing their wrist, my voice becoming deeper, huskier, a bit smoother. "Now, If you ask me for tickles like a good little lee, ask me to provide the torturous, delightful sensation you crave so much, that would be an ENTIRELY different story~" My voice becomes softer still, and I giggle a bit more, before saying "So what'll it be Darling? Should I get off right now, and allow your adorable little lee mood to remain, or will you ask for what you want, so I can fufill that particular daydream?~". I tilt my head at them, watching with a satisfied smile as they squirm under me without me even doing anything....yet. I'm one to pay attention to things I like, and I certainly like their face, along with the rest of them, so much so I'm able to witness the battle between their brat side and their submissive side display across their face in a flurry of emotions, and I can tell what their answer will be before they even give it. Bingo. They Nod softly, and in a soft, vulnerable almost voice, they let out "P-please..." I nod happily, and lower my fingers once more. This time, the little guided missiles reach their target. I start off slow, as I always do, lazily tracing patterns along their belly, as if I was bored, and drawing doodles in math class. This is already enough to send them into light giggling, which is so fucking precious that I need to hear more, I need to hear more. I speed up, my hands becoming like claw machines trying in futility to grab at a prize, closing and opening and closing again. I place one "Claw" on each side of their tummy, steadily increasing speed, and going in the same, smooth voice as earlier "Tickle tickle tic-kle~ Kitchy kitchy coo!~ awwwwww, someone has a ticklish tummyyyyyy~". I add more pressure, digging in a bit with the claw machines now, and I can tell immedeately how much more it TICKLES them. They place their hands on top of mine, pushing down gently, but I ignore the resistance for now, and get an idea. I start to say "Squish!" in a baby voice, squeezing their belly every time I do. This is really fun, and they squeak the first couple times I do it, so I do it again...and again..and again. "Squish! Squish! Squish Squish Squish! Tickle tickle! Squish! Tickle tickle tickle! Squish! Tickletickletickletickletickletickle~ Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish Squish!" Their laughter gets even louder at the combination of the tickles and the silly game, and they push on my hands a little harder. I decide to let them push my hands, stopping the grip, and spidering all over the lower tummy instead, scritch-scratching along the waistline and just under the navel. This Transition is both so flawlessly smooth and so unexpected that their laughter begins anew, as does my relentless teasing " What's wrong?~ Does it Tickle Here? Does it tickle right here? Right here? Riiiiighhhhhhtttt hereeeeee?~" (Cont in comments because it's too long T^T)

[bookie-bookdust]

About this bitch, Bookie

I've been on Tumblr since the dawn of time™️so these little pinned bios are wild to me, BUT:

HELLO THERE:

You can call me Bookie, Bookdust, a simp - I don't care. I am happy to brain rot about many things, but the little demon in my head makes me hyperfixate over Hogwarts Legacy, metalcore/alt/emo music, and writing. Feel free to reach out to me. I like caps lock.

Ravenclaw - INFJ - Gemini sun, Cancer moon, Libra rising - Tired

I'm an ADULT here so I will share NSFW content and I really like to fucking curse. If you're a minor, figure it out and ask your mom if you should stick around idk. That being said, I write a variety of teen to explicit-rated content. A little something for everyone. You should always assume my characters are 18+ unless stated otherwise.

FAN FICTION (the literature🧐):

My most popular work is Sebastian Sallow Fucking Sucks, which I am genuinely stunned that so many people have enjoyed it. Seriously thank you so much for all the support. It started as something to write when I had writer's block, and now I'm obsessed lololol.

Where you can read my deranged writing:

ao3 - I am most active here. This is also where I post all of my chapter fics and one shots.

Wattpad - I'll post all chapter fics and some of my one shots here. I hate WP, and I don't have the patience for it.

That's it lol. If you find my garbage anywhere else, let me know because then I'd have to go break some legs.

One Shots:

How to Defuse a Ravenclaw - Seb finds himself violating his newest rule - do not think about fucking the Ravenclaw // porn with plot // ao3 - wattpad

Secret for One - In which using some anti-cheating ink reveals what you and Seb were up to (kissing – the answer is kissing) // teen-rated cute and secretly conniving // ao3

Pass the Ring, Not the Potatoes - Seb gets the flu on Christmas Eve, the night he plans to propose, and starts...hallucinating // holiday explicit comedy // ao3

Little Sis - Anne Sallow POV where Dark Seb attempts to use the relic to heal her // Horror // ao3 - wattpad

Other fanfic related content:

Shitty Sebastian headcanons

Shitty Ominis headcanons

Stupid things Sebastian would do to get you to talk to him after a fight

Eventually more will be hereeeeee maybe lol

OTHER STUPID SHIT:

I will always write Sebastian with MC. Not sorry one bit lol.

I do love Ominis though too, but Sebastian just rots my brain.

Poppy is a sweet baby angel who will smack anyone as needed.

I have a tendency to write Anne as semi-antagonistic (swear I don't mean to idk why it keeps happening).

I love the morally gray zone of Dark Magic and how it affects characters.

I don't like Draco Malfoy lol.

WE NEED MORE RAVENCLAW REPRESENTATION!!!!

My female characters are gonna be messy. Always. They don't jog for fun. They have constant bedhead. Poor impulse control. Love to torture themselves. I'm on the complex female character bus, and I will run over all pedestrians.

My main MC does actually have a name. I'll soft launch her eventually with a backstory and a bio. I love her deranged little head.

I'm pretty strict on AI. You do NOT have permission to feed my work into AI. I will curse your entire bloodline if you do. I'm like 5'1" of pure vengeance and fury, trust me.

I don't tolerate rudeness, bullying, misogyny, racism, or homo/transphobia. I will find you and eat your bones if you try shit. (I'll actually just ignore and block you, but you never know). Also fuck JK Rowling lol.

If you read all of this, then you've earned a tiny shard of my soul in thanks, friend. Here's to more delusion and fanfiction.

Thanks for stopping bye! 🥰

[teddybeartoji]

Gulps....afab suguru...byeee

NONNNIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE I AM HEREEEEEE!!!!!!!!! I AM DOWN ON MY KNEES FOR YOUUU I WANT TO KISS YOUUUU!!!! LO AND BEHOLD EVERYBODY – THE GETUSSY<3333333333333

she has arrived on my blog and she will be loved and cherished and treasured and kissed and ******** and ****** and etcetcetc. she looks so beautiful in skirts btw. i truly believe skirts would be one of her favourite things to wear. long or short – it doesn't matter at all. if it's a short one, i like to think she'd pair it with like an oversized shirt that falls of her shoulder...... she's bewitching.

she's so tall and she's so smug. she likes to kiss just below your jaw when she stands behind you, her long black hair tickling your shoulder as she pushes herself into your back. her voice sounds like a deep purr as her hands snake around your middle, pushing your hips back into hers. she just likes to be a bit of a tease. she likes to fluster you. she loves it.

she's super sporty!!! she likes to go jogging and then she comes back home all sweaty and sexy and she presses a quick kiss to your lips before hopping into the shower, all while knowing that you're now needy and desperate. she knows the effect she has on you. she's way too hot............

i cannot decide whether she's the type to have you sit on her lap or she'd sit on your lap. i kinda think it's both. she pulls you into her lap by your wrist and she lets you melt into her. but then she also likes to plop down onto yours to fluster you a little!!!

she loves it when you do her makeup btwwww!!!!!!! we all know the iconic pics of girls straddling each other while they do their makeup and that's her and you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! she's tracing shapes into your thighs as you settle onto her and she's just sooo fucking smug and hot and i'm getting dizzy by just thinking about it.............

18+ loves fingering you. she throws her hair over her shoulder with a grin as you're falling apart on her pretty fingers and she's soo proud. and she prefers giving handjobs to blowjobs actually. ofc she's gonna suck you off too if you want but she likes using her hands more bc she really likes her fingers. easy as that. she likes to watch you lose your mind just from her hands. makes her ego grow so much.

she's a bit of a head-pusher. she likes to guide you with her hands as you're giving her head. she's giving you instructions not bc you're doing badly or anything, she just likes to feel in control yk.

likes wearing lingerie and heels. don't get me wrong, she likes her boxers and sneakers too. but every so often, she puts on a gorgeous gorgeous set and sexy heels and a trench coat just like in a movie and fuckkkk she loves your expression so much when she shows you what's underneath.

+ i typed all of this out and only then thought abt the fact that u did say afab and not fem but fuck it we ball. if u want more of getussy u let me know. anyway ily nonnie<3