#Shoot Loud Louder

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!? WC this chap- 11.5k (longestt)

Warnings- WOW this chap has it all, heed the warnings - filming porn masturbation ( m) oral (m and f receiving) spit kink HIGH KEY, mentions of cum, multiple rounds, switching positions, size kink, swallowing (M and F) explicit sex, feral Gojo, squirting, mating press, tummy bulges, lots of fucking goddamn- Gojo is whipped mutual pining, obsessive Gojo. Angsty asf in places, lots of jealousy

A/N- Taglist closed- This was so smut filled I took MULTIPLE breaks aha, maybe my most smut filled one ever? don't read in public actually - please comment/rb if you enjoy <3

<<<Chapter Two - Masterlist- Playlist- Chapter Four>>>

Chapter Three

You can’t escape the desire you have, even in your dreams.

Waking up cumming was not just new, it was ridiculous, and you didn’t even know that happened until this morning. Waking up with your cunt throbbing around nothing, and gushing arousal, as your dream was filled with Satoru kissing you, fucking into you with that thick, huge cock, hitting spots deep inside that felt real even in your dreams.

That’s it, sweetheart, cum all around my cock, hmm? Lemme feel her- there you go, baby.

That had done too much to your sleeping brain apparently, because you couldn’t stop cumming either, crying out and whining when you’d touched your cunt and felt the slick coating everything. After shaking violently from it, you’d peeked and seen a good morning text from him, all while you had to go get cleaned up, trying to compose yourself before you texted back.

Jenna calls now, shaking you out of your reverie, and the two of you plan lunch the next day. “You’re having dinner with him?”

“Yeah, but as a… friend?”

“Oh baby, you’re too cute.” You sigh, leaning back as you stir up some dough for cookies you were baking later, the sunlight filtering in through the little kitchen window you have open wide. You peer out into the sky, thinking it’s not as pretty as Satoru’s eyes.

“I do really feel things, but Jenna I can’t not be near him, if it’s as a friend, then it’s as a friend.” Jenna sighs louder than you did. “Are we having a sighing contest?”

“I’ll win any loud moan contest, but your sighs are cuter.”

“Jenna!”

You both laugh then, and a beep sounds on your phones. “Ah, looks like he’s going to stream. Gonna go watch your friend?”

“You’re an instigator. Maybe.” She giggles again, as you finish preheating the oven, scooping the dough onto the parchment paper.

“Be careful, you’re a grown woman, and things change, but don’t forget yourself, okay?” You pause then, emotions catching in your throat at her words. “I’m not trying to be the ‘mom’ I swear.”

“I know, Jenna. I love you, see you soon?” You end the call after she says goodbye, popping the cookies in the oven and turning them on. You set up your laptop, deciding to do some work for the weekend on a project your friend hired you for, but the temptation of seeing Satoru keeps nagging at your mind.

The man certainly has a pretty cock, but you think it’s the way he looks at the camera that fucks you up, it’s probably why he’s so good at it, his job. And he clearly enjoyed it, even though you know he was having a little difficulty with the last shoot, perhaps he prefers solo lately? To think you had anything to do with that was foolish, so you wouldn’t allow the thought.

The timer beeps, you stand up and stretch, turning off the timer and oven then, grabbing a bright red oven mitt and pulling out the sheet pan, smelling delectable, the steam hot and rising, scent filling your nostrils. You loved to bake, especially when you were stressed, and you suppose you were, having feelings for a man currently stroking his cock for the camera was conflicting at best.

You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s not feelings, that you’re inexperienced and confused, but you know you’re lying to yourself. You eye that silver laptop again, remembering the last time, the image of him sucking his own cum off his fingers is burned deep, a core memory at this fucking point. You shake it off, then sigh, giving into temptation.

You’d just tip him a hundred again to be supportive, you tip Jenna all the time, it’s fine, it’s something a friend can do.

Right?

You log in to the onlyfans platform, the black and blue OF making you just a bit nervous, clicking on the stream then, taking several breaths as you click on it. Fully prepared to be soaking wet, the sight that greets you is not Satoru stroking his cock, it’s another woman, her thighs spread, while Satoru runs circles on her clit. She’s propped on his lap, her head against his bare collarbones, moaning.

Your heart shatters then, and it shouldn’t, no you’re so stupid!

You are Satoru’s friend, and it was your choice to check his stream, to tip and be supportive but ultimately you know what you potentially signed up for. You saw him with Jenna, and for whatever reason that had not bothered you- maybe because it was before he touched you, looked at you like that.

The girl in front of him has two of his fingers shoved deep as he has her feet propped up on his thighs while you blink away stupid tears that shouldn’t exist, there’s no anger but there’s so much jealousy you shock yourself. You’re a girl’s girl, you’re supportive, what is this!? You’d like to rip her right off his lap, and you hate yourself for it right now.

You shake it off, looking away as the cookies fill your home with the sweet scent of sugar and chocolate. It should be a cheery morning, but you can’t even focus on anything but the conflict in your heart. You stare back again, hearing Satoru’s soft, husky voice, watching all the comments in the chat while he grips one of her breasts in his big hand.

Her head falls forward, and the way you vividly imagine it being you instead has you heating up, in more ways than excitement, embarrassment - you’d never be that girl for him, you wish you could be that way. But Satoru and you together felt too special, especially to share, how could you fall when this was your idea!?

You can’t be upset.

You take a breath, shutting your eyes and looking away as his voice resonates through the laptop’s speakers, echoicing in the quiet. If you were crazy enough you’d say it sounded different than with you, that he let go more, that you were even wetter when he touched you, but you’re starting to think you’re delusional.

“So, we wanna hit this spot right here, for any men watching, you’re gonna curl up here, that spot feels good, doesn’t it honey?” Your jaw sets, swiping tears from under your glasses now.

“Ah, y-yes Gojo!” Her moan echoes too much, he pauses then, the squelching of her cunt stops, it’s all quiet as he just stares at the camera like he’s staring at you, his lips parted, eyes widening just a bit, but there’s no way.

You’ve lost it.

You tip him the hundred as you’d intended to, quickly shutting your laptop and damn near hyperventilating. What’s wrong with you!? His job is to fuck women, so you saw him touching one, what do you expect? The man had a gang bang scene just yesterday, and dinner with you tonight. You have to shove it all down then, you have to remember what he does.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t special though, for you.

Did he do things off camera with-

Stop it!

The phone rings a few minutes later and you just stare at it, lost in your own head, wishing you could compartmentalize it so much better, that you could separate the two. You were so stupid for engaging and knowing, but at the same time, to not have Satoru seems like something you can’t compute, even if it is just as a friend, even if you can’t be sexual.

Maybe you read it all wrong, that night.

Satoru calls again, shaking out his hand as his co star is now fucking herself quite expertly on a dildo, since Satoru can’t get hard for anything - it’s worse today than yesterday - he decided to turn it into a guided masturbation video. At least his fucking fingers still work, despite jerking off to you so much his cock is raw, remembering your lips surrounding it.

Even fingering her he’s picturing your pussy, fuck he wants to just bury his face in it again, he knows the two of you are ‘friends’ or whatever the fuck this was, but it’s exceedingly difficult when it’s affecting him like this. He keeps wondering if you all sleep together, will it make it worse or better? Was he all in his head, as if you would go for someone like him if he did date.

What was he thinking lately?

He saw your name in the stream and his stomach had dropped - and why, you’re just a friend, it was fine if you wanted to see a bit of a stream and tip, he knows it is to be supportive. You’re supportive and sweet, so sweet, god your taste and scent still haunt him, he’s been dying to see you tonight, in any capacity, but when he saw the name he felt awful.

He only wants to fuck you, touch you, but he has a career and commitments, to get her to agree to this instead of fucking was already difficult and he was slowly losing it as his cock kept refusing to work. Even if he could get it up, he didn’t like the idea of fucking someone else at all, after the debacle of a gang bang yesterday. But even touching someone was doing nothing for him.

Now he saw you leave so quickly, and decided to gently smack his co star’s ass, smiling as he bent her over, murmuring he needs a break. She eagerly took over the spotlight, the opportunity was a huge one for her anyway as a smaller star. Satoru keeps staring at your picture, sighing as he notices the little reflections in your glasses, touching the screen softly.

You saw him touching someone, did you care, did it bother you-

Why is he thinking like this!?

He calls again, and you answer, much to his relief, as his hands let go of the bathroom counter he’d gripped too tightly. “Hey Satoru, sorry I popped in, I thought it was um… you…”

“Jerking off?” He finishes the sentence, leaning back against his wall and shutting his eyes.

“Yeah, I didn’t know you did um… shoots at home. You should get back to it, why are you calling me, silly? Looks like um… you were, ah… doing… good.” You’re breaking out every voice, cursing yourself quietly, why can’t you just speak? You’re shoving it all down, trying not to cry - there’s no reason to!

“Ah, yeah I thought I’d try to teach people how to make women cum, they fail often you know.” He tries to make it light, as his stomach clenches, a sick feeling when he hears your forced laugh.

“That’s very true. Someone should give you a Nobel prize for this work.” He snorts then, as the laughter becomes a little more genuine. “No you’re amazing at that. Why not show them how?”

“You thought I was amazing, hmm?” His tone changes, cock throbbing when he just hears your sigh, picturing you vividly in his mind, while the sounds of his co-star echo, moans and squelching wetness that does nothing for him.

Didn’t he used to enjoy all of this?

“You know I thought that.” Your heart pounds, you have to remember, Satoru is amazing and just because you’re hurt, you can’t be mad or upset at him. He’s not yours in any way, even if you’re starting to wish he was. “Isn’t your co-star waiting?”

“She’s occupying herself fine. It’s not… sex…” Because I can’t get hard unless it’s you. “It’s just a tutorial.”

“Oh,” your relief shouldn’t exist, you shouldn’t care, but to hear that does make you slump over just a bit, before taking a breath. “Do you want to do dinner another day, it’s already four-”

“No, no!” Satoru panics then, since when does smooth pornstar Satoru freak the fuck out and act desperate? “I mean, no. I want to see you tonight. I have time to shower and get there.”

He wants to wash any of this girl off, frantically actually, he wants you all over him, even if it’s just him pleasing you more. But moreso, even if you just wanted to have dinner and that was it, he’d be happy, though the thought of fucking you with his fingers while you eat dessert is insanely tempting, making his tip drool precum quite annoyingly as he glares in the mirror.

“Okay good, I was looking forward to it.” Your whisper is soft and genuine, as he sees the red on his cheeks, the black pupils, just thinking of you shifts his entire face.

Fuck.

“I’ll start getting ready, I think it’s time you see I can get dressed up.” You tease softly, swiping stupid tears and trying to plaster a bright smile on your face as you stare in your mirror. Your eyes are puffy, the color drained from your face, lips trembling - just seeing that has affected your entire face, taking off your glasses so you don’t even have to look at yourself for a moment.

“I bet you’re gonna kill me, you look so pretty any time I see you,” his voice is hoarse, as he spills the vulnerable truth, and the two of you shut your eyes, leaning against your bathroom counters. “But I’m excited to see you dolled up.”

“Are you, Satoru?” You try to hide the insecurities haunting you, hearing his sexy, heavy sigh on the other line.

“Very excited. I’ll see you soon, sweets.”

The two of you hang up and you sigh, eyeing the clock now - you have about two hours to get ready, and you’re so nervous your palms are sweaty and numb. It may just be two ‘friends’ having dinner, but you want to shove that image back you just saw, and focus, and try to look beautiful tonight.

Satoru’s own hands are numb, as he curses, slamming a hand on his forehead, unable to think of anything but you, barely able to pull himself together. When he walks out, Suguru is there, nibbling in the kitchen, raising a brow at him. “You good, Satoru?”

“Fine, I… you wanna finish that for me?” He gestures to the room, while Suguru sips down water. “I think I have a kind of date or something.”

“A date!? Huh?” Satoru just looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I don’t think it’s a date, it’s friends or something? Maybe... I don’t know. Is dinner a date if it's not with a costar?” Suguru rolls his violet eyes, sighing as he washes his hands now, patting them dry with a paper towel.

“You’re acting weird as fuck lately, that cute little good girl got you simping?” Satoru scoffs, rolling his blue eyes now.

“Suguru, just do me a solid.” Satoru pouts, earning Suguru’s scoff.

“Fine, fine, but you owe me one.” Suguru and Satoru enter the room, as Satoru eases the transition, the notes in the chat are going insane, he can’t help but exhale in relief, before pausing at the thought.

Was there some way to save his malfunctioning dick?

*****

Satoru whistles when he meets you at the restaurant that evening, running just a little late, you're sitting there nibbling on your thumb, peering at the menu when he arrives. Your eyes light up behind a different pair of glasses, these have cute red rims, matching the red dress you're wearing that's making him ache.

He hasn't seen you in something like this, not that you weren't always pretty, but when you stand up and he sees how it fits your body it almost takes him everything to hold back. Vividly picturing bending you right over that table and fucking you in front of the entire restaurant, gripping the red shimmery fabric that drapes across every line and curve of that body.

He can't form a word, notoriously known for never shutting up, but he can't think of anything to say, when you shyly look down, hands fidgeting in front of your lap, and he’s standing there sputtering. It’s awkward even, until the waitress comes up and smiles over at Satoru, gesturing to a seat, saying - ‘This must be the friend you were waiting for!’

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, you look beautiful.” He says finally, pressing a kiss to your cheek, feeling it heat up against his lips. You shake your head with a sweet turn of your lips, kissing his cheek in turn.

“You’re fine, Satoru, I still haven’t learned LA time.” He chuckles at that just a bit, sitting across from you now, before deciding to sit next to you instead, shoulders brushing together.

“This feels more comfy? It feels all formal the other way.”

“Does it feel too… date like?” He falters then, because that was not it, but the doubt has crept in on your face, when the waitress asks you all for your order, and he has to blink back the confusion. “What do you suggest?”

“Want me to order for you?” You nod shyly, god the submissive nature of you makes him ache in way too many ways, knowing how perfect of a girl you’d be for him in every aspect. “We’ll have this,” he says, pointing to the menu now. “And bring two glasses of champagne please.”

“Are we celebrating?” You tease, handing the waitress the menu, Satoru chuckles a bit, shaking his head while you take in how handsome he looks, brushing your fingers against his suit jacket. “You look so good, Satoru.”

“Thank you, sweets.” He holds your hand then, fuck it feels too good, pressing it against the dark red suit jacket that truly only he could pull off, black button down shirt left open, showing enough of his chest to make anyone die over. Your eyes look at it now, a few of the chains he wears resting along the strong muscles, settling between his collarbones. “You’re making me look bad, wearing in that dress.”’

“No way!”

“Absolutely, you are. You’re so pretty, fuck…” He’s brushing back a tendril, as you eye him, that look that drives him insane, the look that’s ruined him since he met you. He tries to smirk, to act calm, teasing, “I look that good?”

“Yes, shit. Sorry.” He laughs softly, shaking his head when you pull your hand back gently.

“We match, great minds you know.”

“Indeed, we clearly coordinated telepathically!” He laughs then, and it's just like that first night, when you and him just hit it the fuck off. It’s comfortable, it’s fun - so fun - that people smile at the two of you, as you laugh like friends for years. It’s how it feels, like you’ve known him, a way you can’t explain.

But you wished it was just the friendliness, not the heat in your tummy when he wipes a droplet of clear, bubbly champagne from his plump lips, if every time his thigh brushed yours you didn’t melt. Someone comes up then, a really pretty girl, and you feel Satoru stiffen a bit, making you tense, sipping on the tart champagne and averting your eyes a bit.

“Gojo, it's been what, a year?!” He smiles with ease, standing and kissing her cheek, hugging her tightly.

“It has been, shit, how you been?” It’s all very Hollywood, their exchange, you feel you’ll never figure it out, the two years you’ve been here after relocating and you still couldn’t get being kissy on everyone.

It makes you think of him earlier, his fingers in that-

Stop that!

He’s saying your name you errantly realize, you plaster on a smile as she looks at you curiously, eyeing you up and down. “Co-star?”

“No, no, she’s my friend. She’s a good girl.” He winks down at you, and she giggles then, holding her hand out.

“It’s awesome to meet you!”

“You too. Are you um…”

“A former co-star, yeah. Satoru is the best in the industry.” Ah, so she fucked him, too. You want to be petty and scowl and you hate yourself for it more.

You never, ever are like this.

You never have been.

She’s touching his shoulder and making you sick, when your eyes catch a familiar face, a man standing with a group of other men, smiling over at you, he’s one of your co-workers that is always working. You wave at him while Satoru finishes his conversation, and he adjusts his tan jacket, touching the arm of one of the men, letting them go as he walks to you.

You tense just a bit, while the girl finally leaves, and Satoru’s sitting next to you once more, as his phone rings. He turns it off, jaw tensing when a blond man takes your hand and bends down at the waist, like some old school gentleman, pressing a kiss to the back of your delicate wrist, the pretty bracelet slides down your arm as he does it, and he watches your blush.

The fuck.

He was trying his best to get that girl to go on, so he could get back to talking to you, but now some random guy has your attention, and Satoru doesn’t like it, not one fucking bit. “Nanami, this is Satoru.”

“Nanami, huh?” He leans back, flipping off his phone again, you look at him curiously.

“Need to grab that?” You ask, and he shakes his head, swiping it off once more, ignoring his manager while this Nanami guy eyes you behind green glasses.

“You look stunning, is that alright to say?” You giggle again, Satoru glares at you, how dare you giggle at him!?

He told you that you looked beautiful. Did you giggle?

He wants to punch this smirking man in the face.

What’s wrong with him!?

“Thank you, Nanami, I guess you don’t see me too dressed up at work, huh? You always dress so well.”

“Oh stop, you’re flattering me. And this is your…” He trails off, looking at Gojo, who has to wipe the glare off his face for a moment.

Say it, Satoru.

More than a friend.

You look at him then, as if you’re waiting for him to say that, to say something, while Nanami’s lips quirk up just a bit, making Satoru want to smack him again. He takes a breath, smiling then instead of glaring, but his hand is on the small of your back. “We’ve become close friends, very quickly.”

“Oh? I’ve known her for a long time,” Nanami says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. You look at Satoru, whose phone starts ringing again, and he curses, rolling his blue eyes. “Need to take that?”

“It’s my manager, they have horrible timing. I’ll be right back.” He murmurs, you smile understandingly, while his manager trips on him about earlier.

He knows his dick doesn’t work, and now he knows he hates touching anyone, but he doesn’t know how to explain it to anyone when he has no fucking clue why this is happening. He’s obsessed with a sweet, shy little thing that is currently getting hit on by a dude buffer than him.

Maybe he’d be good for you.

Satoru is too petty to admit it though, glaring instead while his manager goes on and on. “Listen, I get it, you need content.”

“We need you with women, a lot of your viewers are men, they’re not gonna tune in to watch you solo. Find someone that works for you, I don’t care who at this point, but we’re just not gonna make profit if you keep turning down roles. Or, I heard, you shoved a girl off on Geto.”

“I didn’t… shove her off, I just…” Satoru frowns again, the blond man is sitting next to you in the other seat, your eyes are on Satoru however they turn away when he catches your gaze.

He just wants to fuck you right in front of that fucking man now. God, if you would be interested in starring in something, you’d make bank, it’s not just his obsession, your pussy is the prettiest one he’s seen. Your tits, your body, they’re all so sexy, and your pretty face with those glasses? You’d kill any sexy nerd shoot there was.

“Satoru!”

Shit.

He can’t get the vision of you in some slutty ass librarian outfit from running through his head.

“Yeah, I got it. I’ll try to get something going, I mean I was gonna do a solo tonight anyway.”

“That’s fine, but remember you’re a lot more than just Onlyfans. You’re a star, Satoru, that comes with a certain level of appearances. So whatever is going on, you gotta get it together, or we’re both not making shit.” He sighs, leaning back against the wall now, eyes going back to you, giggling at something he’s said.

He’s too close to you.

Why does he mind so much?

“I’ll get a shoot done.” The words feel horrible, the thought of fucking anyone else just seems like an impossibility, and he doesn’t know how to compute it in his mind.

What did you do?

“Alright, I expect some video with a woman - not with Suguru. Though…”

“I’m not fucking Suguru.” He chuckles as people look at him a bit, running a hand through his white locks. “He is pretty but not my type.”

“He’s gonna be your type if you turn down every other actress.”

“Ugh.”

“Mmhmm, talk to you later.” He hangs up, frowning at his phone, trying to gather himself before he does something so stupid, jealousy filling him and for what?

You’re talking. You’re not his. He had his fingers buried in a girl this morning, why does he care if you did anything? He knows you’re not that girl, though, but you choose to be with him. It makes him feel far, far more special than he’d admit, the fact that you want him, that you trust him. Was he mistaking the look in your eyes, was it just desire there?

“If you are single, would you mind a date sometime? I haven’t had so much fun talking in a long time.” Nanami says softly, making you look down shyly, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks from the soft lights hanging above you in the dimly lit, pretty restaurant. “Am I too bold?”

“No, no. I just haven’t been on a date in forever.” Satoru feels like he’s been punched in the chest as he hears, nearing the table and acting like he didn’t wanna yank you to him and kiss you then and there.

But he chose to tell him you’re friends, that’s what you were, a friend he wants to fuck all night in every position imaginable. Then lick his own cum out of your cunt, abused from his cock, and fuck you all morning. God he can’t stop thinking about them all, have you dragged on his face, his hands on your waist, let you ride his mouth till he couldn’t breathe.

Real fucking friendly.

Satoru’s hands grip and release while he hears your answer, “I will think about it, Mr. Nanami, it may be fun.”

That’s almost a yes.

Fuck.

“Think about what?” He asks with a smile, leaned back in the booth, a hand brushing your bare thigh under the table, where your dress had slid up from you sitting, he feels it tense while he drags his fingertips across it, eyeing you then.

Was Satoru trying to confuse you more? You look at him again, some toxic part of you that you don’t recognize wants him to claim you, what the fuck was that!? You have never been that way, you’ve never been a lot of things until you met this blue-eyed man, however, and even with a handsome Nanami flirting, you can’t get Satoru’s moans out of your mind.

Snap out of it!

“A date with your lovely friend. You two are just friends?” He looks between the two of you now, and Satoru opens his mouth, but what can he say?

It’s what you ‘are’.

Would he be worthy of dating you if he wanted to, when his job was fucking other women? You didn’t deserve that, you deserved to be the only one, fuck you literally had become his one singular, consuming thought. He smiles good naturedly, eyeing you now, watching you bite your lower lip, teeth digging into the plush of it, while your thighs tremble just a bit.

“We just met at a party a few weeks ago, but we are really close. Quickly.” He murmurs.

“Can’t see you partying.” Nanami’s hand comes to touch your other thigh, and for a girl who hasn’t had any in forever, the sensation of two big hands on your thighs is addling your mind. “No offense, darling you seem a little straight laced…” his words are trailed off with his hand squeezing gently.

Satoru scowls at him.

Is he touching you!?

Do you like it?

“I don’t party, it’s true.” You smile now, a hand over his, thumbs brushing his knuckles, while Satoru’s squeezing so hard you wince before he realizes it, letting go of his grip, but the hand staying on your knee. “I think we could go on a date sometime, as long as it doesn’t make work weird.”

“Not at all, all right I’ll leave you two to hang out then,” he stands, holding out a hand for Satoru, he squeezes the shit out of Nanami’s hand with a forced smile, only for Nanami to squeeze tighter. And fuck he’s strong. Then, he takes your hand, murmuring a - “I’ll see you at work, then,” and kissing the back of your hand. “Darling.”

Darling.

Satoru will show him darling.

You giggle, only pissing him off more, nodding shyly, fuck you’re cute even when you’ve made him furious. He’s shared women so many times he can’t count, even girls he got closer to, regular girls that you could almost say he ‘dated’ he’d still regularly bang out with his friends. He’s not possessive in general, he’s open minded and a free spirit.

Or he was!?

“Sounds good, Mr. Nanami.” He hates how you say his name, when the man in the khaki suit and dumbass cheetah tie leaves, finally. “He’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, so sweet.” You look at him then, narrowing your eyes curiously.

“You don’t like him?”

“I don’t know him. Seems boring, pretentious.” You blink in confusion, eyeing the retreating figure walking out, he even waves at you, which you return.

“He doesn’t seem like either to me. Satoru, you said we are just friends, are you worried that we won’t… do all that we do if I date someone?” Your words drop to a quiet murmur, and he sighs.

“Yes I would be very upset if I didn’t get to taste you again, why wouldn’t I be? It’d be a fuckin’ tragedy, sweetheart.” His words are too husky, when he leans against you, turning just so, his fingers slipping up your inner thigh, a side of sweet, nice Satoru you hadn’t seen yet, you almost think he looks…

He can’t be jealous.

Right?

You're delusional.

“I don’t just sleep around, so if we went on a date I wouldn’t do that. But, if I hit it off, and got serious, I wouldn’t continue our… lessons. I can only be with one person at one time.” He tenses then, is he going to lose you before he even gets you? “I don’t care if you do the same, I know it’s your job, but I couldn’t.”

“I’m not fucking anyone right now. My manager is bitching at me about it.” You tilt your head curiously, the chandelier earrings dancing in glittering prisms along your neck as you study him. “I’m having issues on set.”

“Is everything okay?” You ask, concern in your voice now, as he shakes his head. “Satoru, what's wrong?”

“I’m not in a good headspace it seems, the gang bang I failed, and I pushed the girl this morning on Suguru. So if I don’t give my manager something, they’re gonna be pissed. And no money for us if I can’t show up.”

“What’s wrong though, you seemed fine with Jenna in what I watched? Is this a new problem?” God you’re clueless to your effects, aren’t you? You touch his thigh too, instantly making his cock hard, looking down and getting flustered, he feels your heat, just making him harder. “You seem to work fine to me. Are the cameras getting too stressful?”

“I don’t know, but it really is a problem. Do you think… you could help your very handsome, amazing friend out?” You look up at him, curious.

“Help how?”

“Your good video skills, film a hot jerk off stream, good angles? Maybe that will get enough money he’ll chill some until I get over this.” You look away, the images of Satoru stroking his cock are burned in your brain. “Too much?”

“No, no. I can help, I feel I am taking up your time-”

“You’re not.” He cups your face then, turning it to him. “You’re never taking up my time, I enjoy being here. Okay?” You exhale, fuck had you been worried about that!?

How could you not know how badly he craves your presence?

“I feel bad that you’re going through this, is it the lesson?”

“The lesson did bring your taste into my mouth, and maybe no one tastes as sweet, it’s true,” his thumb brushes across your jaw line, smiling at how embarrassed you get then. “I think your taste would help me out.”

“Then, I’ll film you, but I can’t guarantee the quality.”

“It’ll be impeccable.” He raises two fingers, making your mind go to places it shouldn’t, you know another ‘lesson’ or session, or any time at all with Satoru was dangerous.

You’re teetering on the edge of feelings constantly, but you can do this, right, separate the two? He seems so good at it, at being your friend and then doing more, and you almost failed completely. You almost couldn’t say yes to Nanami because you are currently so delusional you think this star is so interested in you for more.

You have to accept him for who he is, no matter what, this was your choice to join his life at all. You take a breath now, trying to flip that switch off, the one that can’t stop thinking how much you’d love to kiss him, every minute of every day. The side that’s upset his fingers were inside someone, you have to throw her aside, and enjoy what’s here while it’s here.

He makes you question so much constantly, like every minute spent under that cerulean gaze brings out a side of you that you never knew of, some inner sexual side that only he can ignite. It’s so beautiful and special, his breath against your lips, you want to press them to yours, but so unsure, was he not about to be affectionate in public with you?

Was this just left for home?

He changes your thoughts when he kisses your forehead, far too sweet, then your cheeks, hot to the touch, down to your nose, making you giggle, relax. “You never ever waste any time.”

“I needed that.” You exhale, kissing his lips quickly as he smiles against your lips, and you pull back quickly. “I’d love to help you out.”

“I’ll make it worth your while, pretty.” His thumb brushes the slick on your upper thigh, right by your panties, watching your lashes flutter shut, as you take a shaky breath. “Come back to my place?”

“For the night or…”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure-”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Satoru’s paying the bill, signing a signature and leaving a hefty tip, then, holding out a hand for you.

“Did you drive here?” You shake your head, and he smiles, snatching up his phone now. “Perfect, I’ll have my driver take us over.”

*****

The second time coming to Satoru’s home was a little different, you were more comfortable, slipping off your heels now, he bends down to help you again, kissing your knees as he does, hands slipping up your thighs. Your hand brushes a lock of his white hair back, the unreal way you feel this comfortable, this drawn to him, makes your heart ache.

You’re so scared you’ll get hurt more, but you can’t stop yourself from being near him, from him looking at you like you’re the only fucking girl there is, are you so delusional?

Just enjoy it.

You close your eyes, sighing as he stands, kissing your lips again, easing your hand bag off your shoulder, brushing his thumbs across the mark it’s left on your shoulder. “Want another drink?”

“Yes please, if I’m going to be a porn director.” He laughs softly, shaking his head and taking off his suit jacket, laying it across the back of a chair when he pulls out the same bottle you’d sipped last time.

“You liked this one, hmm?” You nod, surprised he’d remember, taking the sweet liquid in the crystal glass, fingers brushing now. “Don’t get drunk though, I can’t have a shaky ass camera.”

“So demanding already, you really gonna make it worth my while you say?” You’re trying to tease back, like you can breathe or function in his presence, he just sighs, brushing back your hair behind your ear.

“That and more, sweetheart. We have hardly started doing things together, there is so much I can think of,” his hands slip lower, down the side of your neck, watching the goosebumps raise as he does, sighing at how perfect you look in his kitchen. “So many positions.”

“How many are there!?” He laughs now, at your embarrassed little look, pressing a boop to your nose.

“You’re endlessly adorable. Corruptible.”

“Oh!” He’s taking his own glass now, guiding you by your hand.

“Suguru’s out for the night, so we won’t get interrupted.” He’s leading you to his room, yanking off that black top, pausing as he sets up the ring light and grabs the camera, handing it to you, fingers brushing against each other. “You ready?”

“Ready,” your squeak of an answer makes him pause, taking your free hand, putting it on his bare chest as your heart hammers, trailing the hand lower to his belt and swallowing. “Need help?”

“Yes, I do.”

He needs you.

He’s desperate for you, fuck.

You’ve helped him undress, on your knees on the soft, plush carpet, when you start the stream, and he starts stroking that long, thick length right in front of you, he keeps looking at you, even when you gesture to the camera. He’s moaning, spitting on his tip, making it slicker for his big hand which still can’t come close to covering it, twisting and moving it all for you.

For his fans.

It’s hard to remember them when your cunt throbs, when you’re so overheated you can hardly stand it, and Satoru’s talking, low and hoarse. “Gonna cum so much, fuck…”

When he’s cumming you damn near do just looking, thighs pressing together for that friction, mouth fucking dry when your shaky legs nearly give out, while you come from a lower angle, reading the comments of his spurting cum, shooting up against his silvery happy trail, sticking all over, making you ache to drink it up.

“Fuck, I’ve made a mess, need someone to clean me all up.” Satoru whispers, while you barely are able to hold up the camera any longer, the livestream is avid with questions, namely - who is filming Satoru Gojo? And offers from many viewers to lick every bit of him up.

Satoru should stare at the camera, but he’s looking up into your eyes instead, stroking his cum soaked length slowly, just pumping more cum out of his tip, so much it’s ridiculous, dripped down to his balls and inner thighs. You swallow nervously, tummy clenched with desire, knowing you needed to stay quiet for the stream of curious viewers.

Satoru murmurs cut then, and  you do just that, shutting off the feed, and setting down the phone with a shaky hand, clearing your throat. “They loved it I think.”

“C’mere.” He crooks two fingers, and you eagerly obey, walking up to him now, tempting him to no end with the way your eyes drink him in. “On your knees, sweetheart.”

You obey again, eagerly in fact, looking up at him under lowered lashes as his clean hand slips up the side of your pretty neck, then around to the nape of it, entangling in your locks. Your soft whine and shift of your hips are all he needs to know you’re enjoying it, your hands obediently on your thighs, as if waiting for his every order, so sexy he feels his cock twitch back to life.

“Do you want to clean me up?” He asks softly, but the command in his tone is there, you nod and he exhales, tugging you towards him then. “Then do a really good job, sweets. Lick every bit clean like a good girl, and I’ll reward you.”

“I’ll do a good job.” Your whisper wrecks him, as he guides your head down, and you suck him, still hard, into your hot, eager mouth. Your soft whine vibrates around him, his head falling back as your mouth moves.

He can’t help but think of earlier.

A date, you were gonna go on a date, and he hates the idea, no, he fucking detests the idea in fact, the rage alone making him fuck your throat deeper, harder, feeling you gag and choke on him instead of anyone else. He shouldn’t feel possessive over his friend, a friend who’s sucking his cum, who’s swallowing him up, all he can think is his, his, his.

But you weren’t his.

How could you ever be?

Satoru’s never felt anything better than your throat, except he’s a million percent sure your cunt is better, he knows it would suck him up so greedy. When tears fall from your pretty eyes, it’s hotter than any blow job he’s had on set, the eagerness and desperate need to please far surpasses experience, your glasses fogging up when you pull back to take a breath then.

Satoru looks at his slick, spit covered cock, to thin trails of saliva disintegrating between your lips as you pull back, swiping at your lower lip. “How did I do?”

“Perfect.” His whisper is genuine, the words feel too good, you know you should stop, that you already wish he was yours, but you’re too addicted to how those blue eyes make you feel like you’re the only girl there is.

Even if it’s an illusion, a trick of your brain, or a practiced look.

The feeling is too euphoric not to be corrupted by it.

“You did such a good job, look at it, not any cum left. You sucked it all down, so greedy huh?” His hand comes under your chin, squeezing your neck gently yet so possessive, he wants to say it - his - but he knows he can’t. But it’s too easy to teeter off the edge, when your breaths come faster, breasts pressed up in that dress, rising and falling with each one.

“Satoru… I can keep going.” Your soft voice nearly ends him, little hand stroking his cock again.

“I was thinking of something, but if you don’t want to, it's okay.” You blink a bit then, tilting your head, tendrils falling against your bare shoulders.

“What is it?”

“A scene with me, but not showing your face at all,” your gasp and pull back makes him sigh. “It’d be like me eating your pussy, we could have it zoomed so no one sees your face.”

The thought, along with Satoru's sweet cum down your throat makes your tummy clench, while he brings out more and more of you that you didn't know existed. Your hands tense on his thighs now, taking a shaky breath, fingers along the downy hair on his thighs. “I don’t… Satoru you have a million options for costars-”

“I want yours. It’s the prettiest I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“Satoru…”

“It is. Wanna argue about my expertise here?” You just get more flustered and flushed, looking down nervously, but he tilts your chin with his big hand, angling your gaze upward. “I’ll split all the pay, you get eaten out, and anonymously. I’d never tell anyone, I’d never risk your career or anything. But I do need to do one, and I hate the thought of it not…” Satoru trails off now, the words sinking in.

“You like eating me out that much?” Your whisper makes him chuckle then, nodding and swallowing nervously.

“That pussy is perfect. How about we film it, and you watch it, and if you don’t want to, I just keep it to jerk off to…” Shit, he said that.

He’s so desperate and pathetic.

But you flush again, surprising him with your nod.

“Shit really!?”

“We can film it for us to watch, and… I doubt I’ll be okay sharing it, but we can see if you- ah!” Satoru’s got you lifted so fast you barely can blink, unzipped and turned in moments, leaving you in the prettiest red lace lingerie that makes him groan, his fingertips trembling on your skin. “I said probably not, don’t get excited.”

“I’m excited to bury my face between your thighs again, sweetheart.” You cry out when he’s pressed you on the bed, spreading your thighs and groaning, fingers tugging at your panties.

“How can you make sure my face isn’t there?” You ask softly, he grabs the camera and the stand then, cock just swinging around, balls smacking his thighs, so used to being naked he doesn’t realize his effects. You can’t stop staring when he gets it at the perfect angle, clicking his tongue.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, viewfinder showing your pretty cunt up close, he’s almost furious to think anyone could see it like him, but his career is teetering on the brink of nothing, and if you truly were okay with it, he only sees it as a win.

You broke his dick and now he’s begging to just lick you, and split pay with you, he never thought he’d be so pathetic, but it’s no wonder, thumbing your pussy and spreading it, sighing. “Mnh!”

“So, to keep it anonymous if you decide to show this, don’t speak too personally, okay sweets?” You nod shyly, gasping as he shoves your thighs up. “Also, hold them up high, so all we’re getting is a view of your pussy.”

“Yes, sir.” You tease, but his cock starts leaking again, earning his moan.

“Don’t speak too much, to be safe, I don’t ever want you to feel like anyone would know it’s you. Speak when we’re done, though, you can absolutely moan.” You nod, so nervous, what are you doing!?

It’s as if Satoru Gojo brings something insane and wild out, because there is a thrill of your pussy on camera suddenly, and knowing he is about to worship you, potentially in front of people has your cunt drooling for him. He hits record then, angling his face so his tongue was in perfect view lapping up the arousal, exhaling now as he shoves your thighs up higher.

Perfect, you’re perfect.

“God, look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs into the camera, parting your folds so all that syrupy arousal can pool out, he hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your red nails pressing into the plush of your thighs. His cock is already back hard, he has to stroke it and whines out as he laps you up, making you gasp.

He's slurping you then, head tilted just so the camera can see, smacking your clit gently, watching you jerk, pressing your thighs up higher and tilting the camera so it's higher, right over his head, looking at it and the reflection of your perfect cunt while he slips the tip of his tongue up. You're moaning at the sensations, twitching hips bringing your cunt more in his face.

Satoru can't stand it, how good you taste, he wondered if it was an illusion but no, you are the sweetest thing he's ever had. “You're so wet, god, take a look…” he's fingering you now, and you hear it while he watches it, glimmering from the soft ring light glowing on your perfect pussy. Making him so dumb he's just burying his face then, forgetting he's filming.

“Mnh!” You're trying not to call out his name, thighs still so high you can't see his face, to protect you from getting seen, until he adjusts it, spreading your thighs further, leaning up to look down at you under lidded eyes, chin coated in your slick. “Satoru…”

“You okay sweets?” His whisper touches you, his concern for you even during this, making sure you're okay. You nod and he exhales in relief, kissing you for a moment, knowing it's what you need, brushing your hair back, sighing as he looks down at you. “You're doing so good. Can you cum for me, baby?”

You nod again eagerly, and he’s dived back down, fingering you with two curled right in your cunt, hitting that spot that blinds you every time, his moans so filthy, guttural while he watches, angling his wrist and hitting something then, you feel so much pressure you panic, gasping, writhing under him.

“Oh my - ngh! Fuck!” You’re struggling to keep your voice a whisper, palming your mouth while you shatter.

“That’s it, right there, cum for me, lemme drink it up. Let everyone see how much you love my fucking tongue.” Pornstar Satoru was ridiculous to handle, hitting you with his fingers and the tip of his tongue on your clit, when the pressure releases, and your orgasm hits so hard you can’t help but scream, twitching as he pulls back in surprise. “Fuck, you’re squirting f’me?”

You have no clue what he means, you don’t see it as it starts pouring all over, making a mess, wet spot under you even as Satoru grabs you by the fat of your ass, licking up as much as he can. You’re a twitching, soaked little mess, your hands gripping his hair now, screams echoing in the room while he eases off you just a bit now, ready to fuck your slick, messy cunt.

He trembles as he pulls back and does one more shot, pressing a sweet kiss to your pussy before shutting off the camera, and leaning up, kissing you, so desperate, while your slick thighs rub together, and you feel the mess. He pulls up and takes a breath, flipping you then, making you gasp, handing you the camera while he kisses the backs of your shoulders, hands on your ass, spreading it wide.

“Watch it, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing across your shoulder blades, brushing your hair to one side while you barely have the strength to press play, and that’s when you see it. “Look how perfect you are.”

Your pussy right on camera, and him eyeing it like he’s worshipping it, like you’re his fucking altar and his mouth is that offering. Your cunt starts throbbing while he works you, kissing every inch of your body as you fall more and more into the abyss of sin, of lust, of desire- of Satoru Gojo.

“You love it, don’t you baby?” His words are hot against your ear, while you watch him on the screen licking your cunt, watch your thighs tremble, all while he’s behind you, sinking his two fingers so deep in your quivering hole again. You arch your back, moaning now, it feels so good you can’t stand it, so erotic watching this video you two took, while he’s fucking you with his thick fingers.

“I do, but it’s insane… ah! Satoru…” He sighs now, taking his fingers out, pressing them into your mouth for you to suck, which you quickly obey, eyes fluttering shut, the image of his tongue fucking you reflecting in the darkness.

“Keep it for us, or share? It’s all up to you. I’ll never pressure you either way,” he’s soft then, turning your chin as he lays heavy weight over you, and you eye the phone now, hand shaking just a bit, to close it out or to share, he takes your hand, steadying it. “It’s fine to be how you are, you’re perfect, okay?”

“It’s fine to be how you are, Satoru Gojo. A… question, though.” He sighs, leaning close, while he keeps holding your hand, hovering just so.

“Mmhmm?”

“Would I be your favorite co-star?” Your teasing question makes him laugh at the ridiculous nature.

You’re the only one he can even get hard for.

“You’re the prettiest, yummiest, sweetest co star I could have,” his words are just a little broken, as he almost says more. That he hopes your date sucks with that Nanami guy, that he’s planning to show up at your work tomorrow to glare at that man, that he’s become fucking obsessed, but instead - “How could you think you’re not?”

“And we’re… still friends…” You ache for him to say - no, it’s more - but he nods, against your neck, pressing kisses against it. “Even if we fuck?”

God.

He’s dying.

“You think I wouldn’t be your friend anymore? I’m not the guy to get what he wants and go. I promise.” You nod then, smiling just a bit, and tap the share button then, surprising both of you.

“Holy fuck, I did that…” Your whisper is met with Satoru’s kisses now, as your video plays for all to see, your moans on camera mixing with the ones induced from his play, one arm wrapping your body as his cock presses insistently against your ass, hot and heavy.

“Stop me now, because I can’t think of anything but fucking your pretty pussy raw right now,” his desperate words and dilated eyes just serve to ruin you, when you arch your ass up. “Fuck, you sure?”

“I want you inside me, please,” he eagerly leans back, gripping his cock and lifting your thigh, pressing into your tight ring of muscles, almost cumming from the fucking tip. “Ah!”

“You’re so tight, relax I don’t want to hurt you, please.” Satoru whispers it as he grips your chin.

You nod, as he is slipping a little deeper from the back, the stretch burning so deliciously, you’re convulsing while the viewers are going wild over Satoru’s devoted pussy eating skills with his mysterious, faceless co-star. His silk hair brushes your cheek as he exhales heavy in your ear, whispering your name.

You eye the video, the comments, vision blurry, while he sinks his cock deeper, and he moans as he reads the comments to you, filling your cunt so full of his cock, inch by inch - and there are so many, each thrust deeper while you cling to his wrists, his arms wrapping you. He keeps reading them, even as he shoves in all the way, making you jerk and gasp.

“Perfect pussy, look at Satoru go, god she’s so wet for him, she’s cumming so much - is she squirting? Look at that, you’re a regular star, huh? F-fuck…”

“Mnh!” Your eyes roll back in your fucking skull now, lost in him, lost completely. So deeply unraveled under him you can’t remember what this is, that it’s a friend, that it was a scene, that you’re now the girl who did that, anonymous but to know it’s you on that screen with Satoru devouring you does something, fuck it does too much.

He’s murmuring more comments, and his huge cock is stretching your slick, tight heat beyond its means. “That’s it, you love it, huh? They all want to be in your place, or they want to lick you instead, but it’s me, isn’t it baby?” He shouldn’t be possessive, he tries to tell himself it over and over, but how can he not be, when he’s shoved in so deep, he feels the bulge of your tummy, groaning. “Feel me, sweetheart?”

You can’t speak, just nodding desperately, while the feed goes insane, watching your cunt squirt on Satoru’s face while he’s buried inside you, filling you to the hilt, stretching you out so good you forget to breathe. “Toru!”

He pauses at the nickname, your slurred words and pulsing cunt ending him, he could almost cum then and there and he has amazing stamina, but he has to hold back, wrapping a hand around your throat and leaning up on an elbow while you gush down his cock. Satoru kisses up your neck hungrily, eyeing your pussy on the video and then your face, your eyes almost black with pleasure.

“Only I can hit that spot, hmm?” His tip drags along your spongy spot now, and you’re twitching, nodding, so consumed as he surrounds you, breath against your neck, moans in your ear, hand squeezing your throat just so under your chin. His cock twitches as he shoves deeper, impossibly deeper, while you helplessly grip the blankets beneath you. “Answer me, like a good girl.”

“Y-yes.” Your whisper drives him insane, feral, the way your walls quiver around his cock is exquisite, that grip unreal, but more than anything it feels perfect.

“Made for this cock, aren’t you pretty?” The words fall out before he can stop them, and your eyes rolling back, drool spilling out of your mouth while your cunt is pulsing is his answer. “Perfect, fuck…”

“Mnh!” You can’t take it, his words urging you when he shoves his cock so deep, the tip bruising your cervix, making you scream as his guttural moan fills the room, his hand squeezing just enough pressure to make your orgasm blinding, white hot.

“Cumming all over me, so good, listening f’me, hmm?” You just nod weakly, gasping when he flips you to your back, lifting your thighs and shoving them wide, slapping the tip on your slick cunt and groaning. “Wanna watch me fill you up?”

You nervously nod, swallowing now, and he sees it, you’re overwhelmed, he leans down, kissing you, and you’re desperately clinging to his back, eagerly kissing him despite being damn near slack jawed. You exhale nervously, eyeing him is even more intimate, impossibly more, his plush lips still tasting like your honeyed arousal from earlier.

“If it’s too much, tell me, I want you comfortable.” It’s hard for him to speak, but he does, making sure to reassure you, kissing your forehead before he leans back.

“It’s intense, Satoru but… I want it.” He moans at that, sliding his cock back inside, sucking in a breath when you’re gripping him fucking tighter this time, slipping in slowly, inch by inch. “Ah! Satoru, so d-deep!”

“I am, huh? I can get deeper, baby.” You cry out when he shoves his cock in deep with a sharp thrust, and then pauses, eyeing that bulge in your stomach. “Look.”

“Look at… oh.” You’re heating up at the image, and he’s all about angles, he makes sure your eyes catch every bit of his slow thrusts, filling your tummy full of his enormous cock, too much to take, but your cunt is willing and eager, struggling to take his size.

“Fucking you so deep, see it? Your body is so small compared to my cock, pussy stretched too much, f-fuck… god look at you…” He’s losing it, he was trying to talk sexy to you, which comes naturally, but now he’s just obsessed with the image, thin white brows lowering over his eyes, while he slams inside you, your thighs trembling as they wrap his slutty waist. “Oh my god…”

“Satoru… ah!” He’s done, he’s fucking lost in you, in your eyes when he shoves your thighs up, gripping your face with his huge hands while he’s got you bent in half, slamming so hard you scream. “Too much!”

“I need all of you, fuck… can you take more?” His eyes are so bright blue they burn to look at, but you can’t stop yourself, nodding and cupping his face in return.

“Kiss me please.” He moans at that, slamming his lips down when he rocks his hips, cock filling you so deeply you scream into his mouth, hands slipping to his hair while he’s got his heavy weight over you.

“I can’t control it anymore, baby, if it’s too much just fucking hit me at this point,” he’s nonsensical, leaning up now, hands on the back of your thighs in a mating press, fucking you hard now, powerful strokes that take you the fuck out, cumming in moments with a few strokes, making him whimper.

That’s a sound you know he’s never made.

You may be delusional, but you’re sure you’ve only heard him whimper for you, you’ve never seen that look in his eyes on any video or stream, not when he’s staring right into your fucking soul and slamming his cock deep over and over. You’re barely able to cling to the earth, so much pleasure rushing through your body, you feel every vein and ridge of that huge cock as it fucks into you.

“Perfect, pussy is perfect, fucking knew it but god. God… fucking feel her,” he slams into you again, head falling back, giving you a view of his throat before he eyes you once more, shaking his head and slamming his cock harder. “Can she take it?”

You just nod, you’d take anything, the way it feels to be ruined by Satoru Gojo is far beyond his balls slapping your ass, his cock stretching your cunt, his hands bruising your fucking thighs, no it was more. You want to be filled by him, folded under him, you want every bit of it, losing yourself in him, in his bright blue eyes, in his filthy fucking words, in his cock slamming your cervix.

You were ruined, and you knew it.

You feel too much, far too much, when he’s leaned back, holding your thighs high and watching his cock pull out and enter, slowing and rubbing your abused clit. “F-fuck, cum one more time, I’m close… your cunt is so fucking perfect, shit… c’mon, like a good girl, there you go baby…”

It’s like that goddamn dream.

Word for word.

You cum harder than you have, when he shoves into the hilt, stuffing your slutty little hole, blinded and dizzy, hardly able to breathe, while he watches you shatter under him, so fucking beautiful he can’t take it. Your brows drawn together, that sweat making your skin glisten, your mouth open in the sluttiest O, he can hardly stand what the image does to him.

He knows it then, he’s fucking beyond destroyed, and terrified at that fact, at the power you’re oblivious to over him. He almost busts inside you, something he has never done - he doesn’t even go without condoms - the thoughts of filling your cunt full are far, far too tempting. He stops himself, cursing and holding his slick cock at the base while you’re spasming around him, back arching.

“Where do you want all this cum, sweetheart?” He manages to ask, you’re so fucked out you’re dizzy, blinking Satoru’s white hair and pretty face into view as he pulses inside you, just thickening and making you whimper.

“W-what… where… you want, I… mnh!” You’re still cumming, aftershocks rocking you, making your skin so sensitive when he eases your sore thighs down, parting them and pulling out finally, stroking himself as you catch your breath, watching him spurt thick white ropes all over your cunt. “Oh! Oh…”

“Fuck, fuck… god… oh my…” He’s moaning as he’s desperately jerking his slick cock, so much cum it seems impossible, since he just busted so much, and you watch him, enthralled as the hot sticky sperm is coating your cunt. “God, look at it, fucking look at us baby.”

He’s too much, he’s too much.

You thought him eating you out fucked you up mentally, what is he, his insane ass eyes bright as he trembles, strong muscles bunching and tensing, a work of fucking art pouring his cum on you. You’re stuck, at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing, brain not even functional as you look up at this man, knowing this isn’t just sex, it fucking couldn’t be.

It can’t be like this with someone.

You almost spill every feeling then and there, lost in him, in his desperation when he rests his head on yours, moaning against your lips, tip brushing your engorged clit and making you whine out. “God, your pussy is too perfect, it’s… you’re too perfect, feel too good, look too good…”

“Satoru, are you okay?” You whisper softly, he’s slurring his words, almost hard to understand in their hushed whispers in between his pants.

He can’t even answer, pulling back and looking at your pretty cunt, all abused from his cock and puffy, covered in his white ropes. “Can I have a picture? Please, just for me.”

“Y-you want one?” He laughs softly, breathless, nodding, and you heat up at it, looking down shyly. 

“Only you can be adorable with your pussy beat up and coated in cum, huh?”

“Oh god!” He can’t take it, how cute you are, the affection eating at him, as he takes a deep breath, leaning back. “Just one.”

“Fuck…” He takes the phone, eyeing the amount of comments and tips while your breasts heave, trying to catch your breath, sticky cum dripping across your folds when you shift your hips.

“What is it?” You ask softly, he shows you the number, and your eyes nearly bulge out. “Holy fuck!?”

“This is good even for me, shit. Pussy is made for porn.” You’re blushing harder, biting your lower lip when he angles the camera, taking several photos and exhaling at how pretty it looks. “God, look at you.”

“Are you talking to me or my pussy?” He grins then, so boyish and charming it’s as if he wasn’t just fucking you into a mating press and filming your cunt. “Also I said one!”

“Sorry. I’ll make it up.” He’s kissing your thighs then, lapping some of his own cum off your slit, you gasp at the sensation, his tongue on your sore, overstimulated pussy now. Your hands entangle in his hair as he groans. “Fucking taste us.”

“Satoru you’re in-insane and- mnh! Fuck!” You’re shaking when he laps more off of you, desperately lapping at every inch of your cunt now. “Satoru!”

“Gotta clean my pretty costar up, she’s only my costar you know, only one I’ve ever-” He pauses, stopping himself, when you eye him, breasts still gently moving up and down as you eye him.

“Only one you’ve… ngh! Satoru!”

“Taste us.” He’s lapped more of his cum and yours, murmuring for you to open, which you eagerly do, letting him spit his cum and yours in your throat. “Swallow, there you go, see it’s perfect, huh?”

You’re lost then, in the filthy string of words, when he’s back down cleaning you up with a tongue that’s lethal in its precision, rocking his cock on the bed, hard for the third time with you as he moans desperately against you. He’s latched onto your clit, sucking, while you can’t stop cumming, pushed past overstimulation, but not once do you tell him to stop.

You want it.

You need it.

In tears from how much you’ve cum, desperate for more, swapping his cum and yours mixing, against your tongues as he talks you through it, as you lose yourself, Jenna told you not to, she told you not to forget. You are trying to keep it separated, but how the fuck can you?

It felt worth losing yourself, for him, under him, him inside you - around you - taking over everything, while he’s back inside you, his lips murmuring desperate, dirty words into your sweet mouth. When you’re so fucked out you actually pass out blissfully in his arms, you can’t even remember the girl you were a few weeks ago, waking up just to be filled by him again from behind.

Being in his arms, you hope it’ll counteract the pain when he moves on, when he’s kissing you while fucking you from the back, sweet little nothings against your lips filling the room along with the squelching of his cock filling your cunt again. Every inch of your body kissed by him, licked by him, head to your fucking toes, shifting you to some other dimension as you drink each other in, exhausted and desperate.

You’ll think about that pain later, for now it’s all pleasure, aside from the ache in your heart for more, endlessly more.

The love on this story is so sweet, it's FAR from over. Please be patient as these are long chaps and I have other projects, if you're not on the tags you can subscribe to me on ao3 or turn on notifs <3 Can't wait to hear your thoughts

Taglist 1 - @rjreins @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @gojoslovelylover @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay

[kateschi]

the katsuki bakugou effect

synopsis: where your husband, katsuki, has a way of calming your daughter like no one else can.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

katsuki’s ability to calm your daughter is nothing short of magical.

it doesn’t matter how fussy or inconsolable she gets; the moment he holds her, everything changes.

her tiny fists are no longer clenched in frustration, her loud cries slowly taper off, and her little body relaxes in his arms. his presence soothes her in a way no one else’s can.

you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve been at the end of your rope, trying everything you can think of to calm her.

you’ve rocked her gently, hummed her favorite lullaby, even tried a little soft talking, but nothing works.

when your baby’s tears start to escalate, and her little body trembles in distress, you find yourself on the edge of exhaustion.

but then katsuki walks in.

he steps over to you, and with a quick kiss to the top of your head, scoops her from your arms, then instantly, the tension in the room lifts.

his rough hands gently cradle her, and he murmurs something too quiet for you to catch.

you can’t help but watch in awe as she goes from wailing to calm in just a few seconds, her little face nuzzling against his chest. it’s like a switch flips, and you swear you can see her sigh in relief.

it’s always the same. as soon as katsuki’s around, she settles. she looks at him with a calmness that’s impossible to ignore, her tiny lips pouting slightly as she stares up at him.

her little hands grasp weakly at his shirt, her body relaxing into his hold as if everything is suddenly right with the world. and katsuki just holds her, always.

“you’re a softie,” you tease one day as you watch him rock her back and forth.

katsuki shoots you a glare, but it’s softened by the sight of your daughter curled peacefully in his arms. “shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it. and you can’t help but smile.

you cross the room, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. he stiffens for a moment, but the warmth in his eyes tells you everything you need to know.

“I’m serious,” you say. “you’re the softest guy I know.”

he lets out a gruff chuckle, his scowl deepening, though it's clear he's enjoying your attention as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

a few weeks later, you’re all at a class 1-a reunion, gathered at the old dorms. the atmosphere is lively, with the familiar banter of your old classmates filling the air.

midoriya’s sitting on the couch, holding your daughter carefully in his arms, cooing softly at her as the rest of the group laughs and talks around them.

but suddenly, the peaceful mood shifts. your girl begins to fidget in midoriya’s arms, her little face scrunching up in that all-too-familiar way before the whimpers start.

a soft cry escapes her lips, and then it builds, escalating into the full-blown wail you know so well. midoriya looks startled, glancing around as if searching for some way to calm her.

“uh, uh, it’s okay,” midoriya says, trying to gently rock her in his arms. “it’s okay, sweetheart."

but your baby’s cries only seem to grow louder, her face turning red as her hands flail helplessly. you glance at katsuki, already knowing what’s coming next.

without a word, katsuki stands up from his seat, the others giving him a bit of space as he walks over.

his eyes lock on your daughter, and there’s something about his gaze that makes everything else fade into the background. he’s not rushing, not frantic.

he just calmly steps in, his arms outstretched.

midoriya silently hands the little girl over. as soon as katsuki has her, everything shifts. he holds her against his chest, and his rough hand gently pats her back.

his thumb brushes against her little arm, his voice soft. “it’s me,” he murmurs, his tone low and steady. “it’s okay.”

your little girl hiccups, her cries fading almost immediately, and then she stops. her lips jut out in a pout, still a little upset, but no longer in distress.

she stares up at him, her wide eyes searching his face as if recognizing him. and then, she settles into the crook of his arm, her tiny hands grasping weakly at the fabric of his shirt.

the room is silent for a moment, everyone watching in awe as your girl rests peacefully in katsuki’s arms. he doesn’t even seem to notice the attention.

his focus is entirely on her, his expression softening as she calms.

you smile to yourself, watching him from the sidelines. even after all this time, katsuki never ceases to surprise you with how much he’s grown, how much he’s learned.

you remember when he first found out he was going to be a father, and how nervous he’d been (though he would never admit that).

but now, here he is, effortlessly calming your daughter.

“man, you’re a real softie now, huh?” kirishima teases from across the room, a wide grin plastered on his face.

katsuki’s eyes narrow immediately, and he glares at his friend. “shut the hell up, red.”

but the teasing doesn’t stop there.

kaminari, who’s been silently watching the entire scene, leans forward with a smirk. “I can’t believe it…the ‘explosion hero’ is actually the baby whisperer now?”

katsuki frowns, and his glare remains trained on the two of them. but there’s a slight restraint in his movements—one that’s only noticeable to you.

he’s trying to stay calm, and it’s all because he doesn’t want to wake your little girl up. you can practically feel the tension in the air as his patience wears thin.

sero, naturally, chimes in with a smirk of his own. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, man. I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be ‘aww’ing over a baby like some mushy ball of fluff.”

katsuki’s mouth opens, ready to fire back, but then he glances down at your sleeping daughter, her little chest rising and falling peacefully, and he shuts it again.

for a split second, his fierce expression softens. he takes a deep breath, holding the baby a little tighter.

“you’re lucky she’s asleep, or I would've blasted your asses to oblivion,” he grumbles, but the threat is half-hearted.

kaminari lets out a nervous laugh. “jeez, man, alright, we get it.”

you can’t help but chuckle softly, leaning against the doorframe as you watch them. 

katsuki’s eyes narrow in warning, but despite his frown, there’s a warmth to his expression that doesn’t go unnoticed when he looks back at d/n.

it’s moments like these when the rest of the world seems to disappear, and it's just him, her, and the quiet calm they share.

sighing in resignation, he shifts slightly, walking over to you. you watch as he makes his way across the room, still cradling your daughter in his arms, her tiny hands gripping his shirt as she drifts into a deeper sleep.

you don’t say anything at first, but as he gets closer, you meet his gaze with a soft smile.

there’s no denying the softening effect he has when it’s just the two of you—well, the three of you, if you count the tiny bundle in his arms.

he leans into you as he steps to your side, his broad shoulders brushing against yours, and without a word, he tilts his head slightly toward you, seeking the quiet comfort of being beside you.

“I told them to shut up,” katsuki mutters, his voice lower now, quieter. his usual fiery energy is subdued, and he seems content to just be in your presence.

he exhales slowly, letting the weight of the situation fade away. you reach up and gently touch his arm, a soft laugh escaping you.

"she's lucky you’re her dad," you murmur, your eyes flickering down to where your daughter is curled against his chest. "you’re so patient with her."

katsuki scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays his true feelings.

“I’m not some damn pushover,” he mutters, but there’s a softness in his tone that makes you want to kiss him.

and you do.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[nanaslutt]

teacher gojo finger fucking teacher!reader in a storage closet

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

“shhhhh,” gojo whispers in your ear, pressing his hand harder against your mouth. you gripped his wrist that was working between your legs for leverage as he fucks his fingers inside you.

the only sound you could hear was the wet mess between your legs, the sound only getting louder the longer he went on. gojo’s chest is pressed right against your back, and you can hear just how hard he’s breathing. his chest is rising as falling as fast as yours, and you swear you can hear him let out moans of his own.

“hurry sweetie, i have a class to teach in five minutes.” he teases, kissing the side of your ear. you narrowed your eyes and tried to speak against his hand, but he refused to move it. HE was the one who dragged you into the storage closet and ambushed you like an animal in heat.

your legs squeezed around his wrist when he flicked his thumb out to rub your clit, helping you cum faster. “this is what you need, right?” he whispers, his voice so close to your ear you tilt your head away at the ticklishness. “yeah, this is what you needed. i’ll keep touching it for you.”

you leaned your head back against his chest, breathing hard through your nose as gojo gives you exactly what you needed. you can feel how hard he is behind you, but he doesn’t even so much as push his erection against you. it could be self control, or it could be him ready to burst in his pants at any moment.

when you feel it rising, you tap his arm and grip his forearm with both of your hands, hard. gojo doesn’t slow down in the slightest, and you can feel his muscles flexing under your fingers. gojo presses his chin on the top of your head and looks down at his fingers in your pants, making a loud mess between them.

he’s breathing heavily with you, his sounds louder than your own. and when he crooks his fingers inside you and hits that sweet spot, it’s over. you crumble when your orgasm washes over you. gojo holds your body tight against him, one arm wrapped around your torso to keep you up, and one knee between your legs to keep you spread for him.

“yeah, just like that.” he whispers out of breath, working you through it. “god, you’re dripping.” his voice is so heady and rough, and he doesn’t slow down his fingers until he’s milked the last drop of your orgasm out of you. gojo pulls out his fingers and spins you around, hugging you to the side of his body with one arm.

you’re unsteady on your feet, face flushed and head out of it as you place your hand on his abdomen and hug him for support. he ruffles your hair sits his chin before quickly making work of his pants. “this won’t take long.” he smiles, winking at you before returning to the buttons on his pants.

he makes quick work of them, pulling out his incredibly hard cock, it’s so wet in the dim lighting it looks like he’s already cum. his smile morphs into a euphoric expression, and your mouth opens in suprise when after three jerks of his hand, his cum is already shooting from his dick.

his abs are flexing under your hands and shaking with the intensity of it. he has to bite his lip to keep his moans at bay, at the moment he finishes he’s smiling at looking down at you with that handsome expression. “told you it wouldn’t take long.”

[sttoru]

tags. dad!toji x wife!reader. fluff. reader gets called ‘doll’

“toji, you’re gonna break that thing,” you stifle a laugh as you watch your husband’s muscular form squeeze into one of the playground equipments. megumi is on his lap, giggling as he gets to experience what it’s like to go down a slide with his parent.

toji rolls his eyes and grumbles something along the lines of ‘the damn brat forced me to’. you know how weak that man gets when his son looks up at him with those big, sparkly blue eyes. you’d have given in to megumi’s requests as well if you were in his place. thus you don’t blame your lover at all.

“papa, go!” the little boy pats his dad’s thighs, excitedly smacking the muscles. the pure glee on his tiny face makes you smile as you witness the scene from the bench nearby.

“give me a sec, kid,” toji responds with a grunt. his legs are pressed tightly against each other, trying to wiggle down the slide. his body isn’t going anywhere— not even moving down one centimetre.

you can’t help the laugh that erupts from your throat while you watch toji struggle. the confused and impatient look on megumi’s face as he glances up at his father is pure gold. “papa go?” your son pouts and squirms.

this is embarrassing for toji. he can’t wait to get off and go home. the only thing he can do is pray that no one else sees this view of a grown ass man stuck on a slide.

you pull out your phone and start recording the hilarious sight. “hun,” you call out to toji, covering your mouth while giggling behind the camera. “you can do it!”

your humorous encouragement makes the dark-haired man kiss his teeth, “tsk, quit that.” he manages to move his legs in a certain way so he could glide down. the process however is quite. . slow.

toji’s body stutters and goes down the slide in a wonky way. megumi is not amused at all as he sits there and stares downwards, cheeks puffed up. he expected to go much faster than this.

the toddler looks like he’s about to complain the moment he reaches the bottom.

“mamaaaaaa!”

as expected, the little boy quickly hops off toji’s lap, leaving his humiliated dad sitting at the end of the slide. megumi runs off to you and jumps up onto your lap, an angry yet adorable frown on his face. he whines and hugs you, refusing to face your husband who’s walking towards you.

toji scoffs at the sight. “oi, you ungrateful little shit,” he comments and crosses his muscular arms over his chest, “y’ should be thanking me for squeezin’ my ass up on that tiny thing.” he glances down at his son who’s clearly sulking in your arms, disappointed in his performance.

you’d usually scold toji for using such foul language around the kid, though you can’t stop yourself from giggling at the situation. megumi actually got offended by his dad being unable to properly go down the slide with him; it’s adorable.

“no, papa shit!” megumi retorts unexpectedly, causing you to laugh even louder. you shake your head and try to make a serious face - to reprimand your child from saying such words - only to fail.

toji clearly didn’t expect the boy to mimic him again. he raises an eyebrow and you know he’s not going to hold back. that man will fight anyone, even his own son who’s only a toddler.

“whadd’ya say there, bud?” your husband huffs and takes a step forward. megumi squeals as he feels the intimidating aura of his dad get closer to him. he squirms off your lap and runs off into the playground, squeaking.

you watch your child scurry off in attempt to escape toji. you grin to yourself, seeing the excitement return on megumi’s face at the aspect of playing with his parent.

toji runs a hand through his messy black hair as he sees the toddler run around the park, excepting him to follow and play with him. he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it’s adorable how his son never stays mad at him for long.

it perfectly describes the father-son relationship they have. he wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

toji then shoots you a smirk, leaning down so you’re face to face. he flicks your forehead gently and pinches your cheek, reminding you of one thing before going off to chase after megumi;

“i’ll be dealing with ya later for that video y’ made, doll. don’cha think i forgot.”

[rowdydevs]

Can we get dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Max lets it slip to rafe that his buddies ogle and find milf!reader so hot when they saw her pick up Max and Winnie from school a few times? You can choose how it goes afterwards!! I love your writing of their fam saurrrrr much

awe thank you bb 💕 I'm so glad you like it 🤭🤭🤭 sorry this one got a little long—but I hope you enjoy 😋💕 This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au.

+18 -> smut

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: teenage boys being gross, jealous rafe, swearing, ownership kink, possessive rafe, pet names, multiple orgasms, overstim., squirting, fingering, unprotected p in v, mirror sex, dirty talk, spanking, lots of cum, female oral (post-shared climax)

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You lean into the counter, absentmindedly squeezing lemon after lemon into the glass pitcher. Cold juices run down your fingers, sticky as it slips into the creases of your palms and drips to your wrists. The whole kitchen smells like sugar and citrus, with that warm, buttery hint of cookies still cooling behind you.

The plate’s already half gone, devoured by teenage boys lounging in the common space: tall, tan, loud, sprawled across your furniture like they own the place.

“Sugar, please?” You ask, gesturing toward Kelce’s son, perched in front of the one cabinet you need.

“Yes, ma’am,” he hums, flashing you a grin as he hops down to grab it.

His hand brushes yours as he passes it off. You smile, polite and sweet as ever, returning to stir the mix.

“Fuck, she wants me,” he mutters to Max—just out of earshot.

Your son groans, tipping his head back against the cabinet. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Why else would she be in here squeezin’ her lemons?” Tripp groans, dragging the sentence out like it’s a double entendre.

“You’re still goin’, huh? Not scared?”

“M’not scared of shit—”

Before Max can answer, the door opens with a thud.

“Hi, Mom!” Winnie calls, sandals slapping the marble as she breezes in. Her boyfriend Jackson’s behind her, arms full, carrying the twins, still damp from the sprinkler, dressed like they’re headed out.

“Is it cool if we take the twins out for ice cream?” Winnie asks. Her tone’s breezy, but she looks sharply toward one of Max’s friends eyeing her up.

That same boy yelps when Max nails him in the arm. “M’gonna fuckin’ kill you,” he mutters, while the kid doubles down, clearly unbothered, shooting his shot at your daughter like it’s all just part of the game.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you say, crossing the counter for your purse.

“Mrs. Cameron, really—I’ve got it,” Jackson says, voice firm.

“That’s very sweet. But not necessary… Thanks for taking them off my hands.” You kneel in front of the twins gently brushing back your daughter’s curls; cupping your son’s cheek lovingly. “You two be good for your sister and Jackson, okay?”

You lean in to kiss their cheeks, and without realizing it, your sundress shifts. The neckline dips, your breasts press softly together, the hem lifts just enough to tease. You linger, whispering something about sprinkles and chocolate.

Behind you, the room goes silent.

One boy swallows hard. Another just stares—slack-jawed—like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Max… Dude. This is your life?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” Max mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’d move in tomorrow,” Tripp grins. “Be your stepdad today.”

“Bet she tastes like sugar—”

“I said shut up,” Max snaps, louder this time.

Just then, another boy walks in from the hallway, Trevor. He catches sight of you, still bent low in front of the twins, and freezes. Smiling like the goddamn Cheshire Cat, he lifts both hands like he’s gripping your hips and starts thrusting the air behind you in slow-motion silence.

The other boys lose it—coughing, choking on laughter, trying and failing to keep it together.

You straighten up, sundress swaying back into place as you smooth it down with both hands, blissfully unaware.

“All right, go have fun,” you sing out, waving them toward the door.

You turn back to the pitcher, lift it to the sink, and flip the tap without thinking.

Water churns—lemon juice and sugar swirling, rising to the rim—as your gaze drifts out the kitchen window. And then you see him. Rafe…

His white t-shirt’s soaked through, hose in hand as he rinses down the G-Wagon. Sunlight turns the spray to glitter. Water drips down his arms, soaking the cotton clinging to every curve and cut of his chest and abs.

He turns, flipping his hat backward with one hand, jaw flexing as he wipes his brow.

Your thighs press together. Grip tightening on the pitcher just as the lemonade spills over, cold and sticky down your wrist. You fumble the tap, blinking fast, but your eyes don’t leave him.

His shirt clings to his back, practically painted on, while his blue swim trunks ride low on his hips and high on his thighs.

One hand coils the hose, and the other grabs the wash bucket. His chest flexes with every move, muscles rolling under wet cotton like sin in motion.

“Have fun, boys,” you call out, pouring lemonade into a glass, still watching him.

The front door clicks shut as you step outside barefoot. The grass is crisp beneath your feet; sun shining hot on your shoulders.

Rafe looks up the second he hears you. His mouth curves into a slow, knowing smile. “Oh shit, pretty,” he drawls, eyes dragging down your body. “That for me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, offering him the glass—but he doesn’t take it. He steps closer, warm, wet arm curling around your waist, pulling you flush to him like he can’t help it. His mouth finds yours instantly—hot and slow. Your fingers hook behind his neck, greedy for more.

You giggle into the kiss, breathless. “How much longer?”

Rafe pulls back just enough to smirk, water dripping down his temple “What? You want somethin’, baby?”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ 15 minutes earlier…

The garage is quiet at first—just the clatter of golf clubs and the squeak of a sponge as Rafe scrubs the green off his chipping wedge. The radio hums softly from the corner, low and easy. But that peace doesn’t last.

Beer bottles clink inside the fridge; ice rattles in the machine. And just around the corner from where Rafe sits, the boys start talking their shit like they don’t have a care in the world.

“I’m done,” your son mutters—tone flat and fed up like he’s been saying all day.

“Not my fault your mom’s hot as fuck, Maxi.” One of the boys fires back, voice deep and smug. “M’just waitin’ for the day she gets stuck in the washer. I’ll pound her shit right there—”

“Fuck you,” Max hisses. There’s a sharp thud and a groan; Max hits his friend hard enough to give him a moment's peace from him, but it doesn’t stop the rest of them.

“Did you see her in that swimsuit the other day? Playing with the twins? That bikini? She’s still got an ass on her. Those tits too?” Trevor chimes in, practically drooling. “I wanna play with her twins. Slide my dick right between ‘em—”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Max growls.

“Hey, you fucked my sister, Max. Both of ‘em. Think I get to tug one to your mom… every night—”

“She’s so hot, bro. Like stupid hot,” another pipes up. “Your dad doesn’t deserve that. He can’t keep up. Can’t handle all that. His stamina’s gotta be shot.”

“She made me cookies like it was foreplay,” one of them says, breathy and laughing. “You think she ever looks at us and wonders…”

“She made cookies for my dad,” Max mutters.

“Yeah. That’s what I said—”

And then Rafe clears his throat, loud and measured. The sound slices through the room like a blade. So quiet you could hear the soft clink of a stolen beer cap hitting the concrete.

The boys scatter like mice out the side door and back into the house. Their smug laughter from moments before dies on their lips, replaced by frantic whispers of “do you think he heard” and the squeak of boat shoes skidding across the floor.

“Come here,” Rafe says, low and calm.

Max exhales hard, stuffing his hands in his front pockets. His shoulders drawn up to his ears as he drags himself across the garage floor.

“You wanna explain what that was?” Rafe asks without looking at him, voice steady as he cleans his club.

Max shrugs, sullen. “I mean, you heard it.”

“Yeah… I heard everything—”

“Every fuckin’ day,” Max mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anytime we’re at the house. I try shutting it down—it’s impossible.”

“They were talking about your mother,” Rafe says. “You just gonna let that fly?”

“They’re fuckin’ idiots,” Max scoffs. “Just givin’ me shit. They’re not gonna do anything. And what am I supposed to do, huh? Beat the shit out of every guy who opens his mouth about mom?”

“Nah,” Rafe says, smiling without humor. “They’ll get the hint some way or another.”

“Well that’s not horrifying,” Max mumbles, giving him a side-eye—because he knows damn well Rafe might handle this himself.

“She’s not just your mom, you know. She’s my wife,” Rafe says, nodding toward the garage door. “So yeah. I know exactly how hot she is.”

“Ew.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Rafe grins. “I just had to listen to that perverted pissin’ contest over your mother. And Trevor’s sister? Really?”

“…Sisters,” Max murmurs, not meeting Rafe’s eye.

He cringes, face twisting in the exact same way his son’s had moments earlier. “Aren’t you dating Top’s daughter?”

“They’re Trevor’s sisters,” Max repeats. “Doesn’t count.”

Rafe stares at him. “And what’s the math on that? It doesn’t count? You serious?”

Max shrugs, then deflects. “Hey—remember who the enemy is here, alright? He was talkin’ about Mom.”

That earns a dry laugh. Rafe crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall, still giving Max a look like this conversation’s not over.

“I like that excuse better,” he breathes. “Y’all headin’ out?”

“Mhmm,” Max hums, already inching toward the door like he’s trying to disappear. “Just gonna grab some snacks.”

“Yacht Club?”

“Mhmm,” he confirms, eyes on the exit.

“Be safe,” Rafe says, a little quieter now.

Max mumbles something back as he pushes into the house, and the door shuts behind him with a soft thud.

Rafe doesn’t move. He just stands there for a second, staring at nothing, letting the quiet settle. He knows what he feels. Always has. He just doesn’t always want to name it.

He used to love the attention. The looks. The envy. Part of him still does. When you were younger, his friends couldn’t keep their eyes off you. Couldn’t help the comments, the sideways glances. And he loved it—loved knowing that no matter how many mouths whispered your name, it was his bed you came home to.

You were his. All his. Always. But this? This was different. Hearing that kind of shit from teenagers—his son’s idiot friends, their mouths full of his food, beers stolen from his fridge, spending long, lazy days on his boat—no. It didn’t feel flattering. It felt like a fucking insult.

The way they talked about you was like you were some option. Like if given half a chance, they’d step right into his role. As if they could touch you. As if they could handle a woman like you. His wife. It pissed him off. And he knew it shouldn’t—not like this.

It wasn’t new. It wasn’t shocking. But today? It got under his skin in a different way. Raw and hot and fucking personal.

He let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair. This is what happens when your wife is you. People want you. They always have.

He laughs under his breath—half at himself, half at the absurdity of it all—and reaches for the sponge and bucket again. He wasn’t gonna fight them. He didn’t need to. There were better ways to remind them where they stood.

They wanted to act grown? Act like they could love you, care for you, fuck you like a man? Fine. Let them watch. Let them see what a real man does.

Rafe lets the door swing shut behind him and strolls across the drive, relaxed, deliberate. His gaze lifts straight to the window above the sink—and there you are, stepping into frame like you were waiting for your cue.

Rafe squeezes the hose handle, blasting water against the side of the G-Wagon. He shifts a little closer, just enough to let the spray bounce back misting his skin, ricocheting off the glossy paint.

The sun is hot, but the water is cool against his skin. The soaked fabric clings to the muscles of his chest and abs. He tugs his shorts a little higher on his thighs, watching the droplets slide down his body.

Then he smiles again—cocky and quiet—as he pulls the oldest trick in the book: flipping his cap from front to back like he’s not thinking about it at all.

Next, his shirt. He peels it off slowly and casually and tosses it aside, revealing his tan, chiseled frame. The gold chain with your initial catches the light.

“Five… four… three…” Bang. The door claps shut. He chuckles to himself, smug, reading you like a favorite book. He doesn’t even have to look to know it’s you. But he does.

Rafe glances over his shoulder as he hears your bare feet brushing through the grass; sundress swaying in the summer breeze. And then he sees you, glass of lemonade in hand, eyes already locked on him like he’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted.

“Look at you,” he mutters, watching you float closer. You took the bait. You always do. And he lives for it.

He spots movement through the glass, Max’s friends still inside, lingering, pretending not to watch.

Rafe praises you as he always does, a breathy “mhmm” buzzing past your lips is the only thing passing before he’s kissing you deep, hot, and possessive—right there in the driveway, letting them see. Letting them know who you belong to. How good you fit in his arms. How easily he could take you wherever and whenever he wanted.

He pulls back just enough to breathe you in; Rafe brushing his lips across yours like he can’t stop touching you. His big hand drifts lower, sliding over the slight curve of your back before grabbing a handful of ass—firm, slow, and so intentional it makes your breath catch.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You laugh quietly, barely holding it in. His shirt’s been tossed somewhere behind him, skin warm and bare against yours, that heavy gold chain glinting faintly against his chest.

The teenage boys barrel out of the house, faster than usual. Lugging the cooler through the grass as they look anywhere but at you.

“Where are you headed?” Rafe calls out, still holding your waist.

“Told you—yacht club,” Max grits, like a chore.

“Yacht club, huh?” Rafe echoes. “Sounds real productive. Why don’t y’all finish cleanin’ the car before you go burnin’ my gas?”

“Dad, seriously?” Max groans, letting the cooler drop to the grass with a thud.

“You’re about to torch another five hundred dollars of fuel,” Rafe says, grinning as he jams the sponge into one of the boys’ chests hard. “Don’t even get me started on yesterday. Three-fifty in food, six bottles of cheap-ass liquor—none of which I’d let past my lips or hers… It’s the least you can do.”

“Pretty sure that was all Winnie—”

“Spare me the bullshit,” Rafe drawls, his Southern accent soaked in judgment, cutting like his smirk.

“Since when are you washin’ cars anyway?” Max mutters, dunking a sponge into the soapy bucket. You try not to giggle but you can’t help it. Rafe’s flair for the dramatics is so visible in Max it’s like looking in a mirror.

Rafe laughs as well, already turning back to you. He reaches up, wiping a drop of water from your cheek with his thumb, pressing a kiss to your lips—gentler this time, like he’s taking back the moment before their arrival.

“Now what did you need, baby?” Rafe murmurs as the boys start scrubbing the truck. You glance up at him, feeling nothing but butterflies. Rafe bites his lip slightly, head tilted slightly, making your brain short-circuit. “Name it, princess,” he mumbles, thumb tracing slow, possessive circles on the small of your back.

“You.”

That one word has him grinning, dark and knowing. “You want me, huh?” He mutters, voice dropping an octave. “Alright. Do somethin’ for me.”

“Anything…”

“Go on back inside. Head to the guest room. Get on the bed, just like this. Don’t take a single thing off,” he adds. “I wanna take it off you. You think you can do that for me?”

“Yeah… yeah, baby,” you murmur, lifting up just enough to press your mouth to his.

He leans in, lips lingering like he’s already counting down the seconds. “Beautiful,” he mutters, voice low, that crooked grin spreading as his hand lands on your ass with a lazy smack. “I’ll be right behind you— ”

“Love you, Max! Have fun, boys. Be safe,” you call out, voice bright and sweet as you disappear toward the house.

The driveway shifts the second the door closes, all the sunshine snuffed out the second you’re gone. The boys go silent, scrubbing like their lives depend on it.

Rafe’s shadow stretches long across the driveway. He folds his arms over his broad chest as he surveys the group, his gaze unreadable—far colder than anger.

“Yacht club, huh?” He says, nodding toward the cooler. “Gonna load up the boat? Burn my gas, drink my liquor, make some memories? I hope y’all have fun,” Rafe adds, and if they didn’t know any better, they might think he means it.

“Thanks, Mr. Camer—”

“Maybe you’ll even get lucky,” Rafe cuts in, clean and easy. “Pick up a few country club girls: pearls, spray tans; the kind who won’t notice your hands shakin’ while you fumble with their bras.”

A nervous chuckle slips out, quickly catching Rafe’s glare, his lips curling into a fake smile.

“You’ve seen my wife, yeah?” He asks casually. “Beautiful. Fuckin’ stunning actually. Prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

He looks back at the house giving the boys a moment to breathe before shifting his sights to them again.

“I’ve been working since I was eighteen. Built this house. That boat. Everything you boys use like it’s yours.” He leans in slightly, voice tightening. “And even after all that—I don’t deserve her.”

That hits. You can see it land—all of them blinking like they’ve just been slapped across the face.

“So what makes you think you do?”

“We were just joking, Mr. Cameron. I swear—”

“That’s my wife,” Rafe snaps. The words hit like thunder in their chests. “Mine. Always has been. Always will be. And I don’t give a shit if you go home and jerk off thinkin’ about her—hell, that fantasy’s older than any of you.”

His smile returns, slow and razor-sharp. “But if you say another word—if you breathe another comment about something you’ll never fuckin’ touch…”

He steps forward, and they shrink; stepping toward Max is self-preservation. His eyes zero in on Trevor. The kid nods before Rafe says another word, like he’s praying it’s enough to stay alive. “I’ll make sure the only thing you’re sliding into is a fuckin’ ditch. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor stammers.

Rafe claps a hand on his back hard. The slap echoed through the grounds, making the boy stumble forward with a wheezing gasp.

Then, just like that, Rafe turns and walks away. Calm and steady, like it didn’t happen. He passes Max on the way back to the house, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Love you, kid.”

“L-Love you too,” Max mutters, the lot of them holding their breath until he’s gone for good.

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴

You shift on the bed the second he walks in, soft and shy, biting your lip as your eyes meet his. His gaze darkens instantly, heat rolling off him like a wave.

“I know I changed…” You murmur, voice gentle as a pout tugs at your lips.

The robe’s already falling off your shoulders. Just hanging there. Lace underneath—barely visible, but that’s the point. One leg crossed, stockings tight on your thighs, garters showing just enough to make him stop breathing.

Rafe’s tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip as his eyes roam over you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

He’s already hard, straining against the front of his swim trunks, jaw tight as his fists curl at his sides—like it’s taking everything in him not to rip that robe off you.

“Baby… Don’t apologize. Not when you look that fuckin’ good for me.”

Rafe steps closer, making your thighs part without thinking, giving him room, inviting him in. His hands slide up your legs—rough palms dragging higher—his thumbs hooking under the garter straps, snapping them against your skin.

“You bought this for me, didn’t you? Knew I’d lose my mind over this. Fuck, you know me too well…”

Your pussy clenches at the raw need in his tone. You toy with the satin belt at your waist, slowly teasingly letting the knot fall loose. The robe slips open completely as you lean back, arching your back, tits round in the pretty lingerie.

“Fuck... You don’t even realize what you do to me. The way you picked this out thinkin’ of me? Wantin’ me to see you like this?”

He kisses you, soft and slow, then starts to trail lower—his mouth brushing along your jaw, every touch unhurried, deliberate. His hand glides up your thigh and grips tight, spreading you open. His eyes are sharp, blue, and hungry—fixed on yours.

“Rafe…” You whine, already feeling your thoughts blur.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you for them,” he groans, hardly holding himself together. “Make sure they never look at you the same. Make sure they know it’s me in your head when you close your eyes. You know what they’ll never have?” He whispers, breath fanning across your lips.

“This. This soft little mouth. These legs wrapped around them. This sweet pussy drippin’ for them.” His voice drops even lower. “All mine.”

You blink up at him, a little crease forming between your brows like you’re trying to figure him out

He lets out this low breath, almost a laugh, but not really. “Fuck, you’re perfect… You don’t even see anyone else, do you?”

“Who, baby?” You whisper.

He scoffs, low and humorless as he tugs down his trunks, tossing them to the floor. “You should’ve heard what they were sayin’ about you.”

“Rafe…” You blink. “Is everything okay?”

Your words tip up into a gasp as he pushes you back suddenly, one knee sinking into the bed, his body climbing over yours. “Those boys,” he mumbles. “They want you.”

“Max’s friends?” You gasp as your face twists in disgust; eyes flicking toward the door.

Rafe grabs your cheeks, forcing your focus back to him. His fingers slip under the lace and he groans—low and guttural—when he feels how wet you are.

“Already soaked,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’ve been sittin’ here all sweet and innocent, like nothin’s goin’ on—when your pussy’s this fuckin’ desperate for me. Say you're mine… Who do you belong to?”

You whimper, breath hitching as he slips your panties to the side and drags two fingers through your slick slowly, savoring every second.

“Say it,” he demands, his forehead pressing to yours; hand working you open.

“You,” you whisper. “I belong to you—”

“That’s right… Mine to spoil. Mine to love. Mine to fuck.”

You go to touch him, but he grabs your wrists before you get the chance. Forces them up over your head, holding you there. His body presses into yours and when his hand slides down your thigh, it pulls a shiver straight out of you. “Uh-uh, angel. Not yet.”

His fingers curl just right, pressing into that spot that makes your hips jolt off the sheets. He keeps it slow, steady—watching your face with quiet adoration. He’s memorized every flutter of your lashes, every soft gasp that slips from your swollen lips. He knows what it takes… what you crave. And he knows you’re close.

“You’re gonna come for me, pretty,” he murmurs. “Just like this—”

You nod rapidly, falling apart not a moment later. “Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, trembling as your pussy clenches around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps working you through it, fucking you with his fingers until you’re gasping into his mouth, thighs twitching, hips jerking away from the overstimulation. You reach for his wrist, gripping tight, trying to slow him down—but he groans against your lips, loving how little it takes for him to unravel you.

He catches the lace of your panties and rips them clean off, the tear sharp and sudden. The sound snaps through the room, and your legs twitch from the jolt.

Rafe pulls you off the bed, guiding you right where he wants you, not wasting a moment. “Hands on the glass,” he says, voice rough as he unhooks your bra with one practiced flick. His other hand clamps around your waist, steadying you.

You press your palms to the glass, cool beneath you. Your reflection stares back: hair a mess, lips wet, chest rising fast—tits bare as you beg for more, fighting to keep your eyes open already as they flutter shut.

“Eyes on me,” Rafe whispers roughly, his chest pressed to your back now; hips flush against your ass.

He pushes into you slowly, giving you every delicious inch, your greedy pussy pulling him in. “Shit, baby… You’re tight.” Rafe grinds in deeper, hand splayed across your stomach as he holds you there, impaled on his thick cock. “This,” he pants, dragging back and slamming in again. “This is my pussy. My house. My fuckin’ wife.”

Rafe sets a brutal rhythm, hips snapping against your ass with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, lewd and filthy. He spanks your ass, hard enough to make you jolt forward into the glass.

“Let ‘em hear it,” he growls. “Let those little bastards outside hear what I do to you.”

Your body trembles with every ruthless thrust; the mirror rattles under your grip, the sharp slaps of skin echoing round the room.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” Rafe grits out, voice rough and hoarse.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, voice breaking as the knot in your belly coils tight, ready to snap.

“Yeah?” He growls, dragging you closer, rough hands holding you right where he wants you. “Then fuckin’ give it to me.”

One arm binds around your waist while the other slips down, fingers working your clit in rough, relentless circles that make your legs shake. “Show me what I do to you.”

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your body jerks—cunt clamping down around him. You peel your eyes open, desperate to see him. And there he is in the mirror behind you: jaw tight, lip caught between his teeth as his hips slam into you again and again.

“Good girl,” he snarls, not letting up for a second. “You ain’t done yet.”

Rafe yanks you upright, chest to back, one big hand wrapping gently around your throat, thumb stroking just under your jaw as he fucks you deep and hard—so deep it’s almost too much.

You break with a choked sob, another orgasm tearing through you so hard your vision blurs. You go limp in his arms, legs shaking, body spent. He doesn’t let go. Just grunts out a rough “Fuck, baby,” right against your neck as his hips pump forward. One last thrust and he’s coming, cock throbbing inside you, breath hot on your skin.

You feel every pulse of it, thick and messy, spilling deep as he holds you there, buried and shaking, not ready to move.

Rafe nuzzles into your cheek, soft kisses dusting your jaw as your breath comes out in shattered little gasps. He listens to every sound. “You still with me, baby?” He murmurs, peeking over your shoulder with a teasing smirk.

“Barely,” you whisper, still catching your breath as you slump into his chest.

He lets out a soft laugh, mouth skimming the edge of your lips. “That smile,” he mutters, voice thick. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let your eyes fall shut, head resting against him.

He slips out of you slow, gentle to the last second, then gathers you up without a word. Carries you back to the bed like you weigh nothing, sets you down easy, and smooths your hair from your face with the back of his hand. Just stands there for a beat, staring like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Rafe…” you breathe, voice soft and pathetic, so sweet it nearly breaks him. He smiles, crawling between your thighs. “You gonna tell me you can’t take another?” He whispers, hands sliding under your knees, pushing your thighs open wide. “Yes, you can… You always do.”

Rafe kisses the inside of one thigh, then the other, mouth warm against your sex. His stubble drags across your skin, rough enough to make your lip tremble.

Your hands shoot to his hair the second he dives between your thighs. His tongue works you over, lips locking around your clit as he sucks hard. You cry out, fingers gripping his hair, and he groans into you, the sound vibrating so deep it makes your legs shake.

Rafe’s fingers slide inside without warning, drilling his cum back into you until your back bows and your eyes blur with tears.

You sob, thighs quivering as your heels dig into the mattress, your body barely able to take it anymore; your brain not able to think of a single coherent thought.

“Give it to me. Let ‘em know who owns this fuckin’ bed, aight. You and me… You. And. Me.” A scream rips from your throat, so cock-drunk you cum without warning, soaking his hand, his face, the sheets beneath you, everything drenched in the proof of your pleasure.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Rafe sighs in relief, licking and kissing through the mess, savoring every drop. He slaps your pussy once, firm and wet, just to hear the sound of it. “Atta baby. That’s what I fuckin’ needed… So damn good to me.”

He drags his mouth up your body. Every touch lingers, every breath shared. He settles over you, wrapping you up in him.

You reach for his face, thumb stroking along his slick jaw. He leans into your touch, his mouth just a breath from yours.

“I love you,” you murmur, voice barely there.

Rafe’s leans in, resting his forehead against yours. A quiet smile breaks across his face.

“I love you more, sweetheart,” he says, low and steady. “Always have. Always will.”

ᝰ.ᐟજ⁀➴ the next morning

“I warned you,” Max mutters.

Tripp doesn’t reply—just stares into the void like something sacred was taken from him last night. Trevor’s slumped next to him, hoodie up, eyes hollow, chewing his thumbnail.

“Warned us?” Tripp breathes, voice shot. “About the wet bed? The screaming? The headboard hitting the wall like a metronome set to ‘destroy pussy’ all night long?”

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bauer adds, thumping his fist against the kitchen table. “All damn night.”

Max shrugs, calm as ever. “I told you not to talk about my mom.”

“…She was crying about it,” Bauer mutters. “Crying about dick—”

“Enough,” Max snaps.

Tripp rubs both hands over his face. “I’ve got PTSD. Did you sleep?”

“You think I slept?” Trevor huffs.

“You could’ve knocked,” Max says casually, sipping his orange juice.

All heads turn to him fast. “Knocked?” They spat in unison.

Max shrugs again, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. “Could’ve asked to crash in my room. I slept great.”

You walk in like it’s any other morning—light on your feet, humming under your breath, dressed in a tiny pajama set that has no business existing in a house full of teenage boys. Your tank’s stretched snug across your chest, love bites just barely visible where your robe slips open at the collar.

You pull the cinnamon rolls out, set them on the counter, steam rising fast. Without thinking, you grab the icing, swipe some with your finger, and lick it clean. You smile, small and sleepy, still feeling kind of floaty from the night before.

And for the first time in god knows how long they sat there in silence.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Tripp whispers as heavy footsteps echo down the hall.

And then—Rafe.

No shirt, just his signature gold chain catching the light as it rested against his chest. His skin was tanned, muscles cut sharp, and those sweats hung low on his hips like he’d just rolled out of bed—or hadn’t bothered to pull them up all the way.

“Mornin’, baby,” He murmurs, already reaching for your waist.

“Good morning,” you hum, letting him pull you into him—cinnamon roll tray still in your hands—as he kisses your skin; fingers curling around the handle of the fresh cup of coffee you poured him, steam rolling over the rim of the handmade Daddy mug from a Father’s Day past.

“For me?” He asks softly, like the entire house isn’t holding its breath.

You giggle, warm and syrupy. “Made your favorite.”

“Already had my favorite last night.” It’s a whisper meant just for you, but every boy hears it.

Rafe grabs a roll, swipes his thumb through the icing, and licks it clean like he’s still tasting you. He sips his coffee slowly, his focus unwavering.

“Breakfast on the porch, baby?”

“Yeah,” you smile like he asked you on a date.

Then finally, with one last glance at his house, his wife, and the group of broken boys who will never forget last night, he mumbles, smug as ever…

“Ya’ll have a great day. ”

new tag list

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[beastwhimsy]

MEGAPON!!! he’s so snazzy… my twink disco wife

the cord can move and acts like a tail. their actual body is the same plastic material as a megaphone, with ball joints and a midsection sooort of like a round accordion. lots of buttons that do all sorts of things!! she can speak on her own but he can also do the classic suck-up-shoot-out trick whenever useful.

their face can emote and their lips can move!! eyebrows are sometimes a thing for funnies. usually he doesn’t move his lips while talking, mainly for kissing and pouting and whistling. I love meg on her own. but also they’d have so much fun with a whole body I just know it….

flirty. loud!! fun loving. good at deescalating conflict and starting conversations. charismatic and knows how to make people laugh but much more anxious than he lets on. my megcanons. get it. like headcanons

voice is a bit louder than average and sounds crackly. blends between a masculine and feminine voice and often falls somewhere in between. sounds like a radio host. super boisterous laugh.

also: godpoke’s head goes up to his chin and vibiano’s head goes up to her shoulder . just saying :3

THIS IS NOT MY OC!!! THIS IS MEGAPON FROM GREAT GOD GROVE BY LIMBOLANE STUDIO!!!!

[jaysbaefie]

sanctuary | psh

synopsis: in which a prison escapee breaks in for shelter, but finds something he wants to keep and ruin.

genre: prison escapee au

pairing: escapee!sunghoon x afab!reader

warnings: yandre!sunghoon, possesive!sunghoon, reader is held hostage, non-con, lots of threatening, forced submission, oral (m.rec), slapping, choking, hair pulling, manhandling, fingering, gagging, spanking ass + pussy, light male masterbation, some blood. i think that’s it …

wc: 10.4k

a/n: a bit of a darker fic.. so please do take warnings seriously. my first time trying to write a yandre character so if it’s a bit meh i’m sorry!! ‘bullshit’ won the poll so stay tuned for that fic it’ll b out by the end of the month (hopefully) as well as the first chapter of ‘double trouble’. notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy!!

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

the sound of what you assume is your window shattering wakes you up from your sleep. still half asleep, you sit up on your bed—your heart racing as you look around your room with sleepy eyes.

"what the-" your murmur, eyes shooting to your window which was still in tact. a part of you wanted to get up and search the rest of your home, but the tired side of you convinces you to stay in bed. it was probably just the neighbour's cat again.

you had finally finished your finals, the lack of sleep and energy outweighing the thought of searching your home.

grumbling, you allow yourself to shut your eyes and fall back into your bed. the warmth of your blanket and sheets surrounding you as you sign in bliss—the thought of possibly being a victim to a break and enter slipping your mind.

you hear rustling outside your room, however choose to over look it.

not a good idea..

you shift under the blanket, tugging it higher over your shoulders with a sleepy sigh. the rustling sound outside your room grows louder for a moment, then stills. your mind barely registers it—dismissing it as the wind, or maybe the pipes, or maybe just your imagination playing tricks on you in the haze of half-sleep.

the room is quiet again.

too quiet.

but your body, still tense beneath the comfort of the sheets, eventually relaxes. the softness of your bed lulls you back into that cozy liminal space between dreams and awareness.

until a sound has your eyes snapping wide open.

click.

a door hinge.

your bedroom door.

you freeze in position, a chill creeping across your spine as your eyes widened in horror—looking up at your ceiling in fear.

that wasn't your imagination.

you sit up again, slower this time, heart pounding loud in your ears. the door is cracked open now. you know you closed it when you came to bed. you always do.

your voice catches in your throat.

"hello?" you call out weakly, trying to sound firm. "is someone there?"

no answer.

just more rustling. closer this time.

your hand reaches for your phone on the nightstand—but it's not there. your fingers scramble across the empty surface, your panic now matching the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat.

it's gone.

the silence presses in, thick and suffocating.

and then—you feel it. the weight.

a presence. in the room.

you whip your head toward the corner, breath catching in your lungs. a figure is standing there, shadowed and still. you can barely make out the sharp outline of him—tall, lean, covered in darkness like it's part of his skin.

the stranger steps forward, and the dim light from your bedside lamp finally catches his face.

a familiar face comes into view, thick prominent eyebrows, a sharp face, plump lips and midnight black locks. as if his usual appearance wasn't enough to send you off into panic he was covered in blood and dirt. his hair disheveled and wild, accompanied with glassy eyes.

it takes only a second for recognition to hit you like a punch to the gut.

park sunghoon.

your legs move before your mind does, kicking your blanket away as you lunge out of bed—only to be shoved back down hard.

his hand clamps around your wrist, and in a terrifying blur of strength and precision, he's on top of you—pinning you to the mattress with one knee between your legs, the other hand already pulling something from his back pocket.

"stop fighting," he grits out, voice low and breathless, like he's already on the edge. "i'm not here to hurt you. just need you to shut up and stay still."

you struggle harder, panic flaring hot and raw—but he's stronger. faster.

the zip-ties are around your wrists before you can scream. the sound of them tightening feels louder than your own heartbeat.

he pulls the covers off you completely, checking your legs, then curses under his breath. "should've grabbed more ties..."

you scream.

or try to.

but he's already pushing something between your lips—a shirt, wadded up and shoved into your mouth. it tastes like cotton and salt and tears. his hand presses it deeper, muffling the sound of your screams completely.

he stares down at you for a moment, chest heaving. then, slowly, he lifts his hand away from your mouth.

your eyes are wide. blown with terror.

he doesn't look angry. just tired.

"i wasn't supposed to pick a house that had anyone in it," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "just needed a place. just needed time."

you try to kick him. scream. thrash beneath him.

his hands pin your legs down with an easy shift of his weight, and his voice turns sharp again.

"don't," he warns. "i really don't want to hurt you. but i will."

the words hang in the air like smoke—thick, heavy, dangerous.

you stop moving.

and for a moment, the room is silent again.

sunghoon runs a hand down his face, eyes fluttering shut for a second as he tries to calm the adrenaline surging through him. when he opens them again, his gaze is locked on yours.

"i'll let you go... eventually," he says. "but if you do anything stupid—I won't feel bad about tying you to this bed and gagging you all over again."

he reaches out slowly, brushing hair out of your face like he hasn't just shattered your entire sense of safety. his touch is oddly gentle. confusingly careful.

"i'm not the monster they say i am," he whispers, almost as if he was convincing himself.

but right now, lying beneath him, helpless and bound, you can't tell the difference.

he finally pulls himself off you, but not before trailing his eyes down your body again—slow, deliberate, lingering far too long on the way your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths.

suddenly, you regretted wearing your tiny sleep shorts and tank top to bed.

you want to yell at him. fight him. spit in his face. but your mouth is stuffed, your wrists burn, and your fear makes your limbs too heavy to move.

he walks across the room without urgency, opening your closet like he lives here. like this is his place now. he pulls out one of your hoodies, yanks it over his bloodstained shirt, then grabs a pair of your socks and wipes the dirt from his face.

he doesn't say a word.

you watch, helpless, as he rummages through your drawers. your shelves. your life.

he's looking for something.

eventually, he finds it—your phone charger.

"need to use your hotspot," he mutters, plugging your phone in and sitting on the edge of your bed like the act of invading your home and tying you up was just some minor inconvenience.

your body jerks when the mattress dips beneath his weight.

he doesn't look at you, but his voice lowers again.

"you're gonna stay quiet," he says. "you're gonna stay still. and you're not gonna do anything that'll make me regret sparing you."

you glare at him, muffled curses twisting behind the fabric stuffed in your mouth.

finally, he turns to you. cold eyes meeting yours.

and then he smiles.

a small, tired, fucked-up smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"we'll get along just fine."

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

you wake up in the exact same position you passed out in.

arms aching. wrists burning. legs numb from being tied up too long. your mouth is dry, your lips cracked around the fabric still shoved between them. every part of your body feels used—like even your skin remembers the panic of last night.

you blink slowly.

the room is bathed in warm daylight, soft and almost cruel in how normal it looks. like nothing's wrong. like this isn't a crime scene waiting to happen.

your eyes drag toward the door when it creaks open.

and then he walks in.

park sunghoon.

your body freezes up in fear, you knew him and of his crimes.

you were half-asleep at the library, head buried in a textbook, highlighter in one hand and a lukewarm coffee in the other. finals week was already draining what little life you had left in you, and the last thing you cared about was whatever the old guy at the next table was watching on his phone at full volume.

but then you heard it.

"—escaped late last night during a prison transfer. armed, dangerous, do not approach—"

your eyes flicked up, annoyance flashing before curiosity took over. you caught a glimpse of the screen—blurry, low-res, but clear enough. a mugshot.

young. dark hair. sharp eyes, jaw clenched like he'd rather eat glass than be photographed.

park sunghoon, the name beneath it read.

the guy beside you muttered something about the justice system falling apart before going back to his crossword.

you hadn't thought much of it. just another headline. another manhunt. the world was full of danger you'd never come close to.

well, until last night.

he looked cleaner now. fresher. his hair is damp, like he's showered. one of your hoodies is draped over his frame, sleeves pushed up casually as he carries in a glass of water and a granola bar—like this is some sick sleepover and not a hostage situation.

he glances at you, expression unreadable. then smirks faintly.

"you're awake."

you glare at him, rage bubbling beneath the surface of your exhaustion.

he walks over, crouches beside the bed, and places the glass on your nightstand.

"you gonna be good?" he asks. "nod if you are. shake your head if you want that gag shoved deeper."

your jaw clenches. you hold his gaze.

then, slowly, you nod.

he watches you for a moment, eyes narrowed in suspicion—then reaches up and pulls the crumpled shirt from your mouth. your jaw aches instantly, tongue thick and raw.

you cough, your voice barely a whisper. "fuck you."

he chuckles, it would've been cute if he wasn't holding you hostage in your own home, "thought we were starting over."

you don't respond.

he stands, pacing your room slowly as he opens the granola bar and bites into it. "you're lucky it was me. anyone else who broke in would've done worse than tie you up and take a shower."

he says it so casually it makes your stomach turn.

and for a few moments, you just lie there. breathing through the pain, waiting for an opening.

when he turns his back—your chance comes.

you twist, rolling off the edge of the bed. it's sloppy. painful. you hit the floor hard, knees burning as you try to scramble to your feet, legs still partially bound. you hop, trip, catch yourself on the dresser and launch toward the window.

you don't think. you just scream.

loud. broken. bloody murder.

sunghoon is on you in seconds.

"no—fuck—stop!"

you scream again, louder.

he grabs you from behind, one hand over your mouth, the other wrenching you back against his chest. your heart is hammering. you're kicking, thrashing, desperate. but he's stronger. faster.

again.

he spins you and shoves you against the wall, arm across your chest as he digs something from his pocket.

a black gag.

fabric. straps. thick and menacing.

"you had one chance," he growls. "just one. and you blew it."

your scream is muffled the second he stuffs the gag between your lips and tightens it around the back of your head. it's snug. suffocating. humiliating.

he holds your jaw, tilting your head up, breathing heavy against your cheek.

"next time you open that mouth without permission—" he growls, voice low and venomous, "—i'll gag you with my dick. understood?"

your breath stutters. your eyes burn with tears.

he pulls back, studying you. watching how your chest rises and falls with uneven breaths. then, he lets go and takes a step back.

"new rules," he says calmly, like he hasn't just threatened to fuck your throat as punishment.

he raises a finger.

"one—no screaming. not once. i hear so much as a whimper out of you without my say-so, i'll make you regret it."

a second finger.

"two—you don't try to escape. you don't touch the door. you don't look at the window. you so much as think about running, i'll tie you up worse than before. i'll make it so you beg me not to leave you alone."

a third finger.

"three—you do what i say. when i say it. no attitude. no tricks. no more chances."

he steps forward again, slow and looming, until you feel his breath against your gagged mouth.

"break any of them," he whispers, "and next time, i'm not stopping at just words."

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

you don't speak.

you don't scream.

you sit perfectly still on the edge of your bed, wrists still raw from the zip ties, legs aching—but obedient.

sunghoon watches you from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a slow, unreadable expression on his face. then, finally, he moves.

he walks in with the glass of water and a granola bar again, this time crouching in front of you and reaching behind your head to undo the gag. it slips from your mouth, slick with your spit.

you gasp softly, jaw stiff and sore, but say nothing—his threats still fresh in your mind.

he offers the water first, and you drink—slow, cautious sips. then the granola bar. you take it with trembling fingers, never breaking eye contact.

"good girl," he murmurs, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. you flinch at his touch, but he just smirks.

he leaves you untied this time.

your limbs are stiff, but you pretend not to notice. you chew slowly, swallow, nod when he tells you to stay put.

but your eyes are already moving. scanning. searching.

his phone is in his back pocket. but yours—your phone—is on the desk.

screen dark. unplugged. untouched.

you wait. bide your time. he leaves the room for a second. maybe to grab something. maybe just to test you.

you count your heartbeats. one. two. three—

you move.

you slide off the bed as quietly as possible, fingers creeping toward the desk. one foot in front of the other. your hand is just about to touch the edge of your phone when—

"what do you think you're doing?"

his voice is quiet. dangerously soft.

you freeze. your hand lingers over the phone, not daring to close the distance.

you turn slowly.

he's standing in the doorway again, arms crossed, jaw tight.

for a moment, you expect him to snap. to yell. to grab you by the hair and throw you back on the bed.

but he doesn't.

he smiles.

walks over slowly and picks the phone up himself, slipping it into his back pocket.

"strike one," he says calmly. "but i'll be nice. just this once."

he brushes past you, but there's tension in his movements now. less patience. more heat behind his stare.

you return to the bed, defeated but not broken. not yet.

and then—

ding-dong.

the doorbell.

you don't even think this time.

your body moves before your brain catches up. you run. toward the door, toward the one fucking hope you've had since this nightmare started.

you run down the stairs, your body trembling in fear and adrenaline as you make it to the last step—leaping for the door.

but he's faster.

he slams you against the wall with one arm across your chest, the other pressing tight around your throat.

you gasp—your feet nearly leave the floor as he holds you there.

his grip isn't bruising—yet—but it's tight enough to keep you from moving, from breathing too deep, from making a single sound.

you can hear the footsteps outside. then a knock.

sunghoon leans in, his lips brushing your ear.

"you make a sound," he hisses, "and i'll kill whoever is outside. right here."

snapping on the safety chain, sunghoon grabs a hold of the door knob. he opens it with a click before his hand reaches into his pocket—a gun. he makes sure that you can see it, raising his eyebrows as if to say 'don't test me.'

"oh! hey—sorry to bother you," a familiar voice says. "i'm looking for my cat again. little bastard slipped out last night. have you seen him?"

it's mr. han. your sweet old neighbor.

your eyes burn. your fingers twitch.

you try to speak, but sunghoon tightens his hand around your throat and leans his head out the door.

"hi," he says, perfectly pleasant. "i'm her boyfriend. she's in the shower right now, but i'll tell her you stopped by."

mr. han blinks in confusion, his soft smile slipping. "oh. i didn't know she had a boyfriend."

sunghoon glances at you over his shoulder, a smirk creeping across his face as he presses you harder into the wall.

"yeah, hasn't been to long. just moved in."

"well, good for her!" mr. han chuckles. "if you see a tabby, let me know, will you?"

"of course," sunghoon says, eyes squinting as he forces a smile. "have a good one."

sunghoon watches the elder man walk off the porch and zoom off of the lawn, he shuts the door.

locks it and turns to you slowly.

his grip around your throat doesn't loosen. it tightens.

"you just don't fucking learn." he slams you back against the wall hard enough to make the frame shake. your head knocks into the plaster, breath choking in your throat.

"you think i'm stupid? you think just 'cause you stayed quiet for a day that you could get bold?" his free hand moves, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. his eyes are dark. wild. no trace of the calm he faked a minute ago.

"what do i do to brats who don't listen?" he growls, voice low and threatening. "hmm? what did i promise i'd do?"

your heart drops in your chest.

his hand drops to your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. he manhandles you away from the wall and drags you up the stairs and towards your bed again, shoving you face-first into the mattress.

sunghoon's eyes snap to your behind, the vulnerable position you were in leaving little to his imagination of what you hid underneath your flimsy shorts.

"you want attention so bad?" he snaps. "fine. i'll give you attention."

his hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, pinned like prey. his other hands smoothens over your behind, grabbing a hold of the fat on your ass making you whine into the sheets.

"but after this—" he breathes against your ear, "—you'll beg to follow the rules."

"you remember what i said i'd gag you with next time you pulled shit like that?"

his voice is low. dangerous. every word laced with venom and heat before he's griping your jaw, thumb dragging over your trembling lips.

your silence earns you nothing. he flips you around, pushing you down onto the bed with your back against your soft sheets.

he tilts your head back further, pressing your skull against the headboard now, his body wedged between your knees.

"oh, now you're quiet?" he mocks, fingers tightening around your face in a grip that you were sure would leave bruises. "no attitude now that you know what's coming?"

you try to speak, to plead maybe—but your mouth barely opens before he shoves two fingers past your lips, forcing them deep against your tongue.

sunghoon holds back a groan when he feels how warm and wet your mouth was around his digits, pressing down on your tongue making you gag.

"nah," he growls, "you don't get to talk. you had your chance."

he pulls his fingers out, dripping with spit, and pulls down his pants with ease without taking his eyes off you.

"since you can't keep your fucking mouth shut, i'll put it to better use."

he's straddling your waist, knees on either side of your body as his cock stands proud in front of you.

he fists your hair, yanking your head toward his cock, already thick and flushed with need. the first tap of it against your lips is sharp, mean.

"open."

you hesitate—so he slaps it against your cheek. hard.

"i said open."

your lips part automatically. it's instinct at this point—survival.

he doesn't ease in.

he shoves, thick and heavy, making you choke on the first thrust. both hands grip your head now, holding you exactly where he wants you, using your mouth like he promised.

"there you go. that's better. this is how i like you—stuffed full, not making a sound," sunghoon grunts out, basking in the way your warm mouth seemed to suck him in.

you gag as he pushes deeper, spit dripping from your chin as he rocks his hips, forcing you to take it all.

his voice stays in your ear, low and taunting.

"next time you scream? next time you run? i'll fuck your mouth so hard you won't even remember your own name."

your eyes water, throat stretched, his cock filling every inch. but he doesn't stop. doesn't let up. the tip of his length hits the back of your throat repeatedly as you try to push yourself away from his brutal thrusts. sunghoon sees this and his grip in your hair becomes stronger, stuffing his cock deeper so your nose touched his pelvis and your breathing stuttered.

"you like this, don't you? being punished. being used. my little brat who acts tough but melts the second i get my hands on her."

his pace quickens, brutal now, the sound of your wet gagging and his filthy growls echoing off the walls.

"better than screaming, isn't it?" he sneers. "go ahead—choke on it, since you couldn't behave."

your hands claw weakly at his thighs, but he just holds you there, hips snapping forward, using your mouth until your throat is raw.

"fuck. your mouth is so good when it's used right," he mutters lowly, feeling that familiar feeling tighten in his lower stomach as he watches your tear stained face take his cock over and over again.

with no warning, he shoots his load into your mouth—coating it white. you gag at the feeling, your eyes rolling back as the lack of oxygen begins to really get to you.

and only when he's satisfied—only when he's sure you won't be trying to run again—does he finally pull out, dragging his spit and cum covered cock over your lips.

"swallow," he demands.

afraid of what he'd do if you disobeyed, you obliged.

"look at you," he pants, gripping your chin. "fucking perfect like this."

he leans down, mouth against your ear.

"you make a sound again—and next time, it won't just be your mouth i use."

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

it's been days.

you don't know how many, exactly—time feels warped in here. sunlight comes and goes through the windows, but you're barely conscious enough to count the difference anymore.

you're weak. too weak.

he barely feeds you. you get enough to survive, some water, maybe crackers or a half-eaten bar—but not enough to fight back. not enough to scream through the gag still strapped tightly across your mouth.

your wrists are red, raw from how often he binds them. sometimes behind your back, sometimes above your head. your legs, too—he likes to keep you where he can see you, spread open and helpless, arms cinched tight and useless at your sides.

he doesn't talk much now. just watches you. moves you. like a thing he owns.

it was supposed to be temporary for him.

a place to hide. one night—maybe two. long enough to lay low, avoid the flashing lights and barking dogs. just long enough to scrape by without being seen.

he didn't expect the house to be so quiet.

so soft.

he didn't expect to hear the sound of slow breathing upstairs—the kind that came from deep sleep. vulnerable. defenseless.

and he definitely didn't expect you.

the first time he crept into your room and saw you lying there, curled beneath the sheets, skin glowing under moonlight, he nearly forgot to breathe. fuck, you were pretty. a cute little thing in a tank top and sleep shorts, completely unaware of the danger breathing over you.

it should've ended there. he should've turned around and used the basement or the attic or anywhere else.

but you shifted in your sleep—lips parting, a soft whimper slipping from your throat—and it hit him.

you didn't know he was there. you didn't know anything, he could do whatever he wanted.

and no one would stop him.

his chest tightened. not with guilt. not with hesitation.

with possibility.

he could make this place more than a hiding spot.

he could make you his.

his to keep. to touch. to break.

he had ruined your peaceful sleep when he knocked over a vase that you had placed on your vanity. he knew what he had to do from there.

he told himself he'd leave eventually. but the longer he stayed, the less he wanted to go.

he started to crave the way you looked at him—wide-eyed and shaking. he started to need the way your body recoiled, only to soften when he touched you gently. the way you flinched, but didn't fight—not right away at least.

he could mold you.

he could make you something new. something better.

his.

the house became his kingdom. and you—his prize.

he told himself you were safer this way.

he was safer this way.

because if he let you go—if he walked out and left you behind—there was no guarantee you wouldn't take something from him with you.

and if he had to be on the run... might as well have a pet to keep him company. one that couldn't run. one that knew who she belonged to.

you try not to look at him anymore.

but then—this time—it's different.

he walks in with that quiet menace, dragging a chair with one hand and a towel with the other.

you're curled in the corner of your bed, wrists tied, gag biting into your cheeks. your limbs shake with the effort of just staying upright. your skin feels oily, dirty, your scalp itchy from days without washing.

you've never wanted a bath more.

but not from him.

"you stink," he says flatly, his plump lips pulled into a thin line.

you look up, exhausted eyes narrowed.

he walks over, grabs your arm, and yanks you to your feet like you weigh nothing.

you stumble, legs buckling—but his grip stays locked around your bicep, dragging you down the hall and into the bathroom.

"don't fight me," he mutters. "you don't have the strength."

he's not wrong.

but your pride forces you to resist anyway—so he slams you against the sink.

you grunt, head hitting the mirror lightly. his hand presses between your shoulder blades, forcing you down.

you scream against the gag, but it's useless. muffled. pitiful.

he turns the faucet on in the tub, steam rising slowly. the water looks too warm—comforting, tempting—and it makes you hate him more.

you look up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to let you free so you could at the very least bathe yourself. his cold eyes remain the same, reaching down to grip the flimsy straps of your tank top.

he doesn't undress you gently. he yanks your shirt up over your head, roughly tugging it off your arms even with your wrists bound. your shorts follow. he doesn't avert his eyes—he drinks you in, every shiver, every twitch, every part of you exposed and vulnerable.

his eyes linger on your tits, sitting on your chest with your nipples hard from the cold air in the room. he swallows harshly, dragging his gaze down to instead linger on your thighs and your uncovered core.

you're trembling now, from weakness or humiliation or both.

he grabs your waist and lifts you into the tub like you're nothing but a doll. the hot water stings your skin at first, but you sink into it anyway—your body aching for warmth, for some kind of relief.

you expect him to leave, to have some mercy. he doesn't.

he kneels beside the tub and grabs a cup, filling it before dumping it over your head. your hair clings to your face, your gag soaked.

he works a bottle of shampoo into his hands and starts lathering it into your scalp. not gentle—but not cruel either. just firm. efficient. like this is just another task.

his hands roam as he scrubs. over your shoulders. down your back. between your thighs. you jerk when he gets there—more out of instinct than strength—but his hand tightens on your thigh.

"stay still."

his fingers drag along your inner thigh, slow, invasive. he doesn't go further, just lets you know he could if he really wanted to.

and you're forced to sit there, bound and gagged, water lapping at your chest while he washes the filth from your skin like you're some helpless pet.

"next time," he says lowly, rinsing your hair, "you listen. you don't fight. you don't run."

you can't even respond. all you can do is whimper beneath the wet gag, body trembling in his grasp. he finishes washing you, lifting you out of the tub, wrapping you in the towel like he cares.

but the second your feet hit the floor, he's gripping your arm again—dragging you back to the room.

you don't even resist.

you're too tired. too humiliated. too broken in.

he throws you on the bed, ties your wrists to the headboard again with a new set of restraints. this time tighter, less forgiving.

he fixes the gag and adjusts the straps. he brushes your wet hair back from your face with a mockingly sweet touch, his hands gentle as he looks down at you with affection.

"see?" he whispers, brushing his lips just above your ear. "i take care of what's mine."

he dries you off just enough so the sheets won't get soaked—then he tosses the towel aside like it means nothing and grabs your ankles, dragging your body up the bed like dead weight.

you try to squirm, but he slaps your thigh. hard.

"don't start."

you're still gagged. your wrists are already tied above your head. there's no room for rebellion here—and he knows it.

he climbs on top of you, straddling your hips with his knees. he's not naked, but you are. he doesn't need to be. the only thing that matters right now is you.

your body.

your obedience.

he cups your face with one hand, squeezing your cheeks roughly, pulling your gaze to meet his.

"look at you," he sneers. "a fucking mess. barely standing. can't talk. can't run. all that fire you had—where the fuck did it go?" you can't answer—not with the gag pressing your tongue down, soaking with your spit. you just blink up at him, chest heaving with shaky breaths.

"you wanted to be saved, didn't you?" he mocks, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to slap it again. "thought someone would come for you. knock on the door, maybe hear you screaming."

he laughs. bitter.

"they came. and you failed. just like everything else you've tried since i got here."

his hands start roaming again—gripping your breasts, digging into your ribs, sliding down to your stomach like he's taking inventory of every inch he owns.

"this body?" he mutters. "not yours anymore. it's mine. to touch. to punish. to fuck."

he grabs your thighs, spreading them roughly, pushing your knees apart like you don't even get a say.

"you're not a person right now," he breathes. "you're a hole. a toy. and you'll be whatever i say you are until i get bored."

you whimper against the gag, eyes starting to sting. but that only seems to turn him on more. he leans down, mouth at your ear again, voice sickeningly sweet.

"cry. beg. scream into that gag. it won't change a fucking thing. no one's going to save you."

his hand finds your core, pressing his fingers against you with no warning, no care. "already wet," he mutters, almost smug. "pathetic."

he drags his fingers up slowly, deliberately—just enough to make you flinch, to remind you how little control you have over yourself.

"you'll learn, baby. you'll learn. and when you do—when you stop fighting and just take it like the good little thing you are? it'll be easier."

he slaps between your legs. hard. you jolt.

"until then? i'll break you."

you don't know when the pain became pleasure. maybe it was the moment he touched you without hurting you. maybe it was how long it's been since you felt anything that wasn't fear or humiliation. or maybe it's just that your body's giving in, finally breaking, surrendering to him because it's the only option left.

sunghoon sees it. feels it.

his fingers slide over you again—slow this time, calculated. he presses two between your chubby folds, dragging them through your slick like he's proving a point. he presses hard on your clit before rubbing right circles, watching your face contort into one of discomfort and pleasure.

"look at this," he breathes out heavily, watching your body twitch with his every touch. "you like it."

you shake your head, gag muffling your protests—but your hips twitch forward without your permission.

his smile is cold. smug.

"no?" he mocks, rubbing lazy circles around your clit with the pads of his fingers. "then why are you so fucking wet? you're soaking my fingers, honey."

you squeeze your thighs together instinctively—but he shoves them apart again, gripping them wide open and holding them there in a bruising manner.

"don't hide from me. not after this."

his other hand slides up your body, fingers wrapping lightly around your throat, not squeezing—yet. just enough to make you feel it. make you still.

"you want to cum?" he asks, cocking his head—his dark locks falling over his forehead as his lips curl into a smirk. "is that what this is? you think i'll reward you after the shit you pulled? after how bad you've been, you think you deserve it? hm?"

his fingers slow down, barely touching now. feather-light. teasing. "maybe i should edge you until you break. over and over. never let you finish. see how long it takes before you're begging."

your breath stutters—every inch of you tense, desperate.

he sees it. loves it.

"or..."

he leans in close, lips brushing your ear.

"...maybe you can earn it."

you freeze.

his fingers start circling again, more firmly now, making your hips buck involuntarily as you chase your release desperately. your heart aches at the feeling, shame filling you.

"yeah. that's right. i'll let you cum—but only when you prove you're mine. when you stop fighting. when you're good."

he pulls the gag down, slow and wet with spit. your lips are trembling, red and swollen. sunghoon watches your lips twitch, your chest heave up and down as you struggle to keep in your lewd sounds.

"say it," he whispers.

you hesitate.

his hand leaves your throat, trailing back down your chest. he pinches your nipple hard, making you jolt in pain.

"say it."

your voice cracks when it comes out. weak. wrecked. ashamed.

"...i'm yours."

he grins. dark. dangerous.

"again."

"i'm... i'm yours, sunghoon," your voice coming out weak and strangled as he continues to tweak at your nipple and rub at your core.

his hand between your legs moves faster now, relentless, cruel in how perfectly it works your body—building that ache, that pressure, that need.

"you cum only when i say," he growls. "not before. not without permission."

you nod. frantically. desperate for a release, desperate for any other feeling besides pain and humiliation.

your thighs start to shake, breath stuttering, but just when you're about to fall over the edge—

he pulls away. completely.

you sob. instantly. broken, needy.

he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, mockingly sweet.

"not yet, baby. you're not there yet."

he strokes his cock lazily now, right in front of your face—watching you unravel. you hadn't noticed when he had pulled himself free from the restraints of his pants, watching him touch himself as he made you squirm and beg.

"you want to cum?"

you nod again, more desperate.

"then earn it. really earn it."

he slides two fingers back inside you—slow, deep, hitting exactly where he knows will make you cry.

"submit."

his fingers curl deep inside you again—slow, precise, knowing.

you arch, back bowing against the mattress involuntarily, your wrists straining in their binds. it feels too good, too dangerous. you bite your lip to keep from moaning, but it slips out anyway—a soft, shaky sound that betrays everything you want to hide.

he grins, "there she is."

you glare at him. breathing hard. eyes glassy, but still sharp. "fuck... you," you hiss.

he chuckles, low and unbothered, never stopping the rhythm of his hand.

"yeah?" he leans in, mouth dragging along your jaw. "you say that, but your pussy's soaking my fingers."

his thumb moves to your clit—just a light press, a tease—and your whole body flinches. you clench your teeth, swallowing a moan. he notices.

"still fighting," he murmurs. "i love that."

he stops stroking himself, his hand snaking up to your throat again, squeezing this time. firm enough to make your breath hitch.

"but it won't save you."

his pace picks up. fingers thrusting deeper, thumb rubbing tighter circles. the pressure builds fast—your body's too sensitive, too deprived—and you hate how close you are, how easily he has you trembling.

"don't you dare cum," he growls. "not until i say." the sound of wet smacking fills the room, you could hear yourself squelch against his fingers, your lower stomach tightening as you buck your hips against his hands.

you try. you really try.

but your hips keep rolling into his touch, your walls clenching around his fingers, the pleasure dragging you closer and closer to the edge. your moans break free, desperate, breathless, despite every part of you screaming not to give him the satisfaction.

he watches it happen with dark amusement. "look at you," he says. "trying so hard to hold out. you're pathetic."

you meet his eyes, defiant even through the haze.

"i'm not... yours," you whisper.

his hand stops.

your whole body seizes up with the sudden loss, a sob catching in your throat.

"no?" he murmurs.

he pulls his fingers out, slow and sticky, then slaps your inner thigh hard enough to sting.

"then you don't get to cum."

you cry out, body trembling. your thighs rub together, instinctively chasing friction, but he grabs your jaw hard and yanks your face toward his before landing a strong smack to your puffy cunt.

"say it again," he demands. "go on. tell me you're not mine."

you don't. not right away. he smirks.

"thought so."

he leans in, lips brushing yours—but not kissing. just hovering. "you'll break," he whispers. "piece by piece. you'll cum when i let you. breathe when i let you. and someday, you'll say it and mean it—i'm yours, sunghoon."

you spit in his face.

it lands right below his eye.

he pauses. then he laughs—low and deadly—and wipes it away with the back of his hand.

"good," he says, gripping your chin harder. "keep fighting. it makes owning you so much sweeter."

he shoves the gag back into your mouth, tight, unforgiving. your jaw begins to ache again, crying against the restraint.

"no more chances."

he ties your legs open, so you can't even squirm now. exposed. vulnerable. soaked.

"you'll cum when you beg. and mean it."

he slides his fingers back inside, slower now. torturous. your gummy walls welcome his fingers, stretching to accommodate the girth of his digits.

"let's see how long you last."

he thinks he has you right where he wants you.

tied, gagged, spread open—body sensitive, on edge, desperate. but he's predictable now. obsessive. careless in the way he touches you, in the way he lingers. like you're not just a hostage anymore—like you're something more.

and that? that's a weakness.

he's working you with his fingers again—slow, deep strokes meant to drag out the ache, to make you beg.

but this time, you don't squirm.

you start moaning for him.

soft at first—just breathy little sounds muffled through the gag—but enough to make his head tilt. enough to make his fingers pause for a second.

you moan again. louder this time. exaggerated. needy. you flutter your lashes, shift your hips just the way you know he likes.

his gaze flickers down to your face, suspicious. "what're you doing?" he mutters, voice low with suspicion.

you blink up at him—wide-eyed, innocent—then roll your hips into his hand with a soft, choked sound.

he curses under his breath.

you can feel it—the tension in him, the way his fingers falter for half a second. he likes this. too much. he likes seeing you like this. needy. soft. wanting him.

so you give it to him.

you moan into the gag again—arching your back a little, letting your thighs tremble, pretending to lose yourself.

his hand tightens on your leg. his breathing shifts as he curls his fingers in your cunt making you delirious.

"fuck," he mutters. "look at you. finally learning."

you nod. slow. deliberate.

then you hold his gaze. and you smirk. just a twitch of your lips—barely there. but he sees it and he freezes.

his eyes darken, narrowing, hand yanking back from between your legs like he's been burned.

you tilt your head, mockingly sweet.

"you think you're clever, huh?" he growls.

you nod again, smug, even through the gag. he grabs your throat—hard this time, his thumb pressing into the side just enough to make your vision pulse.

"you think you can manipulate me?"

your lashes flutter, but you don't stop smiling—not with your eyes. not with your body still glistening, still wanting.

you're challenging him. and he lives for it.

"fine," he breathes, voice shaking with something between rage and arousal. "you want to play that game? we'll play."

he rips the gag out of your mouth, shoving two fingers in right after, deep, gagging you all over again.

"suck."

you choke, but your lips wrap around them anyway—defiance still burning in your eyes, even as he uses your mouth like it's his.

he groans.

"you want to be in control?" he snarls, pulling his fingers out with a wet pop. "then earn it."

he flips you over onto your stomach, rough—palms pressing your face into the mattress.

"but don't forget who you belong to."

he grabs your hips, yanking you back until your ass is flush against him, his breath hot against your spine.

"mine," he growls. "you'll always be mine."

you're still face down when he lets go of your hips. your cheek's pressed to the mattress, wrists raw from the binds, your body trembling—but not just from exhaustion anymore.

you got to him.

you felt it—the hesitation, the way he gripped you too tightly, the way his voice shook when you moaned just the right way. he's not just trying to break you now. he's unraveling with you.

you breathe slowly, letting your body go limp—making him think he's won again.

he grabs your jaw, turns your face toward him. "what's that look for?" he mutters. your lips are swollen, spit-slick, and you part them just enough to whisper, "i thought you liked when i was good."

his jaw tightens. you can see it—how those words land somewhere deep, how they confuse him. punish him. "you're playing games."

you blink up at him, feigning innocence. "no, sunghoon. i'm just... learning how to please you."

he stares.

and in that pause—in that split-second hesitation—you win again.

he pulls back just a little, his hand still on your throat, but lighter. his thumb drags up the side of your neck, over your pulse. he can feel how fast your heart is racing—but he can't tell anymore if it's fear... or excitement.

"you think i'll go easy on you just because you moan a little and look pretty?" he growls, but the edge in his voice is starting to waver.

"no," you whisper. "but you liked it."

his eyes flicker down your body—bruised, bitten, wrecked. then back up to your lips, still curved into the faintest smirk.

"you don't get to control me," he says, but it's not as sharp as before. you lean forward slowly, as much as the binds will allow, lips brushing his ear.

"don't i already?"

he grabs your hair—rough, punishing—but it's reactionary now. desperate. his breathing's shallow, his cock pushing up against your ass, you feel how hard he is.

"you're mine," he snaps.

you hum, soft and sweet. "then make me feel like it."

it's the final push.

he curses, shoves you back onto your back, climbs on top of you again—but this time, something's changed. his hands are still rough, but they tremble. his eyes burn with hunger, but there's conflict behind it.

because now? you're not just a hostage anymore.

you're a temptation. a threat.

he kisses you—finally. messy, punishing. full of frustration and need and something deeper he doesn't want to name. and when he pulls back, his voice is strained.

"keep playing with fire," he says. "but don't forget—i'll burn you."

you smile, lips swollen, blood on your teeth.

"maybe i want to burn."

he stares at you like you just did the unthinkable.

because you did.

you made him want you—not just in the brutal, instinctive way he always has—but in that dangerous way. the way that makes him hesitate. that makes him feel.

your smile is slow. calculated. seductive in its smugness.

"what's wrong?" you whisper, still tied down, but holding all the power in your eyes. "can't handle someone else pulling the strings?"

sunghoon doesn't move at first.

he just breathes. shaky. tense.

you think you've done it—you've finally broken through. made him doubt himself.

but then—

his hand wraps around your throat and slams you into the mattress, pinning you so hard the air punches out of your lungs.

"you think this is a game?" he snarls, voice low and trembling with rage. "you think i don't see what you're doing?"

your legs kick instinctively, wrists pulling hard against the binds. your chest rises in shallow, panicked breaths beneath him.

he leans in—forehead pressed to yours, wild eyes burning into you as he stares at you with a crazed look.

"you almost had me," he says, like it's a confession. like it kills him to admit it. "but you're not the one in control."

his hand grabs your jaw—fingers digging in bruisingly tight.

"i gave you a taste," he growls. "a sliver of reward. and you thought you could twist it. twist me."

he shoves your thighs apart again, this time using his own knees to keep them there. immobilizing you completely.

you try to turn your face away—deny him the satisfaction—but he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.

"no more teasing. no more playing smart. you want to win? then earn it the way you were always meant to."

his fingers are back between your legs in seconds—this time rough, relentless. punishing. no teasing, no slow build.

you scream into the room, not out of fear—but at the overload. he's not holding back anymore.

you could feel every drag of his digits in your slick walls, your body convulsing as he hooks his fingers in you—pounding into your cunt.

he's reclaiming every ounce of control you tried to steal. "you cum when i say," he hisses, voice right against your lips. "you break when i decide."

you whimper beneath him, still resisting—still fighting with what little strength you have—but your body's traitorous. you're already dripping, already twitching under his touch.

he sees it. feels it.

and that's what snaps the last bit of restraint in him.

he presses his mouth to your ear, voice dark and ragged.

"i'll keep you right here until your body forgets what it was like to disobey."

his rhythm doesn't stop—not even when your legs start to shake, not even when your head thrashes side to side, overwhelmed.

"you want to manipulate me?" he pants. "go ahead. try. but every time you do..."

his fingers curl deep, making you scream.

"...i'll make you cum harder than you ever have in your life. and then i'll deny you again."

your tears spill. your hips jerk. your moans are breaking free even when you try to swallow them back.

and sunghoon smiles. wide. unhinged.

"you don't win, baby."

he leans in, kissing the corner of your mouth softly—mockingly.

"you submit."

you're gasping beneath him, body limp, sweat clinging to your skin, thighs still twitching from the assault he just dragged you through. your chest rises and falls in jagged, uneven breaths. your wrists ache from how hard you pulled and you taste blood from biting at you lip to contain yourself.

but your eyes? still burning.

sunghoon hovers over you—breathing heavy, watching the way your body trembles. there's pride in his gaze. possession. satisfaction.

he leans in again, brushing your lips with his, voice low and mocking.

"there she is," he breathes. "my good girl."

you pause—breathing, blinking, letting the silence hang.

then you smile.

bloody lip, tear-stained cheeks, body ruined...

you still fucking smile.

"you're pathetic," you whisper, voice hoarse and cracked but sharp like a blade. "all that, just to prove you're in charge."

his jaw tightens. the grip on your face hardens again, but you don't flinch. not this time.

"i made you lose control," you rasp. "again."

his nostrils flare.

you lean forward, barely—just enough for your lips to graze his cheek.

"and you'll keep doing it," you breathe. "because you need me more than i'll ever need you. you sick fuck."

for a second, just a second—his whole body stills.

and you know. you got to him again.

your words linger in the air like smoke—thick, suffocating, taunting. and sunghoon just stares at you.

quiet. too quiet.

you feel the shift in the room immediately—like the oxygen's been sucked out, like the world itself is holding its breath.

his hand slides from your jaw to your throat.

slow. calm. dangerous.

his gaze never leaves yours.

"say it again," he murmurs. dead calm. deadly.

you blink—swallowing hard, but refusing to look away.

and that's what makes him snap.

his hand slams you into the mattress again—choking, bruising, cutting off your breath as he straddles your body with renewed fury.

"you think this is about need?" he hisses, low and shaking. "you think i'm the one that's weak?"

his free hand grabs your wrists, rips the bindings tighter, yanking your arms above your head so hard your shoulders strain.

"look at you," he sneers. "lying here soaked, shaking, moaning for me like a fucking whore—" his voice cracks. "—and you think you have control?"

you try to twist your body, to squirm away—but there's nowhere to go. his grip on your throat tightens.

your lips part in a gasping cry—but he's already reaching for the gag again.

"you want to talk?" he growls. "you lost that right."

he stuffs it in rougher this time—no care, no softness—pressing it deep into your mouth before tying it so tight behind your head your jaw aches.

he doesn't give you time to breathe. doesn't give you space to recover.

he flips you again, stomach down—your body limp, wrists still bound tight above your head, legs spread.

he grabs your hair, pulls your head back so you're arched beneath him.

"you want to twist me around your finger?" he breathes against your ear, his voice shaking with pure rage. "then i'll fucking break every single bone in your body until there's nothing left to twist."

his hand slides back between your thighs—rougher now, punishing.

no more rhythm. just control.

you scream into the gag—muffled, helpless, as your hips buck and shake without your permission.

"no more pretending," he growls. "no more teasing, no more games."

he grabs your ass, slapping it hard, again and again, until the skin stings raw beneath his palm.

your legs kick, your body trembles, your sobs spill out in broken little whimpers.

but it only excites him more.

"you want to be smart?" he snarls, pressing his body down over yours, fully covering you. caging you. "then learn something, baby."

he thrusts his fingers back in, curling them cruelly until your entire body jerks beneath him.

"you don't win," he hisses. "you submit. you obey. and if you don't..."

his mouth trails down your spine, hot breath against your skin.

"...i'll make you beg for mercy."

your body's shaking beneath him. raw. used. aching in ways you didn't know were possible.

your jaw throbs from the gag, your throat burns from choked sobs, your wrists are nearly numb from how tight he's bound you. your skin stings where he slapped you, and your thighs are soaked, muscles twitching from overstimulation.

you're a mess. his mess.

he kneels behind you, breath heavy, chest rising and falling like a man who just won a war.

but when he grabs your hair again and yanks your face up from the mattress—

he sees it.

that look.

that tiny, fucking spark that shouldn't be there.

he growls, yanks the gag down—ripped so fast it leaves a burn around your mouth—and grabs your jaw.

"go on," he hisses. "say something smart. i fucking dare you."

you cough, breathless and wrecked, lips parted, face smeared with sweat and tears. you look at him—eyes glassy but locked onto his.

then—

you smile.

small. crooked. blood at the corner of your mouth.

but it's a smile.

"...that all you got?"

he stares at you like you just set the whole world on fire. his chest heaves. fists clenched. he doesn't know if he wants to destroy you or worship you.

and that's what makes you laugh. soft. strained. broken, but alive. you spit the blood from your mouth onto the mattress.

"you can break my body all you want, sunghoon," you whisper, voice rasped raw. "but you'll never be more than the scared little boy who needed rope and violence just to keep a girl in his bed."

his hand flies.

your head jerks to the side, cheek stinging, but you don't cry out. instead—you turn your face back slowly, looking up at him through swollen eyes.

smiling again.

"you're pathetic," you breathe.

sunghoon's whole body tenses. you can see it. feel it. his eyes darken. his hands shake.

but for the first time, there's hesitation. you've planted the seed. and now? he doesn't just want to dominate you. he wants to own you. fully. mind, body, soul.

and that means breaking what's left of your fire.

completely.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

the days blend like bruises—fading into one another, painful, discolored, ugly reminders of time passed. your body is thin now, your limbs weak, skin pale from lack of sunlight. everything smells like sweat and confinement. the bindings around your wrists and ankles chafe more with each passing hour, and even when he unties them briefly—to "care" for you, to feed or bathe you—you never forget what they're there for.

sunghoon has shifted. less violent now, more possessive. frighteningly tender, like the calm after a storm that knows it'll return.

"you're mine now," he whispers as he brushes your hair, the back of his knuckles grazing your cheek. "you stopped screaming. that means you understand."

you don't answer. you haven't in a while.

he likes it that way. but that doesn't mean your mind has gone silent.

you're just... waiting.

and on this morning, as sunlight spills across the floor and he leaves the room to scavenge the kitchen, you push yourself off the bed. legs wobble beneath you, almost giving out. your mouth is dry, lips cracked. your arms are sore from the way they've been pulled above your head for hours.

but you stand.

bare feet drag across the hardwood toward the cracked-open window. you lean against it, arms limp over the sill, eyes half-lidded.

and then—

movement outside.

him.

mr. han, the older man from next door, wearing his usual cap and jacket, walking past with a leash in hand and no cat at the end of it. he's scanning the street.

your breath catches. you shift—just barely. the curtain twitches with you.

he glances up.

and freezes.

his mouth opens slightly, confused. then worried.

your fingers curl around the edge of the window frame.

a second passes. he squints. takes a step closer.

and you nod. the smallest movement. a desperate one.

his eyes widen.

he takes off down the street—fast, but not frantic, trying not to draw attention. your legs give out, and you slump to the floor just as the front door clicks open again.

"where are you?" sunghoon calls out.

panic races through you, but your limbs won't move fast enough.

he appears in the doorway a second later.

eyes drop to you.

your body crumpled by the window.

and that's all it takes.

he lunges.

his hands are on you instantly—grabbing your arms, dragging you up with no care for your trembling body. he spins you toward the bed, but you're dead weight now, slumping in his grip.

"what the fuck did you do," he growls, voice tight with fear. "did someone see you?"

you don't answer.

he shakes you hard, fingers digging into your arms. "did he see you?"

your silence is enough.

his breathing becomes frantic. he shoves you back onto the bed and runs to the front window. peeks through the blinds.

and curses.

"fuck. fuck!"

he spins around, pacing.

then—

sirens.

distant.

not close yet, but unmistakable. your heart surges.

sunghoon's entire face crumples with fury and panic.

he grabs a bag—throws it across the room. opens drawers. grabs knives. rope.

sirens grow louder.

closer.

you're still lying on the bed, too weak to fight, but your eyes track his every movement.

he moves to the door. he's going to run, but something stops him.

you.

he turns, stares at you for a beat. long and quiet. then walks back toward you slowly. you flinch when he reaches for your face—but he doesn't hurt you.

instead, he cups your cheek. wipes a streak of something off your skin. sweat or tears. maybe both.

"you did this," he whispers.

his voice is calm again.

the sirens are just outside now—cars skidding, doors slamming.

he leans in closer. kisses your forehead.

"i'll see you again."

and then—

bang—bang—BANG.

"police! open up!"

the door doesn't wait for an answer. it bursts open in seconds. officers storm inside—guns raised, shouting commands.

sunghoon stands tall. his hands rise slowly. he doesn't struggle.

but he never takes his eyes off you.

not once.

as they shove him to the ground, shouting, cuffing him, dragging him away—

he turns his head back to look at you.

eyes wide. wild and devoted.

"i'll find you," he calls, voice breaking. "no matter where they take me. you belong to me."

he never thought it would end like this.

face pressed to the hardwood, cold metal biting into his wrists. police shouting over each other, boots stomping through his space—your space.

they're dragging him away now. but his eyes won't leave you.

not once.

you're huddled near the corner of the bed—blanket pulled over your shoulders, shivering, pale, but awake. not limp. not broken. your eyes are on him.

terrified and defiant.

just like the first time you stared him down.

he thought he'd taken that out of you. smoothed your edges, broken your fight. he thought you'd learned.

but now, looking at you...he sees it.

you never stopped burning. you just waited for the moment to breathe.

it makes his teeth grit.

he remembers the first night he stood over your bed, zip ties in his hands, heart thudding not with fear but need. the thrill of control, the high of being wanted—or at least needed—by something warm, soft, his.

you were supposed to need him by now.

he told himself he'd remake you. that it was fate you were the one sleeping in this house, with the window left open like an invitation.

you were supposed to belong to him.

but now? they're hauling him away and he's powerless.

just like he was before. before the escape. before he found you. before he felt that sick sense of purpose in your screams and silence alike.

you're slipping from him.

you're blinking and breathing and safe in someone else's arms now. and he knows—knows deep in the marrow of his bones—that they're going to take you far away from him.

his lip curls. he twists in the officer's grip, eyes locked on yours.

"i'll see you again," he growls, voice hoarse with rage and obsession. "you hear me? you're mine."

you don't reply.

you just watch him disappear down the hallway.

no more ropes. no more gags. no more silence.

just the ghost of his voice echoing down the corridor, and the sound of your own breath finally filling your lungs—free.

you tremble.

someone rushes to your side—a medic. hands on your face, checking your vitals, voice soft and reassuring. but all you can do is stare at the door.

where he disappeared.

and pray he never keeps that promise.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[gojosconsort]

FUCK YOU (ON THAT BIKE) ♡ // SUKUNA

⁀➷ CONTENT. you thought you could bug sukuna while he’s working on his bike and get away with it. big mistake—he’s about to fuck you raw on that leather seat ‘til you’re crying his name.

♡ PAIRING. afab!reader x boyfriend!sukuna

♡ WARNINGS. mdni. choking (a little), spanking, finger-fucking (mouth), degradation, dacryphilia, manhandling, creampie, hair-pulling, spit, tears, sweat, grease (sorry), motorcycle sex, bratty!reader, sukuna being sukuna (sorry, not sorry)

♡ WORD COUNT. 2,400

you’re sprawled out on the shitty old couch in BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA’S garage, legs kicked up over the armrest, scrolling through your phone like it’s the only thing keeping you from dying of boredom. the air smells like motor oil and stale cigarettes, and the faint hum of some trap beat leaks from a busted speaker in the corner.

sukuna’s over by his pride and joy—his matte-black motorcycle—hunched over it with a wrench in his tattooed hand. he’s been at it for hours, tweaking shit you don’t even pretend to understand, and you’re starting to get antsy.

“yo, how long you gonna fuck with that thing?” you call out, not even looking up from your screen. “feels like i’ve been sitting here forever.”

he doesn’t answer right away. just grunts, like you’re a fly buzzing around his head he’s too busy to swat. you roll your eyes, tossing your phone onto the cushion beside you, and sit up. the leather of his jacket you’re wearing—stolen from his stash—creaks as you move. it’s too big for you, swallowing your frame, but you like how it smells like him—smoke, sweat, and his cologne.

“sukunaaa,” you say again, louder this time, dragging out the last syllable like a brat. “c’mon, i’m bored as hell. entertain me or some shit.”

he finally looks up, those sharp red eyes fixed on you. his jaw’s tight, grease smeared across his cheek, and his black tank clings to his chest from the heat and even when he’s annoyed, he’s hot as sin. maybe especially when he’s annoyed.

“you see me working, yeah?” he snaps. “shut your damn mouth ‘fore i give you somethin’ to do with it.”

you smirk, hopping off the couch and sauntering over to him. the concrete’s cold under your bare feet, and your shorts ride up your thighs as you move. you know he’s watching, even if he’s pretending not to. “what, you gonna put me to work? i ain’t touchin’ that greasy-ass bike.”

he snorts, tossing the wrench onto the workbench with a loud clank. “you couldn’t handle it anyway, princess. too busy runnin’ that mouth.”

“maybe ‘cause you’re takin’ too damn long,” you shoot back, leaning against the bike’s seat, arms crossed. you’re close enough now that you can feel the heat rolling off him, see the way his veins pop under his skin as he flexes his hands. “thought you were good with your hands, big guy. guess not.”

that does it. you see the shift in his face—the way his eyes narrow, lips curling into something mean and dangerous. he steps toward you, slow and deliberate, and before you can blink, he’s got you caged against the bike, one hand slamming down on the handlebars beside you. the metal groans under his grip.

“you wanna push me, huh?” he growls, leaning in so close his breath hits your face. it’s hot, smells like menthol and alcohol, and your stomach flips. “keep talkin’ shit, see where it gets you.”

you tilt your head, grinning like an idiot ‘cause you love this—love how easy it is to rile him up. “what you gonna do about it, ‘kuna? spank me?”

his hand’s on you in a second, rough fingers grabbing your jaw, tilting your head back so you’re forced to meet his glare. “you’re fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” he mutters, but there’s this spark in his eyes—and you know you're winning. “can’t even let me finish my shit without actin’ up.”

“maybe i just want your attention,” you say, voice all syrupy and fake-innocent, batting your lashes at him. his grip tightens, and you can feel the calluses on his palm scraping your skin.

“oh, you’re gonna get it,” he says, and then he’s moving, shoving you back against the bike so hard you stumble. the leather seat digs into your ass, and he’s on you before you can catch your breath, one hand fisting in your hair, pulling you closer.

“sukuna—!” you yelp, half-laughing, half-shocked, but he cuts you off with a hard kiss, biting your lip hard. it’s messy, nasty, and you’re already soaked, thighs squeezing tight like that’s gonna hide it, but then he shoves his knee between them.

the denim of his jeans scrapes against your flimsy shorts, and he grinds his leg right up against your pussy, slow and deliberate, pressing in ‘til you can feel the friction burning through the fabric. it feels so good, teasing, and you can’t help the little moan that slips out, muffled against his lips.

“shut the fuck up,” he snarls against your mouth, tugging your head back so your neck’s exposed. his teeth graze your throat, sharp and mean, and you whine, hands scrambling to grab onto his shoulders and nails digging into the hard muscle under his tank while he’s still working his leg against you, grinding that thick thigh right where you’re throbbing. the pressure’s got your hips twitching, chasing it without even meaning to, and you’re damn near panting already. “you wanted this, yeah? fuckin’ beggin’ for it with that smart-ass mouth,” he says.

“didn’t... ngh—didn’t say that,” you gasp, but it’s a lie and he knows it, that bullshit excuse dying on your tongue as his knee presses harder, rubbing up and down, making your head spin.

he smirks like he’s about to ruin you and love every second of it, then he’s spinning you around fast, shoving you down ‘til you’re bent over the bike, chest slammed against the seat. the leather’s warm from the sticky garage heat, clinging to your skin through your thin-ass tank top, and your tits are pressed so hard against it they’re practically spilling out, making your nipples perk up even more against the rough leather.

“bullshit,” he says, kicking your legs apart with his boot, spreading you wide like you’re his to play with. his hand cracks down on your ass, a sharp, stinging smack that makes you yelp, the sound bouncing off the garage walls, and you hear him chuckle—like he’s getting off on it.

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down just enough—barely past your ass, fabric bunched tight around your thighs, pussy dripping and on display. “look at you, fuckin’ dripping already,” he mutters, smearing a rough hand over the wet mess between your legs, “needy little slut.”

you whimper, pushing your hips back toward him, ‘cause yeah, you are needy—have been since you walked in here and saw him all sweaty and pissed off. there’s something about sukuna when he’s like this, rough and unfiltered, that makes you stupid for him. “just fuck me already, asshole,” you mutter, glancing over your shoulder at him.

his eyes flash, and then he’s yanking his jeans down. his cock springs free, thick, heavy, veins bulging under the skin, tip already leaking a fat bead of precum that glistens in the dim garage light, and fuck, it’s so long and girthy.

he steps up close, smirking at how you’re bent over, ass up, and grabs your hips with those big, rough hands, fingers digging in ‘til it stings. you’re already a mess—needy as fuck, whimpering soft and pathetic under your breath, little “please, ‘kuna” sounds slipping out ‘cause you can’t help it, you want him bad.

he doesn’t rush it right away—nah, he’s a fucker like that and you hate him for that—shoves his cock between your folds first, sliding that fat length back and forth, teasing you with it. the tip catches on your clit, smearing his precum all over your slick pussy, and he grinds it there, slow and mean, letting you feel every inch of him rubbing up against you ‘til your whimpers get louder, needier, hips twitching desperate for more.

“fuckin’ wet for me,” he mutters, then he pulls back just enough, pushes your soaked panties to the side with a flick of his thumb, and slams into you—bottoming out in one brutal thrust that splits you open, making your whole body lurch forward against the bike.

“fuck—!” you cry out, hands scrabbling against the bike for something to hold onto. the stretch burns, sharp and overwhelming, but it’s so good, the kind of pain that melts into pleasure fast. he doesn’t wait, doesn’t ease up—starts fucking you hard and fast, hips snapping against yours with a force that makes the whole damn motorcycle rock.

“this what you wanted?” he growls, leaning over you, one hand wrapping around your throat. his fingers dig into your skin, not choking yet, just holding you there, keeping you pinned. “huh? fuckin’ take it then.”

“y-yeah,” you moan, voice breaking as he hits that spot inside you that makes your legs shake. the bike’s shaking too, creaking under the weight of his thrusts, and you can hear the wet slap of skin on skin, the filthy sound of him pounding into you. it’s nasty, raw, everything you love about him.

he tightens his grip on your throat, just enough to make your head spin, and you’re gone—clawing at the seat, gasping his name like a prayer. “sukuna... fuck, ‘kuna, don’t stop—”

“fuckin’ loud,” he says, but you can tell he loves it, loves how your so messy for him. his other hand slides down, smacking your ass again—once, twice, ‘til it stings—then grabs a fistful of your ass, pulling you back onto him harder. “gonna make you scream, brat.”

and he does. he fucks you like he’s trying to break you, each thrust deeper, rougher, hitting that sweet spot over and over ‘til your vision blurs. your thighs are slick, dripping down onto the bike, and he laughs when he notices. “messy fuckin’ slut,” he says, reaching down between your legs and smearing something onto his fingers before shoving them into your mouth. “taste yourself.”

you groan around his fingers, sucking on them like he wants, lips stretched tight as he shoves two thick digits into your mouth, pumping them in and out like he’s fucking your face with them. they’re rough, calloused, tasting like salt and grease, and he’s not gentle—thrusting deep ‘til they hit the back of your throat, making you gag.

your tongue flattens against them, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, and you can barely keep up, slurping messy and loud. he’s watching you, eyes dark and hooded, loving how you choke on it just for him. “fuckin’ nasty,” he mutters, voice hoarse, and he pushes them deeper, curling them against your tongue ‘til you’re whining around the intrusion.

you suck harder, hollowing your cheeks, and he curses under his breath, hips stuttering against you, cock still buried deep inside. “shit, you’re tight—gonna... ughh... fuck—” he cuts himself off with a growl, yanking his fingers free with a wet pop, a string of spit trailing from your lips to his hand before he he pulls out of you just long enough to flip you onto your back. the bike wobbles, but he steadies it with one hand, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“look at me,” he says, slamming back into you, and you do—eyes locked on his as he fucks you senseless. his face is flushed, sweat dripping down his jaw, and he looks like a goddamn animal. got your legs hooked over his shoulders, one hand gripping your thigh so tight you’re gonna have bruises shaped like his fingers tomorrow, the other braced on the bike to keep it from tipping over while hips bullies his cock into, the wet slap-slap-slap of skin on skin echoing in the garage louder than the trap beat still buzzing in the background.

his cock’s thick, stretching you open every time he buries it to the hilt, dragging against your walls in a way that’s almost too much, the head hitting that spot inside you over and over ‘til your toes curl and your vision starts to white out. his muscles flex under his tattooed skin with every roll of his hips, like he’s claiming you, breaking you apart just ‘cause he can. “gonna cum for me?”

“y-yeah,” you whimper, nails digging into his arms. “please, ‘kuna—”

he grins and then his thumb’s on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that make your whole body lock up. it’s too much, too fast, and it sends you crashing over the edge hard. you scream, just like he promised, voice tearing outta your throat raw and desperate, back arching off the bike so far you nearly slip.

your orgasm rips through you—messy as fuck, intense, a hot flood that leaves you trembling, thighs soaked, and tears spilling down your cheeks ‘cause it’s overwhelming as shit. your chest heaves, little sobs breaking free between gasps, and he doesn’t stop—keeps fucking you through it, cock slamming into you relentless, dragging out every shudder and twitch, crying his name in wet, broken hiccups. “s-sukuna... fuck—‘kuna—”

“fuckin’ good girl,” he mutters and then he’s coming too, burying himself balls-deep with a guttural groan that rumbles through his chest. you feel it—hot, thick spurts filling you up, spilling out around him ‘cause there’s nowhere else for it to go—and he doesn’t pull out right away, just stays there, hips pressed flush to yours, panting heavy and ragged.

he leans down, your tears are still streaming, salty and warm, but hen his tongue flicks out licking a fat stripe up your cheek, tasting the wet mess of your cries. “fuckin’ crybaby,” he murmurs, but he loves it and you whimper, half-embarrassed, half-gone from how fucked-out you are, his breath hot against your skin as he stays buried inside you, his cum dripping down steadily between you legs.

when he finally lets go, you’re a wreck—sprawled out on the bike, legs trembling, his cum leaking out of you onto the leather and he smirks. “marked my shit up,” he says, nodding at the bike. “guess you’re good for somethin’.”

you laugh, weak and breathless, barely managing to lift your hand to flip him off, fingers shaky. “fuck you.”

“fuckin’ act up again, huh?” he shoots back, zipping up his jeans with a lazy tug. he steps away, leaving you there sprawled like a used rag, and grabs the wrench off the workbench like nothing happened, crouching back down by the bike to mess with it again while his cum’s still dripping out of you onto the floor next to him, and he doesn’t even glance at it—just keeps working.

you pull yourself together, sorta, hair a sweaty mess sticking to your face and flop back onto the couch, limbs heavy like they’re made of lead. “still bored,” you say, just to fuck with him.

he glares over his shoulder. “keep it up, and round two’s gonna be worse.”

you grin. “promise?”

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ masterlist

[mcrdvcks]

— sex concept

summary: You and Matt have wanted to take things to the next level, but every time you try to get intimate, something, or someone, interrupts.

word count: 4.1k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: at this point, i think i need to make a series masterlist for these two, lol. here's the third installment - and here are the first two: goodnight n go and love language

also, sex concept is one of my favorite songs, and it's by sofia isella. i recommend you go check her out!

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, reader works at stark industries, making out, peter parker, mention of other marvel characters, matt's a little shit, smut, oral (f!receiving), brief handjob, unprotected piv, creampie

matt murdock masterlist

It wasn’t like you and Matt hadn’t been alone since you started dating. But somehow, every single attempt at finally taking things further kept getting inconveniently interrupted.

Like now, for instance.

Matt’s lips skimmed along your neck, his fingers tracing patterns along your waist. You sighed softly, tangling your fingers in his hair.

"Matty," you whispered.

He hummed against your skin, nudging your jaw with his nose. "Yeah?"

"Can we—"

Your sentence was abruptly cut short by the shrill ringing of your phone.

Matt paused, a quiet groan muffled against your collarbone. "Ignore it."

You hesitated. "But what if—"

"It’s probably nothing," he murmured, lips brushing your pulse. "Leave it."

It kept ringing. You sighed, gently pushing at his shoulders. "It’ll only take a second. Just let me silence it."

Matt exhaled sharply, moving back slightly as you reached over and grabbed your phone off the bedside table. Glancing at the screen, you rolled your eyes.

"Work," you muttered, annoyed. You answered quickly. "This better be an emergency."

"Y/N," Levi’s voice crackled through the line, anxious. "I’m so sorry—"

"What happened?"

"Uh... you know how we were testing the new phase-array sensors tonight?"

"Levi."

"Well, it shorted. Everything’s offline. And the readings are… weird."

You groaned softly, pressing your fingers to your forehead. "I’ll be there in half an hour." You hung up, sighing again as you tossed your phone onto the bed.

Matt shifted beside you. "You’re leaving?"

"I’m sorry," you muttered. "It’s—"

"Work," Matt finished gently. He tilted his head, clearly amused. "You know, I think Stark Industries has a personal vendetta against us."

You huffed, tugging your shirt back into place. "I’ll make it up to you. I promise."

Matt leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours quickly. "You better."

You rolled your eyes, reluctantly climbing off the bed. "Don't move. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Matt fell back onto the pillows with a sigh, his smirk unmistakable. "I'll hold you to that, angel."

---

A few days later, Matt had just managed to maneuver you against the kitchen counter, lips claiming yours fiercely. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

Then, abruptly, a loud knock at his apartment door broke the silence. Matt froze, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder with a frustrated exhale.

"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered.

"Ignore it," he whispered, kissing your neck gently.

The knocking grew louder.

"Murdock!" Foggy's muffled voice echoed through the wood. "Come on, man, open up! I know you're home!"

Matt sighed heavily, pulling away. "He'll keep going until I answer."

You slumped against the counter dramatically. "I swear he has a sixth sense."

Matt smiled apologetically. "This'll be quick."

You folded your arms, watching as Matt made his way to the door, cracking it open just enough to speak. "Foggy. Bad timing."

"Yeah, sorry, I lost the deposition file," Foggy admitted sheepishly. "I need your copy."

Matt sighed, turning his head toward you slightly. "Give me a minute."

You threw your hands up, shooting him a pointed glare. Matt smiled, mouthing sorry before slipping out the door.

---

It had almost become a joke at this point. Every single time the two of you finally got a moment alone, something managed to interrupt.

You and Karen were at Josie’s, waiting for Matt and Foggy to arrive.

“Wanna tell me why you seem so pent up?” Karen asked, taking a drink of her beer.

You sighed, swirling your drink in the glass. "Because apparently, the universe hates me."

Karen raised a brow, amused. "That's dramatic, even for you."

"No, I'm serious," you insisted, leaning closer. "Every single time Matt and I are about to—" You paused, realizing you'd almost said too much. "Spend any sort of actual alone time together, something always interrupts."

Karen smirked knowingly, taking another sip. "Oh. That kind of pent up."

You glared at her. "Shut up."

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Sorry, it's just funny. You two spend practically all your time together. I'm surprised you even have that problem."

"Yeah, well, apparently work, Foggy, and fate itself have formed an alliance against us," you muttered bitterly.

"Have you tried just… telling people not to bother you?" Karen teased.

You scoffed. "We tried that. Believe me, it doesn't work."

Karen hummed sympathetically. "Well, if it's any consolation, I promise to never intentionally interrupt your... alone time."

"Thanks," you replied dryly, "that’s very generous."

She grinned. "Hey, I do what I can."

Just then, the bar door swung open, and Foggy walked in, Matt close behind him. You caught Matt’s slight smile as he tilted his head toward you, making his way through the crowd.

Karen nudged you playfully. "Better luck tonight?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop a small smile. "I doubt it, but thanks for the optimism."

Matt stepped up beside you, his hand automatically finding your waist. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Sorry we're late."

You sighed dramatically. "Don't worry about it. At this point, I'm used to it."

Matt chuckled softly, squeezing your side. "Tonight'll be different. Promise."

Karen snorted into her drink. "Good luck with that."

You glared at her again, and she raised her hands innocently.

Matt's brow furrowed, sensing the tension. "Did I miss something?"

"Nothing at all," Karen said, grinning widely. "Y/N was just filling me in on your streak of bad luck."

Matt’s lips quirked upward. "Oh. That."

Foggy looked between the three of you, utterly lost. "Am I missing something here?"

You shook your head, patting Foggy on the shoulder. "Trust me, Fog. You're better off not knowing."

---

Matt’s apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, locking the door behind you. The blinds were drawn shut, the place cloaked in comfortable darkness. You dropped your keys onto the entry table, taking off your jacket and hanging it beside Matt’s familiar black coat.

"Matty?" you called softly, stepping further into the apartment.

"Bedroom," came his muffled reply.

You kicked off your shoes, padding down the hall until you reached his room. Matt was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on a clean shirt. He looked relaxed, freshly showered, hair still damp and slightly messy. He tilted his head in your direction, lips curving into a gentle smile.

"Hey," he said softly.

You smiled, stepping toward him. "Hi."

Matt reached for you, fingers easily catching your wrist and tugging you closer, his hands settling comfortably at your hips. "How was work?"

You sighed, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. "The usual Stark chaos. Nothing new."

His lips twitched. "So no interruptions planned tonight?"

You laughed quietly, your fingers trailing down the side of his face. "Not that I know of. Unless Foggy’s about to burst through the door."

Matt smiled, tilting his head slightly into your palm. "Not tonight. He and Karen have dinner plans."

"Thank God," you muttered.

Matt chuckled softly, pulling you gently closer so you were standing between his legs. His thumbs brushed lightly against your sides. "You hungry?"

You shook your head slightly, leaning down until your forehead rested against his. "Not really."

"Good," Matt whispered, voice low and warm. "Me either."

You smiled softly, tracing your fingertips over the curve of his jaw. His hands slid beneath your shirt, settling warmly against your lower back. You inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut as he guided your lips down to his own.

The kiss was gentle at first, soft and unhurried. Matt’s lips brushed yours slowly, carefully, as if savoring every moment. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pressing closer.

Matt sighed against your lips, deepening the kiss. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, guiding you down until you settled comfortably across his lap. Your arms looped around his shoulders, your bodies pressed close enough that you could feel the steady beat of his heart.

"Matt," you whispered breathlessly against his lips, smiling faintly. "If my phone rings, I swear—"

Matt’s quiet laughter cut you off, his mouth skimming along your jaw. "I’ll throw it out the window myself."

You huffed softly, tilting your head back to give him better access. "Promises, promises, Murdock."

Matt smirked against your skin, his voice low and teasing. "Careful, sweetheart. I might hold you to that."

You laughed quietly, tangling your fingers in his hair again and pulling him back to your lips. For the first time in weeks, there were no interruptions—just you, Matt, and the steady, comforting quiet of his apartment.

But, of course, it could never be that easy.

A knock rattled on a window in the living room.

Matt froze, forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. "You've got to be kidding me."

You groaned, your fingers tangling into his hair. "I swear, this is a cosmic joke at this point."

The knocking grew louder, quicker, more urgent. Matt sighed, lifting his head reluctantly. "Who even—"

A muffled voice called from outside, high-pitched and apologetic. "Uh... Mister Murdock? It’s—it's me, Peter. Spider-Man? Sorry, I just—I kinda need help."

You raised a brow. "Spider-Man knocks now?"

Matt sighed deeply. "Apparently."

You stood up from Matt’s lap, fixing your shirt as Matt slowly stood beside you, annoyance radiating off him.

Peter tapped again, more sheepishly this time. "Hello? Uh—Matt?"

"Coming," Matt called, moving toward the window with a heavy sigh.

You followed behind, crossing your arms as Matt slid the window open. Peter awkwardly crawled inside, tugging off his mask with a nervous grimace.

"Hey, Mr. Murdock," he mumbled, turning to you. "Hey, Y/N. Sorry if this is a bad time, but—"

"Is the city actively on fire?" Matt cut in, voice flat.

Peter hesitated. "Well, no, but—"

"Is anyone dying?" Matt continued.

Peter shifted nervously. "No, but I—"

Matt folded his arms, visibly unimpressed. "Is Stark Tower currently collapsing into a giant sinkhole?"

Peter blinked. "What? No."

Matt nodded slowly. "Then this probably could’ve waited."

Peter flushed, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Oh. Yeah, I guess it could’ve. But I, uh... I kinda panicked.”

You sighed, stepping toward Peter. "What happened, Pete?"

Peter winced, holding up his web-shooter. "It, um... jammed. And I can’t get it off."

Matt tilted his head, incredulous. "You came to me—at my apartment—at night—because your web-shooter jammed?"

Peter swallowed nervously. "I tried everyone else, Mr. Murdock. Literally everyone else."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Everyone?"

"Doctor Strange yelled at me for disturbing his 'cosmic meditation,' Happy sent me straight to voicemail, Mr. Wilson laughed for a full two minutes before hanging up, and Pepper’s voicemail said she’s out of town." Peter said quickly. "You two were my last option."

You glanced at Matt, suppressing a smile at his annoyed expression. "Alright, fine," you sighed. "Let me see it."

Peter held his arm out gratefully, relaxing as you started examining the device. Matt leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "You realize I’m blind, right?"

Peter flushed deeper. "Well, yeah, but you're like... you're Daredevil."

Matt’s jaw ticked slightly. "And?"

"And," Peter swallowed, voice small, "and I’m really, really sorry for interrupting your night. Again."

Matt sighed heavily, shaking his head as you fiddled with the shooter.

"Got it," you finally announced, popping the jammed cartridge free and handing it back to him. "All fixed."

Peter sighed dramatically. "Thank you so much. Really, I—"

"Pete," Matt interrupted gently. "Go home."

Peter nodded quickly, already halfway back out the window. "Yeah. Right. Okay. Goodnight Mr. Murdock, Y/N."

He vanished just as fast as he’d appeared, leaving silence behind him.

Matt tilted his head back toward you, annoyance fading into amusement. "How much do you think it'd cost to soundproof these windows?"

You smirked, stepping closer to him again. "Worth every penny, honestly."

Matt smiled, tugging you back toward him, fingertips brushing your waist. "Where were we?"

You grimaced. “Actually… Peter’s webshooter’s reminded me of—”

“—Ramen.” Matt cut in.

Your eyebrows raised, “how’d you know?”

Matt chuckled softly, his fingertips brushing your hip gently. "Because anytime Peter shows up, it means your brain starts spinning with work and you always end up craving ramen afterward."

You huffed, poking his chest lightly. "You make me sound predictable."

He tilted his head, amused. "Am I wrong?"

"No," you muttered begrudgingly. "But you don't have to sound so smug about it."

Matt's lips twitched into a smirk. "Can't help it."

You sighed, stepping back slightly. "Come on, let's go get ramen before they close."

"Alright," Matt conceded, grabbing his coat. "But you're buying, since it's your fault."

"My fault?" you repeated incredulously as you slipped on your shoes.

"Your spider-friend, your problem," Matt teased lightly, holding the door open for you.

You rolled your eyes fondly. "He's everyone's spider-friend, Matty."

"Well, everyone doesn't get their evening interrupted like we do."

You linked your arm through his as you stepped outside. "Sounds like someone's still bitter."

Matt hummed softly. "Just hungry."

"Whatever you say, devil boy," you said with a smirk.

He laughed quietly, squeezing your arm lightly. "Lead the way, sweetheart."

---

It had taken another two weeks, three false alarms, and one very apologetic Spider-Man before you and Matt finally managed to find yourselves completely alone, no distractions in sight.

"Door?" Matt asked, murmuring against your lips, his voice husky and quiet.

"Locked," you whispered back.

"Phone?"

"On silent."

Matt smiled against your mouth. "Windows?"

You sighed, pulling back slightly. "Closed. Matt, relax. Everything’s handled."

He chuckled softly, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you back in. "Just making sure."

You smiled, sliding your arms around his neck and playing with the soft hair at his nape. "At this point, I think we've earned tonight."

Matt hummed quietly, brushing his lips gently along your jaw. "I’m not letting anyone interrupt us tonight, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched slightly, your fingers tightening gently in his hair. "Good. Because I might actually murder whoever tries."

He laughed softly, nudging your nose lightly with his own. "Noted."

You tugged gently at his shirt, pulling him backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sat down slowly, smiling as Matt followed you without hesitation, settling himself carefully above you.

"You’re sure no spider-kid’s gonna come tapping at the window tonight?" you teased softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

He tilted his head slightly, smiling down at you. "I might actually lose my patience with him if he does."

You laughed quietly, hooking your legs around his hips and tugging him closer. "So fierce, devil boy."

Matt leaned down, lips brushing your ear. "Only for you."

Warmth pooled in your stomach at the softness in his voice, your heart thudding in your chest as you pulled him into a slow, deep kiss.

His lips moved carefully, tenderly, hands slipping beneath your shirt to rest against your bare skin, tracing gentle circles along your waist. You sighed softly against his lips, your fingertips trailing down his chest to find the hem of his shirt.

Matt pulled back slightly, just enough to let you pull his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. His lips found yours again immediately, kissing you with renewed urgency, his skin warm under your hands.

"Still good?" he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded, breath catching. "Better than."

His hands slid slowly up your sides, under your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin until he reached the hem and pulled it up and off you. The second it hit the floor, he was kissing you again, deeper this time. Tongue slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, then pulled back just enough to speak.

"Lie back for me, angel."

You obeyed without hesitation, stretching across the bed, propped up slightly on your elbows as Matt’s hands found your thighs. He knelt between them, head tilted, his expression unreadable but focused. You could feel the weight of his attention even without his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "I can feel every little shift in your breathing, hear your heartbeat changing every time I touch you. You're driving me insane."

Your breath caught as his palms slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing gently into the muscle. He leaned in slowly, trailing soft kisses along the inside of your knee, up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You gasped quietly when he nuzzled higher, the stubble on his jaw catching against your skin. One of his hands gripped your thigh, the other pressing a warm palm flat against your stomach, grounding.

"You want this?" he asked softly, mouth brushing right against the waistband of your underwear.

"Yes," you breathed, eyes fluttering. "Matty, please."

That was all it took. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, dragging the fabric down your legs with excruciating slowness, kissing each new inch of skin he exposed. Once they were gone, he settled between your legs like he belonged there.

You squirmed, breathless already. Matt’s hands eased your thighs wider, lips brushing the softest kisses down the crease of your hip. Then lower.

His tongue flicked out, teasing, and you gasped, head dropping back against the pillow.

"Fuck," you whispered.

Matt exhaled a soft laugh, the sound warm against your skin. "That good already, sweetheart?"

Then he buried his mouth between your thighs. No warning, no hesitation. Just heat and tongue and pressure that had your back arching off the bed.

"Ah—Matty," you choked out, hands scrambling for his hair, needing something to hold onto as his tongue licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

He groaned like he tasted the sound you made, hands anchoring you, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs as he worked.

You were already dripping for him, and he didn’t let up, tongue pressing and curling in ways that made your entire body tremble. He knew exactly how to read you—the way your hips twitched, the way your moans caught, the way your breath stuttered when he sucked just right.

Your thighs started to shake.

"Matty—oh god—please don’t stop," you gasped, one hand flying to muffle your mouth, the other tangled in his messy hair.

He didn't stop.

He doubled down.

His mouth moved faster, tongue fucking into you before flattening and dragging slow, greedy circles over your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you cry out.

"F-fuck, I'm gonna—" Your whole body tensed, thighs clamping, and Matt growled against you, holding you open, not letting you go anywhere.

"Let go," he murmured against your soaked skin. "Come on, angel. Come for me."

You shattered.

It hit hard, sharp and overwhelming, your hips jerking as the orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, hands fisting in the sheets, breath breaking as your body shook.

Matt held you through every second of it, mouth softening but never leaving you, licking you through the aftershocks with slow, lazy strokes until you finally whimpered, pushing weakly at his head.

He kissed your inner thigh one last time before crawling back up, settling his weight gently over you, mouth slick and smile smug.

"Hi," he murmured.

You huffed a laugh, dazed and breathless. "You’re such a menace."

"You love it," he said, kissing your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose.

"Maybe," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "Come here."

He kissed you slowly, deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His body pressed heavy and warm against yours, one hand slipping down to cradle your thigh, the other bracing next to your head.

You wrapped your legs around him, tugging him closer.

"Your turn, devil boy."

Matt's breath caught. His body stilled above yours, tension rolling through his shoulders like a current. He tilted his head slightly, and you could feel him—feel the way he honed in on every shift of your breath, the thump of your pulse, the way your thighs clenched around his hips.

"Say it again," he murmured.

You smirked, dragging your nails lightly down his spine. "Your turn."

Matt groaned softly, low and wrecked, like the words hit somewhere primal. One of his hands cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he leaned in, voice rough. "Tell me if anything's too much."

"Matty," you whispered, hips rolling up against the bulge still trapped in his pants, "I want all of it."

His mouth crashed back onto yours—hot, open, desperate. You tasted yourself on his lips, still slick and wet from where he’d had his mouth on you, and it made something in your gut twist up tight.

His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your thighs, your throat. Always so fucking careful, even when he was losing control. Even now, his fingers trembled where they gripped your hip.

"Take 'em off," you whispered against his mouth, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He sat back on his knees, hands fumbling at his belt. You watched him—bare chest rising with each shaky breath, flushed, lips red from kissing you senseless, hair sticking up like you’d dragged your fingers through it one too many times. The second he shoved his pants low, you saw the outline of him, thick and hard, the head already leaking.

You bit your lip. "God, Matty."

He huffed a breathless laugh, cocky but a little shaky. "You looking at me like that isn’t helping."

"I like what I see."

Matt didn’t answer—just leaned in again, reaching down to wrap a hand around himself. He stroked slow, base to tip, teasing himself while he hovered over you, breath hot against your cheek.

You reached down, fingertips grazing his wrist. "Let me."

He let you take over, groaning softly when your hand wrapped around him. You stroked him slowly, dragging your thumb over the head, spreading the precum, watching the way his jaw flexed.

"You feel so fucking good," you whispered.

Matt's voice was strangled. "You keep doing that and this is gonna be over before it starts."

You laughed softly, but let go, guiding him instead—his hips nudging between your legs, cock heavy and hot, head sliding wet over your slit. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you whispered, fingers curling in his hair. "Matty, please."

He pushed in slow. The stretch was deep, thick, dragging your walls open inch by inch until he bottomed out with a shaky groan.

"F-fuck," he whispered against your throat. "You feel... Jesus."

You were gasping, clinging to his shoulders, your body trying to adjust around him. It wasn’t your first time. Wasn’t his either. But it was your first time together. And it was already better than anything you'd felt before.

Matt didn’t move right away. He just held there, forehead pressed to your shoulder, one hand braced by your head and the other gripping your thigh like it grounded him.

"Matty," you whispered. "Move. Please."

He did.

A slow pull, then a push, dragging back in with a rhythm that felt like it was made just for you. He moaned into your neck, his voice thick with want. "So fucking tight—"

Your nails bit into his skin as he picked up pace, shallow thrusts turning deeper, faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, slick and wet and obscene. You couldn't stop the noises leaving your mouth, couldn't quiet the little cries every time he hit that spot inside you that made your legs tremble.

"You’re perfect," he panted. "Every sound you make—fuck, I can feel them. Hear 'em in your throat, in your chest—"

"Matt—"

"I’ve wanted this," he groaned, fucking into you harder now, the bed creaking beneath both of you. "You. For years. Always thought about you. Touching you. Making you come on my cock."

Your breath stuttered. "Holy fuck, Matty—"

"Come for me," he growled, his thumb finding your clit and circling, firm and fast. "Right now. Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna hear how you sound when you fall apart."

You didn’t stand a chance. Your orgasm hit hard, sudden, crashing through you with a strangled cry, your legs tightening around his waist.

Matt cursed, fucking you through it, hips stuttering as he groaned, low and wrecked. "Shit—gonna come—fuck—"

He slammed in deep and came with a gasp, cock pulsing inside you, heat spilling as his whole body trembled above you. He collapsed onto his forearms, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon.

"Jesus," you whispered, still shaking.

Matt laughed, soft and breathless. "Yeah. That about covers it."

You grinned, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. "Worth the wait."

His lips found yours again, soft now, lingering.

"Every second."

And for once, nothing interrupted.

if you have any requests with these two, don't be afraid to send in an ask!!

[monstersholygrail]

I am such a nuzzler (I’m severely touched starved). But I just love me a good nuzzle with some sweet cuddling and maybe a bit more than that.

Imagine Werewolf bf who welcomes and encourages your clingy behavior and all the nuzzling that comes with it. Not only because he loves the attention but because he is just as obsessed with you as you are him.

You get this sort of shy look in your eye when the urge arrives and Werewolf bf notices it instantly. His arms move on their own as they spread out wide. Allowing you to immediately dive into his embrace. Nuzzling your way up his furry body till you burrow into his chest.

Loud purrs emanate from Werewolf bfs chest as his arms move to wrap around you, practically squishing you to his chest. You both adore the hard secure touch of each other’s hold. His purrs only growing louder as you move up and nuzzle into his neck, nosing brushing along his marking spot.

His cock can help but harden whenever you do this. It’s his instant weakness. The idea of you two marking each other. Of being bound and getting these cuddles for the rest of your life. It sounds like heaven to him.

And of course when you’re cuddling with a Werewolf bf, cuddling doesn’t stay cuddling for long. With your delicious shapely body pressed so tightly against him, he can’t be blamed for his actions that follow.

As you two continue to squirm against each other, practically wanting to crawl into each other’s skin, it’s simply not Werewolf bfs fault that his erection just so happens to grind into your lovely pussy. He can feel the growing dampness through your panties and he growls out his approval. Always so wet for him you are.

The whine that leaves you vibrates through his skin, only serving to make Werewolf bf even harder. His hands never leave their place around your body, not even as they slide down and so gently push your panties off to the side. He wouldn’t dare take his hands off of you when in need of such closeness.

Making sure to maintain your cuddles while he rolls his cock easily inside your addictive wet heat. Werewolf bf tightens his hold on you to the point where you can barely move as he starts moving your bodies in a steady rhythm.

Your bodies rocking together as noises of pleasure fall from your lips and spill right into each other’s skin. Not an inch of space between you and neither of you would have it any other way. Werewolf bf’s claws scratch along your back and you cry out, toes curling at the added sensation.

Burying your hands in his fur you move as best you can, eagerly sucking his cock back inside you with every thrust. Wanting all of him as close to you as possible. Rough grunts leave your bf as his pace picks up, fulfilling your need as he does all the others.

Werewolf bf keeps his grip firm but gives you the room to move faster and meet the snap of his hips. You immediately jump at the chance, drool dripping onto his fur as you bounce sloppily on his huge girth. Wanting to feel just how roughly he can split you open and stretch your weeping cunt.

As you both move together it doesn’t take long for you both to explode, clenching down on his length and milking his cock for all it’s worth as he shoots spurt after spurt of hot cum deep inside your walls. Werewolf bf shivers in return, his body buzzing as your essence coats his member and your walls stay firmly implanted around him.

Your limp form sags happily back into his chest. Nipping playfully at his neck and resulting in Werewolf bf’s cock twitching inside you as he snaps his jaw at your neck in retaliation. You laugh lightly, nuzzling back into him, glad to be even closer to him as his softening cock stays inside you.

Werewolf bf moves his hands up and down your back and over your body, caressing every inch of you. Loving how your body trembles and leans into it in response.

Yeah, Werewolf bf wouldn’t give up your nuzzles and clingy behavior for anything. He’s got everything he needs right here.

[kateschi]

silent watcher, louder heart

synopsis: there’s something about the way you move, the way you hold your daughter, that leaves katsuki wordless.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: nothing makes me happier than dad bakugou and happy new year everyone

the soft rustling of leaves outside filters through the cracked window, mingling with the faint cries of a baby—your baby.

the sun dips low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the living room, where you sit cross-legged on the floor, gently cradling your child.

the sight is mesmerizing, even to him—a man who’s seen explosions tear through buildings, fire rip apart the darkness, and yet nothing compares to this.

katsuki leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp crimson eyes fixed on you and your baby.

he doesn’t say anything—doesn’t even clear his throat to announce his presence.

he just stands there, silent and steady, watching.

your fingers move deftly, smoothing out the soft folds of your baby’s blanket. your voice is a quiet murmur, a melody only meant for the tiny ears that listen so intently.

“there you go, sweetie. all cozy now, aren’t you?” she gurgles in response, kicking little legs as if to agree.

you giggle softly, the sound light and airy, and katsuki feels something in his chest tighten.

it’s been months since the two of you brought this tiny human into the world, but he still isn’t used to the sight of you like this—radiant, tender, an embodiment of warmth and care.

he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. not that he’d ever say it out loud.

“y/n,” he finally says, his voice gruff but not unkind. “you’re spoilin’ her, y’know.”

you glance up, startled at first, but the sight of your husband leaning in the doorway makes your lips curve into a smile.

“and who exactly taught me how to spoil her, huh? wasn’t it you, bakugou katsuki, who bought her that ridiculously overpriced onesie with the baby dynamight logo?”

he scowls, the tips of his ears turning red. “that was different.”

“of course it was.” your teasing tone makes him bristle, but he doesn’t move. he stays rooted in place.

d/n lets out a small coo, her tiny hand reaching up to grab at the air. you shift her in your arms, guiding her chubby fingers toward one of her toys.

she babbles happily, her eyes wide and curious, and katsuki feels his heart stutter.

how the hell did he end up here—married to you, father to this perfect little bundle of energy?

“she’s gettin’ big,” he mutters, stepping into the room.

his heavy boots make the wooden floor creak, and he almost winces, instinctively lightening his steps as he approaches.

“she is,” you agree, not taking your eyes off your little girl. “she’s growing so fast. I feel like I’ll blink, and she’ll already be running around, causing trouble.”

katsuki snorts, settling down onto the couch. “if she’s causin’ trouble, that’s definitely your fault.”

“oh, really? because I’m the troublemaker in this relationship?” you glance at him, raising an eyebrow.

“damn right, you are.” he leans back, arms draped over the backrest, but his eyes stay on you.

“don’t think I’ve forgotten how you were always stirrin’ shit in high school. sneakin’ into the common room to steal snacks, callin’ me an idiot every time I told you to quit it.”

“hella ironic coming from you house-arrest, and I wasn’t stirring anything,” you protest, feigning innocence. “I was keeping life interesting.”

his brow twitches. “yeah, well, you’re passin’ that on to her,” he says, nodding toward the baby. “she’s got your attitude, y’know.”

“oh, so now she’s my responsibility when she’s being difficult?”

“she’s always your responsibility,” he shoots back, smirking. “you’re the one who decided to marry me, remember? you signed up for this.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “and yet, somehow, you’ve manage to make it worth it.”

the corners of katsuki’s mouth twitch, the beginnings of a smile threatening to break through.

but instead of replying, he focuses on d/n, who’s now clutching her toy with surprising determination.

“she’s strong,” he says, his voice softer. “got a good grip for a runt.”

“she gets that from you,” you reply, brushing a kiss against your baby girl’s forehead. “I think she’s going to take after you in a lot of ways.”

“hope not,” he mutters, his gaze clouding for a moment. “don’t want her growin’ up with my temper.”

you frown, sitting up straighter. “katsuki—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “I’m just sayin’. she’s better off with your patience.”

you pause, studying him carefully. for all his bluster, katsuki has always been his own harshest critic. he sees himself as flawed, rough around the edges.

but you’ve never seen him that way—not for a second.

“she’ll have the best of both of us,” you say firmly, holding his gaze. “and she’ll be okay because she has you as her dad.”

he doesn’t respond right away, his eyes flicking down to d/n instead. she’s staring at him now, her big, innocent eyes locked on his face.

katsuki reaches out, hesitating for just a moment before gently brushing a finger against her tiny hand. she grabs it immediately, her grip surprisingly strong, and he lets out a quiet chuckle.

“feisty little thing,” he hums.

he then leans back against the couch, watching as you lift her onto your shoulder, patting her back in a soothing rhythm.

she lets out a small yawn, her tiny body relaxing against you, and katsuki feels that familiar warmth spreading through his chest.

it’s moments like these that remind him why he fights so damn hard—why he throws himself into battle with everything he’s got.

because at the end of the day, he gets to come home to this.

to you. to her. to a life he never dared to dream of.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[chris-prank]

A desperate yandere in your area

Chapter 2 : Surprise visitor

Sub pathetic yandere x GN reader

Previous chapter - Next Chapter

(This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only, I do not support yandere behaviors in real life)

CW: NSFW, collar, praise kink, masturbating in secret, handjob, voyeurism, teasing, porn with plot, yandere behavior, mention of stalking, reader is horny too and L bomb

Word count: Over 2K

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You sat on your bed, putting headphones in your ears. It had been a truly tiresome day, so you figured that a little alone time was well deserved before doing any house chores. Setting comfortably against your pillows, you selected one of those “man moaning and whimpering” audios. You closed your eyes as the delectable sounds filled your surrendering. 

You were starting to get into it, when suddenly, a moan seemed to have been louder than the others. They were also small whimpers…Weird…You decided to not pay much attention to this as your body relaxed. Your hand creeped down your pants when you went in the mood again. 

You were making rhythmic movements, trying to imagine a pathetic man in front of you making all these slutty moans. Even in your while enwrapped in your fantasy, you swore some noises were always too loud to be coming from your headphones. You used your clean hand to pause the audio and there it was again! A small whimper!

You checked your phone and no, the audio hadn’t started again. It was so faint that it was difficult for you to pinpoint where it was coming from. You took out your headphones and really tried to concentrate on the source of the noises. It almost sounded like an injured animal, maybe a cat had gotten into your apartment ? You knew that one of your neighbors had one, so it wasn’t impossible. You sigh in defeat, knowing that you wouldn't be able to finish what you started. You took a blanket and got off your bed. You roamed around the room as quietly as possible, not wanting to alarm the poor unknown creature. As you got closer to your closet you could feel your heart pulsating in your ears, the whimpers were coming from there. You raised the blanket, ready to throw it if the animal showed any sign of aggressivity.  

In one swift motion you opened the closet door. And there was… Jacce sitting on the ground, pumping his cock forcefully. He was so engrossed by the smell of your shirt covering his face, that he had failed to remember to keep it down. You didn't even scream or move. You felt like you dissociated from your body, as if you were watching this surreal outcome from a second point of view. 

The man opened his eyes when he was just about to cum, finally noticing you standing in full height before him— just like he had fantasized on so many occasions, but this time it was real. 

“F—ngahh—uck.” His eyes rolled back for a second, his body shuddering while he ejaculated. Ropes of cum shooting unintentionally in your direction.  

His sudden climax reactivated your nerve system. You dropped the blanket on him, ran out of the room and into the living room. Not only was there a man that broke into your house to masturbate, this intruder was JACCE! The barista you liked! This was the most horrifying situation you've ever been in. You regretted dreading that it could have been a wild animal, because it would have been better than whatever this was. 

You could hear shuffling noises behind you, certainly him trying to put his junk back into his pants as fast as possible.

“Hey w-wait.”

When you turned to face him, his expression was still stuck in this dazed state of the aftermath of cumming. Like clockwork every time he took a step forward you would step back.  

“Y-you weren’t… supposed to see th-this.” He breathed out like he ran a marathon, “let me ex-explain before doing anything… p-please.” 

Jacce looked down at your hands before looking back at you. You didn’t answer but didn’t make a move either. The man took that as a sign to continue. 

“I… I know what it looks like… A guy that you barely know, touching himself in your closet… in your house…” He hesitated at the last part, “but I’m not a creep! I-I did this because I love you!”

Love me?! You had noticed before that he gave you more special treatment compared to other clients… but you never expected this! You felt your body getting weaker, as if you were about to faint from the stress. 

“Are you… going to hurt me?”

Jacce's expression seemed to drop at the question, as if he was heartbroken that you thought he would do such a thing. This was not going as planned and he hated himself for it. You weren’t supposed to find him in your closet. You weren’t supposed to see him like this. 

“I could n-never hurt you! I love you!” He was speaking with conviction, “I just want to be there for you! To serve you like you deserve… If anything you should be the one hurting m—”  

“What are you talking about?!” You cutted him short in a panic, “I don’t want t-that!”

“What!? B—But I can be so good for you!” His voice raised slightly in desperation,  “most guys are too stupid to even split the house chores! I'm ready to do everything for you!”

You stepped back while he kept walking forward. He was so absorbed in waves of emotions to notice the fear in your eyes. He gripped his shirt, his hands trembling and tears forming in the corner of his eyes. 

“I would NEVER take you for granted! I would be the most attentive and obedient person in your entire life!” His entire body was now shaking violently, “I don’t even have to be your boyfriend, I can be your pet!” 

You didn’t know what to do. Your brain was going thousand miles an hour, making it near impossible to settle on something. While trying to think clearly, you also had to focus on what he was saying. He kept going on and on about the fact the he wanted to… serve you. What if it was true and not just excuses to make himself look less bad? 

You decided to test your luck. It's not like you had another choice. Jacce was taller than you and getting him more agitated was not a good idea. You builded up all the energy you had left and talked over him in an authoritarian tone. 

“Sit down against the wall.”

And he did. 

All the panic that contortionned his face had completely disappeared, replaced by an expression of anticipation. He looked sincere about his intentions… but you couldn’t totally believe him just yet. The fear in your guts was still present, but it was slowly being overshadowed by something else. Your mind kept wandering back to the whimpers he cried out while touching himself and how cute he looked all desperate. You could sense the familiar sensation creeping between your legs the longer you looked down at him. Jacce seemed to be also stimulated by the turn of events, because he quickly placed his hands between his legs, not wanting to blow up his small chance with you. This pose gave him an even more submissive look, which made you go crazy. 

What if… maybe we could both take advantage of this situation. 

You were indeed craving for someone like this. Until now you could only find them in fiction and even then it was hard to dig them out in the sea of dominant love interests. Jacce would get your attention and you would be able to feast upon the site of his patheticness. You were definitely twisted to consider this outcome about a man who broke into your house, but it’s not like you would be doing anything wrong. It's your house so your rules on how to deal with intruders. 

“Let me see what's happening between your legs.”  You tried to keep the confident facade as you spoke. 

Jacce's shoulders jolted a bit in embarrassment, but he did reveal the tent in his pants. He looked so disheveled with his flushed face and his coat lazily falling off one his shoulders. So hot. 

“Do you want me to make it better?” Your voice was dripping with such honey, that you were even shocked by it. 

He nodded frantically. Consent was something crucial and he had just gave it to you with indisputable enthusiasm. 

You got down on your knees to get better access to him. You reached your hand out for his bulge, caressing it, which made his body tremble in anticipation. You unzipped his pants and slightly pulled at the rim of his boxers. His erection sprong out, finally letting you have a good look at it. His dick was 6.5 inches, the foreskin pulled back to reveal his pink gland, now on the verge of turning red. The tip was crowned with little pearls of precum, some of them sliding down his shaft like water drops on a car window. It made your mouth salivate just by thinking of wrapping your lips around it and admire his face contorted in pleasure. 

Jacce was clearly trying to stay quiet, but when you spat in your hand, he couldn’t help but whimper at the thought of what was going to happen. You rubbed your palm on his tip, which made him buck his hips, before wrapping your fingers around it. Your thumb was barely reaching your index finger and that warmed your lower half even more. The idea of something like this stretching your inside was so enticing.

“T–thank y–you… Haah… I’ll be so so good to you, I promise.” 

Jacce leaned in, clinging to the front of your shirt. At last he was feeling your divine touch. A part of him still couldn’t believe the turn of events. He imagined that you would have at least tried to hit him or something. But no, there you were, willingly giving him a handjob like a merciful master. You squeezed the base of his shaft, admiring the precum oozing out of the tip. You started to stroke him at a medium pace. Surprisingly, his voice was more soft spoken than what you expected. He was murmuring needingly into your ear while his drool stains your clothes. Jacce was still sensitive, since he had already cum not too long ago, causing him to swallow back cries multiple times. 

“If you want me to continue you’ll have to answer some questions, ok?” 

You felt like you were babying this grown man, talking to him like that. But he didn’t seem to mind, since he nodded without a complaint. Your grip started to loosen up tho, since that wasn’t a satisfying answer. 

“Use your words or I’ll stop making you feel good.” 

“I’ll–I’ll answer!” He whined.

“Good job.”

He shivered at the praise. That’s what he had dreamed of hearing from you for months. You picked up the paste again, pumping him harder. His head fell back as he unconsciously reached one hand out to his hidden collar. You were taken aback at the sight of it. How depraved is this guy!? Without thinking, you placed your index and middle fingers in the loop and tugged at it, making him moan like never before while jerking his head back up. You were pretty sure he almost came just from that. 

“First question… How long have you been stalking me?”

“I st–started five months ago Mmm-Ahh… ” He sobbed, it was so hard for him to speak, “Y-you were always so n–nice to me when you N-gh came into the coffee shop. I wanted to kn-know more.”

You’ve been going to that place for about a year, so at least he hasn’t been doing it for that long. You were a bit taken aback that you never suspected anything though. This guy has been either really good or very lucky until now. 

“Do you break into my house often?”

“N-no.”

You abruptly stop touching him, forcing him to speak again.

“I–I swear! I only did it six times!”

He arched his back and whimpered, urging you to stroke him again, which you happily obliged. It was hard not too! 

“P-please u-use me, use me, use me! I want to be your dumb ngAhhh little puppy…” 

The words were spilling out of his mouth with pure urgency and he bucked his hips against your palm uncontrollably. All clear signs that he was close to release. You couldn’t count the number of times you fantasized about turning someone into such a mess, but now that you were experiencing it, your simple imagination was nothing compared to the real thing. Your own self control started to waver the more it went on. Jacce knew that he was about to cross his limit as well, closing his eyes shut, preparing himself. But the grip around his cock loosened, until it completely disappeared. He whined and moved his hips, searching for the touch of your warm hand again. 

“W–why did you stop? I–I told you what you wanted to k-know!” 

You didn’t answer, only looking at him with an indecipherable expression. All the moans, whimpers and other noises he let out, made you so horny that it was becoming too much to bear, but you knew it would make him way too happy to be used to make you cum. You couldn’t let him release either. He didn’t deserve it, not yet anyway. 

“I’m not letting you cum.” 

“Wh-what!? W-why?!” He complained again. 

“You broke into my house and stalked me for five months.” You swiftly got on your feet, “bad boys don’t deserve to ejaculate.”

Bad boy was like the last nail into the coffin for the pathetic mess. In Jacce’s top ten of the worst things you could say to him this one was pretty high. Small tears rolled down his cheeks as a result.  

“You… you’re right… I’m sorry.” He sniffed.

You did feel a little bit bad for making him cry and wanted to fuck him dumb too. No, not tonight. You had to hammer that in your brain to resist your desires. You decided to at least help him a bit before kicking him out. 

“Let's get you cleaned up.” 

“N-no! I–I’m supposed to be the one to–to take care of you.” he whined.

You gave him a stern glance, which shut him up instantly. You came back with a bottle and a wet towel in hand, crouched down in front of him and handed out the water. He took it, chugging it halfway in one go. 

“T-thanks, you’re so nice to me… even when I don’t deserve it.” He whispered, looking away with a subtle smile on his lips. You could sense that, despite his guilty look, he was celebrating this whole situation on the inside. 

With the towel you cleaned off his cock, still covered in a mixture of your spit and his cum. Jacce was looking at you like a puppy who made a mess and was watching his master taking care of it. His breath was getting heavy again and you could feel his cock twitching through the towel. He was totally getting turned on at how gentle and attentive you were to him. This had transformed into the perfect domestic fantasy in Jacce’s twisted mind. 

“I’ll help you to the door if you think your legs aren’t strong enough yet.”

“I thought you accepted me! Can’t I stay!?” 

“I haven’t made my final decision yet.” You crossed your arms,“if you really are a good boy you will let me think about it.”

Hanging over his head the possibility of being yours was enough for him to accept your request. He didn’t even consider the fact that you could call the police the second he leaves. Besides, the fact that you decided to touch him, instead of all the other decisions possible, was making him a bit more confident. After helping him up, you opened the front door and waited for him to leave. Jacce stopped, now the roles were reversed with his figure overtowering you. 

“You promise to think about it?” He whispered anxiously. 

“Yes, now please get out.”

He nodded and you watched Jacce for a bit to make sure he was really leaving, before closing the door. You looked down at the spot where the desperate man was previously sitting. You could feel your guts twist again, urging you to satisfy the heat between your legs. You sighed as you went into your room. The dirty audios you used to listen to were definitely not going to be enough to satisfy you anymore. 

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I love nothing more then making a reader who is horny for the yandere too 😌

Link for the chapter on Ao3

Here is an other old sketch I made for this chapter back in 2023!

[vampzity]

stimulate me | J.WY

★ DAY ONE: VIBRATORS WITH WOOYOUNG ★

pairing: bf! wooyoung x f! reader

watching a movie with your boyfriend sounds a normal task right? Not when your new toy comes into play. Every time you lose focus of the movie, he’ll stop, but when you pay attention the speed only intensifies.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+ !!!, literally no plot, smut, begging, overstimulation, oral (f. receiving), fingering, praising, vibrator is used on reader, pet names (baby, good girl, sweet girl), wooyoung’s a jackass, marking, cursing

word count: 1.1k

You laid with your legs in your boyfriend’s lap, watching the movie intently as the gang began to escape their captivity. It was so interesting to you and you were looking forward to sharing this night with Wooyoung, as he’s been so busy at the company. He however, paid no attention to the movie— in fact he didn’t even care for it.

His mind was rushing with anticipation, excitement. Dirty thoughts coursing through him like an animal in heat. Every few seconds he’d glance at you, noticing how unaware you were. His dick twitched under his sweatpants every time he admired your body; the way your breasts were perky under your not-so-baggy top and how your thighs made your pajama shirts roll back slightly.

God what a perv.

“Everything okay Woo?”

He snapped out of his trance, nodding and rubbing the back of his neck shyly. He got up from the couch, quickly retreating to the room. You paused the movie, sitting there confused as you looked down the hall.

“What are you doing? You’re interrupting movie night!” you crossed your arms, a bit annoyed at his sudden change in demeanor.

Wooyoung came back hurriedly, stuffing something into his pocket as he sat back on the couch next to you. You gave him a look, eyes falling to the crowded pocket that he failed to play off.

“What’s in the pocket?”

He laughed nervously, grabbing the remote from you and unpausing the movie. He pulled you closer to him by the waist, resting his chin against your shoulder and making the hairs stand up on your neck from his breathing. He pulled out a small purple vibrator; its head shaped like a rounded cube. Your eyes widened, meeting his as he lifted his head up.

You usually wouldn’t resort to buying anything sexual without telling Wooyoung. Only because he wanted to pay for any of your needs or desires, but you grow so needy in moments when he’s gone. You simply couldn’t help yourself.

“Bought a new toy without consulting me, hm?” He pulled your shorts, throwing them into the ground as you were left in only a tshirt and panties.

“Why don’t I test it out for you?”

He kissed your neck softly, spreading your legs slightly as he placed the vibrator in between your folds. You moaned softly at his touch, his hand holding your chin. A small smile crept on his face as he turned on the toy, the sudden feeling startling you.

“Watch the movie angel. Focus on it real good for me, yeah?”

He leaned closer to your ear, turning the setting to the highest possible. You let out a loud moan, your legs opening wider to allow more access to your sensitive bud.

“If you can’t, don’t bother asking me to cum. Understood?”

You nodded hesitantly, your breath becoming staggered as the vibrations went back to low. Wooyoung moved the toy around your bud, earning a small whimper escaping your lips. Your eyes fluttered as you tried to keep focus on the movie, but it felt so good.

You moaned quietly, feeling his lips peck your neck. He tilted your head slightly, allowing him more access to your sweet skin. His tongue swirled around your skin, sucking against it softly and leaving small red marks.

“Hmm good girl. Wanna cum badly, don’t you?”

You threw your head back in pleasure as he raised the setting, the toy practically pounding against your clit. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, moving it up and down as your moans grew louder. Wooyoung raised his eyebrow at you, turning off the vibrator and shooting you a stern look. He grabbed you by the chin, pulling your face to meet his eyes. He rolled his eyes, laughing in your face as you whined.

“I told you to pay attention to the movie, didn’t I?”

You nodded hesitantly, your head slowly turning back to the television. Wooyoung smiled, turning the vibrator back onto the lowest setting. Wet was an understatement— he could hear the creamy sounds of your cunt from where he sat, and boy did he want a taste.

With every passing scene, the setting got higher, making your moans louder. He pressed it harder against your clit, rubbing it in slow circular motions.

“Tell me how it feels baby, use your words.” You looked at him for a second, his small nod making your knees buckle.

“Need more.”

That’s all he needed to hear. In that moment he could no longer give a crap about the shitty movie that played because all he wanted was you.

Wooyoung pulled you toward him, your body now facing him. He kissed your inner thigh, sucking on them softly to leave small red marks. He ripped off your underwear, throwing them to the floor.

“So fucking needy.” he cooed, sticking a finger inside of you. You whined in pleasure, the mix of the vibrations and his finger hitting your sweet spot being too much for you.

“You like that, don’t you?”

He looked up at you, watching as your mouth was left agape and nothing but small whimpers escaped it. You scrunched your eyes closed, feeling your stomach spasm at the sensations. Wooyoung pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing it softly. He came up to you, pressing the vibrator against your nipple lightly. Your body jolted slightly, breathy moans filling the room.

“Woo,” you mumbled, your hand reaching up to grab his face.

You pulled him to you, your lips crashing against his as he let his fingers toy with your clit. Your nipples grew sore at the constant vibration, leading you to groan into each kiss. Wooyoung kissed your jawline, soon reaching your ear.

“Cum for me baby.”

His whisper felt like music to your ears and within seconds you came undone under him. Your body trembled, chest rising as you tried to catch your breath.

“That’s my sweet girl. Just like that.” He dropped to your legs, kissing your clit softly as he lapped up your juices.

You grinded softly against his tongue, attempting to push his head away. He turned the vibrator back on, placing it against your sensitive bud as his tongue fucked you. You cried out, begging him to stop as you felt the overstimulating pleasure build in your cunt. Little did you know, Wooyoung was far from done with you. He loved to play with you, tease you, see you reach new highs with his little mind games.

He turned the toy up a notch, pressing it harder against your clit. He moved it up and down, watching as you fell apart in front of him. This is exactly what he wanted, to undo your sweet soul just by his touch.

“So cute when you listen.”

Wooyoung grabbed the remote, pausing the movie and turning up the setting just one more time. You let yourself go another time, his tongue licking up the warm liquid that spilled out of you.

“Mm.. taste so good. Can’t wait to fuck this pretty cunt of yours baby.”

back to valentines masterlist

a/n: welcome to day 1 of this lovely event hehe. stay tuned for more!

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[ghcstao3]

despite what simon might claim, he is completely oblivious to flirting.

the signals often just fly over his head. he’ll nod and hum along to some story being recited to him in low voices and purring tones like it’s nothing more than friendly conversation. he’ll casually and unthinkingly shrug off any flirty touches, say thank you to compliments and move on. everyone thinks he’s just letting them down gently, or playing hard to get, but the reality is just that simon never registers anything subtle and implied as flirting.

it’s the same when an attractive bartender shoots him a wink and a charming smile, sliding him his bourbon and saying it’s on the house. confused, simon merely returns a polite smile and offers his debit card, thinking the scotsman behind the counter is only making a joke.

but then the bartender is pausing, staring at simon with his head cocked not unlike a puppy, bemused. he doesn’t take the card, and that frustrates simon, just a little.

“it’s on the house,” the bartender repeats, less flirtatious though no less interested.

simon frowns. “why?”

the bartender laughs. “because it is. i’m trying to flirt with you.”

simon’s eyes widen at that. he feels his face grow warmer the longer he processes the words, unable to respond with anything more than a short, pathetic, “oh.”

“aye, oh,” the bartender teases. then his smile falters. “unless that’s your way of turning me down.”

distractedly, simon shakes his head, heart pounding loud in his ears, louder than the music. puzzlement has shifted to disbelief, simon unable to comprehend how this handsome scotsman could ever be interested in him. and yet.

“then it’s still on the house,” says the bartender, nodding to the drink. “my name’s john, by the way. and my shift ends in twenty.”

then, quickly, watching the slight pinch of simon’s brows, john adds, “i’m letting you know so you can meet me outside, if you’d be interested.”

simon nods, slowly, because upon reflection—yeah, he would be interested.

simon just about melts on the spot when john grins at him again and says can’t wait.

[heavenlybodies333]

Stay Professional, Doctor - S.R

Your thighs are wrapped around Spencer’s waist, his back flush to the headboard, fingers gripping the curve of your hips like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. His tie is still on—half-loosened, and his dress shirt’s only half unbuttoned, your lipstick smudging the collar. He’s deep inside you, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut as you roll your hips just so. “God, I missed you,” he murmured, hips rising up into yours as he sank deep.

Then his phone buzzed. eyes flickering toward the nightstand where the screen lit up. He froze. “I have to get that. It’s the—”

“No,” you whispered, rolling your hips deliberately. His head dropped back against the pillow, throat bobbing.

“I have to—” He grabbed for the phone anyway, answering it with one hand while the other still gripped your waist hard enough to bruise.

“This is Dr. Reid,” he said, voice strained, already trying to suppress the hitch in his breath as you clenched around him on purpose.

The voice on the other end—Hotch—started speaking quickly. Urgent. Something about a triple homicide. Meanwhile, you rolled your hips again, slowly, watching his pupils blow wide.

He choked on a sound halfway between a moan and a gasp, his eyes fluttering shut as your pace quickened. Your tits bounced with each roll of your hips, the movement hypnotic, testing every last nerve of his self-control.

“Reid?” Hotch’s voice cut through the room like a whip. “Do you copy?”

"Yes, Hotch, I’m listening," he manages, voice strained and far too high to be considered calm. His gaze flicks to you—warning, desperate, pleading.

You started moving faster again, sliding down on him harder, letting your slick echo through the room as your thighs slap against his lap. His free hand shoots to your hip, trying to still you—but you bat it away and lean forward, your breasts brushing his chest. His hand shot up to clamp over your mouth. “Yes, I can be there in twenty minutes,” he said tightly, knuckles white where they gripped the phone. You moaned behind his palm, body moving against him like you had all the time in the world.

“Make it fifteen,” Hotch says, then hangs up.

The second the line goes dead, Spencer throws the phone aside and grabs your hips with both hands and flips you, your back hitting the mattress with a surprised gasp.

“Spence—"

“Oh, now you wanna talk?” He teases as you cry out, loud, but he doesn't stop. He fucks you hard, relentless, his fingers digging into your thighs as he sets a brutal pace, the sound of your slick, wet cunt clapping against his hips louder than before.

Your thighs clamp around his waist, your whole body trembling as the orgasm rolls through you, Spencer doesn’t stop. He rides it out, keeps fucking you like he’s chasing his own edge as he groans, burying himself as deep as he can get, his release hot and thick as he fills you, forehead pressed to yours, breath mixing with yours.

“I really do have to leave in ten.”

You laugh breathlessly, eyes half-lidded. “I think you made your point.”

a/n: i was listening to the morning by the weekend as I wrote…enough said

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[sadburntbread]

BATFAM X NEGLECTED! MALE READER - PART TWO -

----- Warnings before you read ----- torture, experimentation, angst, death, use of needles

A soft ringing noise wakes you from your rest, you tried to find the cause of it, however you couldn't find the strength to open your eyes. Slowly, the noise got louder. The ringing caused a pounding in your head that made you desperately want to cover your ears, to try and block out the terrible noise. Then, it faded into a low ringing, not exactly perfect but much better.

It was in that moment of peace that everything came back to you, your family, the fight, your death.

You suddenly felt cold; an unbearable chill ran through your body. You weren't sure if the sudden chill was from the fear of your death or if it was because of the temperature. You wondered if this was how your mother felt when she died. No, you don't want to think about her, knowing how disappointed she would be in you. Your heart started racing as panic began to set in, a single thought repeated over and over again, like a mantra inside your head.

"I don't want to die"

"I don't want to die"

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE"

You needed to calm down and breathe.

Your body felt heavy as if tons of weight were resting on it, everything hurt. everything but your arm... Why couldn't you feel your arm? You could feel your heartbeat getting faster and your breath getting shorter-

Then your breath caught as you realized something, you could feel your heart beating. That had to mean you weren't dead. With this realization you tried even harder to open your eyes, you struggled for a few minutes before you could finally crack them open. You took a few moments to look around the room. The walls and floor were completely concrete with a red door near the foot of the bed you were in, to the right you noticed a small rolling table that seemed to have tools on it, but you weren't able to see from your current position. A soft clack of metal caused your attention to drift to your left hand; you were strapped down by a thick piece of metal. When you tried to lift that arm you noticed that one of the screws were loose, maybe you could unscrew it with your other hand. Your gaze drifted over, and you noticed a large wrap around your stomach, your heart shuddered as you decided to ignore that, escape comes first. As you looked over, all the hope left you. Your arm was gone, cut off just below the shoulder. It was wrapped in some white gauze that was drenched in blood.

A loud creek caused your body to tense, looking over to the cause of the sound, you saw a man holding a clipboard walk in. He wore a long lab coat and had a stethoscope draped around his neck. His dark brown hair just barely reached his shoulders; his eyes had a bored look to them however, as soon as he noticed that you were awake his eyes lit up.

"Good morning!" he walked up to your right side and looked closely at the bandage. "You woke up a bit faster than I thought you would. Very good" After a moment he clicked his tongue at the state of the bandage. The man then walked over to the small table, placed his clipboard down and rolled it over to the bed. Thanks to this you were able to see most the stuff on it. There were multiple tools that looked like something a doctor would use and a few that you couldn't recognize. You opened your mouth to speak, to ask the man where you were. However, as if reading your thoughts he stopped you. "Try not to speak for a few days. Your throat was damaged a bit during the explosion. But you don't need to worry, you are safe here. I will take good care of you". His soft smile did not match the look in his eyes. "Your stomach was in the worst shape, you lost a lot of important internal organs, but I was able to get some...replacements" You wanted to ask the man what he meant but decided to save the questions for later. The man then began unwrapping the bandage on your shoulder, his touch was gentle, yet it still caused a sharp pain to shoot through your body. You grunted in discomfort but that only seemed to make your throat ache. The man then shook his head and sighed. "See? what did I tell you about speaking?", You wanted to argue that a grunt wasn't speaking, and it only happened because of him but the lingering pain in your throat caused you to instead just give him a glare. The man simply ignored your glare and instead picked up a fresh roll of gauze and rewrapped your shoulder you had to hold back any sounds in fear of the pain from your throat. He then looked at your throat. "This one was replaced a just a few hours ago, and lucky for you I am almost done with the replacement for your arm". At his words you shot him a surprised look, was this something Bruce paid for? You found it hard to believe given the state of the room you were in.

While you were lost in thought, the man then pulled out a needle and stuck it into the side of your neck, the pain was immediate. You let out a sharp yell which only made it worse. You looked up at the man, he was speaking to you, but you couldn't hear what he said. Your eyes got cloudy before sleep pulled you under.

The next time you woke up you were in a different room, this one was bright, the walls were white and there was a large light positioned overtop of you. The man from before slouched in his chair on your right side. He seemed very focused on what he was doing, he hadn't even noticed that you wake up yet. You steadied yourself and watched the man, making sure not to move any muscle more than necessary. You knew that the best thing to do in this situation was to stay quiet, after all this unknown man held a sharp tool against your skin. He seemed to be attaching the nerves to something metal, an arm you guessed, you couldn't see form this angle.

Your gaze was trained on the man as he worked. You realized that you didn't feel any pain from the operation, you realized that it must've been from whatever drug he injected you with before.

It took a while, but the man finished with a satisfied expression. After checking over his work he looked to you, a look of surprise crossed his face as he noticed you awake.

"Oh my, how long have you been awake?" He asked, as if you could answer him with what he did to your throat. Your glare seemed to speak volumes because he let out a laugh "Don't worry, you can speak now. You have an incredible healing speed. Definitely something to take advantage of" The man seemed to mumble the last part.

"Who are you?" Your voice was rough and scratchy from not using it. How long have you been out?? "Where am I?" You tried to sound threating, however given your current situation, you probably looked no more intimidating than an injured doe.

The man smiled back "I am the one who saved you, my name is Dr. Crane. During the fight between Batman and Joker you were left to die, the building you were placed in blew up. Luckly for you I was grabbing supplies for an experiment nearby and happened to be passing through the wreckage", He watched you carefully as he recounted that day's events, "Unfortunately, there was no saving your right arm. After all, it was hardly attached. Not to even mention the terrible state of your stomach, I was surprised you were even alive, it was then that I knew I had to have you as my patient. However, I had to sever the remaining bit of your arm and drag you with me. Once we were safe and far enough, I stitched you up enough to survive and brought you back to my lab."

You knew you couldn't trust him however knowing your family left you to die shattered your heart. You never thought they would just leave. You realized then that you had never truly mattered to them; you were just a tool. You resigned yourself to the painful truth before asking Dr. Crane another question.

"So, what do you plan to do with me? Kill me? Use me against Batman, I'm sure you figured out his identity because of me". You felt tired. Honestly, at that point you wished you had died, at least then you would've been able to see your mother again, feel her warm arms wrap around you, more comforting than a blanket.

At your question the man let out a laugh. "What I plan to do? It is simple. I plan to make you into my greatest project. No one will stand in your way when I am done." He seemed excited at the mere thought of your future success, "Ah, and about Batman. I honestly could not care less about him; I am a scientist after all, my projects are the most important to me".

You squinted your eyes at him, disbelief coating your features. However, you paused when you saw him reaching for a needle. "What is that for?" You demanded.

"Well, I thought since you keep waking up, we can try a few experiments. you seem healed enough for now". With that he injected the needled into your upper left arm. Pain shot through your body. Red dots danced through your vision; you hollered out in pain. You tried to move away from the pain, how? the pain is everywhere, but you were strapped to the table. Dr. Crane only watched as you withered in pain. You thought you were going to pass out, but you couldn't allow yourself to.

Use him. Use this man's smarts and take revenge on Bruce. For what he did to you. Don't give into the pain. Stay awake!

A voice echoed in your head pulling you from unconsciousness, forcing you awake. Forcing you to suffer through the pain.

Someone- Please it hurts. Please, make it stop! Save me! PLEASE!

Your pleading only seemed to make the voice stronger in your ears, refusing to let you rest. Until finally, the pain subsided into a dull ache across your body. You could feel your own face wet with sweat and tears, your body trembled and twitched. Your eyes were blurry as you tried to focus them on Dr. Crane.

"You managed to stay awake?" the surprise evident in his voice, "Interesting..." Dr. Crane rustled around the table, picking up a small vile and holding it up to your lips, "Let's keep going until you can't anymore. Ok, M/n?" Although he phrased it as a question, you didn't get the luxury to answer before he poured the liquid down your throat. You tried to turn your head, but he squeezed your cheeks with his other hand and forced your mouth open and your head still. You could feel the strange liquid slide down your throat as you tried not to swallow. Eventually you couldn't hold it anymore and had to swallow it down.

Dr. Crane did many experiments that day, you don't remember how many, only the unforgettable, excruciating pain. You lost count of the experiments after around number five.

You learned a new meaning of pain that day.

You don't know how long you were out, but when you woke up again you were in the first room you started out in. You realized you weren't strapped to the bed this time. After gathering the strength to move you got up and looked around the room, for a way out. A Sharp pain emerged from your stomach and arm thanks to the movement. Ignore it, you told yourself, there's more important things to focus on. It was obvious that your only hope was the door. So, you walked to it, using the wall for assistance.

The door was locked, you sighed, of course it was. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the halls; you hurried back to your bed and just as you sat down, Dr. Crane walked in carrying a tray with food. After noticing you sitting back down, he let out a small huff.

"Now, now. If you're going to be trying to escape, I will have to strap you back down". He sounded like he was scolding a disobedient child. Dr. Crane placed the food down on the table that was now cleared of tools, aside from some gauze. He rolled the table over to you. On the tray was mashed potatoes, some kind of soup, and water. You looked down at the food, unsure. Dr. Crane, noticing your reluctance, picked up the spoon and grabbed some mashed potatoes, he made eye contact with you, then ate the spoonful. "See? Nothing to be afraid of, no poison. We well work on poison resistance another time"

You hesitated before hunger took ahold; you quickly scarfed down the food, as if someone would take it away. Dr. Crane watched as you ate, making sure you finished it all. You chose to ignore the obvious hint of amusement in his eyes.

"How long have I been here?" You asked once you finished eating. Dr. Crane seemed pleased that you spoke with him, he most likely assumed you would hate him. You do; you just need information.

"It has been 9 months and 13 days since I brought you here". He answered, "but, who's counting?"

You hesitated for a moment however you couldn't hold the question back. "And my family, do they know?" Your voice was quiet, as if you didn't want to hear the answer. As you met Dr. Crane's gaze your eyes held an unspeakable plea, one not even you could understand. As if Dr. Crane could read your every thought; he left your question unanswered. You laid down on your side, away from Dr. Crane, as though hiding from the truth. Dr. Crane gathered the empty dishes and left in silence; the soft click of the door rang through the air.

The next day Dr. Crane sat and chatted with you as you ate. When you finished eating, he grabbed the tray and pulled a newspaper out of his pocket and set it down on the small table. Once he left the room you cautiously picked it up. After reading the headline you felt your heart drop in sadness? fear? anger? you couldn't say for sure.

"BRUCE WAYNE REFUSES TO SPEAK AT M/N WAYNE FUNERAL"

Your fingers traced the words, then drifted to the article. Your funeral was court and simple, much like your mother's. Her voice soft in your ear as you read.

See? they never cared about you. Take revenge on them. Don't forget all those years of neglect.

The voice was all around you, there was no escape from it. It demanded revenge, you began wanting it to.

Days turned into months, then years. Every day was similar; Dr. Crane would do experiments; he'd keep testing new things until you passed out. After the experiments He would bring you food, during these times he'd always sit and talk with you, it would be about anything that came to mind, you began to feel a type of connection with him. You almost felt like he was your friend, or maybe like the big bother you always wished you had. You resigned yourself to this fate, vowing to one day get the revenge that voice promised you.

After the first couple months Dr. Crane started putting his experiments to the test. He'd take you to what he called the 'training room'. It was a white padded room with vents in all corners. There you would train in strength, agility, resistance and even testing your smarts. The worst experiment that would happen in this room was when he would release a poisonous gas, you were told to bear with it, and you did, past limits you once thought you had.

Other times he put the room to a terrible cold temperature, leaving you with nothing more than your boxers. Even as frost bite gnawed at your bare body, you gritted your teeth and refused to give into the pain.

Everyday Dr. Crane would try injecting you with something new he invented. Sometimes the drug would fail, and he would have to rework it until he deemed it a success, then after that he would take you to the training room to test it.

It was a miserable experience. However, it allowed the betrayal and hatred to build over the years you were there.

You were strong, stronger than ever before. You had him to thank for it, and you knew it. So, you resolved to give him a painless death. You had been planning your escape for years and finally you could leave and extract your revenge. As you looked down to Dr. Crane's smiling face, you knew you did what you had to do. However, you could not stop the silent tears that fell down your face. In one way or another, this man had become someone you learned to care for.

"Wonderful..." Dr. Crane's voice was shaky, he coughed up some blood. So much for a painless death. "No, don't cry over this. You are my greatest success; through your actions I will live on". His voice faded as the fire you caused wrapped around the two of you. However, His eyes remained open, so you leaned down and closed them as a final gesture of gratitude, then you left. You walked through the fire that consumed the lab, the building crumbled around you. The scene almost beautiful in a way, your white pajama pants slightly charred at the ends, you didn't even flinch as your bare feet stepped on the burning embers.

Thanks to Dr. Crane you have truly become a monster, driven only by the need for revenge.

TO BE CONTINUED

Tags @mallowryblog @blover143 @venomsvl @sunnyfield