#I suppose some praise can be awarded | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

borathae · 2 months ago

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↳ Index [Day 28 - Sounding]

Pairing: Good Boy!Yoongi x Mommy Hard Dom!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Idol!Yoongi

Kinks: very intense and deep subspace, he is a subby and devoted masochist, hints of enjoying rather rough free use, primal play cause she roughs him up a little and calls him “her prey” hihi, she presses him against the front door and touches him, choking, he also later chokes himself, hair pulling, thigh riding, some very mild CBT with her knee, needy and sloppy making out, she leads him to the bedroom by his tie, oh yeah he is wearing a suit, needy stripping, use of a sensitivity cream, use of a prostate vibrator, male anal play, sounding of his leaky cock, he experiences very intense pleasure, use of a vibrator against the sound, full body squirting orgasms <3, subby boy tears, dirty talk, praise, I just gotta say it again he is in very deep subspace, this is my service Dom dream oh lord, loving aftercare, they’re kinky & in love <3

Wordcount: 5.7k

a/n: click this !nsfw! link if you wanna get a visual. like, i don’t think you guys understand. i’m fucking obsessed with this kink jdfja confession time, i never did it in real life but it looks so fun and i need to do this to a willing subby boy omfg oh lord what the fuckckkckc i need to touch some grass lmaooa

Yoongi in a suit is to die for. Yoongi in a suit tight enough to show off his strong chest and big butt is your official end.

So when he comes home that night, exhausted from an award show and happy to be back with you, you can barely keep your hands to yourself.

Yoongi manages to place the keys down on the dresser and he already has you around him, nuzzling your nose into his neck.

“Hey there superstar, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You give him a little nibble, grabbing his butt unapologetically.

“Oh”, he gasps, tensing up. “What are you doing?”

“Just making sure it’s still there.”

He laughs, looking into your eyes deeply. He is amused by you and enjoys what you are doing, it’s obvious in his look.

“Last time I checked, it was still there. Yeah.”

“Mhm, it is. Mhhhhm it really is”, you coo, rubbing his buttocks unapologetically while you press your chest against his’. You slide your grabby hands between his legs and squeeze.

Yoongi squeaks in surprise, getting on his tiptoes and widening his eyes. He even grabs your shoulders, looking completely disoriented for a second.

“That seems to be still there as well. Mhhm how heavy and warm, my darling”, you rasp, massaging his balls rather disrespectfully. He is wearing very tight briefs in order not to have a weird bulging accident in public. They are very tight and very thin and keep his plumb balls right where they’re supposed to be and oh lord, how easy it is to grab them like this.

Yoongi’s knees buckle slightly, his eyelids flutter for just a second.

“Okay, can we- Ahm, ah, ___ this isn’t my butt”, he gets out.

“I’m aware”, you say matter-of-factly and grab his waist, using his moment of total surprise to twirl him and press him against the door.

Yoongi both squeaks and moans, head hitting the wood against his will as you practically keep him hostage.

“Tell me to leave you alone”, you rasp and Yoongi knows that this is you asking for his consent.

“Please don’t leave me alone”, he begs, giving you everything you needed to know.

You hook your hands in the collar of his suit jacket, ripping it off his body like this. His weakened arms flail for a few moments before you have them pinned against the door.

“Holy fuck Yoongi, you ripped your vest”, you gasp, staring at the ruined fabric of his suit vest.

“My back was too big, I-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you practically steal his breath away by pulling him into a kiss by his hair. His head is tilted back like this, his back is arched.

A tremor of shock and pleasure runs through his entire body, his hands desperately reach behind him to grab your wrists. You tug rather harshly on his hair and his poor little heart can only take that much before it implodes. It also isn’t helpful that you have your knee lifted between his legs, applying rather painful pressure on his cock and balls.

He whines into the kisses, throat working oh so hard to swallow all the drool he suddenly produces.

He had a very stressful and long day. The award show was filled with exhausting social interactions, tiring speeches and way too many noises. There was also his constant need to look presentable in fear of being filmed in an unflattering moment and the constant pressure not to do something that could later be regarded as a “scandal”. Yes, that even includes normal human functions like letting out a little yawn or accidentally zoning out on someone’s face. Truly, his day was long and exhausting and he was so excited to come home to you and be himself again.

He didn’t expect such a greeting and quite frankly, it is way too powerful for him. His toes give up on him, forcing him to sit down on your knee and therefore increase the pressure on his balls. The kiss breaks because he lets out a pained moan.

You eat it up with a hungry growl, digging your hand deeper into his luscious locks. Your other hand slides to his waist, bruising it slightly as you begin guiding his body over your thigh.

“Wait please”, he gets out, collapsing into the door, “wait.” His eyes are squeezed shut, his cheeks flushed, “Mommy, wait.”

“How do you expect me to wait when you call me like this? I had to watch you be pretty on stage and I couldn’t do anything about it. Don’t deny me my right to claim you.”

Playing rough is what works for you and him. In the earlier stages of your relationship, when you and he got to know each other’s kinks, you had a long and thorough talk about your dos and don’ts. Playing rough and using the other “whenever” is something you discovered to both like. Honestly, you feel like Yoongi secretly likes it even more than you. He might be whining right now, but his body speaks a different language. He bends and arches it into the most unnatural positions just to get closer to you. His cock is so swollen in his slacks and his balls so plumb against your knee. He gets off on this.

He gets off on the thought that you were practically waiting for him to come home, that he is so desirable to you that you can’t control yourself anymore, that everything you need is him. Yoongi would never admit it, but he loves being desired to the point where you are almost animalistic with him. Sometimes he does something solely to catch your attention and when you react in uncontrollable desire to touch him, Yoongi feels high. A true rush of pleasure however are the moments where he wasn’t trying and you still end up needing him. When those disrespectful, horny touches start, when you are rough with him, when you almost seem to hunt him like prey, Yoongi could honestly climax just from that.

It turns him on so much.

“Mhm Yoongi? Tell me why I should wait”, you stress, digging your fingertips into the back of his neck.

“I don’t know”, Yoongi whines, tilting his head back.

“You don’t know. That’s too bad then”, you hiss, giving him a rough shove.

Yoongi stumbles, arching his back. He mewls, reaching behind himself to pull you into a kiss. You gladly let it happen, shoving your tongue into his mouth and grabbing his chin to keep him pinned. He has to crane his neck like this, feeling his blood pound in his dizzy head. Your grip is so territorial, your kiss so hungry. Yoongi feels like a well-desired price being taken no matter what.

He turns in your possessive hold, hooking his arms behind your head and letting you kiss him as if his taste was your life elixir. He willingly sits down on your knee again, fucking himself needy with sloppy wiggles of his hips. He also willingly lets you claim his throat in an obsessive grip, melting like chocolate in the sun when you apply gentle pressure on his veins. He trusts you with his life, knowing that you are an expert in stealing his breath. Not once did he get the feeling that having your hand around his throat would end badly for him. You know exactly where to hold him, how to choke him, what not to do. This is religious to him. It leaves him vast of air, dizzy and completely at your mercy and he wants to swim in the fuzzy feelings you create in his chest because of it. Granted, he could still breathe because you never apply pressure on his throat, but he still can’t. He holds his breath to kiss you for longer, only fighting for it once his lungs work against his will. And each time he does, you catch your breath as well, tasting every one of his sounds before claiming him again, needier than before.

And soon, oh so very soon, you cannot take it anymore. You abandon his neck for the sole reason of dragging him with you by his tie. You and he kiss sloppily, moaning and groaning into the other’s mouth as you maneuver through your home.

Yoongi gladly lets you drag him around. Quite frankly, you could do whatever you want with him to get him from point A to B. If you decide to drag him around by his hair, he would welcome it gladly. One time, you decided that it was only appropriate to lead him around by his balls and Yoongi had to do everything in his power to not orgasm too soon. He is quite frankly, your devoted, happy puppy who wants to follow you everywhere.

Tonight he really needed it. He needs to follow you into a place of worship, desire and pleasure. It is the only way to leave behind the stressful award show with its stupid rules and social contacts.

His ripped vest leaves him in the hallway. His belt, which was solely decorative, leaves him in front of the bedroom door. His tie gets loosened inside the room and his buttons get messily opened as you push him to the bed. Yoongi feels like a present being unwrapped prematurely, having to work very hard not to climax prematurely himself.

The back of his legs hit the edge. You weakened him so intensely that he collapses with the first contact, falling onto the bed with a squeaky moan. His back hits the mattress, arching off at impact.

You ravish him with needy touches, clawing off his button up shirt and ripping open the fly of his slacks.

A tight compression shirt reveals itself under the button up. His chest and waist look so snatched in it, his nipples protrude through the fabric.

“You wore this underneath all of it?” you gasp.

“I don’t like to go shirtless under button ups”, he whines, writhing in ecstasy when you drag your nails down his chest and stomach.

“I feel like a fucking predator who got its prey. I literally wanna rip you up and eat you.”

“Please”, Yoongi keens, arching his back.

Ever since the beginning, it was clear that he will be the little bunny and you the big bad wolf in your relationship. And he loves it. He dreamed of it for years, thinking to himself that he will never find someone who can actually make him want to submit like this. And then he met you. You are the most wonderful and kind person ever, you are so sweet and loving and so understanding. Yoongi hasn’t laughed like this with anyone ever, he hasn’t felt so safe and so loved. Being your little prey is everything he lives for these days. You make him feel so fucking fulfilled and in return, you feel completely fulfilled yourself.

He is everything you ever dreamed of. He is kind and sweet and unbelievably loving. He makes you laugh and never makes you feel alone. When you aren’t with him, you think of him and when he is with you, you are happy. It has been years and your obsession with him hasn’t shrunk, on the contrary, you love him more and more each day.

“Fuck, I could honestly eat you”, you get out and begin tugging his shirt out of his pants quickly. Yoongi helps you by sitting up and pulling it over his head, dropping into the sheets again afterwards. He stretches his arms over his head, writhing sensually for your viewing pleasure.

He moans loudly when you instantly claim his unmarked skin with your hungry mouth. You kiss and lick him, leaving spots of your devotion wherever he is sensitive. He takes each mark with pride, leaking into his slacks. He becomes more and more yours. Finally he gets to see it as well. He gets to look into the mirror and count each mark of love you left. He gets to trace them and reminisce about how it was to be yours. He is in paradise.

You suck an especially dark hickey right under his belly button.

“Thank you”, he croaks out, unable to keep his feelings hidden any longer.

You let go of him, soothing the pinch with long, deliberate licks.

“Thank you?”

Your hands are on his waist, holding him hostage. You are kneeling on the floor between his legs. Despite your difference in height, it is you who towers over him. At least emotionally. You might be the one looking up at him right now, but there is no ounce of power in Yoongi. He is completely and utterly under you, choking out another “thank you” while his hips roll up against nothing.

“For marking you?”

He nods his head, squirming sensually.

“Fuck. You drive me insane”, you rasp and claim his waist by biting him deeply. Obviously not enough to actually hurt him, but still hard enough to leave a red mark.

Yoongi wails up, twisting the sheets above his head and leaking into his pants so aggressively that he can feel it stick to his skin.

“Mine.” You come up, kissing the tender spot. “All mine. You’re mine.”

“Yours”, he moans, meaning ever single fucking letter of this word. If he could be yours even deeper, he would. Without hesitation. He was independent and a lover for solitude before he met you. Granted, he is still these things, but he is also very clingy and cuddly and obsessed with attention. Yoongi never thought it possible that he could be a lover of such “cheesy” things, but he is. He loves, loves, loves it when you touch him and hold him and make him yours.

You take off his slacks next, dancing your hands up his legs.

“One last chance to stop this”, you tell him, ogling his bulge. His cock practically wants to burst through his briefs.

“I don’t want to stop this, please touch me more”, he begs, lifting his hips.

You take his consent, pulling off his briefs carefully. You throw them to the side, instantly claiming him by marking his thighs as well.

Yoongi mewls, throwing his legs over your shoulders and giving you complete control over them. They are trembling like crazy each time you mark another spot with your love.

Soon you reach his middle and you waste no fucking time. You nuzzle your face into him, inhaling deeply which embarrasses him.

“Don’t do that”, he begs, wanting to go up in flames. You always tell him that you love his scent, but it’s so embarrassing when you smell him like this. His face feels so hot, his stomach is so tight.

You growl and come up for air, meeting his shy gaze. Yoongi has to gulp when he sees the hunger in your eyes.

“If I could, I would bottle your scent so I always have it with me.”

“Stop please”, he begs, closing his legs in embarrassment.

You obviously force them apart again, holding them in a tight grip as you stand up. They slide off your body like this, but still stay in the air as you hold them. You bend them by his knees, slowly forcing them into the sheets beside his body. Yoongi’s ability to breathe gets more and more forgotten the closer to his face you come.

He holds his breath when you are above him. His legs are over your shoulders, his body is bent in half. He is naked, marked and completely vulnerable while you are still completely dressed.

“Don’t be shy, babyboy. You smell like heaven.”

Yoongi pouts and squirms, forcing you to pin him down.

“I want to give you pleasure so good that you will squirt.”

Yoongi gulps. When you don’t continue to speak, he knows that you are waiting for his reaction.

“What do you mean?” he croaks out.

“I want to stimulate your prostate from every possible angle.”

Yoongi whimpers. He truly and honestly whimpers. When he makes noises as such, it is impossible to know that his voice is naturally so deep and raspy.

“You know what that means, don’t you?”

He nods his head, wiggling his feet on your back in excitement.

“You also know that I’m gonna be so careful with you, don’t you?”

He nods his head with more vigour.

“So what it’s gonna be? Yes or yes please?”

Yoongi knows that there is a secret third answer called “no” which he can always, fucking always, voice, but it’s still so hot to him that you make it seem as if he had no choice. That you are going to pleasure him no matter what because he is your little price and you take what you want.

“Yes plase”, he gets out breathily, widening his eyes in a beg.

You seem pleased by his answer, giving him an adoring smile.

“I knew that you would be polite. You’re Mommy’s good boy after all.”

“I am”, he whispers, nodding his head.

“Mhm, you are.”

You straighten up, helping him set down his legs. He knows that distance is necessary, but he still aches when you break away from him. He counts the seconds until you are back, reminiscing about all the times you pleasured him like this.

Sounding. This is what you are going to do to him. Yoongi is no stranger to the kink and he definitely didn’t have it before you. You and he discovered it together one night where you managed to slip your pinky finger into his cock as you jerked him off and Yoongi climaxed so hard from it that he saw stars. You did research together, bought toys and practiced until the kink became a regular thing in your bedroom.

It is so much fun and feels so good to both of you. Quite frankly, you have done it so many times already that he can comfortably take the entire sound which allows you to stimulate his prostate from another angle. Yoongi didn’t even know that he could feel it from his cock and he definitely didn’t think that he could orgasm so fucking hard. But of course you proved him wrong. You are an actual goddess after all.

“Hello, I’m back”, you announce your presence, caressing his knees.

Yoongi looks at you, sighing your name.

“I missed you.”

“Of course you did. You’re a little obsessed”, you tease him, making him giggle shyly.

You giggle with him, studying him from head to toe.

“Now”, you begin and pick up a anal vibrator, “let’s get started.”

“Wait. I didn’t clean out.”

“I think it should be alright. I’ll only stick it in and then keep it there. Is this okay for you?”

“Yeah, just promise to keep it in. I’m embarrassed about the…potential dirt.”

You chuckle, “you’re not dirty. It is really okay not to want it.”

“I do”, he whispers, “please, I want it a lot.”

“Well. Okay then, I don’t know why you’re whining.”

He laughs, scrunching his eyes. You know exactly how to rid him of his nervousness. You snicker and kiss his knee then straighten up to prepare him.

You cover the vibrator in a translucent slick, spreading the rest of it on his hole. You apply a little pressure with your fingers, massaging him.

“Oh wow”, he lets out, melting into a puddle.

“Can you feel it working already?” you ask him.

Yoongi closes his eyes, concentrating on the sensations. Your touch is warm, growing in temperature the longer you rub him. Fuck, why is he getting so sensitive? Wait. He knows what that means. He rips his eyes open, moaning helplessly.

“Now, you figured it out. Just a little something to increase the pleasure. You deserve it”, you say, exchanging your fingers with the vibrator. You work it into his overly sensitive hole carefully. The sensitivity cream you use on him is slippery enough to double as lube so you aren’t worried about tears. You do this on purpose to help the cream work even deeper.

“This is so intense”, he croaks, eyes squeezed shut. He can’t handle it any other way. He has to focus on nothing but the increasing pleasure between his legs. You stretch his hole so gently. It doesn’t hurt at all, despite the head of the vibrator being rather girthy. With his eyes closed, everything he exists for is this sensation. The slow, deliberate prodding of his hole and the increasing depth of the toy; it is everything he breathes for right now. It is both so relaxing and incredibly exciting. Yoongi doesn’t know whether to completely melt or tense every single muscle in his body.

“Can you feel that, darling?”

“Feel what?” he sighs.

“That you’ve been taking the entire toy for the last few moments?”

“What?” he breathes and lifts his head.

Your hand is pressed flat to his ass, a telltale sign that his greedy hole swallowed the entire toy.

“I wasn’t aware”, he croaks, rolling his eyes back and dropping his head. He fucks the air, moaning your name.

You chuckle.

“Now you are”, you say and grip the toy by its round base to wiggle it inside him.

Yoongi reacts in tremors of his body and submissive moans. Now that he is aware of the depth of the toy, he swears it is impossible to handle. The sensitivity cream does its job and makes his insides terribly sensitive to stimulation. He swears that he can feel the toy shift inside him. He needed this so bad and he wasn’t even aware of it.

“Oh god, this feels so good. I needed this”, he chokes out, hole trembling around the toy as you fuck him slowly.

“Of course you did. I saw how you wiggled your butt when you were dancing. You were just asking to have it fucked, weren’t you?”

Yoongi nods his head because what you say is the truth. He did ask for it to be fucked. It is decided.

“Of course you were. I’m so fucking obsessed with you”, you rasp, rewarding him with side to side wiggles.

“God wow”, he arches his back, “the cream is intense. Oh god.”

“Yeah? Do you feel how I fill you out, mhm?”

“Yes, god, yes.”

“You’re so pretty taking me”, you praise, sending trembles through his legs.

“Stop please, I’m close.”

You cease your movements, soaking up the tensing of his stomach and the little mewl he lets out. Your hands roam his marked thighs, eyes totally entranced by his pretty face.

“Shit, that was close. Ah fuck”, he gets out, writhing from side to side.

“I think you’re gonna have a very hard time lasting long”, you snicker.

“I think you’re correct”, he says, making you laugh.

He laughs with you, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Holy fuck, you have me so ruined”, he mewls, dropping into the sheets in total defeat. “Please, just…more…”

“I can grant you this wish.”

Silence overcomes you as you prepare the sound for him. You use normal lube for it, slathering an insane amount on the metal pole. The sounding toy is a thin metal pole with around six inches of length a good finger’s width of girth. It is slightly textured and has a round tip. It isn’t the first sound you used, but the third one. Yoongi can comfortably take it these days, driving you crazy in the process.

You wrap your fingers around his cock, forcing him to twitch.

You laugh, “this already starts well.”

“I didn’t expect it”, he defends himself.

“Mhm, sure. I think you’re sensitive”, you tease.

You connect the toy with his tip, getting him used to it by rubbing circles around his slit. He became leakier ever since you started engaging in this kink together. Especially when he knows that he is going to get his cock quite literally fucked, his pretty dick can’t stop producing the neediest slick.

“Your pretty hole is so wet, babyboy”, you taunt him, giving him a gentle spank with the toy. “it’s practically asking to get fucked.”

“Please”, he begs, feeling dizzy. There is nothing more powerful than your dirty talk.

“Take a deep breath, I’m starting.”

Yoongi obeys, but struggles when you begin pushing the sound into his small hole. His chest rumbles in desperate noises, lifting up and down quickly.

“Are you comfortable?”

He nods his head.

You push deeper, watching in delight how his pretty cockhead swallows the bulbous head of the toy. The worst part is over. You apply pressure around his shaft, keeping your thumb against his thick vein at the underside of his cock. You can feel the toy entering him when you press against it and you use it to your advantage by massaging him wherever the sound currently sits.

“Slower, please slower.”

“Hurts or close?”

“Close. Fuck, really close.”

“Just keep breathing, baby.”

“I’m trying. Oh god, it feels so good.”

You smile. He is so precious. With a fluttering heart, you fill him deeper, guiding your thumb down his cock as the metal toy fills him up more and more. His vein is bulging wherever the toy already sits, his hole is so puffy around the shaft. He is flushed like crazy, constantly leaking new slick. It seems to become more and more the deeper you enter him, almost as if he is trying to make space for you by getting wet.

“One fourth left, babyboy. How are you doing?”

“Aha, yeah, mhm ah”, he lets out, nodding his head. He doesn’t need to say more. It is so obvious to you that he is in paradise.

You would be correct with your assumption. Yoongi is so far gone, existing only for the pleasure. Now, he has to be honest, getting his cock penetrated is intense. It stretches a hole which wasn’t meant to be stretched and fills insides which were never meant to be filled. It doesn’t hurt, but it is also isn’t entirely comfortable. It is intense and addicting and you do it so well that he feels far away.

There is sudden pressure deep in his body. Yoongi can describe it as a mixture of having the intense urge to pee and someone pressing a finger against his prostate at the same time. He knows that it is because you reached the end of his cock, now pressing the sound right against his prostate. One wrong move and it would hurt, but you know what you are doing.

Because the toy is so deep inside him, it can stay at the right spot without having to be held. You run your hand up his cock, picking it up to jerk it off.

“Mommy, holy fuck”, he presses out, following it up with a guttural moan and his hips lifting off the sheets. The handjob moves his cock over the toy, sending constant pleasure through his shaft. It is indescribable. When his cock is stuffed, he can feel orgasmic pleasure in his entire cock and balls. When you give him a normal handjob, it only feels orgasmic on his tip, but with the sound deep inside him, every inch is sensitive.

Yoongi is restless on the sheets, moaning from the bottom of his heart.

“Yeah, holy fuck. You look so pretty, it’s insane”, you agree, voice raspy in desire. You put your other hand on his balls, pressing your thumb against where you can feel the sound inside him. You draw circles on the spot, focusing your handjob on his tip for now.

“Stop! I’m gonna cum, stop it please.”

You wrap your fingers around his base, rubbing your other hand on his thigh.

“Breathe baby, breathe.”

Yoongi obeys shakily, burying his own hands in his hair.

“What the fuck is wrong with me tonight? Holy fuck, I feel like a fucking virgin.”

“That’s hot. Holy hell, you say the sexiest stuff.”

You pick up a slow rhythm, having to stop it again when he flinches and begs you for a break. You let him breathe through it, holding his cock.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so sensitive.”

“That��s alright. Just say the word and I’ll make all of this stop. You can get what you want most.” You rub his balls, tracing the sound deep inside him. “It’s gonna be intense though, I can’t promise you that you won’t see stars.”

“Please”, Yoongi writhes as he willingly sacrifices himself to your enchanting touch.

“Please release me or please stop? Use your words, babyboy.”

“Please Mommy, make it stop.”

“Make it stop. I understand. Hold your cock for a moment.”

Yoongi obeys, following you with droopy eyes as you seem to get a third toy. You are hidden behind a blurry veil of unspilled tears and drugged senses.

Suddenly there are vibrations. Deep, deep in his ass and right against his prostate. Yoongi curls up as if he was punched in the gut, moaning the same way too. The tears escape his eyes and you disappear behind even more blurriness as he loses the ability to focus his eyes.

He is glad that you replace his hand around his cock. His muscles are too weak, working only to bring his shaky hand to his own throat. He chokes himself, lost to the pleasure and so far away. The only thing clear is the electricity inside his stomach and your voice as you talk to him.

“That’s my boy. Choke yourself for me.”

Another buzzing joins the one of the prostate vibrator. Seconds later, he feels unbearable pleasure in his entire cock as you press a wand vibrator against the metal sound. The vibrations go down the entire rod, forcing the round tip to shake against his prostate. You intensify it by running your unoccupied hand up and down his balls and cock, forcing the toy to shift and move inside him.

You promised him relief, but this is insanity. You never did that before. You sounded him, used a prostate toy but not like this. Not with vibrations and at the same time.

Yoongi isn’t a very loud person. Even in bed he is on the more quiet site. You get purrs and whines and moans, but they never go past a certain volume. Yoongi is a quiet and reserved person or so he thought.

Because right now, you are making him genuinely scream. He never did that before, hell, he didn’t even think that he had it in him, but he has to. The orgasm you make him experience takes over his entire fucking body. It never felt like this before. It shouldn’t even be possible to feel like this, but it does and he has to scream because of it.

He cums all over the rod, throbbing and convulsing with such intensity that he manages to squeeze it out of himself all by his own. It glides against the wand, shaking because of the vibrations which only makes it more intense. The last inch hurts as the round head slips past his swollen slit. The relief is instant. Clear liquid squirts everywhere, ruining not only the sheets but his body as well.

“Yes baby, squirt for me. That’s it”, you talk him through it, helping him ride out his most intense orgasm ever by jerking off his empty cock and pressing the wand against his overly sensitive tip.

It is not a surprise that Yoongi begs you to stop once his orgasm dies down. You didn’t expect him to go again, not after what you just witnessed. You turn off the vibrators and instantly scoop him up on your arms, holding him safely as he twitches helplessly.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m right here”, you whisper to him, playing with his hair and rubbing his shaking back.

“What did you do to me? Oh god I can’t stop shaking”, he gets out, sobbing quietly as the intense afterglow overwhelms him.

“Shhh it’s okay, darling. I’m right here. Let it happen, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

Yoongi seeks your embrace, cuddling so close to you it feels as if he is trying to merge with you. He can’t talk a lot at first, recovering with little noises and shaky breaths. You let it happen, holding him until he feels ready to face you.

And oh, how he faces you, how he looks up at you as if you were his fucking everything. His wet eyes let you know that he cried, his cheeks and nose are still flushed, his once neat makeup is smeared and messy.

You give him a smile, caressing his cheek tenderly.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me, but please don’t ever stop”, he whispers, voice shaky in emotion.

“Did you like it that much?”

He nods his head, “you just made me fucking scream. I, I never screamed before. I felt it with my entire body. I don't know what happened to me. What, what’s still happening to me.”

You smile, dropping your forehead against his. Yoongi closes his eyes, chasing your affection by rubbing his nose against yours.

“You make me happy when you talk like this, my love”, you whisper.

“I’m happy too, so fucking much.”

You smile and kiss his nose. Yoongi chases the tenderness, twisting the front of your shirt with weak fingers.

“Please promise me that we are forever”, he whispers. “I think you would fucking break me if you ever left.”

“God, I really got you good tonight. My sappy romantic, you”, you smile as you talk, pulling him closer, “the only way I’m gonna leave you, Min Yoongi, is if someone claws me off of you against my will.”

He chuckles and holds you close, “good. That’s fucking good. Ah fuck, I’m done. This was so intense.”

“It really was. You made a total mess of the bed.”

“I know. I think my soul left my body.”

You snicker, he snickers as well, kicking his feet happily.

“Gosh you, I could seriously eat you.”

Yoongi purrs, smiling goofily and stubbing your lips with his nose. You take his silent plea for more nose kisses instantly, nibbling on it gently which makes him giggle and squirm happily.

Quite frankly, he will endure all the annoying award shows in the world if it meant that he can come home to you and find his rebirth in the palms of your healing hands.

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bitterkarella · 11 months ago

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Midnight Pals: Hugo Drama

Hugo Gernsback: hey everyone its me, hugo gernsback Gernsback: editor of Amazing Stories and namesake of the hugo awards Gernsback: perhaps you've heard of them? Clive Barker: oh buddy Barker: buddy Barker: we've heard all about them ha ha

Stephen King: they're named after you? i thought they were named after victor hugo Gernsback: ha ha a common mistake Gernsback: but that's fine Gernsback: i'm not mad at all that victor hugo keeps getting the credit Gernsback: i think its funny Gernsback: in fact i'm laughing

Gernsback: ah yes my precious hugo awards! Gernsback: the most prestigious award in science fiction and fantasy! Gernsback: a place for serious business Gernsback: certainly no room for shenanigans here Gernsback: no room for tomfoolery Gernsback: no room for clownish buffoonery

Gernsback: The Hugo -- an award whose very name rings with integrity & honor! Gernsback: it is no mere nebula! no paltry clarke! Gernback: the stoker, the howard, the lambda - none can compare! Gernsback: the L Ron hubbard writers of the future award? pah! dust before the hugo!

Gernsback: only the choicest cuts of science fiction and fantasy would ever achieve the lofty hugo award Gernsback: an award forever untainted by shenanigans or hijinks! Gernsback: now to take a big sip of coffee and read this file 770 report!

Gernsback: what the--?! Gernsback: my beautiful hugos!!! tainted by the foul stench of corruption!!! Clive Barker: yeah boy i bet victor hugo's just sick about it Gernsback: Barker: just sick about what they did to his award Gernsback: Barker: ha ha Poe: clive leave him alone

Gernsback: my hugo!!! you were supposed to be a thing of beauty... not this monstrosity! Dean Koontz: gosh he's so sad about his award Koontz: do you think it would cheer him up if i gave him my nickelodean kids choice award? Poe: i think that would be a very nice gesture dean

Chris M Barkley: [thrusting microphone] Mr gernsback! mr gernsback! a statement for the press? Jason Sanford: [thrusting microphone] how do you respond to the allegations about your award mr gernsback? Gernsback: confound these intrepid newshounds of the 4th estate!

Gernsback: [wiping brow] don't worry, we will be taking measures to fix this Barkley: what are you going to do mr gernsback? Sanford: the people demand an answer mr gernsback! Gernsback: we'll uh Gernsback: we'll nominate an essay called 'Dave McCarty Can Fuck Off Into the Sun'

Gernsback: what a debacle! i cannot believe my good name will now forever be associated with such shady practices! HP Lovecraft: hey when are you gonna pay me for my story you ran? Gernsback: new phone, who dis?

Gernsback: you know who this really hurts? Gernsback: worse than the nominees secretly disqualified for politics? Gernsback: worse than the entirety of Chinese science fiction secretly disqualified for being Chinese? Gernsback: worse than the winners whose awards are now tainted?

Gernsback: the person that this hurts most of all Gernsback: is clearly bitter karella Gernsback: for reasons i can't articulate Gernsback: everyone should immediately go and heap conciliatory praise on bitter karella Gernsback: truly the most wronged person of all

Bitter Karella: [bravely holding back tears] no no it's not about me Bitter Karella: [voice cracking] my only thought is for the hugo community who has been through... so much... Bitter Karella: [stoically gazing into distance] they're the REAL heroes

Gernsback: look how bitter karella keeps a brave face... for our sake! King: god bitter karella is so brave... and so modest! Poe: truly a great goblin Poe: possibly the greatest Koontz: why? what did they do? Poe: dean! show some respect!

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #edgar allan poe #dean koontz #hp lovecraft #hugo gernsback #bitter karella #jason sanford #chris m barkley

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that1garrulousfan · 6 months ago

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AU TIME >:]

(Playtime Co. doesn’t exist, the Smiling Critters actually live in a society n stuff)

After attending an awards ceremony and seeing his friends get praise and recognition for their unique talents, DogDay feels envious and worthless.

How come they’re so special and he isn’t? Was he really that boring?

Picky can make delicious pastries, Bubba is a genius, Kickin has charm, Hoppy is very athletic, Bobby has a heart like no other and CatNap can put anyone at ease.

E D I T : Crafty is artistically talented

CatNap soon finds DogDay sitting by the river, clearly having a breakdown. He approaches him, hoping he can help in some way. It was almost anticipated. It was what he was good for.

“I’m supposed to be the leader… I should be proud of everyone… not upset. This is so stupid…”

“That’s not stupid, it’s normal. And besides, who needs a dumb skill anyways?”

DogDay takes that reassurance the wrong way, in other words VERY LITERAL.

youtube

Basically, he managed to become a dictator in the span of less than 24 hours. Which honestly isn’t very surprising. He’s already the leader to begin with.

He convinces his friends to give up their talents and act as equals. (Which dulls their colors in their appearances, much like citizens in the song above).

Bubba is forced to perform at the same intelligence level as everyone else, it’d be unfair if he were remain the smartest of the bunch.

Kickin is now more reserved and awkward, unlike his popular charm he once had. (I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t give him the Will Byers haircut I’m sorry—)

CraftyCorn can no longer be as creative as she once was. She is also not allowed to use her unicorn horn magic due to the fact that no one else has that advantage.

Hoppy has to slow down her pace in order to blend in with the crowd. Instead of hopping, skipping or running from place to place, she needs to mirror the average speed of everyone else.

Picky’s food isn’t as appetizing as it used to be. She often overcooks, undercooks, adds the wrong ingredients, forgets some ingredients or even ignores the recipe.

Bobby has trouble encouraging her friends because she can’t necessarily do it properly anymore.

CatNap is still processing what’s going on. Very confused to be honest.

This AU takes inspiration from the episode, “The Cutie Map” from MLP and the book “Harrison Bergeron” by Kurt Vonnegut.

Reference:

Feel free to ask questions if you want to!

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bakugoushotwife · 1 year ago

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kinktober day eight: overstimulation kink

>>> gojo x pussydrunk is so real and canon don't try to convince me otherwise. also, everyone clap and shower me in praise, i wrote a gojo smut w/o a daddy kink!!!!!

>>> starring: satoru gojo x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: overstim pls, fingering (fem receiving), oral (fem receiving), creampie, mating press, petnames, slight size kink? >>>wc: 2.3k >>> event masterlist

satoru gojo is a lot of things. the world’s strongest sorcerer, yes. renowned six eyes user after hundreds of years, yes. absolutely insufferable to most of his loved ones, another yes. he’s also undeniably and insatiably obsessed with you. you’re his person, the one designed to understand, support, and love him, you’re the one thing about him that makes everything else seem irrelevant by comparison. so it’s no surprise when he puts you on a pedestal, worshiping you as if you were the honored one. in a way, you are. you’re the one hand-crafted just for him, that at least made you the chosen one, no? and he certainly chose to spend all his free time with you, despairing every second away from home. you consumed nearly every thought of his even this far into your relationship, and all of his money was spent on or for you. oh how the mighty have fallen, the most powerful man of the modern era absolutely wrapped tight around your little finger. he’s whipped, and absolutely proud of it. your love looks good on him, and he’s honored in more ways than one.

which must explain why he’s been so miserable for the past few days. he hadn’t left your side for longer than a night’s rest since he met you because satoru gojo also is the definition of a stage four clinger. this mission had drained him of joy, running around wrestling grade one curses with his kids was nowhere near as fun as laying in your arms or pinning those arms to your sides to keep you from pushing him away as he lapped away at you…sigh. he couldn’t wait to be home. his imagination wasn’t doing it for him anyways.

not even his teleportation abilities got him to his house quick enough. he sighs contently at the comforting smell of his living room, some fancy vanilla and lavender air plug-in thing you insisted he needed. he can sense you immediately, seemingly asleep. it was rather late at night, but he still feels his heart sink a little in disappointment. but as he silently makes his way down the hall, he can hear little sniffles and ragged breaths. you were crying, he realizes.

“don’t tell me you’re crying because you miss me?” he pouts from the doorway, the sound of his voice ceasing your little sobs. he’s grinning at you, one of his award winning ones where his eyes sparkle like a clear pool on a summer day and his nose crinkles up so adorably and everything. you rub at your eyes just to make sure he’s really back, and then you throw a pillow at him for the comment.

“course i was, you ass. it’s almost been a week!!” you whine, and he’s abusing his powers again to pull you into his chest, suddenly laying beside you in the bed—the pillow plopping against the floor. he adorns that same grin, large hands pawing away your tears.

“i’m flattered, really, but my girl’s got no reason to cry. you know nothing could keep me from coming home to you.” he muses, kissing your forehead. your hands close around his wrists as you give him a weak smile of approval.

“i know–but you weren’t answering any of my texts and it was only supposed to be a three day mission.” you reason with a sniffle, burying your face in his chest so you can squeeze him tighter. he sighs with a little wave of guilt knocking into him at your words. he should have made time to at least let you know he was alright.

he sighs at his mistake. “my bad princess!” one of his hands rests on the back of your head, the other in the dip of your waist. “i was absolutely miserable without you though, i was too distracted trying to finish so i could get home.” he pouts, still smiling brightly at you as he slides his hand lower to your hip. you huff in response. then you throw a punch to his chest lightly after you lean back from the hug, abusing your own knowledge of infinity being off in your presence to your advantage.

“that’s for making me worry!” you pout, still sniffling a little bit. He frowns, ducking down to kiss the tip of your nose. he uses his grip on your face to steer your gaze up to him, and then he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“oh–i can’t have that.” his thumbs move back and forth over your cheekbones. “let me make it up to you?” he croons, easing his hand to your ass to squeeze on your mound, a sly smirk replacing the sweet grin he’d worn previously. you gasp a little, especially after he gives your ass a light little smack. “i did miss you terribly, after all.”

it’s almost embarrassing how easy it is to rile you up. but you’ve missed him too, you hadn’t been without him for longer than a day or two, so the six it’s been was borderline torture for a couple as addicted to each other as you two are. you spread your hands out across his shoulders, feeling the dips and swells of his chest and collarbones beneath your fingers. you nod, his hand hard at work kneading the fat of your backside. “be my guest.”

he grins, giving you a proper kiss. his lips are warm and sweet tasting as always and he wastes no time moving his hands up under your shirt to remove it, chuckling when you yank on his shirt with haste. it’s clear you missed him just as bad, and he can’t deny his little love. he leans back for enough separation to peel his top off, humming happily when you’re smashing your boobs up against him in another tight hug and smothering kiss. the way your body feels against his is intoxicating, and he can’t help but relish the warmth your soft and supple skin provides. his hand quickly snakes between you, locating your throbbing need easily. it’s muscle memory with as many times as he’s done this, your lips wrestling for dominance as his fingers swipe over your panty-clad bundle. you always whine so prettily into his mouth, your hips seemingly moving with a mind of their own every time he touches you. he smiles against your mouth, feeling his own cock pulse with excitement at the cute noises you make.

the way the fabric of your panties presses against you makes your whines turn into moans, the pleasure starting to mount in your gut. satoru loves this, the slutty pajamas you sleep in of just his shirt and a pair of panties only making everything easier. he has the best seat in the house to you wiggling against the pillows, soft moans spilling from your lips as your little hand tries to add to your pleasure by pinching at your chest. it doesn’t take long at all before you’re grasping at his wrist to keep his hand still, spilling over the edge with nothing but his fingers and the occasional sloppy kiss to your face and neck.

but he’s missed you, he couldn’t dare stop there. he slides down your body, giving your nipple a quick lick on his way to settle in between your legs. he smiles at the sight greeting him, the cute little wet patch soaking through your undies that was growing darker by the second. he presses his nose against the spot, taking in a deep sniff and sighing it out happily. “god i missed ya so bad, sweetness. you know i gotta taste, i almost forgot what it’s like..”

you giggle as he loops his fingers in the waistline and peels the wet fabric down your legs, discarding them in a forgotten pile. you spread your legs for him easily, watching his tired eyes hum with vibrance and excitement as he looks at your sopping core. he’s on you in a matter of seconds, his hot tongue spooning out your release for him to drink up. it has your back arching off the bed instantly, the long muscle caressing your insides for his own pleasure just as much as your own. he moves so fast and so sloppy as he moans at your flavor, moving up to suckle on your clit, his teeth gnashing over the bundle without care. he knows your inner workings inside and out, able to work you up and over the edge as quickly or slowly as he willed it. you know better than anyone that that ability paired with his normal insatiability meant you were in for a long night.

“oh sh–shit baby.” you whine, feeling that delicious burn of pleasure mount in your gut. your eyes drift closed as your fingers snatch handfuls of his white tresses in an effort to ground yourself. he just chuckles, rapidly flicking his tongue over your clit, purposefully trying to drive you to the edge as many times as he could tonight just to prove to you that he couldn’t get his mind off you for one second while he was away. even as dangerous as the stakes of the mission were, he couldn’t bring himself out of his daydream of going back home to your waiting embrace and spending the rest of the day doing exactly this—watching your pretty eyes roll back into your head as your legs shake around his face.

every suck and lick is calculated expertly, you couldn’t hold back any longer. you whine softly, tugging on his silky hair as you coat his mouth and chin with your juices. you know better though, he won’t stop here. he only proves you right, lapping at your fluids once more before sticking his fingers in the fluttering hole and returning to suck at the apex of your thighs. you shake your head, too wound up from your last orgasm to handle the harsh way his mouth moves over you or the speed of his fingers curling inside. you squeal and kick your legs, trying with all your feeble might to escape him. he knows if you really needed to stop you would give him the special code word you instilled at the beginning of your relationship, so he doesn’t hold back in his relentless finger fucking, letting his teeth bite at your need in a way that had your toes curling and legs jerking before you even came again. you’re whining and panting, and he thinks you’ve never looked better than this, an absolute mess just for him; letting him have his way with you just to prove you missed him too. it makes him so proud. you can feel that pleasurable burn again, mixed with something foreign. it was almost like you had swallowed a bunch of rocks, and you could only gasp out to communicate that this time was going to be different. he felt your thighs tighten under his grip, a clear cut sign that you were close yet again. he giggled to himself, putting his work into overdrive to get you there for the third time in under fifteen minutes.

you pull his hair way harder than he’s experienced at your hand before—not that he’s complaining, and then you spray liquid all over his face and chest. he’s gawking up at you as he watches the streams, sitting up to avoid it hitting him in the eyes. he’s grinning like a madman though, easy circles over your clit to soothe you through it while his other hand tracks down his shirt.

“oh my god?? my pretty girl just squirted for me.” he giggles, wiping his face and upper body clean. your eyes are drooping, but you’re returning his grin. he leans over to kiss you, rewarding you for the performance. “so hot. wanted you in doggy, but my poor girl wouldn’t be able to hold herself up.” he teases, shoving your legs to bend up by your chest.

he slips in so easily he’s fighting not to bust immediately. you swallow up his length so gorgeously, his head falls back and he moans. you feel so good, still so tight and gripping but obviously soaked to the bone. you’ve made such a mess on the bed the two of you may have to sleep in the guest bedroom but he doesn’t care. he’s determined to fuck a fourth one out of you even if it takes all night. your nails dig into his forearms with his first thrust. everything is so sensitive, you can feel every vein and ridge along his shaft as the tip bumps along your womb.

“fuck–so good, angel. missed you so bad, can’t ya tell?” he giggles, drawing your legs to wrap around his waist. he keeps ramming his length in, a rhythmic snap of his hips against yours and his balls following close behind and your open-mouthed pants filling the room. you can’t respond and he knows that, but he still talks to you anyway, enjoying the way your brows scrunch in frustration at him. your fingers dig and claw at him, with your pussy spasming so rapidly he wonders if it’s normal.

this time, it nearly hurts to cum. your eyes squeeze shut and you grip him so tightly he can’t move, that fact alone enough to have him painting ribbons of white against your insides with a guttural moan. he squeezes your hips, his chest and face red from all the hard work and forehead sheening with sweat. satoru leans down to give you a sweet kiss, suffocating the sounds of recovery from you both. you can feel him grinning, and you want to get onto him for being so cocky, but you don’t have the energy. he’s already on it though, taking advantage of your hazy in-and-out state to get you cleaned up and tucked back under the sheets, complete with a bottle of water on the nightstand and all.

“so happy to be home, princess.” he says, long arms closing around your waist and hard chest caressing your back.

#jjk x reader #kylee's kinktober event #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kyleewritesjjk #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo x reader

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defectivevillain · 1 year ago

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tongues and teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reading (can be read as romantic or platonic)

reader's pronouns & race: unspecified, ambiguous

summary:

“What should I do?” Franklyn whines. His voice continues to grate on your ears. Every remark that comes from his lips is dripping in misguided arrogance and misplaced hero worship. He’s staring down at his tortillas with worried eyes. “He hates me.” “Chef Lecter?” You ask incredulously. Franklyn nods. “I don’t think he cares enough to feel any particular way about you,” you say, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. There’s a whisper of a dark laugh from far away, an amused exhale of breath.

Chef Hannibal Lecter is a world renowned chef praised for his innovative dishes. He’s won numerous awards and his restaurant, Hawthorn, reflects his talents. There’s something off about him, though. It isn’t until you’re seated in Hawthorn, a distance away from the door guarded by security workers and looking down at a breadless bread plate, that you begin to connect the dots.

word count: 6k | ao3 version

Warnings: spoilers to The Menu, canon-typical blood & violence, suicide, hanging

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is going to be an alternate universe, in which the characters from the Menu are replaced by those from Hannibal. Hannibal is the main chef and the reader takes the place of Margot. In this universe, we’re pretending that the dinner guests—many of whom are criminals in Hannibal—are not hardened killers, but rich consumers in the highest echelons of society. There’s an exact list of which character corresponds with The Menu dinner guests in the endnotes, if you’re super interested.

I have many different justifications for some of the choices I made while writing this, but I don’t want to bore you all to tears, so I’ll detail them in the endnotes. Just know that Hannibal and Julian (the antagonist of The Menu) have very different reasons and motivations for killing, which will impact the story

You’re not sure how you find yourself sitting at a table in Hawthorn, one of the world’s most exclusive restaurants, next to someone you can barely consider an acquaintance. Actually, you do know—you’d just rather not think about it. The boat ride over to the private island, the entirely unnecessary tour of the facilities, and the weirdly stringent rules governing your every move… You indeed remember how you got here. These occurrences all seemed outlandish and entirely otherworldly to you. This entire day has been nothing but a flight of fancy for those with more money than they know what to do with. Not for the first time today, you regret every decision that led you to step into the boat, walk along the sandy shores, and step into this cage of a restaurant.

Indeed, the space is nothing more than an enclosure. Everyone in the group seemed too excited about the upcoming meal to notice how the door promptly swiveled shut when you entered, sealing you into this urban nightmare of a building. You had turned over your shoulder upon hearing the door close, only to find several men in suits blocking the exit. A horrible feeling had settled in your chest. Whatever may come tonight, one thing is for certain: you are not supposed to leave. This may very well be your last meal.

You’re ushered rather forcefully to your table. Franklyn Froideveaux, the man who invited you, looks completely ecstatic. You berate yourself for accepting the invitation; in your defense, however, you weren’t exactly given a choice. You owe this man a favor, as begrudged as you are to admit it. You’d rather wash your hands of the scourge that is Franklyn Froideveaux as soon as possible, which is why you find yourself in Hawthorn tonight. This restaurant doesn’t accept single reservations—something Franklyn made sure to announce several times on your walk over. You should be grateful for this opportunity, Franklyn says every few minutes. Currently, he’s prattling on about the cooking utensils in the kitchen, and about some television series that he claimed to watch about the executive chef. You nod and hum at the appropriate moments, but your attention is elsewhere. Conversations fill the space, combining with clinking glasses to create a pleasant ambiance. At least, you suspect it is intended to be pleasant. However, you can’t help but see past the pleasantries scattered around you—especially when in the presence of such… notorious dinner guests.

First, there’s Frederick Chilton—self-proclaimed genius and institutional leader of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Next to him sits Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier, another high-profile psychologist known for her numerous research publications. Dr. Alana Bloom is seated in the third spot at the table. From what you know, the three professionals are colleagues in the medical field and research partners.

Next is Freddie Lounds. You remember seeing her make the news for her self-published food review magazine, TattleCulinary. She sits with James Gray, another critic who is more well-known in the art world. Gray edits the journalist's pieces, and you can pick up on the underlying tones of superiority in their dynamic as Lounds dominates their conversation.

Scott Komeda sits at a table off to the side with his wife, Cheryl. Neither of them look too happy to be here. You can’t say you blame them; although, judging from their luxurious attire, they’re all too familiar with a rich dining experience. A sordid state of affairs, you might say, if they weren't absolutely dripping in wealth. It almost appears as if they’ve dined here before. You certainly wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

Mason and Margot Verger sit at the table to your left. Rumor has it Mason is a cruel bastard. Since his rise to stardom, he’s been embroiled in many scandals—scandals that have dragged him into the courthouse, of all places. He is not a good person. Margot, his sister, sits next to him. Her shoulders are drawn tight, as if she’s on guard. You can’t find it in your heart to pity her—not when you remember her and her brother’s exorbitant wealth.

And, of course, Franklyn is sitting across from you. Truly, you’d rather be sitting here with anyone but him. Mr. Tobias Budge was supposed to dine with Franklyn instead—as the hostess so rudely reminded you several times—but he couldn’t make it. You wonder if Franklyn also has Tobias under his thumb; although, if he was able to escape this dinner, you suppose Tobias is in a much better spot than you are.

You allow your gaze to wander about the room. Everyone is preoccupied with speaking to one another or sipping the proffered wine. Upon first glance, there isn’t much that this group has in common. However, the more you look at them, the more you’re struck with one fatal realization: this entire group is enamored with greed. You can see it in the most minute of gestures—the roll of their eyes when they’re left waiting, the expectations they carry on shoulders that have never known burden or suffering. Indeed, it costs an excessive amount to take part in this dinner—this dining experience, Franklyn is keen to remind you.

Amuse bouche is served first. You stare down at the dish. It looks to be no more than two mouthfuls of food. You can’t help but huff a laugh from under your breath, which goes entirely unnoticed by Franklyn. He’s too busy sneaking pictures of the food—something the group was explicitly ordered not to do—and ranting about something pretentious.

As you stare down at your plate, you feel a prickling sensation rising up your spine. Unnerved, you turn around, only to find that a new addition to the kitchen is staring at you. It’s not just a new addition, you realize with growing horror, but the chef himself. You’re the first to break eye contact, as you tear your gaze away and focus on the appetizer. The man unsettles you.

Ultimately, you don’t end up eating the dish, so Franklyn takes it and eats it himself. Somehow, his behavior has grown worse since you first set foot on the island. You contemplate the thought for a moment, before you’re interrupted by a loud clapping sound. It makes your heart race out of your chest; startled, you turn around to find the chef standing in the center of the room.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter,” he says, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. “Today, you will ingest some of the building blocks of nature and, perhaps, even nature herself.” You take the gifted opportunity to study the man before you. Perfectly coiffed hair frames a sharp, angular face and mahogany eyes. An understanding smile is plastered on his face, yet malice curves his lips and sharpens his teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest. You’re thrown out of your reverie by the light applause scattered about the room. Clenching your fists at your sides, you try to remain calm and turn back to face Franklyn. The cooks descend the stairs and serve you the first course. Once again, the dish you’re presented with resembles a display more than a meal. You pick around at it for a few moments before abandoning the thought.

If the first course is sparse, the second course is almost entirely empty of nourishment. Lecter’s description—an allusion to the privilege of the very guests sitting around his restaurant—is a warning for what lies ahead. The group will not be receiving bread, you realize as the cooks step down from the kitchen and fan out across the room. You have to suppress your irritation at the scene. Sure, you understand what the chef is trying to say. However, you get the feeling you’re not his intended audience. You’re not from the same world as these people. This is painfully present in the way Freddie Lounds tastes her dish, gushing about its distinct flavor profile. You grit your teeth to stop yourself from saying something stupid.

You’re anchored to your seat. Ultimately, you don’t belong here amongst these upper-class socialites, born with silver spoons on their tongues and privilege in their every movement; you feel like a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

The third course doesn’t bring nourishment, but it certainly brings a host of other feelings. The chef’s anecdote about his childhood is disturbing—especially when punctuated by the dish he serves, chicken thigh with scissors stabbed in it. When the dish is served, you can’t bear to touch it. Thankfully, there is an accompaniment to the poultry: tortillas. The tortillas have engraved drawings on them, supposedly. You unfold the tortilla cautiously. To your disbelief, there are indeed intricate depictions on the tortilla. Your heart hammers in your chest as you look at the single tortilla you were served. It’s an exact replica of how you’re seated right now, except Franklyn is missing. His chair is pictured and there’s a dish placed on his side of the table, but the man is excluded from the image. Upon closer examination, you find his fork and knife positioned vertically on the plate. Dread courses through your chest as you recognize the nonverbal sign of a finished meal. This does not bode well for Franklyn.

Franklyn, seeing that your attention has been captured by the tortilla, moves to grab his own. His tortillas are engraved with sketches of him seated at this exact table, holding up his phone and sneaking pictures of the meal. The color promptly drains from his face. You’re about to ask him why he looks so disturbed when you hear several outcries from the tables around you. Each person’s tortillas are depictions of unsavory, humiliating truths. The three researchers are whispering hurriedly amongst each other. Mason Verger is glaring at Margot, as if the dish is somehow her fault. Mrs. Komeda is staring at her tortillas with wide eyes and her husband seems to be sweating. Suddenly, you feel as if you were spared from any potential humiliation and embarrassment.

“What should I do?” Franklyn whines. His voice continues to grate on your ears. Every remark that comes from his lips is dripping in unfounded arrogance and misplaced hero worship. He’s staring down at his tortillas with worried eyes. “He hates me.”

“The chef?” You ask incredulously. Franklyn nods. “I don’t think he cares enough to feel any particular way about you,” you say, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. There’s a whisper of a dark laugh from far away, an amused exhale of breath.

Franklyn’s preoccupation with his tortillas prompts you to look down at your own. You look down at the tortilla warily. Suddenly, you realize your picture has another meaning. It’s not just an omen for Franklyn, but for you, too. It’s a warning: this night is going to be a bloodbath.

The fourth course validates the trepidation settling in your chest. Chef Lecter allows a cook, Jeremy, to take center stage. Immediately, you know something is wrong. From what you’ve seen, Hannibal Lecter treats cooking as a performance. What performer would willingly let another take the stage? Unless… that other performer was the entertainment. Your suspicions are proven correct when you see Jeremy put a gun to his mouth and fire it off. You flinch at the gunshot, even though you’re expecting it. The guests around you scream.

The subsequent dish is aptly dubbed “The Mess.” There’s a significant resemblance to the human body, and the dish’s sauce looks like blood. You swallow hard, feeling rather nauseous. Franklyn rubs his hands together and begins eating, as if someone hadn’t just committed suicide before his very eyes. He is entirely unbothered and you’re sorely tempted to snap your fingers in front of his face.

You feel completely sick to your stomach. You grip the table hard, trying to keep yourself anchored to this horrible reality. A man died before your very eyes. You’re going to die tonight, surrounded by wealthy, privileged assholes. Bolts of pain slide through your fingers. Before the sensation can begin to truly burn, there’s a harsh grip on your shoulder. Hannibal Lecter, the chef, is looming over you. You flinch at the sudden touch and look up at him, while trying to regain feeling in your locked joints. There’s a buzzing sound in your ears. The chef’s eyes gleam crimson in the bright lighting. Franklyn lets out a weird squeal, clearly excited by the prospect of Lecter visiting your table. Unfortunately, the chef doesn’t have eyes for Franklyn. He’s staring at you hard enough for your skin to be lit with a phantom burn.

“How are you enjoying the meal?” Lecter implores, looking down at you. He’s rather handsome up close, you realize. You try to choke out a response, but Franklyn is quicker.

“It’s wonderful, sir!” Franklyn gushes shamelessly, “Truly exquisite-”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” the chef interjects, sending him a withering glare before focusing back on you. He raises an eyebrow ever so slightly at you. You’re scrambling for words, empty promises and compliments that will leave him satisfied enough to leave you the hell alone. Thankfully, you’re spared by the enraged scream of Scott Komeda. The chef’s attention is drawn away from you and you breathe a sigh of relief. Lecter clasps his hands behind his back and levels the man with an expectant gaze.

Mr. Komeda’s eyes are frantic and he breathes heavily. “Get me the hell out of here!” He screams.

There are a few beats of silence, before the hostess—Abigail, you think her name is—paces over to him and places a hand on his shoulder. She whispers something quietly to him, something that goes unheard by everyone else. Whatever she says, it must be suitably disturbing, because the man’s face pales significantly. Abigail’s grip tightens on his shoulder.

“Which hand would you like to lose, sir?” She asks politely. The placating smile on her face almost makes you second guess what you just heard her say. The man blinks at her in evident disbelief. His wife tries to pull him back, but security guards descend on the man and he doesn’t budge. “Left or right?” He does not answer.

“Left hand, ring finger,” Lecter announces, breaking through the tense silence that was descending in the air. You inhale sharply, nearly choking on air at the reminder of the dangerous man lurking near you. You had nearly forgotten his presence. Abigail nods and walks back towards the kitchen, returning with a sharpened butcher’s knife.

You avert your eyes, but the man’s scream is enough to inform you of what occurs. When you turn back, you find Mr. Komeda holding his bloodied hand. His ring finger rests on the elegant tablecloth. You very nearly vomit right then and there—just barely managing to avoid the urge by placing a hand over your mouth and turning away. Mrs. Komeda’s jaw is frozen wide-open, and everyone else seems just as nauseated as you. At least, everyone except Franklyn. Somehow, amidst all this chaos and madness, Franklyn is still eating. His unaffected ferocity unsettles you.

“Let’s get a breath of fresh air, shall we?” Lecter asks, before motioning for everyone to rise from their seats. No one seems to understand his question, in the wake of what just happened. After he repeats the question, the guests are quick to rise from their chairs. It is dangerous to try opposing the chef. You stand up and follow the group back through the entrance hall, until you step out the door and outside the building. The chef waits in the center of the assembled group, pausing for a few moments to let any stragglers catch up. Franklyn is still chewing. The researchers are whispering amongst themselves, and Mason looks two seconds from decapitating his sister with his own hands. You keep your eyes firmly on the ground.

“You will be given a forty five second head start,” he begins. Everyone stares at him in confusion. “You may try to run. After forty five seconds have passed, my staff will chase you down.” Lecter doesn’t finish speaking before Frederick Chilton is sprinting away. The chef huffs in amusement, not looking the slightest bit threatened. He turns to regard the rest of the group. “Your head start begins… now.” Alana Bloom and Bedelia Du Maurier exchange glances before running away. Mr. Komeda stumbles away, with Mrs. Komeda tugging him along. Freddie Lounds and James Gray run in opposite directions, foregoing the path straight ahead and diving through the trees and bushes. Margot Verger doesn’t hesitate to run away. Mason watches her go for a few seconds, before pursuing her. This leaves Chef Hannibal Lecter, Franklyn Froideveaux, and you. You turn on your heel, about to run alongside the exterior of the restaurant and behind the building. A loud clap interrupts your momentary escape.

“Stay.” You swivel back around, only to see Lecter staring you down. His eyes are glittering in the dark night. You bite the inside of your cheek. Of course, you could simply ignore his command. However, you know you’ll be caught by his staff eventually, anyway. Might as well spare him the chase, you think to yourself. You nod and take a step to break the distance between the two of you. Franklyn sends you an incredulous gaze that you pretend not to notice. “We will go inside.” Lecter doesn’t wait for your answer, instead walking past you and back towards the door. You follow after him apprehensively, wondering what he could be planning. Perhaps he will slaughter you and serve you as the fifth course. The thought makes you shudder. You step through the opened doorway and stop once you’ve crossed the threshold. Chef Lecter is staring at Franklyn with a bored expression.

“Not you,” he says, effectively dismissing the man. Franklyn, evidently embarrassed, steps back from the door. The attendant closes the door, leaving you as Lecter’s only dinner guest who is still in the building. The chef’s shoes click against the polished floors. You momentarily contemplate ducking down into a hallway, but you realize you don’t know the building well enough to ensure you have a fighting chance at escape. Lecter leads you through the kitchen and into another room, waiting for you to enter before closing the door behind you. The room is sparsely furnished.

“This entire evening has been meticulously planned,” the chef says, taking a seat. You move to do the same. “You are not according to the plan.” He doesn’t seem too troubled by the notion—it’s a mild inconvenience. You frown. Before, you had attributed the chef to be a person taking his grievances out on his guests—each of whom serves as a reason for his loss of love for his craft. You were wrong, you’re beginning to realize. Hannibal Lecter is doing this for his own amusement. The social commentary behind it all is certainly motivation for his actions, but he does not intend to offset the system—the fragile ecosystem of the high-end restaurant industry. He is utilizing it to cater to his desires. What exactly are his desires, though?

“Why are you doing this?” You decide to ask, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude.” It is not an answer to your question, yet it somehow provides you an explanation nonetheless. From there, the chef manipulates the conversation expertly, asking you all sorts of questions about your childhood, your adult life, your career… You’re beginning to feel unnerved, all up until he releases you from your pseudo-captivity. His attention has been recaptured by his staff, which you are extremely grateful for. His gaze felt as if it was searing through you. When you return to the dining area, you’re surprised to find the rest of the guests are already seated. They look tired, their hair messy and their clothing slightly rumpled. Just as you sit down, you’re immediately assaulted with tons of questions from Franklyn. They start off innocuous enough, but soon descend into an envious madness.

“Why would he want to speak with you?” Franklyn spits, stabbing at the remains of his meal. You watch as he shoves another bite into his mouth, seemingly immune to the positively disgusted glare Chef Lecter is pointing at him right now.

“Franklyn.” The chef is heading towards your table. Franklyn practically lights up upon the chef saying his name. Lecter steps impossibly closer, until he’s almost towering over your table. It feels as if he’s looking down on you—and he sort of is, from his position. You try to just breathe. His attention isn’t on you right now. “There’s something you haven’t told your friend here.” The chef’s tone is slightly mocking. His mention of you throws you for a loop.

You look to Franklyn, only to find that he’s steadily paling. Agitation itches beneath your skin as you try to rationalize what could possibly cause such a fearful expression. Lecter is nearly smirking from his position at your side. You grit your teeth and clench your fists under the tablecloth.

“What were you told about tonight?” Lecter prompts the man. Everyone is looking at Franklyn now. Even the kitchen seems to have fallen into an uneasy quiet. What could he have possibly been told about tonight? You’re not sure.

“Everyone would die,” Franklyn admits. There’s a ringing sound suddenly, and it takes several seconds for you to realize the sound is in your mind. Every thought almost seems to come to a screeching halt, as you try to come to terms with the unshakeable fact that Franklyn willingly attended this dinner, despite knowing he would die.

“And what happened to your original companion?” Lecter muses. “Who did you bring in Mr. Budge’s stead?” You don’t stay still for long enough to hear his next remark. There is a sharp knife lying next to your fork and spoon, almost as if this very interaction had been planned (if not for you, then certainly for Tobias Budge). Rage governs your every move, as you realize that Franklyn brought you here despite knowing you would die. This night was a death sentence, executed by Franklyn himself. Before you can contemplate the consequences, you lunge across the table in a fluid movement, before reaching out and cutting him. Before you can stab him, you’re roughly yanked backwards by someone. The knife slices at the skin on Franklyn’s cheek, and he screams loudly. You try to fight the person’s grip off, and it takes a few people to hold you back from Franklyn. When you see the shock and fear on his face, you’re filled with a cruel sense of satisfaction and vengeance.

“That is enough,” the chef remarks, slicing through the tense air with a simple sentence.

“Sorry, Chef,” Franklyn immediately replies, a bead of sweat trickling down his face. Does the thought of falling out of Lecter’s favor really distress him so? Although, when you think about it, you’re not sure if he was ever in the chef’s favor.

The chef looks at you now. You don’t bother apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong. If you’re correct, Chef Lecter engineered that very interaction. You don’t regret lashing out at Franklyn, so you meet Lecter’s expectant gaze head-on. Eventually, he seems to come to terms with your resolve, because his attention falls back to Franklyn.

“Franklyn,” the chef starts. You see Franklyn nearly go limp at the prospect of Lecter using his name. You grimace. Something feels wrong here. Indeed, the chef’s next remark seems to be an omen. “You believe yourself superior to me.”

“No, Chef,” Franklyn is quick to say. The patrons around you are entirely silent. The room almost seems to buzz around you, ringing with unresolved tension. You think back to Franklyn’s hero worship of the chef, clumsily combined with his own attempts at thoughtful critiques.

“You have made a mockery of my craft,” Lecter continues.

“No, Chef-” Franklyn sputters.

“Now,” the chef breaks off, a glint in his eyes, “We will test your assertions. Come here,” the chef orders. Franklyn obeys and, once he’s in the kitchen, Lecter awards him an apron and ties it around him. Franklyn looks absolutely over the moon, but you see the gesture for what it really is: the final nail in his coffin. “Everyone, please step back. Franklyn will cook something for our guests.” A hollowed laughter echoes throughout the space as the cooks chuckle, before stepping back to let Franklyn have control over the kitchen.

What ensues is quite easily the most embarrassing and humiliating display you have ever been forced to witness. By the end, there are tears slipping down Franklyn’s face. You almost feel bad for him—almost. Your sympathy quickly fades to obscurity when you remember that he invited you here despite being told everyone would die.

When Franklyn’s dish is complete, there’s a renewed silence around the space as the chef takes a few steps forward and leans down to smell it. Chef Lecter motions for a cook to step next to him and gestures for them to taste the dish. The cook eats the food, their left eyebrow ticking up ever so slightly.

“How is it?” Lecter questions.

“Horrible, Chef,” the cook answers. “The lamb is undercooked, and the sauce is practically inedible.” They grab a napkin and wipe their mouth, before putting it in the pocket of their apron and stepping back to join the rest of the cooking staff in the background. The background is an apt term for the group—they are mere backdrops, accessories, to Chef Lecter’s performance.

“Do you see now, Franklyn?” Chef Lecter asks, an understanding smile on his face. All you can see is sharpened teeth and a crooked malice. “Guests must remain in the dining hall, just as cooks must remain in the kitchen. Take off your apron; you’re dismissed.” But Chef Lecter isn’t done yet. The moment Franklyn takes off his apron and holds it in a clenched fist, Lecter places a hand on his shoulder and leans in to whisper something to him. It’s incomprehensible to you, but you can still see the way Franklyn’s expression falls, before an eerie resolve sets his shoulders. Without explanation, Franklyn steps further into the kitchen and disappears from sight.

Things don’t end there, however. Lecter then calls your name, beckoning you to follow after him as he weaves through the busy kitchen with ease. The rest of the patrons are banished to return to their seats. You glance back at them for a moment, before returning your attention to the chef in front of you. Once you turn the corner and are out of view of the guests, the chef turns on you.

“Abigail was supposed to bring dessert,” the chef remarks. His gaze flits to the hostess behind you for a moment. You hadn’t noticed her presence. Lecter stares at you. “Fetch the barrel from the smokehouse. It is a key instrument for the next course.” You stare at him in disbelief. You desperately want to object, but you suppress the urge. Once you think about it, you realize you’re being given a golden opportunity: a chance to leave the restaurant and explore the premises. Perhaps you could find something to aid your escape. With that knowledge in the back of your mind, you accept Lecter’s request.

You nod and turn around, intending to retrace your steps. You’re walking into the kitchen when something enters your field of vision. You squint and take a step closer, eyes widening as you process just what you’re seeing. Franklyn is hanging from a noose, feet hanging limp in the air. There’s a horrible motley of bruises around his neck and his eyes almost seem to pop out of their sockets. Your eyes are inexplicably led to the bloody cut on his cheek. You take a deep breath and pretend you didn’t see anything, before heading through the winding hall and exiting through the door Lecter mentioned. When you reach the open air, you feel a new sense of tranquility and calm hit you. The night air doesn’t know of the pain and suffering inflicted tonight; its briskness seems to ground you to the present.

You manage to make it to the smokehouse and, once you find the barrel, you drag it outside. However, knowing this may be your only opportunity for exploration, you decide to look around a little. Leaving the barrel to rest near the smokehouse, you head towards the nearest building. To your surprise, the side door is unlocked. When you open it, you’re certainly not expecting to be standing in a living room. Upon closer examination, this appears to be a home—the chef’s, most likely. Abigail had mentioned that all the cooking staff sleep in barracks, which leaves Lecter as the only viable owner of this residence. You look around the space, unsurprised to find that it looks meticulously clean.

You look around a little more, finding a gleaming stainless steel kitchen and an elaborate dining room. There’s only one space that remains: hidden behind the wooden door that you’re currently staring at. You tentatively grasp the door knob and slowly twist it, only to find that it’s locked. You tug at the door again, only for the sound of footsteps to distract you.

You turn around, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest as you see Abigail standing a short distance from you. “No one is supposed to enter Chef’s personal quarters,” Abigail remarks, her voice hollow. There’s a dullness to her eyes that disturbs you.

You frown. “Why are you here, then?” You ask. She stills for a moment, clearly not expecting the question. A moment later, the hostess regains her composure.

“You were asked to fetch the barrel, because of my mistake,” Abigail recounts, eyebrows furrowing to let you know what she really thinks of that idea. She crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes gleaming in the dim lighting. “But Chef never asked me to fetch it.” There’s a dangerous look in her eyes and a weapon in her hand.

It happens in the blink of an eye. One moment, Abigail is running at you; the next, you’re standing over her bleeding body. A knife juts out of her throat and it seems that she’s choking on her own blood. The light slowly leaves her eyes, until her form is terribly still on the kitchen floor. You take a shaky breath in, finding the effort rather laborious. It takes you several moments to come to terms with the fact that you just committed murder. Once you’re finally able to steel your nerves, you take the hostess’s key and walk over to the door. After twisting the key, the door swings open to reveal a hallway. You don’t make it more than a few steps into the hall before noticing a doorway to your left, barricaded by a steel door with a small glass window. Against your best judgment, you steal a glance through the window.

There are chains and sharpened tools lining the walls, metallic gleam burning your vision. A corpse hangs from the ceiling, flayed and mutilated beyond recognition. It isn’t even the thought of a corpse that frightens you. No, this corpse is different from the ones you saw in the smokehouse—this one isn’t an animal. The realization slowly sinks into your skin, sending your heart roaring in your ears. Human corpses hang from dangling meat hooks, in various states of mutilation.

You’re suddenly immensely glad you never ate anything. That chicken thigh served in the third course… was probably not chicken. You shudder. One thought triumphs over all others in your mind: you need to leave.

Afraid of what else you may find, you decide to turn back. You retrace your steps and walk back through the kitchen with bloody flooring and the empty living room until you’re outside once more. The walk to the smokehouse is quick, but once you grab the barrel, you’re reminded of how heavy it is. Your trip back to the kitchen takes longer than you’d like but, fortunately, Chef Lecter doesn’t seem bothered by how long it takes you to return. He only nods and instructs you to give the barrel to one of the cooks. Lecter’s attention is then taken elsewhere—as he still has a dessert to prepare—so you decide to take advantage. You know a way out now, after all. You have to wait for an opportune moment to access the outside door, since cooks are mulling about the kitchen near the exit. Eventually, you manage to find an ideal time frame for your escape and, with equal apprehension and anticipation, you walk over to the door. Your hand doesn’t even clasp the doorknob before there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Leaving so soon?” You turn around, dread prickling across your skin as you’re faced with Chef Lecter’s disappointment. You’re not sure you’ll make it out of this alive, after all. Every time you blink, you see yourself as the next course in this absurdly fanciful feast. The Unwanted Guest, the chef would probably call it. “The final course hasn’t been served yet.”

You manifest a confidence that you don’t necessarily feel. “I’m finished eating,” you assert. Beneath what you hope is a cool exterior, you’re panicking. You can’t think of an excuse that will permit you to leave. Lecter seems to recognize that, because he only arches an eyebrow at you. He is not threatened.

“You’ll miss dessert,” he remarks, a sad smile on his face. You know the gesture is nothing but an act, a performance put on for an audience of one. You bite the inside of your cheek, stopping yourself from doing anything rash.

“I’m not much of a sweets person,” you eventually say, when the torrent of noise in your mind manages to calm down. The kitchen continues to hustle and bustle behind you, providing a subdued background of sound. It’s not enough to drown out your fear.

“Stay,” Chef Lecter insists.

“I couldn’t possibly,” you answer. You need to think of something quickly. What could justify your departure? “My clothes…” You break off, motioning down to your dress clothes, which are now stained with Abigail’s blood and who knows what else. This is as good of an excuse as you have, but it just may work. Stained clothing is extremely improper, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned from this hellish night, it’s that Chef Lecter abhors rudeness.

It must only be a few seconds of silence before Lecter speaks again, but it feels like an eternity. “Very well,” the chef finally responds. Lecter reaches towards you, his hand frighteningly close to your hip, before he opens the door for you. It feels too good to be true. There’s no way you actually convinced him to let you go, right?

He’s still holding the door open. This isn’t a trick. As you stand in the doorway, you briefly contemplate staying to rescue the other people. You contemplate fighting back against this chef and his staff. The thought doesn’t last long—not when visages of the guests are conjured up in your mind’s eye—Mr and Mrs. Komeda’s annoyed, impatient expressions, Miss Lounds and Mr. Gray debating the integrity of an ingredient worth more than your very life, Franklyn eating while blood splatters, the researchers amicably discussing the lives of their patients over the very depiction of the chef’s own trauma, Mason Verger gazing at his sister predatorily. None of these people are worth saving.

“Thank you for the meal,” you murmur to Lecter. Somehow, it feels like the appropriate thing to say. It must be a good choice, because a small smile appears on the chef’s face. It’s a fleeting gesture, but it almost looks genuine.

“I hope to see you here again soon,” Lecter says. You don’t acknowledge that remark, instead turning on your heel and walking away. The chef’s ensuing laughter follows you and echoes in your ears, even as you board the ship and sail back to the mainland.

Character Guide Chef Julian = Hannibal Lecter Margot = Reader Soren, Dave, and Bryce, business partners = Frederick Chilton, Bedelia Du Maurier, and Alana Bloom, research partners Lillian Bloom, food critic = Freddie Lounds Tim, Lillian’s editor = James Gray Tyler Ledford = Franklyn Froideveaux Ms. Westervelt, Tyler’s original guest = Tobias Budge Richard and Anne Leibrandt, restaurant regulars = Scott and Cheryl Komeda George Diaz, movie star = Mason Verger George’s personal assistant, Felicity Lynn = Margot Verger Elsa, Chef’s right hand = Abigail Hobbs

Adjusted Menu (Appetizer) Amuse bouche: compressed and pickled cucumber melon, milk snow, and charred lace. (First Course) The Island: plants from around the island, seaweed, raw scallop served on a rock from the island (Second Course) Breadless Bread Plate: no bread, savory accompaniments (Third Course) Memory: house-smoked chicken thigh, served with scissors stabbed in the meat, along with house-made tortillas (Fourth Course) The Mess: pressure-cooked vegetables, roasted filet, potato confit, beef au jus, and bone marrow Franklyn’s Bullshit: undercooked lamb with inedible shallot-leek butter sauce

Justifications At first, I thought Abigail as Elsa was a stretch. Then, I remembered that Abigail helped source the victims for her father, Garret Jacob Hobbs. That led me to conceptualize an older Abigail—one who wasn’t afraid to embrace the cruelty that she witnessed all around her. She is rather similar to Elsa, especially in the sense that she longs for Hannibal’s approval (just as Elsa longs for Julian’s). Just like Elsa, she is delegated to the sidelines—forced to carry out the chef’s every whim without even a moment’s gratitude.

Freddie Lounds as the food critic (Lillian) just makes perfect sense. She would be a perfect food critic—entirely unflinching and brutally honest. The Komedas fit pretty well too, and I wasn’t even aware of their existence until I looked through the Hannibal wiki for characters to substitute. Mrs. Komeda—and her husband, by extension—was a frequent guest at Hannibal’s dinner parties, which bled rather well into her status as a regular at his restaurant.

Since Hannibal’s relatives aren’t exactly alive or easily accessible, I scrapped the whole alcoholic mother bit that Julian had going, and instead just kept the third course as a vague allusion to Hannibal’s childhood. The bit about having the males hunt and the females dine felt misogynistic (and also exclusive of people who aren’t exclusively male/female), especially without the context of Katherine and Julian’s interactions, so I just scrapped it. Now, everyone gets to run from a murderer! Woooo!!

Y’all, I did A LOT of research for this fic… so pls lmk if u enjoyed reading it !!!! <3

TAGLIST (hoped y'all don't mind I'm tagging you in this, but I figured you'd like another Hannibal piece): @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#defectivevillain #x reader #reader insert #male reader #gn reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal nbc #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #the menu #the menu fic #fanfic #sorry for all the tags lmao

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

Could you write like a cute little thing of Siri and reader. Where Siri normally only has one helmet and it’s for the reader because he does their safety before his own and so the reader gets him his own helmet, and has like matching stickers on them or some thing how cute is that!!!!

Thanks for requesting my lovely!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 615 words

“Siri!” You’re waiting by the door when he pulls up on his bike, and Sirius barely has time to put the kickstand down before you’re hopping on behind him. “What have you been doing, we’re going to be late!”

“Take it easy, gorgeous, they’ll wait for you.” He picks the helmet up off his head, twisting around for a kiss. The bike is rumbling beneath you, making it hard to tell if you’re buzzing from the vibrations or the tiny nibble Sirius gives your bottom lip. “You look absolutely stunning, by the way. Of course, I suppose the volunteer of the year needs to dress for the occasion even more than the rest of us common folk.”

You blush, wrapping your arms around Sirius’ waist and using the proximity as an excuse to hide your face in the back of his shoulder. You did put some extra time into looking nice tonight, and it’s sweet of Sirius to notice. The charity you volunteer for is throwing a gala, and they’ve asked you to come receive an award for volunteer of the year. It’s less of a big deal than it sounds—the gala and the award both—but Sirius hasn’t let it go since you asked him to be your plus one, and you know he’s going to be insufferable with smug praise all night.

“They’ll probably give it to someone else if we’re really late,” you say into the material of his dress shirt.

“Alright, alright.” He rolls his eyes, turning around and encouraging your head back so he can plop his helmet over your head. “Let’s go, baby.”

“Oh, wait!” You grab the helmet, intending to tug it off. Sirius’ hands cover your own before you can move it.

“Don’t,” he says, and he’d be menacing if he weren’t so himself. He thinks you’re about to go through the same argument you always do, him insisting you wear the only helmet and you trying to force it back upon him, but Sirius always gets his way in the end. We’re not going anywhere, he’ll tell you, unless that thing is on your head the entire time. And I swear to god, baby, if I catch you trying to take it off I will pull this thing over. “You said you wanted to get there, and this is only going to slow us down,” he reasons now. “Plus, your hair looks too good to subject to the wind.”

“No, wait, I just forgot something,” you insist, swinging a leg over the bike. Only then does Sirius let you take the helmet off, and even so with narrowed eyes. “Two seconds.”

You run back inside, finding the helmet where you’d set it by the door. You’d been so anxious about Sirius’ tardiness, you’d totally missed it there on your way out. Sirius’ eyebrows go up when you come back out with it in your hands, just before a smile spreads like a slow sunrise across his face.

“That for me, sweet thing?”

“Yup.” Your grin catches with his as you pass it to him. “You like it?”

Sirius turns it around in his hands, admiring the stickers you’ve applied all around it. “It’s gorgeous.” He sets it on his lap and brings one hand to your face, pulling you down so he can kiss your cheek. “Thanks, honey. I just feel bad for you now, yours isn’t nearly as cool.”

“I saved the sticker packets,” you say, swinging your leg back over the bike and settling the helmet on your head satisfiedly. “I can do this one after I get home.”

“Perfect.” Sirius puts his new helmet on, bumping it against yours affectionately. “Alright, hold onto me.”

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whatt-the · 3 months ago

Text

Yet another gift for @uno-san , though this has grown way past my expectations.

College Stanford x milf reader // pt. 2

Content warnings: fem reader, age gap, nsfw content, reader is having an affair so... cheating if you care

Author's note: this takes place in an AU where Stanley never ruined ford's project and he got into his dream college. He is taken under the wing of an esteemed scientist, shenanigans (cheating on ur husband in a loveless marriage) ensue.

This is my best one yet!

Stanford, as far as all of his knowledge goes, had to assume you weren't good for him. Who can blame him? You were like a drug to him. He couldn't go for more than a few minutes without thinking about you over and over again, dreaming every night of being with you, wishing he could have his lips on you again, even if it had to be the back of your hand once more. His legs felt weak at those ideas, and his face would grow flushed at his own sketches of you.

Oh, those sketches. He couldn't show his notes to his mentor any longer since the corners of the pages were filled with drawing after drawing of you. Which is why he found himself copying over page after page of the plan for his thesis into fresh sheets. So his professor wouldn't suspect a thing; he was quite paranoid about being found out.

...

Goodness he really acted like an addict-

"Stanford, these are brilliant!"

Yes, yes. His studies. Those. Stanford entirely blocked out his mentor's praises- academic accomplishments were always nice, of course, but compliments could only do so much for his ego since he met you. It wasn't the same: it wasn't from you.

'He deserves to hear how good he's doing!'

Those words repeated over and over in his brain. If only he got to hear all about how well he's doing from you. To hear thar he was smart, capable, good. That last one is what he found himself craving the most. Good. Good for you.

Oh. He should really reply to his professor's comments. But he wasn't even listening, what is he supposed to do...

Thankfully, you interrupted. The sound of water running in the floor above had stopped, followed by faint footsteps.

"Oh! Seems she's done with her shower. Tell you what: I'll get her to give us some food, just like last time. Sounds good?"

"Yes, good.."

"She'll be here in a second, in the meantime, I'll see what kind of books I have on your thesis subject for you to go over."

"Of course! In all honesty, I doubt my work will be anywhere under 200 pages, so, give me all the reference points you can!" Stanford exclaimed, finally taking interest in what was being said. The professor chuckled in response,

"You have a lot to prove, don't you young man?"

"I have a love for the craft, what can I say."

He'd almost entirely forgotten about you even being in the house throughout the interaction. Well, until you walked in, that is. You had rushed your way down, hair still wet, panting slightly from running your way down (while simultaneously taking care that you wouldn't slip and fall), wearing nothing but a robe that didn't reach much past your mid thigh.

It doesn't take a genius to imagine how Stanford felt at that moment. Though, before he could even react to the sight before him, you spoke

"Didn't you have a meeting to go to?"

"Huh?.. OH!!"

Your husband hastily dropped the pile of books on the table and ran around the house to grab his keys and other items he'd need.

And you didn't even get a thank you. You were used to it, he had long since abandoned any efforts to make you feel appreciated. Truly, you couldn't remember the last time he complimented you.

Quite unlike the man you were now facing.

"Stanford! This is NOT over yet! You're going to have a clear outline of your thesis by the end of today! I won't be gone for more than 2 hours"

Your husband paused, looking at you for a brief moment before turning back to Stanford.

"If you can explain any of this-" he points to the desk filled with books and papers "-to her, I'll give you some sort of award! best way to learn is to explain it to someone who doesn't understand, anyway"

And with that, he ran out of the house in a panic.

Stanford didn't once take his eyes off of you. Gods were you beautiful. His lips were parted as his gaze went over your body. Your face had become so much calmer as your husband left the house, your hands were no longer grabbing onto the robe, allowing for him to see more of your chest.

He swallowed dryly. He felt the butterflies in his stomach already.

His flustered state was soon to become worse as you sat next to him around the table, closing the blinds as you walked towards your seat. You were fully facing him on your chair, head resting on your hand as you spoke.

"So? What are you working on there?"

He stammered in response, eyes darting from you to the papers to your face repeatedly, occasionally opening his mouth only for either nothing or incoherent noises to spill out. He clears his throat.

"I-I'm. Sorry. It's just..."

"Are you uncomfortable with the robe? I could-"

"NO! Ah- ahhem. No, not at all. It's your house, you should wear what makes you comfortable, of course."

You giggle at his reaction. His immediate denial when you even suggested- no, hinted at changing gave away so much about how he felt. Cute.

And that's when you really get a good look at him. His hands are fidgeting with a pen, breath slightly labored, lips drawn into a slight pout, eyes looking at...

Oh.

Damn it! He noticed that you noticed it. "I-- I deeply apologize, this- I-"

"Oh, sweetheart..."

He freezes like a deer in the headlights. You take advantage of his shock to grab his wrist, at which point he promptly dropped the pen he was holding previously. He doesn't register the noise of the impact of the pen with the table and subsequently the floor as you drag his wrist forward and kiss the palm of his hand.

This cannot be real. He must be having one of those dreams--

"You've never done this before, have you?" You asked as you intertwined your fingers with his.

"Done.. what e-exact--mmh!" He's swiftly interrupted by your kiss. Your. Kiss. His eyes immediatelly snap shut and so do his thighs- he's seeking and accepting any sort of friction by this point. Pathetically needy: but then again, who could blame him? He's been dreaming about this ever since he first laid eyes on you. He chases your lips as you let go, but lets his head fall back soon after.

"This," You say, moving your hand back to his wrist once more, guiding it to part your robe. His eyes snap open and he tilts his head to look at you: now leaning over him, you place another, much too quick kiss on his lips as you place his hand over your breast. His large hand cupping it delicately as you finally let go of his wrist. Moving back to kiss him again, you take advantage of his open mouth.

You're making out with him. You're making out with him!

He feels everything through a haze of pleasure, his hand on your body, your lips on eachother, your hand which had gone to pull on the hair at the back of his head, your breath against him- he was so lightheaded, so sensitive, so desperate. He felt the need to close his eyes, but they were already shut tight- it was all too much for him.

Yet he didn't want it to end, no: he wanted it to last forever.

But last forever it surely would not, considering he knew he wouldn't be lasting for longer than a few minutes once your hand moved to press against his hard-on. No, he wouldn't last at all, especially not when you start massaging your hand against it. He moaned loudly against your lips, and continued to let out deliciously desperate noises against them as you continued mercilessly.

You held his head in place and pulled back, and were immediatelly bombarded with a barrage of "thank you! Th-thank you, thank you! Oh god--"

Thank you? That got a reaction out of you. A slight moan, the only one you'd let out throughout the whole event. And at that, you felt his entire body tense up. He had caused you pleasure, him! There were so many emotions coursing through him-- all overshadowed by the immense pleasure he had been experiencing: he'd finally reached his peak. His noises were to die for, his budding tears brought a smile to your face.

You had ruined him.

And no one could ever replicate just how you'd turned this genius into an incoherent mess.

He shivers when he feels the coldness of your wedding ring's jewel against his face when you caress it btw, if you care.

#gravity falls #i hope many misfortunes befall this man #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines x reader #ford x reader #i hate him so fucking much may god grant me the patience

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liillyliilly · 5 months ago

Text

sing for me, please?

sugawara koushi x reader

words; 1215

content; sugawara has a small clever surprise- it's just fluff and kicks and giggles

“Did I really need to get here so early?” You slid into the seat next to Sugawara in the auditorium. The lights still hadn’t turned on, so it was mostly dark except for the glow of Sugawara’s flashlight.

“Yes. Absolutely yes you needed to be here early.” Sugawara was reclining low into the chair, practically sunk into the chair. He rapidly pats your knee for a moment before shushing you, despite you not even saying anything. His uniform is slightly crinkled.

The sun hadn’t even come up yet, so the windows showed only black night sky outside. School didn’t start for another hour or so, and yet Sugawara had requested you to come early. Of course you had asked what the reasoning was for his ask, but he didn’t give a response and just repeatedly asked you to come.

You roll your eyes, pulling out your book from your backpack. Sugawara rolls his eyes at your action, using his pointer finger to tilt your book away from your face.

“Just wait. Have patience, geez. I thought people who read a lot were supposed to be down for the long game.” Sugawara brings his face to your ear, trying to keep the volume of his voice down for whatever reason.

Through clenched teeth you clarified, “I do have patience,” You pull your book to your chest.

Sugawara mimics your words, faking a much higher pitch than your actual voice was at. You shoved him in the shoulder, then settled for just keeping your arm behind his seat. His silver shaded hair tickled your forearm, so you adjusted your arm positioning. You ran your fingers through the medium length hair at his neck, letting the soft locks twist around your fingers.

Sugawara ducked his head down even further so you wouldn’t be able to see the pink of his cheeks and nose.

The lights of the auditorium flickered on, and Sugawara sank even lower into his chair, using his hand to tug you down as well. Your heads wouldn’t have been visible from the back, hiding behind the red velvet seats. Sugawara hit his flashlight against his palm, turning the light off.

“What’s going on Koushi?”

“Mic check for the assembly later today.” He giggles.

The assembly for the third years, you recalled. It was going to essentially be a one hour long speech by the principal, then some other teachers would talk (you were excited for what Sensei Takeda had planned, since he spoiled the surprise that he’d be talking today). But all in all, the assembly was to congratulate the third year students for working hard on their exam season.

Once the praise for exams was over, they would award students with plaques for high scorers and for various other things. Best athletes, best overall academics, best writing, Principal’s choice award, and so on.

You didn't feel as exceptional as others, but you were secretly holding an anticipation that you’d win an award from the Literature Department as their standout student. You’d worked hard for the scholarship you won to the Prefectural University of Miyagi- your specialization and degree in Japanese Literature and Library Studies.

Sugawara knew that you’d been hoping for an award, so he did the reasonable thing, and snuck into the boxes behind the stage and checked that you won an award. He just hadn’t told you that you’d won two awards just yet, waiting until the official ceremony to cheer loudly with Daichi and Asahi and Kiyoko. (He knew that he’d cheer the loudest though.)

You shove your book back into your backpack. Sugawara pulls you up, hands over the back of the chair in front of him, so he can peek over the cusp of the seat. You copy his motions.

There was the principal, and in the back of the auditorium, a few of the students on stage crew started to fiddle with the lights and mics. Then once the principal was satisfied with his mic check, he threw his thumb up and the students went away through the exit.

You turned to Sugawara, unamused. “That was what we were waiting for?”

“No, no, shush!” He presses a finger to your lips, then smirks and holds his entire hand over your mouth instead of just his one finger.

Muffled, you say, “You better have washed your hands today.”

He nods, but turns attention back to the front stage. You do the same, only to see that the vice principal was lurking around the curtain. Sugawara takes his hand off your mouth, and under the guise of muffling his own laughs- he presses his hand to his own mouth. He figures it's the closest thing to a kiss from you that’d he’ll get for now.

The vice principal holds the mic in his hand, doing a twice around checking the entire auditorium with hawk-like eyes. Then, the unexplainable, the hilarious, the strangest thing possible occurs: he starts to sing.

“Is that…” You start, jaw practically unlatched at how you gape.

“Yes. It is in fact an Ariana Grande song.” Sugawara nuzzles his face into your shoulder to mostly silence his laughs. (He would deny any accusation that he was using it as a ruse to hold onto you. He’d absolutely deny that he loved putting his face close to your neck to smell that addicting lychee, rose, vanilla, and lily combination that he had grown to only associate with you.)

“Waking up early was definitely worth it for this Koushi.” You take your turn hiding chuckles by putting your face into Sugawara’s neck, and he takes the opportunity to place a light hand to your side.

Once the vice principal seemed satisfied with his operatic rendition of Ariana Grande’s “Problem” featuring Iggy Azalea, he vacated the auditorium. Sugawara and you just burst into loud cackles, holding onto your stomachs and letting your faces crack with smiles.

“Won’t you sing for me, please?” He teasingly grabs onto both of your hands and brings them to his chest, your hands flat against his pectorals.

“Dearest, won’t you sing for me instead? You know I’m fond of your lullaby. I just yearn every night for your falsetto interpretation of Greedy by my queen Ariana.” You press harder into his chest, trying to taunt and pester him just as much as he did to you.

Sugawara swallows thickly, but sticks his chin out a little, “We can always do a duet, love."

You giggle, pushing him away and standing up. Your watch tells you it’s around ten minutes before class is supposed to start, so people would be filtering into their classes by now.

“The duet will have to wait, let’s get to class Koushi.”

As you walk out of the auditorium, Sugawara watches you exit, letting his eyes wander to how your school skirt swishes around your legs. He holds his hand over his heart, just feeling the rapid beating under his skin.

He couldn’t wait to see the excitement on your face when you won the Literature Department award, and the Principal’s Choice Award. He always thought you looked prettiest when you had those bright eyes, that earth-shattering smile, and the sweetest tone of voice when you would inevitably turn to him and double check that it was in fact you who won.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq #hq x reader #lilly's red string of fate #haikyuu!!#haikyu!#sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader #sugawara kōshi #sugawara koshi x reader #sugawara koushi my beloved #fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu sugawara #literally would die for him

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devilat-thedoor · 10 months ago

Text

Smile Pretty 2

A/N: it’s been quite some time since i put anything out. and i know this probably isn’t what most people are hoping for from me, but i simply couldn’t stop thinking about this. (half credit to my sun, liana fr, because she multiplies my brainpower by 76000000. so. HUUUUUGE shoutout to @stardustvanfleet and @jakesguitarsolo for being my favorite people ever and offering a never ending stream of jake thoughts. i love you both endlessly and you don’t even understand how much i appreciate you🩵

Word Count: 4.2k

Jake x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI(Oral[f rec], Unprotected Sex, Spit, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Power struggle???, a bit of praise, teensy bit of cumplay, Camera Use, very light impact play) if there was anything i may have missed, please do not hesitate to tell me!

Making your way down the corridor, you watched the room numbers as you went, searching for 623. Tour had started a month ago and you hadn’t seen Jake since the day he left; you were supposed to visit him a week ago, but your work schedule got messed up and you couldn’t make the trip. He was disappointed and you swore you’d make it up to him, but what he didn’t know is that you’d already arranged new plans and, with Josh’s help, you were currently strolling down the hallway of their hotel to surprise your boyfriend. You stopped in front of his door, flipping the keycard through your fingers and shaking out your nerves. Holding the card up to the reader, you paused, leaning in to press your ear against the door. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth at what you were hearing; a series of grunts and groans that were unmistakably Jake’s…but there were other sounds too. More moans, quieter than his, but they were feminine. He’s watching porn?

You pressed the keycard to the door and listened to the confirming beeps before pushing it open. Jake was shifting fast, all but tossing his phone across the room as he yanked a pillow over his legs to cover the evidence of whatever he was doing. “Goddammit, Josh. Just because you have the extra key doesn’t mean- Shit…” His eyes went wide when you stepped into his view.

“Surprise…” You couldn’t hide the smirk on your lips as he gazed at you like a kid caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Closing the door, you dropped your bag to the floor and took a few steps toward the bed, “Did I interrupt something, baby?” You stopped when your knees hit the edge of the mattress and crossed your arms over your chest to stare at him with an eyebrow raised.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before taking a second to swallow back the odd anxiety that seemed to rise in him. “I’m just…surprised…to see you. Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming? I- uhhh. I would’ve planned for dinner or something.” He was slowly sitting up straighter but the pillow remained in his lap. “Actually, dinner sounds great, I’m sure we can find something quick…Can you- I should grab a quick shower before we go…Will you start the water for me, babe?” You would’ve gone along with Jake’s poor attempt at a subject change had he not kept glancing at his phone, laying face down at the bottom of the bed. He watched your head turn slowly, your eyes landing on the device as you chewed on your lip, and tried to bring your attention back to him. “Hey! Danny said something about a great Mexican place not too far from here… Supposedly they have, like, award winn…ing…” His voice trailed off as you mindlessly nodded your head, your arms falling to your side.

“Uh huh…” You lunged for his phone and he tried to snatch it up before you but it was too late. Your fingers curled around it and you rolled off of the bed and scurried across the room, “What were you watching, Jake?” You illuminated the screen and typed his passcode in as he clambered out of the bed, trying desperately to tuck away the obvious tent in his tight boxers. “Everybody watches porn, Jacob. Why are you being so secretive? Is it like- OH GOD… Is it kinky shit?” You chuckled as the screen opened up to whatever he was watching and you clicked the play button.

“Babe, let me just-.” He reached for the phone but you held your finger up and twisted out of his reach.

You were speechless as you tried to comprehend what you were watching. “Oh…Oh…” Met with an image that you were quite familiar with, you glanced at Jake and back to the phone. It was the little film project that you two had made before he left and you’d almost forgotten about it until now. “Jake-.”

He cut you off, reaching for the phone again, “Okay, just shut it off.” A huff of frustration escaped him when you ducked beneath his arm and moved to the opposite side of the room. “C’mon. Would you just- turn it off, babe.” He was coming after you again, but you stayed planted in place, your eyes glued to the screen as a grin stretched over your face.

“No… I haven’t even got to watch this yet. How many times have you watched it?” You met him with an accusatory expression and he dropped his gaze to the floor. “...thought so… Let’s watch together.” You shrugged as you kicked your shoes off and climbed onto the bed, resting against the headboard. When he didn’t follow suit, you paused the video and patted the space beside you that he was occupying when you’d arrived. “Come on. We made it together, we can watch it together…Baby, come sit down and watch the fucking sex tape with me.” You whined through your giggles as you tapped the bed again.

Jake finally relented, heaving out a sigh, and climbed onto the bed to settle in alongside you. “You don’t think it’s weird to sit and watch ourselves fuck?” He took the phone from your hand and scrolled the bar the whole way to the beginning before looking at you.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, “I think you’re being weird… What was the point of making it if we weren’t gonna- Wait. Do you just…not want me to watch it? Because you obviously have… More than once.” You turned to face him completely, awaiting a response.

“I like watching you, angel…” He spoke genuinely, grasping your hand in his. “No cliche porno could ever compare to what you do. So yeah… I’ve watched it a few times.”

You could feel the heat spreading across your cheeks at his admission. “Baby….” Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, dragging a hand along his thigh. He was leaning further into you, anticipating the path that your fingers were taking, but you stopped before they could reach his boxers and pulled back from the kiss with a teasing smirk. “Press play, Jake.” You couldn’t help but laugh as he let out a frustrated huff before complying with your request. Snuggling in closer to your boyfriend, you viewed quietly, watching yourself on the screen as you strutted towards the camera, peeling your robe off. “Wow…my tits look fucking great.” Jake had a hand resting on your leg, giving a gentle squeeze in agreement to your statement. You bit down on your lip at his dialogue in the video as you smiled up at the lens and began to stroke him, “You’re never that bold when we’re just having sex…” It was a thought that tumbled from your lips and made him turn to you.

“What does that even mean? I’m not bold?” He paused the video and put his phone on the nightstand. “I’m fucking bold… Don’t act like I don’t make you cum every time we fuck, you know I do.”

You took notice of how he began to breathe a little harder as a note of irritation radiated from him. “Baby, that’s not what I’m saying… I just mean that-.” You thought for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to explain what you meant, when an idea struck you. “I don’t know, Jake. I mean, yeah… The sex is always good, don’t get me wrong, but-.”

He cut you off abruptly, “But what?” He watched you bite your lips together with a shrug and he stood from the bed, “No. What the fuck were you gonna say? The sex is always good, but what?” Jake was growing more irritated with each second of silence that passed but you were keen to the stiff bulge in his boxers and decided to press a little harder.

“It’s just kind of…boring. Or- What’s the word they use? Vanilla.” It took everything in you to keep your laughter down as his eyes practically turned red. “Jake. Baby, it’s fine… I don’t need exciting sex.” You climbed off of the bed then, turning your back to him with the fear that you wouldn’t be able to keep up your act, “The way you do things is…alright…I guess.” When you turned around to look at him again, he was fuming. You had him right where you wanted him and a flood of arousal rushed to your panties at the dark expression he wore. His nostrils were flaring, chest rising and falling rapidly with angry huffs, but he remained quiet. “Uhh. I have to pee.” You offered him an innocent smile before scurrying into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. The look on his face was one that you didn’t see very often but knew very well and it made you clench your thighs together in need. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you tried to prepare for what could happen when you eventually walked out of the bathroom. Would he be angry with you and give you the silent treatment? Or… Would he try to prove you wrong? You knew Jake was nowhere near vanilla, but teasing him was always the fastest route to the best sex with him. But…did you take it too far this time?

You took one last steadying breath and unlocked the door to step out of the bathroom. With no time to register what was happening, Jake had his hand loosely wrapped around your throat with your back pinned to the wall, an amused smirk on his face at the way you gasped in surprise. “You think you’re so goddamn smart, huh?” He leaned in close, his nose pressing into your cheek as he dropped his voice to a whisper, “If you wanted me to treat you like a whore, no-… My sweet little cumslut, right?” He chuckled condescendingly as you whimpered at his degrading names, squeezing your legs tighter. “Ask nicely, angel… You don’t have to be a fucking brat to get what you want, understand?” Releasing your throat, he watched as you nodded your head obediently. “Good girl… Take your clothes off and put your palms flat on the mattress.”

Complying immediately, you shredded every piece of fabric from your body and paused to look at him, “Jake, I-.” You shut your mouth when he shook his head silently and pointed towards the bed. Making the short walk, you were vibrating with anticipation at what was about to come. You could feel Jake getting closer as you bent down, placing your palms atop the warm duvet. His hand was on your ass in an instant, ghosting up over your spine and back down to caress your thigh before settling on your lower back. Everything was still for a moment and you almost opened your mouth to question until his free hand came down hard on your asscheek. “Fuck!” You cried out, mostly from the shock of it, but there was a slight sting left in the wake of his palm.

“So you think I’m vanilla?” He was rubbing his hand up and down your inner thigh when you began to stutter out an answer, but his touch left you at loss, unable to utter a response, and that wasn’t good enough for him. Jake reeled his hand back, delivering another slap; this time to the spot he was just pampering. “Words, angel. Use them.” He paused for a moment to admire the way you began panting and shifting your weight back and forth between your feet. “Tell me again about how boring I am.”

A shiver rippled through your body as he bent down to whisper in your ear, but you managed to keep a small bit of composure. “I- I don’t know, Jake… There’s just…a lack of excitement…” You swallowed the lump in your throat and tilted your head to look at him.

“A lack of excitement, huh?” He was grinning wide as he straightened back up and exited your line of sight. “See… now I know you’re lying-” He disappeared suddenly; his touch gone, you couldn’t see him in your peripherals. Just as you began to say his name, you felt him. His large hands gripping your ass and thighs to slip a thumb through your slick folds. “-because if there’s no excitement, your pussy wouldn’t be dripping like this.”

“Jake, please…” You weren’t entirely sure what you were pleading for but you couldn’t stop. “Please don’t tease me… I missed you so fucking much.” You were whining as you pushed back against his hands.

Jake chuckled, clearly amused at your desperation, “Needy little thing… What do you want from me, sweet girl?” His voice was saccharine sweet, tinged with a bit of something else. Mischief, maybe?

You contemplated begging on your hands and knees until a better idea struck you. “Well, baby… Prove to me just how bold you can be.”

A low growl rumbled out from behind you, the sound echoing through the room. “Yeah, I’ll fucking show you…” His hand weaved through your hair, grabbing a healthy fistful as he pulled you up from the bed. You could feel the heat emanating from him as he held your back flush against his chest to speak, “Let’s see if you can keep up, angel.” In a flash, he was shoving you back down, making sure your chest was pressed into the mattress before he released you. He knelt down behind you, spreading you open to spit directly onto you. The feeling of his spit dripping from your cunt made you shudder but he didn’t give you much time to process as he burrowed his face between your thighs. Jake’s tongue lashed rapidly at your clit before he tightened his lips around the bud.

“Jesus, Jake! Wh- Fuck…” You clawed at the fluffy, white comforter, crying out shamelessly as he devoured you. It didn’t take long for your legs to begin trembling at the way his tongue slipped through your folds and his nose nudged your entrance. You were toeing the edge of a cliff, awaiting your fall with one final push from him, “Don’t stop… Don’t you dare fucking stop, Jacob. I- Oh God, please! I’m g-. What the hell, Jake!” You whipped around to glare at him, your chest heaving and knees weak, but he was standing up from the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He was grinning wide, showcasing his perfect teeth, when you stood straight to meet him face to face. Just as you started to scold him, he gripped your jaw, smashing his lips against your own and pushing his tongue into your mouth. When he broke the kiss, he spun you back around, pressing his covered erection against your ass, “You thought I was gonna let you cum that quick? After all the shit you talked?” He cackled loud and the sound lit a new kind of fire in your blood. Jake was sure he had you at his mercy and you used that to your advantage, forcing out a weak whimper. “Awwe… don’t whine, baby… If you want something, all you have to do is tell me. Use your words. Remember?” He was sliding his boxers off as he spoke.

You could hear the smirk in his tone and that’s when you made your move. Faster than the speed of light, you whipped around, catching Jake by his throat, and flipped him onto the bed. It was clear he was caught off guard by the way he began to stammer. You pulled the boxers from his ankles before crawling over him, “What’s the matter, Jakey baby? Did you forget how to use your words?” Giggling at his scowl, you sat on his chest, keeping his arms pinned beneath your knees. “I think it was a little rude, that stunt you pulled before… Don’t you think?” You kept your voice sweet, pouting your lip at him.

“I think you deserved it.”

“Hmm… I see.” You scooted further up his torso, making sure he couldn’t wiggle his arms out from under you. “How about you make me cum with that mouth that you love to run so much…and maybe I’ll see if you deserve a reward afterwards, hmm?”

Jake cocked an eyebrow at you in challenge, “Sure, angel… Won’t take too long anyways.”

The look he was giving you made butterflies erupt in your stomach as you began to settle over his mouth, slowly lowering yourself. “If you say s- SHIT!” The second his tongue made contact with your sensitive clit, your eyes were rolling. You gripped tightly onto his hair as you started to rock against his face, “Oh- Oh fuck…” There was no doubt that he knew exactly how to use his mouth and that was evident by the way he had you quickly unraveling atop of him. You tried your hardest to hold yourself together, but Jake had managed to slip himself lower so that his tongue was prodding at your entrance. He groaned into your cunt before he began thrashing his head back and forth, his nose flicking repeatedly over your clit. “Jake, I- I’m-...” Your words trailed off into a series of moans as your legs started to shake and close around his head. He didn’t slow down in the slightest and if his hands were free, he’d have you pinned down to his mouth, making sure he got every bit of your orgasm out of you before you could move… But he wasn’t in control and once the overstimulation hit, you scrambled off of his face and sat back on his chest as you fought to catch a breath.

He rubbed his palms up and down your thighs to try to stop their trembling. The touch was so sweet and affectionate, but the moment didn’t last long. “How about you quit pretending like you’re holding the reins and let me take over again, beautiful?”

“Baby, if you want the reins, you gotta take ‘em.” You flashed him a sickeningly sweet smile and when he began to respond, you reached behind you to wrap your hand around his stiff cock. Holding eye contact with him, you started to stroke him slowly, eliciting a deep groan from the back of his throat. “I’m sorry, Jake… Were you gonna say something?” Everytime he opened his mouth, you squeezed him a little tighter to make his breath catch. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He was glaring up at you as you removed your hand to maneuver your body over his throbbing length. “And you said I love to run my mouth? You’re a goddamn tease.”

Your hand shot out to grasp his jaw, “I may be a tease, but I always give you what you want in the end, don’t I?” As your sentiment concluded, you sunk onto him; your mouth hung open and Jake subconsciously mimicked your expression as he held onto your waist. Once he was buried completely inside of you, your head dropped back, “Hmm… so fucking thick, baby…” After a moment of adjustment, you leaned down to peck his lips, catching his bottom one between your teeth with a moan and pulling before allowing it to snap back.

He stared at the point where your bodies connected as you raised slowly and dropped back down. “Ride it like you fucking own it, angel.” Jake commanded through husky breaths and the sound of his voice made you clench around him. Anchoring your hands on his chest, you took his words to heart and began bouncing, adding a slight twirl to your hips with every drop. “There you go- fuuuuck. Just like that…” He slid his hands from your waist to grab a handful of your ass before resting them at your hips.

The sound of your skin smacking together echoed off the walls, only overshadowed by Jake’s husky groans and your heavy breaths, as you rode him. You were focused on his face, the look of pure ecstasy he wore as his eyes continuously fluttered shut, “You like that, Jakey?” Slowing your movements, you opted for a change. Leaning back, you placed your hands on his thighs behind you for leverage and started to rock against him. When his mouth dropped open and he began bucking up into you, a smile formed on your face. “You like when I fuck you like this, Jake?” Your voice was sultry and low, “When I claim your fat cock like this, hmm?”

Just as you found a steady rhythm, his grasp on your hips tightened and he flipped you off of him to quickly climb over you. “Such a mouthy little whore, huh?” He moved so fast that you didn’t stand a chance in fighting for your dominance. He had your ankles on his shoulders as he leaned down, effectively pressing your knees into your chest, “You just got too goddamn cocky…” Jake slammed back into you, filling you up entirely as you cried out and grabbed blindly at his arms and clamped your eyes shut. He immediately grabbed your chin with one hand while he cupped your cheek with the other, “Nuh uh. Open those eyes and fucking look at me… I wanna make sure you know who makes you fucking cum like this, angel.” His thrusts were unrelenting, hitting the sweetest spot inside of you, and when you finally managed to pry your eyes open to stare into his large brown ones, he drew his hips back and dove back in with an impossibly deep stroke.

“J- fuck. Jaaake….” His name clambered out of your mouth in a mess of broken whimpers as your legs began to shake around his head. “Oh my God! FUCK, Jake!” Your nails dug deep into his forearms as he held your head steady and continued pounding into you, fucking you through your second climax.

“That’s it, sweet girl… Say it again. Let everyone know who makes your pussy cry, angel…” He gave a short, condescending chuckle as you breathlessly muttered his name for a third time. “That’s my good girl…” Suddenly he pulled out, letting your legs down, and turned you over onto your stomach. You were too dazed, stuck in a fucked-out fog, to question. But he slipped back into you to chase his own release, “You want me to fill this sweet cunt, pretty girl?”

You could feel your eyes going crossed as you clawed at the thick comforter beneath you, “Yes- fuck…” The pressure was building again, faster than the last two times and you began to beg, “Please, Jake… I want it, baby… Need you so fucking- bad.” Your moans were growing louder and drawing him closer to the brink.

He pressed a palm flat to your back to pin you against the mattress and fucked into you with hard, punctuated thrusts. “You want it, angel? I’ll fucking give it to you… Sounds so pretty when you beg for my cum.” His voice was strangled, groans vibrating from somewhere within his chest and you offered one last plea that sent him over the edge. Jake buried himself deep, a single ‘oh fuck’ leaving his lips before you felt him empty his sticky release inside of you, the feeling bringing you to a third and final orgasm. He was hunched over your back for a moment as he caught his breath, but when he finally pulled out, he flipped you back over and pushed your legs apart. Watching him through droopy, exhausted eyes, you heard him click his tongue a few times before he was dragging a finger over your folds, your body shivering at the contact. “Fucking begged for it and the little cumslut can’t even hold it all in… Feels a little disrespectful to waste, hmm?” He pondered to himself as he gathered his dripping seed with two fingers and pushed it back into your pussy. The overstimulation had you trying to squeeze your legs shut, but it didn’t stop him from finger fucking his cum back into you, “Aht… Almost done, angel…” When he removed his digits, he held them up to your mouth and you welcomed them happily, lapping the mix of release from them.

He finally collapsed beside you, allowing you to roll over and cuddle against him with a lazy smile, “Okay, I take it back, baby… You’re pretty fucking bold. Jesus Christ, that was…” You trailed off, giving him a soft kiss.

His hand rubbed gently up and down your back as a cocky grin began to stretch across his face. He pointed behind you, “Thank you, beautiful… but can you say that one more time to the camera?” You lifted your head to see his phone set up against the lamp on the nightstand. “Or that one…” He pointed to the dresser on the opposite side of the room where he had your phone set up to capture a different angle.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You sat up to glare at him, trying to hide your own grin.

He simply shrugged, “Now you can watch it as much as I will.” Jake wiggled his eyebrows before pulling back down for another kiss.

lil taglist for friends i think may enjoy this😌

@ignite-my-fire @gvfpal @mybussyinchrist @ageofbajabule @klarxtr

#jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #sinsofstardust #greta van fleet #gvf #greta van smut #jake gvf #gvf fic

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