#So like I want to know if that's like.... useful?

[cabinette]

Prevvvv...... im eaaatingggg thisss.... I'm curious, what do you think of the HC that martin's explosive personality later is overcompensating bcause the lonely's sort of eaten away at his feelings? Taking into account everything said here?

Worst pain

[bi-writes]

anatomy of us (2) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

type: limited series, part 2 (7.2k) in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

PART 1

Tradition is not something you are fond of.

It’s something forced on you. When you question it, it’s offensive–how dare you question these things, made sacred over time? Why would you want to betray thousands of years of history? Time makes it definitive. Your being makes it natural. You submit because that is the natural thing to do, so in that sense, you submit to it all.

That is your duty. That is your calling. When you are claimed, you belong to them. You are property. Autonomy be damned–your place is on your knees, keeping your mouth shut, and any behavior against that is nothing short of a punishable offense, proper. Disobedient omegas make for troublesome households.

To keep you in line, you must be held at a short length from your alpha. It is what is done. It is what is expected.

Tradition.

Simon keeps a hand on you, curled at the base of your spine as he leads you back to where the sleeping quarters are. You know it’s for your protection, but the better part of you wants to smack him off of you whenever you feel his palm press just slightly against you. When you make it back into your room, Simon pauses in the doorway after he opens it for you. He looks nervous almost, sheepish. You turn to face him, looking him up and down. “You can come in if you want. I’m not gonna carry all my stuff by myself, you could probably carry a fucking tank looking at you.”

Simon finally comes inside, ducking his head a little to make it in. You know this room wasn’t meant to house an alpha, but it’s still startling to see him do it, taking up way too much space to be anything but claustrophobic. He watches as you pack your things, stuffing your clothes into your bags and picking up small trinkets around the bedside table and desk. After the bag starts to get heavy, you shove it into his arms as you look towards the bed. It’s a standard issue twin-sized, with barely enough sheets to keep you warm and a lumpy pillow that you hate. You make a face at it before turning around and putting more things into Simon’s arms as you empty the closet.

“Tha’ it?” Simon mutters, still able to peek over the mountain of items that he holds, and you shrug.

“That’s it.”

Simon’s own room is like a hospital room. It’s too clean–there’s nothing personal anywhere, no pictures or barely any clothes other than military issue fatigues. The only civilian clothes he has wouldn’t even make you think twice if you saw him in a bar–Simon will always look like a soldier, through and through, and his room stinks like it. It smells clinical, and nothing about it is cozy or warm. You stand in the middle of the room as Simon puts your things down. You ring your hands together nervously, eyeing the bed with one single, thin sheet on it. It’s too small of a bed for the both of you. It’s too small of a bed just for Simon–you don’t want to think about the kind of sleeping arrangements you’ll need to fit with him on it.

“Wot’s wrong?” Simon asks lowly. You look over your shoulder at him. He’s putting your things into the closet. He’s divided it in half already, and some of your clothes are already hung up next to his. You look back at the bed, pursing your lips.

“There’s not enough blankets,” you say softly. “A-And…And the pillows, here, I don’t like them.”

Simon turns back to your bag, picking up another shirt to hang. You glare at the back of him. It doesn’t do anything; he doesn’t erupt in flames like you might have hoped, but it does give you a moment to notice how well those jeans fit him.

Fuck. Keep it together.

“I’ll get you more blankets,” he shrugs. “And a different pillow.”

The answer is immediate. No fuss. You want to complain, to bite back at him for it, but you don’t know how you would explain your displeasure. You’re looking for a reason to tell your omega that she’s a scheming, hopeless, naïve little shit.

“...I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” Isn’t that what he had said? Isn’t that what he had said when he gripped you by the throat and made you realize that everything you had thought about alphas was true? Hadn’t he already shown you that none of them are redeemable?

Not Kate. Not John. Certainly not Simon–they’re all scheming, terrible fucking people, and you cannot wait until you can sink your teeth into Simon’s jugular and rip it out.

Belonging to, being one’s own, fuck if you care. Simon can claim ownership all he wants, but he’ll never tame you. Your omega might be pulling the strings at the moment, but you’re going through withdrawals, you think. Your medication was your lifeline. It kept you from falling off the tightrope, and you just need to learn how to stay upright without it. You can. When you get it back, when it’s in your hands again, she’ll understand.

She has to understand that only you know what’s good for you.

Simon places the rest of your things on his desk. A couple personal things, like your jewelry and some knickknacks, and then your bag with the rest of your clothes to be folded and put away. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. At least before, you could pretend like things were still a little normal. You could pretend that in your own room, you were simply waiting for another assignment, that you were just waiting for Kate to give you a call and move you somewhere new, somewhere safer.

“Am I just supposed to stay here and wait for you?” You ask finally. Simon shuffles around the room. He doesn’t look at you; instead, he takes a seat at a desk way too small for him and spreads a few papers around, frowning when he reads something that he doesn’t like. “Is that…is that my job?”

“Dunno.” Simon takes his phone out of his pocket, and he starts typing. “Don’t really feel like babysittin’.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” you tell him. “I…I have combat experience. I was in training before this.”

Simon snorts, still focused on his phone. He shakes his head a little.

“Cute,” he mutters. “Tha’s cute.”

Patronizing shit.

“I bet I can shoot a target ten times better than you,” you spit at him. His fingers hover over the screen for just a moment, irritated, before he goes back to typing. “And I can hold my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Simon puts his phone back into his pocket. He crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a deep breath before coming over to stand in front of you. You tip your head back, and he reaches down with a hand to cup under your jaw, holding you there. Just like that–your omega has you. You lean in, just that much. Simon sees it in your eyes, and he sniffs, looking you over.

Maybe he thinks you’re pathetic. In some sense, you agree with him, because what the fuck is wrong with me? You get one look into Simon’s eyes, and something chemical in you fires. You bend, and you relax, and you know if he asked you to open your mouth so he could spit in it, it would take a tremendous amount of effort to tell him no. It angers you and excites you all the same, and the conflicting flashes under your ribs bring tears to your eyes.

You hate yourself. You hate yourself for not being able to say no. You hate yourself for being everything they said you would be. You hate yourself for being nothing like you thought you were.

You’re soft. Sweet. All bark, no bite, a spiteful kitten that deep down, aims to please. The only thing that really baffles you, though, is why you only feel this way with Simon.

Is it because they told you that you were his mate? Is it because he’s done something, that he’s projecting some kind of scent? Has he already unknowingly changed your very makeup so your body knows that you are bound to him? When you look into John’s eyes, you see alpha. You see big, salivating dog, and if you could, you’d rip the hairs of his beard out just to see him in pain.

But Simon–it’s like you can’t move. Every time you look at him, and he looks at you, he holds you there. Just like now, he’s got you, and you feel like he can read everything you’re feeling. He’s being fed your secrets, and you hate him for it, but I can’t look away, please look away, please don’t make me–

“Need to get you somethin’ to eat,” Simon says finally. “And it’s time to meet the rest of the lot.”

Simon is starting to get used to keeping a hand on you. It annoys you a little, to feel his hand at your back, but the annoyance dissolves when you realize this base is filled with sneering alphas. They holler and yell, and they are very large and angry, but they still are small compared to Simon. They quiet whenever they walk past you, and even the whiff of omega doesn’t deter them with Simon behind you.

In the mess hall, you see Captain Price sitting at a table with two others. When you get closer to the table, you cough a little, stumbling back, and Simon catches you around the waist to hold you upright. The stench of alphas hits you like a truck, and Simon grunts as he tells you relax, fuckin’ hell.

You give him a hard stare–how the fuck would he know? There’s four alphas in your close vicinity, and they’re all puffing their chests and smiling, and it stings to smell them all at once. You turn your head a little to shield yourself, and when you filter everything else out but Simon, it frustrates you a little how much of him seems to calm you down.

Smells so good. Get closer. Press your nose to it, I-I want more–

“I see you two are getting along nicely,” John comments, leaning back in his chair. You roll your eyes a little, and when you lock eyes with him, you purse your lips and try to look anything but pleased. Simon guides you to sit down; he motions to the bench, just to the left of where someone else is already sitting–a big, burly soldier with crazy blue eyes. He has a terrible haircut, short along the sides with tufts of curls falling down the middle and over his forehead. He’s wiggling his eyebrows at his lieutenant behind you. Across from him, there’s another alpha with dark eyes and soft skin, and he’s smiling like an idiot around the rim of his plastic cup. You’re a little nervous–you had spent most of your time on your old base surrounded by betas who barely gave you a glance, and now you’re off your meds and being hit with a million different sensations everywhere you go. Simon’s touch on your back eases your shoulders a little.

“Tha’s Johnny,” Simon points to the one next to you. “Tha’s Gaz. ‘n I’m sure ya had the pleasure of our Captain.”

“Yeah, looks like your beard is still in tact, so glad to see it,” you say curtly, crossing your arms over your chest. The two sergeants laugh, ducking their heads, and John raises a brow before looking at Simon with a clenched jaw. Simon just shrugs, stretching his arm out on the back of your chair, and you get the feeling this happens often–John giving Simon that look, and Simon merely brushing it off. You smile to yourself a little, looking at Simon from over your shoulder. When you meet eyes, he stares back, looking over your face. He lingers on your lips for just a second too long before looking back up again.

I bet he tastes good under that mask. Let’s find out.

“Hungry?” He asks, and you blink. Your omega has never been inside of your head like this. You nearly opened your mouth and asked him for it, asked him please, please–let me taste, I won’t look, just let me taste you. You swallow her down a little, and you just nod to keep yourself moving. Simon stands up to make his way towards where the food is, and you watch curiously as instead of standing in line, he pushes open a door into the kitchen and disappears behind it.

“LT’s been gettin’ ye special meals,” Johnny says with a full mouth. You frown a little, and not just cause he’s chewing with his mouth a little too open.

“What do you mean?”

“He has the cooks make you somethin’ special,” Gaz says as he takes a sip of water. He leans back, smiling again, and it irks you a little. Alphas are brutes, disgusting big things with too many hormones, and you hate that this one gets to be pretty, too. Not that John or his sergeant aren’t attractive, but this one definitely enjoys a good mirror selfie, and it shows. “Something not on the menu. He didn’t like that you weren’t eating much, at the beginning. Made a fuss, and now he gets you better food.”

“He can do that?”

“Well, would ye say no to tha’ big man?” Johnny snorts, dipping his crusty bread in sauce. You look back towards the door, and Simon comes out holding a tray. He sets it down in front of you, and you bite your lip looking down at it. It smells so good, and you pick up your fork gently, sticking it into the pasta and twirling it. When you take a bite and sigh, Simon takes a seat next to you, and you can barely hear the sweet rumble in his chest of satisfaction.

Providing for you. Taking care of you. He’s so capable, isn’t he? Look at what he does for you.

If Simon notices you scoot closer to him, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t react either–it wasn’t a conscious choice.

Simon’s shower has hot water. Not that the showers you’d had were cold, but the communal showers were just that–communal. Shared, and although your escort always made sure you were the only one in there while you showered, it was still feeding off a water heater that always had barely any juice left. Lukewarm showers, so you tried to finish quick.

Simon’s shower turns the water scalding. You giggle with relief when you stand under it, letting it loosen your sore muscles and relieve your aching bones. It feels good, and you take a little longer in there, taking your time and enjoying the heat.

When it’s time to wash your body, you realize you’re missing your own soap. You look around for something else, noticing the unlabeled bottle that rests on a ledge. You squirt a pump of it into your palms, and when you raise it to your nose, your eyes flutter shut.

It’s the eucalyptus you smelled on Simon. A little plastic aftersmell, which you know is from whatever backwater dollar store the military buys it from, but on Simon, it smells so good. You lather it in your hands and hold it up to your nose, and you sigh deeply.

He’s just outside. Why don’t you call for him? I bet he’s listening. I bet he’s waiting for us.

You slide your hands down your arms. With the heat of the water, the whole bathroom starts to smell like it, and you let your hands slide down further, over your waist, between your thighs. When your fingers touch your puffy clit, you’re nearly jolted back into reality.

“Fuck–” You gasp, reaching for the level, shutting the water off. The last of the water curls down the drain, and you cough as you look around. You curl your toes, grounding yourself, and then you get out of the shower and reach for the towel. When you look into the mirror, your pupils are blown wide, and you feel like you don’t recognize yourself. You drop the towel and dress yourself, trying to keep your mind occupied with menial tasks.

Get your shit together.

When you open the bathroom door, Simon is back from his little errand he had run. He’s carrying a few blankets and a thick comforter, and there’s a few new pillows on the bed with it. You use the towel to keep drying the wet strands of your hair, and Simon turns around when he hears you walk in further.

You pass by him wordlessly as you reach the bed. You put your hands on the blankets that he put down, and you close your eyes when you feel how soft they are. Threaded cotton and fleece, lots of thick feathers in the comforter to make it nice and fluffy. When you turn to look over your shoulder, Simon does a terrible job of pretending like he wasn’t just staring at your ass in the little sleep shorts you’re wearing. You want to snap at him, but your omega pinches your tongue.

Take them off. Take them off. Take them off.

“So, what…” You clear your throat. “How are we supposed to sleep in that bed? T-Together?”

Simon tilts his head to the side. You start to despise the mask. You hate that you can’t tell what he’s thinking, not even a little, and after the rather joyous conversations you’ve had with Simon (barf), you can’t say you’re entirely excited to be in this close of a space with him.

“Don’t worry,” Simon murmurs. “I’ll be good.”

Oh, that totally makes you feel better.

Prick.

He makes you get into bed and turn facing the wall as he turns out the lights. He pulls at the edge of his mask uncomfortably, and you realize he doesn’t want you to see his fine. Fine, you think to yourself, throwing the sheets back with a huff, bet you’re fucking ugly mug would blind me anyways.

You cuddle under all the blankets, snuggling into the new pillow that sinks under your head. You hum gently, closing your eyes, and you aren’t able to see Simon rubbing his chest warmly as he watches you. He sucks on his teeth, not truly understanding what he feels, but knowing that it’s soothing the beast in him to take care of you.

It rattles him. Simon isn’t used to this. He’s not used to feeling like he doesn’t have control. He resisted this for so long. He tried so hard to fight, he said no to Kate over and over and over again.

Omegas to Simon were liabilities. To care was to have a target on your back. To be mated meant having something to lose.

Ask Price, is what he told her, ask the fuckin’ sergeants, anyone but me, but she wouldn’t hear it. It had to be him, it had to be, and then she locked him into a room with her, and she leveled with him.

She told him that you are special. That you are precious. That omegas like you don’t exist, that you are one in a single generation, and there isn’t anyone else in the world that will do except for him.

Price, married to the field. The sergeants, immature and might as well be titled barracks bunnies. But Simon–purebred, quiet, controlled. Terrified of himself and what he is. His unofficial pack that he defends with his entire being, that is the only alpha worth giving to you.

Kate had thought about it before. What it might be like to push the hair away from your neck and sink her teeth there. As easy as putting her signature to paper, she could have the CIA running laps to keep you protected, but she knew that wasn’t the life for her. It couldn’t be.

In every situation, Kate would have to choose that lesser evil, and in her world, it would mean her choice would unlikely be you.

Simon? Simon answered to no one. Unlike his sergeants, he cared little for authority; he wouldn’t blink twice saying no to his superior. Unlike his Captain, Simon didn’t mind choosing the bloody way out. He was the first with his finger on the trigger, and the last to sweep a room. Kate knew–if Simon had to choose between the greater good and the omega he claimed?

Fuck the greater good. That, she could count on.

If Kate only asked for one thing, it would be this. She did promise you. She promised she would keep you away from it all. She promised that she would make things right. She promised that she would protect you, but even Kate answers to others, and the reality of this kind of world is that the only way to really protect you was to give you away.

To put you into the same world that you had only begged to be kept away from.

Nobody likes playing matchmaker, but maybe putting together the most stubborn and angry people in the world might save you from yourselves. At least she hoped so.

You’re nearly asleep when you feel Simon come to bed. All the lights are off, and it’s pitch black in the room. There’s some shuffling around the room, and then you feel the blankets move. All of the sudden, a heat stronger than you’ve ever felt takes up the entire bed. Pressed against your back, a solid chest, and then a huge arm falls over your waist.

“We cuddling now?” You mumble sleepily, and Simon breathes out slowly, not responding. When you fall asleep, it’s unnervingly easy. Your omega purrs, digging her nails into you, and when you turn your head in the dark and feel the brush of his unmasked face against yours, she preens.

He’s right there–just a little taste. Just a little. Please, please, please–

Omegas cannot claim, but they can bite. It takes everything inside of you not to sink your teeth into him.

“You smell that? Smells like fuckin’ sweets, mates.”

You take off your headphones and safety glasses, looking over your shoulder. There’s a few recruits a few lanes down from you, wiggling their eyebrows and licking their lips. One of them crudely grabs his crotch, winking at you. You make a face.

Gross.

“Let me see you, baby. Smell so good.”

You holster the gun you’re holding, leaning against the counter with your hip. You raise a brow, tilting your head to the side.

“Are you done?” You ask, and they take that as their cue to start walking closer. An invitation.

They don’t get very far. You smell him before you see him. On instinct, your shoulders relax with that whiff of charcoal. You push off the counter just in time for him to come up behind you, and you feel the heat of his chest as it presses against your back. The recruits in front of you stop immediately, and you feel a disgusting sense of satisfaction when Simon bends over your shoulder to look at you.

“‘n wot’s this?” Simon growls. You shrug, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know. They wanna have a dick-measuring contest, but I think they’re afraid they’re gonna lose,” you say. You let out an annoyed sigh, turning again to put your safety glasses on. You put the headphones back over your ears and take the gun out of your holster, turning the safety off as you line it up with the paper targets near the back of the course. “You know. Cause my dick is way bigger.”

You unload the clip just for fun. You’re supposed to be practicing on accuracy, which for you meant slower, spaced-out shots to try and hit the same spot over and over, but the sound of the gun going off again and again helps distract you from the laughing, untrained dogs that are littered across the shooting range.

When you put the gun down after emptying the magazine, Simon is salivating. The paper target head is obliterated, each bullet almost next to its last. When you turn around, Simon tilts his head to the side. You holster the gun, starting to walk, and Simon lets his eyes drop to the sway of your hips as you pass by him. It’s not a conscious decision, the way his fingers curl into fists and squeeze hard.

“Told you,” you say to him. “Huge dick, right, baby?”

Something flares in Simon’s chest when he hears it. Like a switch, his legs start moving, following you, and when he passes by a recruit that is standing much too close to you, Simon shoves the recruit back so hard, they smack their nose against the wall and curses from the impact, blood dripping under their bruised nose.

The rest of the day, you don’t see another rookie walk even five feet into your vicinity. Even without a mark on your neck, you are claimed, and right before you leave your room for dinner, Simon is fitting a dark hoodie over your head. The smell overwhelms you. It’s soaked in his scent, and you turn to face him, looking at him suspiciously. Your omega keeps you from questioning him. She wants you to start walking, because she knows he’ll touch you when you do.

It’s that night that Simon asks John for you to join them. All Simon does is slide the shredded paper target across his desk. John picks it up, tacking it onto the wall. He chuckles, shaking his head. It’s an impressive piece of paper, but being a good shot isn’t the only reason someone is cleared to work with them. Even besides that, it’s forbidden.

“Omegas aren’t allowed in the field, Simon,” John reminds him. “You know that.”

“Think tha’s why we should take her,” Simon mutters. “She’s a distraction. A good one.”

“A weapon,” John frowns. He can already hear Kate screaming into his ear if she ever saw you geared up between them on an op.

“A tool.”

“And what does she think of that, eh?” John slips his hat off, tossing it onto his desk. He sighs, running a hand over his beard, and he shakes his head. “And Kate…Kate would hang my fuckin’ head.”

“Not Kate’s responsibility anymore, she’s mine,” Simon bites back. He knows it’s wrong. In all honesty, the sentiment tasted bad from the moment he said it to you, but it is easier to let you believe that he’s using you then try and make you understand him. You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t get his reasons, and that’s fine, so if he has to be the bad guy, so be it.

The least he could do is make himself useful. Put your skills to work, poke your mind. See what you can really do.

“Don’t let your girl hear you talkin’ like that, Simon,” John says lowly. “Not her, and certainly not Kate.”

“But you agree,” Simon continues, chuckling lowly. “I speak for her. ‘n I think she’d be right in on it, Captain. Wot else is she to do, eh? Sit in my fuckin’ quarters and wait f’me? Wot kind of life is tha’? She needs this. She’s good. I can teach ‘er. She’ll learn. Well and good she will, I know it.”

John sniffs, running a big hand over his short hair before tapping a pen over the target paper on the wall.

“I need her OK,” John relents finally. “I need to hear it from her. I get that, I’m alright with it. But she has to know what she’s getting into, Simon. And no one but you is responsible for her. If she gets into something, I’m not gonna risk Soap or Gaz for it–”

“I know,” Simon mutters. “She’ll be my shadow. I’ll teach ‘er.”

She’ll be good. She’ll be good because she’s mine.

“Bravo-7, sitrep.”

“Eyes on target. Waiting on confirmation.” Simon looks over his shoulder for a moment, where you’re sitting as his cover. You look cute, he thinks. All geared up. He lets his eyes sweep over the cargo pants that are cinched around your waist. Your nice curves. Thick thighs. Fuck, you smell good, even with all the sand up his nose and the smoke clinging to his mask. You have your rifle tucked into your elbow, and you’ve got it aimed towards the door of the roof.

“Is it always so fucking hot?” You ask, running your wrist over your lip. You’re sweating; you can feel it dripping down the back of your neck and along your back. You’re wearing a lot of gear, but you’ve done this before, and you don’t remember it being so uncomfortable. It must be the climate–you’re not used to this kind of desert, and you need to get it together.

Despite the irritation you feel every time you look at Simon, your omega wants to please him. She wants to show him she can do this, that she’s capable, and you’re starting to not like that she’s behaving as if you and her are one and the same.

I’m in control. Shut the fuck up. Let me focus.

“Just watch the door,” Simon mutters, turning back to focus. He adjusts the scope of his rifle, taking a deep breath as he leans into the stock. He gets his target into his line of sight, and he narrows his eye a little more to watch the group more closely on the ground. It’s hard to ignore you. Normally, the person covering him goes almost unnoticed. Their scent never affects him, not enough to make him look away from his scope, but there’s something in the air way too close to him, and he scrunches his nose a little as he adjusts his position on the ground. “You stink, by the way.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap. “Not my fault.”

“Certainly is y’r fault.”

“You reek, too, you ass,” you mumble, wiping your forehead again. You adjust how you’re sitting, clearing your throat. It’s scratchy, and you’re starting to itch a little all over, too. “Like wet dog.”

Simon smiles under his mask. He keeps his index finger next to the trigger, and you keep yours on it.

“How much longer do we have to do this? I mean…I thought you were SAS. Don’t you guys…get your hands real dirty? I mean, don’t you go tearing doors down? Get a lot of action? I mean, we’re just sitting ducks on a roof here right now.”

“Wot, you wanna go kick some doors down now?” Simon asks. He shakes his head. “The real job is boring. We do things nice and clean, we only get dirty when we ‘ave to. If I can get a target from 1000 yards away, then tha’s wot I’ll do. Besides. This is wot I’m good at.”

“Yeah, you look real good there on your knees, honey.”

Simon blinks hard when something strong hits his nose. It stings, makes his eyes water. He coughs a little, dropping his head for a moment.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Simon hisses. “Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?”

“I-I don’t know,” you whisper. You take your hand off your rifle for a moment to adjust the collar of your shirt, but it doesn’t help. You shift a little, loosening your tactical vest. You want to take it off, but you know that’s a bad idea out here. It’s hard to think clearly, though, when your brain is cloudy and you’re starting to see things in double every so often. “It’s…it’s too hot.”

Simon huffs, “‘n when was the last time you had a heat?”

“I’ve…I’ve never.” You clear your throat. “I’ve never had one.”

Can you smell him? I can smell him. He smells so good.

Simon nearly leaves his post. He grips his rifle tight, gloved hands squeezing the metal, and he turns to look at you incredulously.

“Fuckin’ repeat tha’?”

“I know you’re blind and dumb, but don’t tell me you’re fucking deaf, too,” you mumble. You swallow, wiping your face again, and Simon presses on the radio on his shoulder.

“Bravo-7 to Bravo-6, how long do we got?”

“Just observation on target for now. Why?”

“Need 10 minutes.”

Simon shuts off the radio. You blink, starting to see double pretty consistently now, and you take a shaky breath as you grip your rifle a little tighter. You hear shuffling behind you, and you look back to see Simon moving from his position.

“What are you doing? Simon–”

“Get over ‘ere.” Simon sets his rifle down. “Tha’ wasn’t a fuckin’ suggestion, tha’ was an order!”

There’s something different in his voice at the end. Something more animal that lilts his drawl, and it makes you coherent enough to start moving–like his voice made all the fog clear up for just a few moments, long enough for you to realize you need him.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

You put your rifle down, crawling over to him, and just as you stumble, Simon catches you. You put your hands on his shoulders, falling into his lap, and he hoists you up until you’re straddling him. You feel him starting to tug on your cargos, and even in your daze, you squeeze his shoulders.

“S-Simon? What are you…What are you doing?”

“Y’r gonna go into heat soon,” Simon mutters. Alarm bells go off in your head, and you dig your nails into his shoulders. He can see it clearly–the panic on your face.

“H-Heat? R-Right now?”

“Not right now,” Simon clicks his tongue. “More like a…pre-heat. Get y’r bloody pants off–”

When Simon tugs your cargos down enough, you gasp when you see the mess your panties are in. They’re soaked, drenched until the cotton is a darker color, sticking to your cunt, and you whimper as Simon tugs you back into his lap with your pants around your ankles. It’s awkward and messy, and you’re sweating bullets, hot and bothered, and your chest feels tight. There’s nothing romantic about it, nothing sweet about the way Simon turns you in his lap. It’s hurried, but you’re just as desperate, clawing to whatever piece of him you can touch and trying to sink into him. If you could, you’d pry him open and force yourself to tuck yourself inside of him. You want to live there forever. You want to be in his skin, soaking it all in–you want it. You want this, don’t you?

He’s touching us! He’s touching us! Let him in!

“W-What’s happening t-to me?”

“‘s olright,” Simon whispers in your ear. “I’ve got ya. There we are…” He cups your pussy, making you squirm. You jolt in his lap, throwing your head back against his shoulder, and he hums as you sink into his touch. Something inside you curls and lights on fire. Your vision blurs, and his scent surrounds you. “Oh…fuck…tha’ wot ya needed, swee’eart? Yeah…”

Yes! Yes! Yes!

“Simon–” Your back arches, and you push your hips into his hand. When he touches your clit, your omega seizes inside your head, and it’s a feeling like you’ve never felt before.

She takes the reigns; and God, does she fucking pull.

You palm at the zipper of his pants. There’s something there, something you want–and you need it. There’s something in your chest that blinds you, that familiar voice in your head that chants–take it out, take it out, take it out.

“‘m workin’ on it, love,” you hear from behind, and you realize you’re talking. You’re out of your body, you think. You’re not yourself. When you feel him in your daze, big and throbbing under your hand, you whine. It comes from deep within your chest, a bubble of nonsense, and Simon coos. He drags your hips closer, and his cock slips under you, between your folds, and you use your palm to keep him pressed to you. You can’t see him, but you felt him when you first met him, and you’re feeling him now.

If there was any doubt that he was anything but an alpha, that thought disappears when his fat tip kisses your clit. He’s hot and throbbing under your hand, and he is more than enough to appease the voice in your head that’s screaming for some kind of inherent relief that it knows he can give.

“Simon, I need it–I need it–”

“I know, love.”

Fuck, Simon would win any dick-measuring contest, you think. Barely the tip of him, and you’re baring your teeth, gripping his thighs and digging your nails into him as you try and breathe through the stretch. He’s not even fully hard yet; the blood is rushing to his cock, and you moan and cry as he sits you down further and further and further–

“What the fuck–what is it you have in your fucking pants, a-a fucking pipe–?!”

“Y’r so much prettier when y’r mouth ain’t runnin’,” Simon mutters. “Ahh–fuck–’s mine, oll mine–”

You put your hands on his knees and throw it back. You’re feral, brain foggy, and all you can think about is getting yourself off. Your body clings to Simon like a thick, curling vice, pussy clamping around him and taking him to the root. You’re dripping down your thighs, wetting his cargos, and you’re thankful that he’s wearing black, otherwise you can’t think about the mess you’d really be leaving on him. The sounds are lewd. Frantic smack, smack, smack against his thick thighs, and the sound is only making you drool for more. He’s so big. He’s hitting you deep, and you swear your insides have never been stretched this far, but it’s like your body is molding itself to fit him. Like you’re making room for him.

It’s so good. It feels right. Your omega growls like an animal, crying with relief. It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted, and she has it in her hands, and she licks at your scent gland until it practically vibrates. Simon’s face is pressed to it, like he can hear her calling. His mask is the only thing separating you, but you can feel his teeth straining against the fabric. They cut over the gland, wet like his tongue is poking against it, too, and your omega screams.

Bite me, bite me, bite me.

“Not yet,” Simon grunts. “Won’t take.”

“You’ll make it take.”

He laughs, and then he punches the air out of you with a nice thrust. Then he’s on you. Suddenly, you’re on your knees, your tummy against the sandy rooftop, with a stallion of a soldier on top of you, taking you like his last meal.

He sounds like more bear than man. Growling, spitting, both hands on either side of your head as he fucks you into the floor. There’s a smile on your face, soft relief that leaves you in your pretty moans and gurgled pleas. It feels so good. The tip of his cock curves and hits against the same place each time, sending pulses that rack your body over and over and over again. Your thighs are shaking, and then Simon slips one hand under you and cups your pussy, fitting it just right until you can grind down on his palm in perfect timing with the way the fat tip of him hits you just well enough. It should hurt. You’ve never taken anything so big–of course you’ve practiced, but nothing can prepare you for the real thing.

This is still practice. You’re not in your heat, not really, and Simon hasn’t lost his fucking mind yet.

Like a fiend, you chase it. The stars, the mountain to climb, the beautiful end. You get up a little more onto your knees and you wrap a hand around his neck, force him against your jaw. You goad him on with pretty words, soft moans–that’s it, right there, please.

It’s not his first time. It’s not his first time relieving an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s not his first time taking an omega by the neck and pounding into her until she can’t speak, but it’s the first time his resolve shatters.

He wants to bite. He’s never felt the urge to bite. If it wasn’t for the mask, his teeth would be an inch deep in your neck, and he’d be memorizing what your blood tasted like for the first time. Your scent is just that much off that he knows it isn’t the right time, but fuck–the need is there. It’s clear.

Special. One of a kind. No one like her. Soft. Sweet. Mine.

His knot swells a little, but it doesn’t lock. You’re not in a proper heat, so it’s not right just yet, but you can feel the edge of it, like the preface to a glorious poem. Thick and spongy, hot, and when he comes, your eyes roll back in your head. It feels like being thirsty for days on end and finally getting that sweet drink of crystal clear water. He pumps you full, creamy and thick and dribbling between your thighs as you squeeze them together. Subconsciously, you’re trying to keep it inside, and Simon groans when as he latches his mouth over your scent gland under the mask and sucks–so hard, it pinches you just right.

The stars align. The tide wanes. You mumble softly, dopey smile on your face, and when your own high hits you, and you’re squirting into his hand, you let his rumbling, low voice pull you back to earth.

“I ‘ave ya, swee’eart,” he says. “Shhh…easy, kitty…Shh…yeah, easy.”

You sigh with relief. Simon handles you with ease. He picks you up, gets you to sit back on your heels. You don’t see it, but Simon fits his wet fingers under the mask, and you keen when you hear him suck on his fingers and hum.

He likes us. Hear that? He likes us.

“Want you to eat me,” you giggle suddenly, and Simon wipes you down, picking your pants back up and zipping them. He pats your ass gently, smoothing a hand over the back of your neck. He knows you’re still in a different headspace. He knows there’s still something else drawing your breath, but he’s trying not to think about it too much. It sounds so much like you.

“Do plenty o’tha’ when we’re in the thick o’it, kitty.”

Back in the humvee, Johnny is smiling like an idiot. He’s sitting next to Kyle, hitting him with his elbow as he wiggles his eyebrows at you and Simon sitting across from them. You tilt your head to the side, glaring.

“What?” You snap, and Johnny cackles. His eyes are flashing, and he reeks like happiness.

“Smells like ye had fun.”

“My gun is loaded, shithead,” you warn him. “And I know how the fucking safety works.”

When Johnny moves to sit in the front near your captain, you try not to think about the sudden warmth over your knee, and the squeeze of Simon’s hand on you.

NEXT

[makingqueerhistory]

":')))))))) you realise that gen AI is available to everyone though right??? Queer creators can use it just as much as anyone else??? I just don't understand this post... It really feels like a cheap way to get on the 'AI Bad's bandwagon, and coming from such a thoughtful and insightful creator that's incredibly disappointing... It's okay to not comment on subjects you're not an expert in y'know...?"

Y'all know the drill, I am replying to this publicly but that is not an invitation to send any negative messages to the person I am replying to.

Anyways, let me start by saying that the original context of the post you're replying to is discussing an event where a queer org used generative AI to steal an interview with Keri Hulme. So let's start there. To be clear I don't even know if the original interviewer was queer so let's put the identities of stealer and stolen from to the side. I want to explain the harm done in this example specifically and I hope this is illustrative of what harm generative AI can (and does) do.

The original place I saw generative AI was a queer org that explicitly says they are using generative AI "for good", and as a way to bring more queer history to light. So let's take them at their word, and assume they are not out to cause harm. This is the best example of generative AI that I can imagine, so I hope that makes it clear that I am not coming at this issue from bad faith in any way.

Here is the harm they are causing:

Decontextualizing and rephrasing an interview: I am not going to pretend that I am an expert in academic best practices, but I do believe one thing, if a person is speaking on their own identity and lived experience, it is always much better to directly quote than it is to rephrase. As I read this source, I initially didn't know that it was AI, and I was already upset. An interview that is widely available on the internet with no pay wall, was poorly sourced and made more vague than it was in the initial text. By creating one degree of seperation between the original words of A WRITER (whose literal job was largely based in choosing the right words to describe experiences they had) harm is already done. It makes vague what was once clear, and removes Keri Hulme's voice from her own narrative.

The original interviewer is not paid, or given proper recognition: I get it, sometimes just copy pasting an interview doesn't feel transformative enough, but something that one would learn if they worked in the queer history field and weren't a literal robot rehashing what has already been said, is that not everything needs to be transformed. In those cases, we give credit to the person who said the original words (in this case Keri Hulme), and the interviewer who facillitated the conversation (in this case Shelley Bridgeman). This case (again a best case scenario), takes the attention and byline away from the original interviewer and gives it to an AI.

The original publisher of this story is deinsentivised from paying interviewers in the future: The original publisher of this interview has ads on their website. As a person who also has ads on their website, taking an article like this and rephrasing it for no good reason (the orginal word count was not prohibitive and the rephrasing did not make it more readable), takes money from the publisher. It's pennies, but it's also removing numbers could have been used to justify further interviews with asexual people and archiving of asexual stories. The org that stole from this publication does not interview people themselves so the money and numbers that could have gone to continue to preserve asexual stories goes to stealing them instead.

These are just the active harms that I saw in this specific case. As you said, I am not an expert in generative AI, and will not be speaking as if I am. But I will say that asking me not to speak out on active harm that is being caused in queer history spaces, is disrespectful to my many years in this field.

To illustrate this even clearer: if you were a patron, you would know I recently took down an old article. I have been rereading and editing our backlist of articles, and I found one that no longer fit my standards of sourcing. My standards had recently raised due to a video made by HBomberguy about someone in the queer history space who was stealing from other creators. I watched this video not as a work project, but because I watch most of HBomberguys videos, and this one made me think more critically about sourcing. An AI can't do that. All an AI has is what has been inputted, and it is right now impossible to input every available peice of information about ethics into an AI and get a coherent ethical basis on which it will function.

It is a distinctly human trait to absorb information and change in that way. AI can rephrase information that already exists, steal it, recontextualize it even, but it cannot create something altogether new.

Do I believe that there one day might be an ethical use for Generative AI? Maybe. Do I believe that coming into a queer history space, stealing the words of a Maori asexual author, rephrasing them, and giving the original interviewer and publication no form of compensation for their work, is accomplishing that? No.

On a more personal note: I am coming at this issue with a bias. As a queer history creator, I do not want AI in my space, because it is literally damaging to my financial prospects. It has been like pulling teeth to try and get patrons in the current state of the global economy. I don't blame anyone from that, but I feel very disrespected that I am being asked to compete with a machine now. Not only that, but I am being asked to shut up and be fine with it? No, absolutely not. I cannot and will not stay quiet as space that I have fought tooth and nail to create in mainstream discussions is taken and given to AI.

AI was not supporting me when I was sent gore to try and scare me off of discussing queer history. A person did that. AI was not there to tell me I had written too many sad stories, and I needed some happy endings to remind myself of the good in the world. A person did that. AI was not there when I was being harrassed for supporting and including asexual stories on my website. A person did that.

And after all that, I am being asked to lie down and take it when my ability to pay the people who supported me in those ways, is being threatened. Nope. Not going to happen.

An AI doesn't have to make rent. An AI doesn't understand what it feels like to have to stop holding their wife's hand in public. An AI didn't get calls from people needing comfort in reaction to the election. Pay me for my work, and get this AI nonsense out of my face.

[shouyuus]

very 18+, vi-shaped, modern underground fighter!au tw: in which vi uses a vibrating strap d1ldo and also fucks ur throat

popular underground fighter vi! x reader in which vi "soft launches" your relationship with this photo posted on instagram with clear red nail marks down her back and just the caption "post fight ritual 💋" and it's obvious that her knuckles are still bruised, but someone else made those marks on her back and they're definitely not from any fight she's ever been in.

and it's not like she's a stranger to people thirsting over her posts -- she kinda knows she's hot. or at least, she's been told enough times to know it empirically, but it still stuns her a little when she catches you staring, or when she sees the way your pupils literally dilate in her presence; it's not something that she grew up hearing, always being told that she's too tomboy or that she's not feminine enough, even though her own family never cared, and they've always supported her no matter how she wanted to dress or what she wanted to do.

you, though. she doesn't know how she got so lucky with you.

she might call it a chance meeting, but later on, you'd admit that you'd had your eye on her for weeks, thought she was so, so pretty, even with all her black eyeliner and her choppily cut hair (she does it herself; oh, you could tell? why? what gave it away? the weirdly uneven buzz or the fact that she totally missed a patch at the back of her head?), and you'd put yourself squarely in the line of her sight and hoped (prayed, really) that she'd notice you.

and notice you she did.

wearing that pretty little sundress of yours, leaning up against the bar of her favorite lesbian haunt, the one she goes to nine times outta ten after her fights, the adrenaline's still high, eating through her veins, the tattoo of her pulse pressing against her ribcage.

she'd pushed off the far wall and caged you in against the dark wood of the bar, turning her charm up to eleven and hoping against hope that she wasn't just imagining things when she saw your gaze run up and down the length of her body (she wasn't).

"hey pretty. thought you might wanna take a closer look."

you'd grinned then, caught someplace between bashful and triumphant.

"but... it's so dark and so... loud," you say, letting your hand linger on her shoulder even as you put up the very convincing front of uncertainty, the blatant tease of your words the only thing cueing her off that you were picking up what she was putting down.

"yeah? then... wanna go somewhere quiet where you can... take a better look in peace?"

vi's apartment, despite all the winnings from her fights, was a modest place, a small studio in the heart of the city, though the floor the ceiling windows are really what caught your eye that first time she brought you over.

that, and the giant mirror that covered the length of an entire wall opposite the windows.

"so i can check my form," vi says when you ask, running a tall glass under the tap water, holding it out to you afterwards.

and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been expecting a hookup. and honestly, so had you. but somehow, the pair of you had just ended up curled on the couch, sitting face to face, sharing stories and laughing. the next you looked up, the pink of dawn was teasing across the far skyline and vi was frowning at the dying phone in her hand, her eyebrows hitched.

"holy shit... it's 6am."

you bury your face in the cushions of the couch, your hands still wrapped around a half-empty cup of spiked apple cider (a bottle of martinelli's at the back of her fridge, along with a half-empty thing of grey goose she'd found, tugging the cap out with her teeth), feeling the tiredness drag at your eyelids.

"oops... sorry," you grin sheepishly at her, "usually, when i keep people up all night, it's not like this."

vi laughs at your tired little innuendo, but her eyes soften when she catches you watching her. and for some stupid, unfathomable reason, she feels her cheeks heating up.

"yeah peaches. i figured. but... i don't mind being kept up like this."

your brows furrow even as a grin threatens your lips as she nudges you with her hand. you shift back, making room for her as she sits down in front of you, close enough for you to feel the heat rolling off her skin.

beyond the windows, a brilliant sunrise is peering out over the city, and the sharp, shard-drawn light of it pierces vi's studio as she reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her thumb and forefinger trailing the line of your cheek till she's coaxing your chin up towards her.

"peaches?" you ask, your breath a bit short.

"yeah," her eyes flicker towards the tiny little stud earrings you'd put in, truly miniscule peach-emojis that you'd picked to match the shade of your dress. and you laugh, the tiredness making the air around you both effervescent.

and that was the first of many nights you'd proceed to spend at vi's, though eventually, she does drag you forward to kiss you, her lips insistent against yours, with you pulling back to gasp -- "took you long enough --" against her only for her to sink her teeth into the bared skin of your neck, letting her fingers curl around the delicate pulse-point nestled there as she says --

"they say good things come to those who wait."

neither of you can truly pinpoint the moment where this... thing became something more. something that neither of you had the words or will to deny any longer.

it might've come up the first time vi pressed three fingers into your sopping cunt, her eyes fixed on the way your expression goes slack, how your hips kicked up at every curl of her expert fingers. or perhaps the first time you'd pushed her back and kissed a line down her front, lavished her body with your lips, teasing and nipping at her tits before making your slow, arduous way down to her clenching cunt, licking up the wet slit before latching your mouth around her clit and sucking hard enough for her eyes to roll out of her eye-sockets.

or maybe the first time she'd pulled out her bright pink strap, the base equipped with a vibrating function and an opposing dildo that hooked into vi's pussy as she rucked her hips into yours, fucking into you so hard that tears had creased in your lashes after she was done with you.

"fuck peaches -- you just look so good cumming on my cock, don't you?"

and that's all it takes these days, a smirk, a slap on the ass, and her voice saying peaches for you to feel your body clench over nothing, for your stomach to curl with heat, even if she's just coming over to press a kiss to your cheek or murmur against your skin, asking how your day went, though sometimes, you'd get shy and your voice would get a bit too quiet.

"c'mon, speak up, doll. and look at me when i'm talking to you, yeah?"

her fingers squeezing your jaw, just tight enough to make you gasp.

and no one questions it; bc why would they? her coach is ecstatic -- not like vi's ever been an unfocused fighter, but these days, she's in such tip-top form that he's not got much feedback for her after her long training sessions.

"whoever she is," vander says, grinning even as vi flushes and sighs (she knows it's useless to lie, vander's known her for way, way too long), "she's good for you."

he presses a hand to her shoulder, shaking her slightly, "and my advice? when you find a girl like that -- you grab on with both hands and you don't let go."

so that's what she does, and what she's still doing now. it's been months -- almost a full year since you've made it all "official", though neither of you have posted much about it online (her fans have been speculating for a while though, specially the hardcore ones, the ones who have been with her long enough to know her, to spot how she scans the crowd before and after every right, how her smile's just a bit different these days, how there seems to be one particular girl she's always winking at, always hidden in the shadows but she's always swiveling around the first thing after a fight, win or lose).

"f-fuck -- that's a good girl --" vi groans, her hips jerking against yours as she fucks you through your third orgasm of the night (she'd wone her fight that night -- as she does most nights -- and you'd come over to celebrate), your nails biting into the skin of her back, dragging down the expansive tattoo there.

she feels the burn in her own thighs, her arms flexing, the veins popping blue as she drags you down the length of the bed by your hips, fucking into you, her eyes trained on the sticky white ring at the base of her pink strap, the sight in and of itself enough to send her over the edge.

"c'mere -- open your mouth, peaches," she says, guiding you towards her even as she pulls out of you, a thick string of cum slicking off the head of her strap as she inches up the bed to position herself over your chest and shoulders.

you let your jaw fall slack, moaning thick as she presses the tip of her strap to your tongue. you blink up at her, lashes fluttering as she sinks her fingers into your hair, hissing out a long breath as you swallow around her length.

"sweet fuck that's hot..."

she pulls you over her cock in shallow thrusts, her breath growing quick as she watches the way you eagerly clean your own cum off of her with your tongue, the completely fucked out, blissed out look in your eyes as you look up at her, so utterly besotted and at her mercy.

her feels the coils twist in her gut seconds before she shoves you down over her, the combined sound of your gagging and the pinpoint vibrations of the dildo sending her right over the edge.

"shit, shit -- shit oh -- fuck... mm..."

her fingers fist in your hair as she jerks around the dildo end of the strap, tugging out of your mouth with a lazy, lopsided smile.

"such a good girl for me, hm?" she says, tugging you up for an open-mouthed kiss. you mewl against her lips, so soft, absolutely melting into her arms as she shifts the both of you into the center of the bed.

it's not till she goes to shower later, with you sound asleep in her mussed up blankets, that she sees the marks -- red and raised on her back, scratched over her tattoo. a soft smile lifts her lips as she stares at her own reflection in the mirror, her neck twisting over her shoulder to get a good look.

and before she knows it, she's grabbing her phone and turning around to snap a pic, with the full intent of keeping it just to show you in the morning but... well, she thinks as she stares down at the photo with a dopey sort of grin, her heart thudding dangerously close to her mouth.

maybe the best gift she could give you on your one-year anniversary is this -- telling the world that she's yours.

[astonmartinii]

day one: when you wish upon a star | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem reader

he's been begging max to set him up ... and look who has him in the grid secret santa!

christmas song: my only wish (this year) - britney spears

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

f1

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,209,488 others

tagged: carlossainz55, pierregasly & landonorris

f1: it's that time of the year again... it's secret santa time!

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user1: THE SPEEDOS????

user2: 100% from valterri

user3: what do we have to do to see them on tho ???

user4: HUH?

user3: we're all thinking it??

alexalbon: since you're a blabber mouth @charles_leclerc PLEASE PUT MORE EFFORT INTO YOUR GIFT THIS YEAR

charles_leclerc: my gift was great last year idk what you people are talking about

alexalbon: if i unwrap a calendar i will set horsey on leo

charles_leclerc: @rspca GET HIM

user5: i love with secret santa you can really tell which drivers are actually friends lol

user6: charles... we're looking at you last year

user7: the teaser showed that max got lando ... could be interesting after this season

maxverstappen1: not that i need to ... but i have a plan

user8: really?

maxverstappen1: i have concepts of a plan!

landonorris: please don't like gift wrap like a litter box or something

maxverstappen1: oh i like my cats much more than i like you why would i do that?

maxverstappen1: AHA! I HAVE IT

landonorris: that sounds ominous

carlossainz55: is it something to do with his pathetic crush on a certain someone

landonorris: LALALALALLALALA SHUT THE FUCK UP I DON'T WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW ABOUT THAT MAX PLEASE DON'T I'M SORRY ABOUT AUSTRIA

user9: well now it needs to happen...

user10: whoever came up with the grid secret santa i need to give you a big fat kiss

maxverstappen1: you might not be the only one ....

landonorris: SHUT UP

maxverstappen1: hehehehehee

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 14,055 others

yourusername: gift giving is my love language

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user14: okay lando i kinda get you

user15: she's friends with max and looks like that and hasn't been hooked? where is the hope for all of us

maxverstappen1: hideous personality 👍

yourusername: and you're my best friend so what does that say about you?

maxverstappen1: i have zero standards?

yourusername: girl fuck you

user16: i hate bitches that can actually wrap gifts

user17: leave me alone with my crinkled shit held together with a whole roll of tape

landonorris: my love language is words of affirmation :3

yourusername: okay mr praise kink

landonorris: WHAT? NO?

yourusername: whatever you wanna say babygirl

landonorris: oh i ... um - yes!

user18: oh brother this dude stinks

alexalbon: he is even worse in real life

oscarpiastri: but it is just as entertaining

landonorris: i'm glad my low self esteem is so funny for you guys

yourusername: you're amazing lando - don't think badly of yourself :(

landonorris: did you or did you not call me a 'stumpy, entitled british bum' the other day?

yourusername: well that's because you were fighting max and unfortunately we're two trauma bonded cats and he therefore comes first

yourusername: but i still love you!

landonorris: LOVE?

user19: someone check on him?

oscarpiastri: i just found him passed out in his driver's room

georgerussell63: that's becoming blackmail material

landonorris

liked by alexalbon, yourusername and 803,405 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

landonorris: didn't manage to win the championship this time round but i'm hoping max got me something good in the secret santa to say sorry

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user20: thank god this season is ending

user21: i think it would've killed me if this title race went to abu dhabi again

user22: it's pookie on pookie crime

user23: i fear one of the pookies may have killed the other if this went on any longer

maxverstappen1: wouldn't you like to know weather boy

landonorris: um yes? i hate surprises

maxverstappen1: i think you might like this one 😈

landonorris: that emoji makes me think you've been scheming

maxverstappen1: maybe i have? you'll just have to wait and see ...

landonorris: STOP I CAN HEAR YOUR EVIL LAUGHTER FROM HERE

landonorris: seriosuly how many of you are in on this it sounds like a pack of hyenas this is meant to be SECRET santa

alexalbon: what do you mean i don't know anything about this ...

landonorris: alex YOU CAN'T STOP LAUGHING AROUND ME

alexalbon: maybe i just find you real funny lando?

landonorris: really?

alexalbon: NO

user24: they are enjoying torturing him way too much

maxverstappen1: call it karma for all the shit he talked throughout the season

landonorris: NOO I THOUGHT I WAS GETTING A NICE GIFT ???

maxverstappen1: oh it's definitely a gift for somone...

landonorris: i deadass won't come to the paddock

yourusername: you'll win it soon lands - just wait for max to retire so i can support you wholeheartedly

landonorris: why not now :((((

yourusername: don't worry babe he's old he'll retire in no time

landonorris: yay 🥳 🙌 😀

maxverstappen1: excuse me?

landonorris: is four championships and y/n not enough?

maxverstappen1: no!

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, alexalbon and 1,302,558 others

tagged: yourusername & landonorris

maxverstappen1: not just because i want another trophy, but i'll pick up my best secret santa award now thanks

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user25: he didn't ???

user26: i think he did

user27: is that not like prostitution?

maxverstappen1: i don't think giving lando a chance to embarrass himself on a date is prostitution

user28: do you have any faith in him?

maxverstappen1: in him? no. but does y/n also have horrible standards and is easily impressed? yes.

alexalbon: he folded so quickly i hope they got it all on camera

oscarpiastri: that was so humiliating it might have to go on a more x rated website

landonorris: OSCAR????

oscarpiastri: it was harrowing mate but she seemed to like it so go you?

carlossainz55: that was a crazy reaction for it to just be y/n

maxverstappen1: i think you're trying to be funny but it might JUST be a skill issue

landonorris: JUST Y/N? KILL YOURSELF

carlossainz55: woah where is the christmas cheer?

landonorris: i will run you over with my sleigh

landonorris: THIS IS THE BEST GIFT ANYONE HAS EVER GOTTEN ME PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE

user29: bro is so down bad that he just took carlando out back and shot them

user30: bro is so lost in the sauce that he is threatening a festive hit and run

yourusername: okay max we can stop pretending that i wasn't also begging you to set me up with lando

maxverstappen1: but it's so funny watching him make a fool of himself

landonorris: HUH???

yourusername: newsflash baby, i'm just as in love with you as you are with me

landonorris: AHHHHHHHHH <333333333

landonorris: i'm sorry i'll get back to being in love with you one sec

landonorris: @alexalbon @georgerussell63 @oscarpiastri @carlossainz55 SUCK ON THAT

landonorris: okay i love you y/n :3

yourusername: i love you too you crazy boy

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 1,430,973 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: christmas wishes do come true!

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user34: so how long do you think he's had that shirt in preparation?

landonorris: 18 months at least - i have faith in myself even if the others didn't

user35: i can't tell if that's creepy or?

landonorris: IT'S ROMANTIC

yourusername: kiss me it's christmas!

landonorris: only because it's christmas?

yourusername: i guess i can give you a couple more passes...

landonorris: not to be dramatic but now i know what it feels like i might die without it

yourusername: not dramatic at all !!!

maxverstappen1: it is kinda dramatic ...

yourusername: SHUSH!

maxverstappen1: i knew you were mushy about this (your diary reads like a very badly written romance book) but good lord this is awful THESE ARE PUBLIC COMMENTS

yourusername: I FUCKING KNEW YOU READ MY DIARY

maxverstappen1: duh! how else did you think this little scheme came to be?

yourusername: ugh i guess

user36: so like where do i get an f1 driver bestfriend who will invade my privacy to get me a bf?

user37: might just start throwing my diary in the paddock at this point

alexalbon: ur so pathetic i love you

yourusername: excuse me old man

alexalbon: old? OLD?

yourusername: i don't care to google you but i've seen you try and read a menu and scan a QR code so stop declaring your love for my boyf or i will keep going

landonorris: she's so possessive 😩😩😩

yourusername: i ate too many grapes on new year's eve to not get and keep my man

alexalbon: trust me, no one wants ur man

yourusername: tell that to the teenage girls in my DMs

user38: it's a pleasant surprise to see that y/n is just as down bad as lando

user39: match made in heaven ... this MIGHT make me a max verstappen fan

user40: i fear this will be an f1 custody battle for the ages

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 78,209 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: my only wish this year was to finally get you <3

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user41: i already liked this queen but a queen who loves britney spears christmas... that's mother

user42: one of these most underrated christmas songs ever

oscarpiastri: ... some people have even witnessed her live rendition of it

yourusername: don't sound too excited about it then

oscarpiastri: i appreciated the enthusiasm but like i feel like it was a PRIVATE moment ... not for the whole of the garage to see

landonorris: someone is missing lily ....

user43: i am trying to be joyful as per the holiday season but i am absolutely seething with jealousy

user44: hey siri play that should be me

yourusername: nope sorry never gonna happen :P

user45: okay girl you've made your point no need to rub it in our faces

yourusername: actually i think i will! my bf is pretty why wouldn't i show that off ?

user46: yall can hate her for this but realistically this is how we'd all be if we pulled lando

landonorris: you guys acting as if i'm the catch when it's literally her...

user47: do we think santa's elves can make me a lando norris? REAL ANSWERS ONLY ...

maxverstappen1: WOW you wouldn't think this was a double date trip ...

yourusername: you can't complain about BOTH of us pining and then be annoyed about us being lovey dovey

maxverstappen1: i can and i WILL

landonorris: you know what max you can complain all you want because this has been the BEST secret santa ever

maxverstappen1: so you won't call me a dirty driver next season?

landonorris: eh?

yourusername: make no mistake lando, i may love you but my loyalties on track remain with max

landonorris: as long as you're still coming home with me i guess i'll deal with it

yourusername: luv u xxxx

landonorris: i love you tooooo xxx

user48: is y/n going to do more for the on track tension than the literal fia?

yourusername: always gotta be a woman sorting everything out

user50: babe i think max is just afraid of you and lando is so in love he'll do anything for you

yourusername: AS THEY SHOULD BE

fin.

note: and on the first day of christmas aston martini gave to me a smau that undos all of our max vs lando tension from the season !! thought i'd treat yall to the first day early <33

[ahqkas]

Can you please write dumb/subtle/random/cute things batboys will do while they are crushing on reader?

♯ FEEL YOUR LIPS CRUSH . . .

— gn!reader, fluff

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE

becomes overly observant but awkwardly obvious

bruce wayne is a master of observation—trained to notice the smallest details in a room, a person, or a crime scene. but when it comes to you, this skill becomes more of a curse than a blessing. his crush transforms his usual precision into something downright awkward as he hyper-focuses on the tiniest parts of your life.

it starts innocently enough. you’ll be in the middle of a casual conversation when bruce interrupts, his deep voice breaking through your train of thought.

“you’ve switched your coffee order recently,” he says matter-of-factly, his piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

you blink, momentarily confused. “uh, yeah. i wanted to try something different.”

“it’s good,” he replies, his tone completely serious, as if your new preference for caramel flavored coffee over vanilla is a critical observation.

sometimes his comments catch you so off guard that you don’t even know how to respond. like the time you came into the room wearing a pair of old sneakers. bruce, who was leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee, glanced down and said, “those laces are frayed. you should replace them.”

you laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking. “uh, thanks for the tip?”

but bruce wasn’t joking. “i’ll send alfred to pick up new ones. you don’t want them snapping mid-step.”

he tries to play it cool, he really does, but his constant streak of seemingly random observations only makes his feelings more obvious. one afternoon, you find him glancing at your notebook while you jot something down. without even looking at you, he says, “you press harder with the pen when you’re tired. your handwriting’s smaller today.”

you set your pen down, giving him a skeptical look. “do you . . . keep track of my handwriting, bruce?”

his face doesn’t change, though you swear his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. “no,” he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. “it’s just. . . noticeable.”

it’s the way he says it—quiet and genuine—that sends your heart fluttering. he doesn’t realize how much he’s revealing, but his small, awkward comments and laser focus on the details of your life make it abundantly clear.

the funny thing is, you’re not the only one noticing. alfred, who’s known bruce wayne longer than anyone, often raises an eyebrow or hides a knowing smirk whenever bruce starts one of his “random” observations.

( “perhaps master wayne should focus on his own handwriting.” bruce glares at alfred, but his lack of a comment only makes the butler’s smirk grow wider. )

finds excuses to be helpful

bruce’s wealth is something he wields with the subtlety of a battering ram when he’s crushing on someone. his intentions are good—he genuinely wants to help—but it often comes off as over-the-top or hilariously unnecessary. for someone as logical and composed as the bat, using his money to make your life easier feels like a no-brainer, but he doesn’t realize just how obvious it makes his feelings.

it starts small at first. you might casually mention needing to replace something—your laptop is acting up or your phone is outdated. the next day, without fail, a box will mysteriously appear at your doorstep. inside, you’ll find not just a replacement but the absolute best version of the device, meticulously selected and clearly expensive.

“bruce,” you say, holding up the latest model of a WE laptop you can’t imagine ever affording on your own. “did you do this?”

he looks up from his work, his expression calm and unbothered. “it’s practical,” he says, as if that’s a reasonable excuse for gifting you a piece of technology worth more than your rent. “your old one was slow. it’s inefficient to struggle with outdated equipment.”

when you try to protest, he waves it off, as though spending thousands of dollars on you is no more different than buying a cup of coffee.

but it doesn’t stop there. one morning, you’re sitting in the kitchen with him, absently complaining about how your car keeps breaking down. it’s an offhanded comment, something you don’t think twice about, but bruce takes it as a challenge. by the time you’ve finished your coffee, he’s already pulled out his phone to make arrangements.

“wait,” you interrupt him, narrowing your eyes as you catch him murmuring something to alfred over the phone. “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” he replies too quickly, but later that day, you’re startled to find a sleek new car parked outside your home, the keys and a handwritten note from the butler sitting on your counter.

“bruce!” you exclaim, storming into the study to confront him.

he doesn’t even look up from his computer. “your old car was unreliable. this one is safer.”

“that’s not the point!”

“it’s just a car,” he says with a small shrug, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

despite his attitude, it’s clear he’s putting an incredible amount of thought into everything he does for you. his gestures are less about showing off his wealth and more about making sure you never have to struggle, even in the smallest ways. because to him, it’s just logical—he has the resources, so why wouldn’t he use them to make your life easier?

DICK GRAYSON

finds excuses to touch you

for someone as physically expressive as dick grayson, touch comes as naturally as breathing—but when he’s crushing on you, it’s a whole new level. he’s not even aware of how much he does it at first, but the moments start to add up. it’s little things at first: the way he always seems to find a reason to brush his hand against yours, the casual way his shoulder bumps into you when you’re walking side by side, or the way he’ll lean close when he’s explaining something, his hand ghosting over yours as he gestures.

but then, it becomes less about the accidental and more about the intentional. when you’re sitting on the couch together, he’ll sling an arm over the back of it, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder. he’ll offer his hand when you’re stepping out of a car or climbing over something, even if you don’t need it, the contact lingers just a second longer than necessary.

“careful,” he’ll say, his voice soft and teasing, even though the step you’re taking isn’t remotely precarious.

“you know i can walk, right?”

he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before letting it go. “just being chivalrous.”

and then, there are the moments when he gets so wrapped up in the conversation or your presence that he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. like the time you were sitting together, and he absentmindedly started playing with the hem of your sleeve. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he looked down, startled, his ears turning pink as he quickly let go.

“sorry,” he mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “didn’t realize i was doing that.”

but the blush on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

for dick, touch is a way of expressing what words sometimes fail to say. every hand on your shoulder, every playful nudge, and every lingering hug is his way of saying, i like being near you. i like you. even if he hasn’t quite found the courage to say it out loud, his actions make it impossible to miss.

teases you relentlessly (but gets flustered when you tease him back)

teasing is how dick shows affection, how he keeps things light, and, more than anything, how he tries to get your attention. when he’s crushing on you, though, his teasing takes on a new level. every little thing you do seems to give him material to poke fun at, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear he’s paying attention to everything about you.

if you trip over a word while talking, he’ll immediately smirk. “careful there, shakespeare,” he’ll quip. “do we need to enroll you in a public speaking class?” or if you drop something, he’s ready with a dramatic gasp. “wow, butterfingers, do you need me to carry everything for you? i could be your personal assistant, but i charge by the hour.”

it’s playful, yes, but it’s also consistent. he’s always looking for ways to make you laugh, even if it’s at your own expense. like the time you were struggling to open a stubborn jar of jam, and he swooped in, popping the lid off with ease.

“guess i’m just the stronger one here,” he said, flexing his biceps with an exaggerated grin. “it’s okay; not everyone can have these guns.”

but if you so much as raise an eyebrow or fire back with your own jab, the tables turn in an instant. one day, after he’d spent a full five minutes teasing you about your choice of coffee ( “a triple-shot vanilla latte with almond milk? fancy. are you sure you don’t need a royal escort to carry it for you?” ), you finally snapped back.

“oh, and i suppose you’re the coffee expert, mr. regular black coffee? real creative. i bet the baristas have your order memorized.”

the grin on his face faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly. then came the blush—the faint pink hue creeping up his cheeks as he tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“hey, black coffee is . . . classic,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

and that’s the thing about dick grayson: as much as he loves dishing it out, he can’t always handle it when it’s directed at him. the moment you tease him back, especially if it’s about something he’s sensitive about (like his perfectly styled hair or his need to one-up everyone), he turns into an awkward, flustered mess.

“you spend how long on your hair every morning?” you asked him once, teasingly ruffling his carefully combed locks after he made fun of the mismatched socks you were wearing.

he froze, his hand shooting up to fix the damage. “it’s not that long,” he protested, his voice defensive but light.

“oh, come on! i bet you use at least three different products. don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite brand of gel.”

his cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “i—you know, it’s just . . . maintenance! can’t all of us roll out of bed looking flawless, okay?”

you laughed, and he groaned, muttering something under his breath about how you were “way too good at this.”

JASON TODD

acts nonchalant but is always nearby

jason todd is many things—brash, sarcastic, sometimes even reckless—but when it comes to feelings he doesn’t fully understand, he defaults to keeping his distance . . . or at least pretending he’s keeping his distance. the truth is, when he’s crushing on you, he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, always finding an excuse to be wherever you are without making it obvious. or so he thinks.

take your quiet sunday afternoons, for instance. maybe you’ve settled on the couch with a book, enjoying the rare peace. jason walks in, all nonchalant, like he’s just passing through. he glances at you—just a quick flick of his eyes, like he’s making sure you’re still there—and then he settles in the chair across from you, a spot he never uses otherwise.

“what are you doing?” you ask, watching as he pulls out a book of his own, the same one he’s been pretending to read for weeks.

he doesn’t even look up. “reading.”

you roll your eyes but say nothing, knowing full well he’s barely getting through a page. you can feel his gaze on you every few minutes, like he’s trying to memorize the way your brow furrows in concentration or how you chew on the corner of your lip when you’re focused. and if you catch him? he quickly snaps his attention back to his book, pretending obliviousness.

“didn’t know you liked this spot so much,” you tease, gesturing to the chair.

a smirk plays on the edge of his lips, though there’s a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “what, i can’t sit here now? thought it was a free country.”

it’s always like that—his attempts to mask how much he cares come with a side of sarcasm. but the truth slips through in the little details. like how he never actually leaves the room until you do. or how, even when you’re sitting in silence, he finds a reason to linger. maybe he’s scrolling through his phone, flipping through a magazine, or staring at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. but really, he’s just soaking in your presence.

and then there are the times when he doesn’t even bother pretending. like when you’re sitting in the kitchen, finishing up some work, and he wordlessly sits down across from you, arms crossed and chin propped in his hand.

“what?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“nothing,” he replies, though the slight curve of his lips gives him away.

it’s not that jason is afraid to admit he likes you ( although there is a possibility he is but we don’t talk about that )—it’s just that he doesn’t know how. so instead, he hovers. he sticks close enough to feel like he’s part of your world but not so close that he risks giving himself away. so while he might act nonchalant, the truth is, he’s anything but. every glance, every lingering moment, every excuse to be near you is jason’s way of saying he cares—he just hasn’t found the words yet.

fixes things you didn’t even know were broken

jason’s way of showing he cares is a little unconventional, but it’s always in the small, unspoken ways. he’s the type to notice things that no one else would—things that have been lingering for ages in the background of your life, just waiting for someone to fix them. but because it’s jason, he’ll never bring it up. he’ll just do it, no questions asked, and then act like it never happened.

it starts with the little things. your chair in the living room? it’s been squeaking for months now, but it’s not something you’ve gotten around to fixing. it’s one of those annoyances you’ve learned to ignore, a piece of background noise that doesn’t really bother you enough to take action.

until one day, it suddenly stops.

you sit down in the chair, and for the first time in ages, it’s silent. your eyes narrow. you didn’t fix this—so who did?

“jason?” you ask, glancing toward him as he lounges on the couch, pretending to be deep in whatever he’s doing.

he doesn’t even look up. “what?”

“the chair. it’s. . . quiet now.”

he pauses for just a moment, but it’s enough to catch the shift in his demeanor. he shrugs, barely concealing the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “must’ve gotten lucky. or maybe it fixed itself.”

you know it didn’t. but before you can press him on it, he’s already back to whatever he was doing, like the whole thing is no big deal. it’s almost as if he’s trying to play it off, hoping you won’t notice that he’s been quietly fixing things in your life, one at a time.

the next thing happens a few days later. you walk into the kitchen, only to find that the light above the sink, the one that flickers every time you try to use it, is now working. perfectly.

you stop, standing in the doorway and just staring at it. there’s no way you fixed it. and it certainly wasn’t broken enough to need replacing. so once again, you turn your gaze to jason, who’s now sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack and acting entirely uninterested in your investigation.

“jason, did you—?”

“no,” he interrupts and continues watching the video essay he turns on every time he eats.

“uh-huh,” you say, narrowing your eyes, walking toward the light and testing the switch again just to make sure you’re not imagining things. it stays steady, glowing without hesitation.

he’ll never say it out loud, but each fix—each thoughtful act—speaks louder than any words could. the broken things don’t matter, because jason is here, fixing them in his own way, piece by piece.

TIM DRAKE

gets shy when you’re too close

tim drake is usually the picture of composure. he’s calm, collected, and can handle himself in just about any situation, but when you’re too close, all that confidence seems to slip away. it starts small. you’re sitting beside him, maybe sharing a space while working on something, and without thinking, you slide just a little bit closer to him. maybe your arm brushes against his, or your knee nudges his under the table.

it’s enough to throw him off, just for a second. his heart rate picks up slightly, and he tries to hide it behind the screen of his laptop, pretending to focus harder than he really is. but he knows, deep down, that he’s hyperaware of you now—of the way you’re sitting, of the way your presence seems to fill the space between the two of you.

his eyes flicker toward you, but quickly dart away, like he’s afraid you caught him staring. it’s an involuntary reaction, the nervous little shift in his posture as he tries to seem as casual as possible. he clears his throat, his voice slightly quieter than usual. “uh, sorry, was just—just making sure the laptop was charging.”

it’s obvious to you that he’s not really talking about the laptop. he’s trying to act like it’s no big deal, but every time you’re too close to him, tim’s body betrays him. the way his leg shifts a little away from yours under the table, or how he tries to subtly angle his body so there’s just a little more space between you and him, even if he doesn’t want there to be.

you might not notice the subtle movements, but tim does. and every time you get close to him, whether it’s by accident or on purpose, he feels a flutter of nerves that he can’t quite explain. it’s not that he doesn’t want you near him—far from it—but the proximity messes with him in ways he doesn’t understand. his thoughts get jumbled, and his usual calmness slips, replaced by the flustered feeling he’s not used to.

if you ever catch him looking at you, his gaze quickly drops, and a soft blush creeps up his neck. “i—i didn’t mean to—uh, just making sure you’re not too cramped.” he mutters, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his laptop, anything to distract himself from the fact that he’s suddenly very aware of you being so close.

sometimes, when you get too near, tim will just freeze for a moment. it’s like his body can’t process the closeness, and the little awkward silence stretches between you two. it’s not uncomfortable—far from it—but it’s a vulnerable thing for tim, this closeness he doesn’t know how to handle.

but if you keep talking, or even just touch his arm gently when you lean over to look at something, tim’s composure slips even more. he shifts in his seat, trying to act like he’s calm, but his hand might twitch toward yours for just a second before he pulls it away like he’s afraid you’ll notice how he’s reacting.

follows you around during patrol

it’s late at night, the moon casting faint silver light across the streets, and the only sounds are the hum of city life and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. you’re out on a walk, maybe trying to clear your head or just enjoy the quiet, unaware that someone is watching you from the shadows. tim, clad in his suit, has been tailing you for a while now. it’s not that he’s trying to be creepy or intrusive, but rather, he’s just . . . concerned.

tim is the kind of person who can’t turn off his instincts, and tonight, for whatever reason, they’re telling him to stay close. he’s perched high above you on a rooftop, watching you walk along the street below, trying to remain unseen. his red robin suit blends into the darkness of the night, the shadows making him nearly invisible to anyone who might be looking.

he’s not sure why he’s doing it—it’s not like you’ve asked him to keep an eye on you—but there’s something about the quiet stillness of the night that has him on edge. maybe it’s because you’ve been a little distant lately, or maybe he’s just worried something might happen to you in the dark. either way, he’s got his eyes on you, and he won’t stop until you’re safely back where you belong.

he’s quick, agile, moving like a shadow himself. you might hear a faint creak of a fire escape ladder or the flurry of footsteps just out of your line of sight, but when you look, there’s nothing there—just the empty street, the soft glow of streetlights, and the ever-present hum of the city.

it’s when you stop for a moment, distracted by something—maybe you’re checking your phone or admiring a nearby storefront—that he’s closest. in that moment, tim takes a chance, moving closer to you, just a few feet away in the darkened alley. he’s not trying to startle you, but there’s something in his gut that tells him he can’t let you out of his sight, especially when it’s this late, and the streets feel a little emptier than usual.

he’ll hover just out of view, giving you space but never quite leaving you alone. if you keep walking, he follows, keeping his distance but staying close enough to ensure you’re safe. when you stop at a crosswalk or glance around, he’s already a few rooftops away, peering down at you from above, making sure you’re not being followed.

the closer you get to home, the more relaxed tim feels, but he never lets his guard down entirely. even when you reach the safety of your doorstep, he lingers just out of sight, making sure you get inside without any issues. he’ll remain in the shadows for a moment longer, watching as you lock the door behind you, ensuring you’re safe before finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

only then does he disappear into the night, his heart still racing, his mind replaying the images of your walk. he’ll retreat to his hidden vantage point, slipping into the dark corners of gotham once more, but the small weight of relief that you’re safe settles deep in his chest. even though he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a part of him that feels content knowing you’re okay—even if you’ll never know how closely he’s watched over you.

[yemmuis]

thinking about roommate!choso, who, after fucking you for the first time, decides its the only thing he likes anymore.

besides spending time with you, and watching movies with you, and smoking with you.

you know those “physical needs, physiological needs, spiritual needs” pyramids you learn about in highschool? yeah, chosos goes fucking you in bed, fucking you in his car, fucking you on the bathroom counter, fucking you on the couch, and then—and only then—comes eat, sleep, drink.

he cant stop himself. i mean, really—when you’re walking around with your ass practically hanging out of your shorts, tight shirt with no bra underneath, how can you blame him for bending you over the nearest surface and barely taking the time to pull your panties off? (he doesn’t, just pushes them to the side or pulls them down enough to expose your wet cunt. just for his stupidly big cock to bully into your cervix as usual.)

and how can you blame him, when hes so sweet to you when hes quite literally pounding you over the back of the couch? all that comes out of his mouth is “i’m sorry, baby, ‘m sorry, but you know how i get when you tease me” and “i love you, thank you” over and over and over until hes pumping you full of his cum and then dropping to his knees to watch while he stuffs you full of his fingers to make sure you cant fake cummin’ for him.

so what, he’s a little anxious. what is he if he cant please you, though?

and maybe he has a bit of a…disregard for protection. it just feels so much better when he isnt hindering himself with a condom, obviously!

and maybe he likes watching you drool into his chest when hes done with you; watching his nut ooooze out of your cunt and make a mess wherever hes fucked you this time.

sure, you scold him after every time— “you gotta use protection next time, cho, i don’ wanna get pregnant.” you grumble, even while your lips are locked with his and just by his half-lidded eyes and dilated pupils you know hes not quite done with you yet.

deep down, you know maybe you wouldn’t mind having chosos babies.

not that you’ll tell him that. he’s very weak to your suggestions, and you don’t know what you’d do if he got it in his head that he wanted to marry you and pump you full of his kids.

…maybe you two should have a talk on where this whole roommates-to-fuckbuddies thing is going.

note :: i have something big in the works i proooommmyyy i jus need 2 find the time 2 write ☹️☹️ soon u shall have ur fix my babies i promise

[dissapointu]

I love your writing 🥰 could you do Arcane characters + finding their s/o packing their bags after a bad arguement, like how they'd react/convince them to stay?

(I love angst)

Omg thank you!! And I love angst too dw-

Jinx

Jinx barges into the room, her wild energy halting when she sees your half-packed bag. Her lips twitch in frustration, and she lets out a nervous laugh.

“Oh, so that’s it? You’re just gonna leave?” she sneers, but her voice wavers. She scratches her arm, pacing erratically. “Fine. Go ahead. Walk out, just like everyone else.”

You catch her biting her lip, her eyes darting to the door, then to you. “No, wait,” she suddenly blurts, sitting on the floor with her knees hugged to her chest. “I didn’t mean that.” Her voice cracks, the manic edge slipping away. “I don’t want you to go. Please. I… I’ll try to do better. Just stay.”

Vi

Vi sees you with your suitcase and freezes, the fight still fresh in her mind. “You’re leaving?” she asks, her voice low, but there’s no hiding the hurt.

You nod without meeting her eyes, and she steps closer, her hands curling into fists. “Look, I know I screwed up, alright? But don’t do this. Don’t give up on us.”

She steps in front of you, her hands reaching for your shoulders. “You mean everything to me. If you walk out that door, I… I don’t know what I’ll do. Please. Let’s talk this out, Firefly.”

Sevika

Sevika leans against the doorframe, her metal arm glinting in the low light. She watches you pack with a clenched jaw, the tension palpable. “So, you’re just gonna leave, huh?”

When you don’t respond, she sighs and steps closer, her boots heavy against the floor. “I know I can be a pain in the ass. I know I said some stupid things, but you don’t just walk out on someone you care about.”

Her voice softens as she places her hand on yours, stopping you mid-fold. “Don’t do this. Stay. I’ll fix it—I swear. Just… don’t leave me.”

Silco

Silco doesn’t raise his voice when he sees you packing. Instead, he stands in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.

“So, this is your solution?” he asks, his tone sharp but measured. “Run away instead of facing the problem?”

You snap back, “I need time, Silco.”

He exhales slowly, his composure cracking just enough for you to see the worry in his eyes. “If you walk out that door, you’ll regret it. And so will I.” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Stay. Let me prove to you that this is worth fighting for.”

Vander

Vander catches you packing and immediately looks defeated. “Ah, c’mon now,” he murmurs, stepping into the room. “Don’t do this.”

His voice is calm but filled with sadness. He sits on the edge of the bed, his large hands resting on his knees. “I know I messed up, but runnin’ away isn’t gonna fix it.”

He looks up at you, his blue eyes pleading. “You’re my heart, love. I can’t let you go without trying to make this right. Stay. We’ll figure it out together.”

Ekko

Ekko bursts in, still fuming from the argument, but his anger dissipates the second he sees you packing. “Wait, what the hell? You’re leaving?”

“I need space, Ekko,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

He grabs your hand gently, his big brown eyes wide with panic. “No. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me. I… I’m sorry, alright? I’ll do better. Just tell me what you need.”

He lets out a shaky breath, kneeling in front of you. “You’re my everything. Don’t walk out on me now.”

Jayce

Jayce walks in and immediately freezes. “Are you… are you packing?”

You don’t answer, but the guilt on your face says it all. He crosses the room quickly, grabbing your hands. “No. You’re not leaving. I won’t let you.”

“Jayce—”

“No!” he interrupts, his voice breaking. “I know I’ve been a stubborn idiot, but I’ll do anything to make this right. Don’t give up on me. On us.”

Viktor

Viktor stands in the doorway, his cane trembling slightly as he grips it. “You’re leaving?” he asks softly, his voice strained.

“I need time,” you reply, your hands shaking as you pack.

He limps closer, his eyes full of regret. “I know I’ve been difficult. And I know this isn’t easy, but please, don’t leave.”

He places a hand over yours, his touch light but firm. “We can fix this. I need you, more than I can put into words. Don’t go.”

Caitlyn

Caitlyn enters the room and immediately notices the suitcase. Her heart sinks. “You’re leaving?”

When you nod, her composure falters. She moves to stand in front of you, her hands shaking slightly. “I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry. But walking away won’t solve this.”

She takes your hand, squeezing it tightly. “I love you. More than anything. Please… don’t go.”

Mel Medarda

Mel watches you pack with a heavy expression, her arms crossed. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to leave?”

When you don’t answer, she sighs and steps closer. “I know I said things I shouldn’t have, but leaving won’t fix this. Let me make it right.”

She places a hand on your cheek, her voice soft and full of sincerity. “I love you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you. Stay.”

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa’s towering figure blocks the doorway as she watches you pack. “You think leaving is the answer?” she asks, her voice low and commanding.

“I need time,” you say quietly.

She steps forward, her presence overwhelming but not unkind. “Time won’t solve anything if you’re not here to face it with me.”

She takes your hand, her grip firm but tender. “You’re mine, and I don’t give up on what’s mine. Stay. We’ll fix this.”

Maddie Nolen

Maddie’s expression crumples when she sees your packed bag. “Wait, what are you doing?”

When you explain, she shakes her head, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. “No, no, no. You can’t just leave.”

She rushes over, grabbing your hands. “Please. Don’t go. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. I can’t lose you.”

Lest

Lest’s ears flatten as she catches sight of your packed bag, her tail swishing in agitation. “You’re leaving?”

“I just… need some space,” you mumble, avoiding her gaze.

She steps closer, her golden eyes full of hurt. “I don’t want you to go. You mean everything to me.”

Her claws lightly graze your wrist as she takes your hand gently. “Stay. Let’s work through this together. I’ll do better. I promise.”

[jane-asmo]

Why I think Caitlyn didn’t ask Vi for forgiveness

(Thank 'anons' for your messages. I’ll try to respond to you through this text: )

The importance of Caitlyn’s “I know”

A key moment in Caitlyn’s character narrative is her “I know”—both its content and delivery.

The content: When Caitlyn says, “I know,” it doesn’t just mean “You’re right.” It means, “I’ve taken the time to think about this.” And thinking is what Caitlyn does best. Her “I know” conveys that she has already had this conversation with herself, over and over in her head. She’s thought about it constantly, she’s already told herself these things, and she’s already blamed herself for them.

The delivery: She screams it with violence, and we can see this represented by the boat falling apart. It’s not just that she has thought about it; it’s tormenting her. Her “I know” is incredibly powerful because it’s filled with suffering.

To me, this is as valid as an apology because asking for forgiveness is outward-facing—focused on the other person. "Asking for forgiveness" says, “Whether I’ve forgiven myself or not, whether I feel guilty or not, it’s on you to decide to forgive me.”

But here, Caitlyn’s “I know” is inward-facing. It means, “I’m not asking you to forgive me because I can’t even forgive myself.”

She knows everything you’re saying, and it torments her.

This is followed by:

"I didn’t even have time to think before they hauled her off."

This line is so telling. Everything about Caitlyn is tied to thinking and reflection.

Being a sniper means aiming and shooting. Aiming is the equivalent of thinking, and shooting is the equivalent of speaking. Everything Caitlyn does is deliberate and thought through.

This is why some people dislike her: as I’ve said before, unlike other characters, Caitlyn’s actions can’t be forgiven easily because she doesn’t do anything by accident.

Then we get to:

"We can’t erase our mistakes. None of us."

Caitlyn speak in “we.”

In the prison scene with Jinx:

"No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes."

This scene mirrors the rage she felt when she threw the boat. In this moment, she’s speaking to Jinx, but also to herself.

Caitlyn and Jinx are paralleled so many times throughout the show. Caitlyn quickly realized that, in some ways, she had become like Jinx. And so, in order to forgive Jinx, she would first have to forgive herself.

At this point in the episode, the person Caitlyn hates the most is herself.

But she no longer has the "energy" to hate, neither Jinx nor herself.

Energy comes from fuel. What she perceives as a lack of strength to keep fighting is simply the fact that the fuel that powered her hatred has disappeared. And when you stop feeding a fire, it eventually dies out. She has no energy left; she has no fuel to sustain her hatred.

It's a particular way of saying, I don’t hate you anymore, and I don’t want to hate myself anymore either, because in the end, that hatred corrupts us/everything .

In her own unique way, Jinx also says, I didn’t know your mother was there, even if it wouldn’t have changed anything. And this too is a strange way of taking a step toward the other.

We have two brilliant and intelligent women who express their emotions in unconventional ways. ----------

There’s also a whole analysis that could be done about her concept of justice and rules, "but I don’t have the energy" to dive into that here. Still, it would only lead back to the fact that Caitlyn doesn’t see herself as the right person to free Jinx (and therefore to forgive her) because she believes she herself is beyond forgiveness.

[beloveds-embrace]

Part two of the Lavender Marriage au! Considered adding smut to this but I chickened out lmao if the ending is abrupt it’s because of that 🙂‍↕️

The four men are fuming.

Since witnessing the lip-lock battle, they’ve been stewing in barely-contained anger. Every time they see you- on your porch in one of those sweet sundresses, humming to yourself as you water the flower boxes or hand them freshly-baked cookies- they’re consumed by a burning desire to tell you the “truth” about your cheating husband. But the ring on your finger, and your seemingly cheerful demeanor, stop them every time.

Still, they’re restless. It’s wrong to let you live in ignorance like this. But also, it’s not their business even if they want it- even if they want you. The thought of ruining your cozy life, despite your husband’s unfaithfulness, isn’t an easy one to swallow.

It becomes easier to think of admitting it all to you with each passing day, though.

“He’s walking around like he’s done nothing wrong! The bastard. How does she not see it?” Kyle grumbles, gesturing wildly with his tea mug. He grits his teeth, watching your husband saunter inside the house without offering to help you. He just puts down a plate of steak Kyle knows is too fucking cooked. Heathen. Bastard. Ughhh.

“She’s either blind or loyal to a fault,” Johnny agrees, sprawled out on the couch, looking far more despondent than usual. “Breaks ma bloody heart, lads. She’s makin’ us lemonade an’ cookies, an’ he’s aff canoodlin’ wiith some bloke under her roof.”

Simon grunts, his eyes narrowing as he joins Kyle’s side. “What kind of man cheats on her? She’s…” He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence, but everyone knows what he means: She’s perfect.

Meanwhile, John leans back in his chair, puffing thoughtfully on a cigar. He’s been unusually quiet, though it’s clear he’s just as agitated, fist clenching on his lap. Finally, he speaks, his tone commanding.

“We wait until he leaves,” he says, much to the others’ dismay. “We don’t meddle now. If she finds out on her own, we’ll be there for her. Until then, we keep our mouths shut.”

The others grumble, but they nod in agreement. For now.

You, meanwhile, are oblivious to the internal warfare raging next door. Your days are filled with your usual routine of pretending to be the dutiful wife, gossiping with the neighborhood ladies, sweetly cooing about your hardworking husband, and pretending you don’t know they will gosspi about you after you leave. On the way, you also deliver a basket of homemade muffins to your handsome neighbors.

Such good men; they didn’t even yet know they were your little kitchen rats to taste-test everything you make for the annual baking contest. This year, that bitch Beatrice will not win and you swore it.

“Oh, these look incredible,” Johnny says when you hand over the basket. He flashes you a cheeky grin, and you can’t help but smile back, cheeks warm. “Y’know, if yer husband does not appreciate all this, I might just have ta steal ye away, lass.”

You laugh, waving off the comment as a joke, but the other three men go rigid. “Not the time, mate.” Kyle mutters, elbowing Johnny, though you really don’t notice. Their house is coming along so nicely and so fast; the perks of having handy men as its owners, you suppose.

Later that day, while you’re trimming the hedges of your precious little garden , you spot Simon working on their roof. You catch him staring at you- not that you blame him, you are wearing your one of cutest skirt and top- and you give him a small wave. He almost falls off the roof even if he does wave back, so you decide to just focus on the damned hedges and hopefully avoid any more incidents.

They’re so distracted by your lovely self that they almost forget their rage toward your husband. Almost. Because just as Price and Johnny are helping you carry bags of groceries back to your house, your husband- traitorous bastard- walks out of the house all patient and whistling.

“Be back soon, honey! You know how long my business trips take.” your husband calls over his shoulder, giving you a quick wink before he hops into a car and drives off.

Unbelievable.

The tension is palpable. John glares. Johnny looks like he’s seconds from sprinting after the car. Simon mutters, “Unbelievable,” under his breath from where he and Kyle are watching from the window.

“Oh dear,” you sigh, though on the inside you are very happy. You know your husband’s boyfriend has a nice surprise picked for him- you helped get it, after all- and now you have the house all to yourself again. Perfect.

You turn to John, batting your lashes up at him and it is as if all his anger melts away. “Be my guests this evening, John? I’d be terribly lonely, all by myself in this big house.”

John really, truly, fucking hates your husband for doing this to a precious, lovely thing like you. But at least it means they’ll be the ones in your company.

“Alright, doll,” he nods, fond as he watches the grin stretch across your face. “Let me just go tell the muppets, then we’ll come by and help.”

“There’s no need-“

“I insist, sweetheart.”

That evening, as promised, the four of them come by to “keep you company” and help. You’re in your element, flitting around the kitchen in an apron as you serve drinks and chatter away, oblivious to the tension radiating from the group. You are practically glowing; your pretty flowers were complimented and the food looks so good you can’t wait to post it on your instagram.

Simon leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring daggers into the walls- into the portraits of you and your husband. Kyle is poking at one of the cookies you made like it’s done something to offend him, his mind adrift. Johnny’s chopping away at vegetables, muttering under his breath and wishing it was something else under his knife. And John? He’s nursing his whiskey like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. It might as well be. You talk so nicely about your husband and what he’s customized for you in the kitchen, still so unaware of the truth.

John contemplates just telling you right then and there, but then it happens.

The front door swings open, and in strolls your husband, laughing loudly with none other than his boyfriend- the one the group saw kissing. They’re holding hands, both grinning like idiots.

“Sorry we’re back so soon!” your husband calls out, completely unbothered by the fact that your house is now hosting four very large, very angry military men. “I forgot my wallet-”

The rest of his sentence dies in his throat when he notices the four men staring at him, expressions ranging from pure disbelief to murderous rage. His boyfriend freezes too, glancing nervously between you and the men like he’s walked into a firing squad.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Johnny practically shouts, pointing between the two men with the knife. “You’ve got the audacity to bring him here? Here?”

Kyle crushes the cookie when he slams his fist on the table, standing abruptly. “Under her roof? After all she’s done for you? Again?”

Simon doesn’t say a word because he truly doesn’t need to- he’s just staring, fists clenched, practically vibrating with barely-contained fury.

John finally speaks, his voice low and dangerous, pulling your surprised self against his side protectively. “You’ve got some confessing to do.”

Your husband just… blinks, then glances at you. “Wait, you didn’t tell them?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t think it would come up like this.”

“Tell us what?” John demands, his tone sharp. He is still glaring at your husband and the boyfriend

You wave your hand dismissively, like this is the most normal thing in the world with a soft sigh. “Oh, we’re not really married for love, John. It’s just for the benefits- y’know, keeping his parents off his back and mine off mine.”

The room falls silent. Dead silent.

“What?” Simon finally growls, his voice low and dangerous. All this time…

Your husband grins sheepishly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’m gay. This is my boyfriend. He’s great, isn’t he?” He says, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek.

Johnny looks like he’s just been hit with the frying pan the vegetables he’d been chopping was meant to go in. “Yer what?”

Kyle stares at you, wide-eyed. “You knew? This whole time?”

You shrug, popping a cookie into your mouth. Ohh, Beatrice should count her fucking days. “Of course I knew. We planned the whole thing together. It’s not that complicated, really.”

Simon mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.

“Anyways, we do have places to be,” your husband sighs. “I’ll just get my wallet and leave you all be to your date.” When he returns with his wallet a few minutes later, he kisses your forehead. “Bye, love. I snuck some of the cookies too- Beatrice is absolutely not winning this year, trust me.” And then he leaves at last.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You’re married but it’s just… out of necessity, and you’ve just been… pretending to love him?”

“Exactly!” you say brightly, clapping your hands together. “See? Not so hard to understand.”

The four men just stand there, utterly gobsmacked.

“You mean to tell me,” Johnny starts, pointing an accusatory finger at you after placing the knife down. “that we’ve been stewin’ for weeks over a cheatin’ husband that doesn’t even exist?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you reply with a giggle, pouring a drink. Your eyes widen then. “But you cannot tell anyone here, in this shitty town, about this!”

“We won’t, love, promise.” Kyle groans, slumping back into his chair. “I need a bloody drink.” And then he perks up when you slide him the drink you just made. “…fucking lifesaver you are, love. Thank you.”

Simon just shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.” under his breath.

John sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey in one go. “You’re going to be the death of us, doll.”

You grin, completely unfazed. “Oh, come on, boys. It’s not that bad.”

The four of them exchange a look- one of disbelief, exasperation, and maybe just a hint of relief. Because as much as they’re reeling from the truth, one thing’s clear: you’re technically single. And that, at least, is something they can work with.

[planetaryupscaled]

Fabricated Persona

Male Reader x Wonyoung

Tags: 28k, smut, anal, creampie, oral, dub con, tw

The story is not ours; we are simply alter the original story to our preferred settings.

It was 1:32 a.m. when the doorbell rang. Curious, I went to the door and peered through the peep hole. Wonyoung was standing outside the door. It took a moment just to admire her pretty face, she was gorgeous.

I unlocked the door, but before I could greet her properly, Wonyoung had pushed past me and made a beeline for our kitchen. I closed the door hastily and followed her, just in time to see her bend over our sink. Several of my lustful fantasies were given a sharp kick in the groin. She raised her arm and waved angrily at me as I stood awkwardly in the hallway.

“Where’s my sister?”

“Sleeping.”

“Get over here,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Hold my hair back!” she hissed.

I approached her from behind and grabbed the bunched hair she was holding in her right hand. I turned on the faucet and let it run. Wonyoung seemed to react to the sound of running water and sighed, bending over the sink and pushing her ass into my crotch, unconsciously, I think.

“If you think you can make it,” I said, ignoring the warmth of her behind, “I can take you to the bathroom. I don’t want you to clog the sink.” She gave an annoyed groan. “Fine then,” I said, sweeping more of her hair behind her ears as we both leaned over the sink, waited for her to get sick again. “Fun night?” I inquired.

“Oh fuck you,” she grumbled, placing her hands on the sink’s rim and relaxing a little. “I didn’t know you were back in town,” I said.

“Stop talking,” she grunted. I realized that Wonyoung was drunk, and it probably took as long as it did for me to realize it because I was gradually sobering up. I realized, however, that she was probably more drunk than I’d thought, and I reminded myself not to let her fall asleep with us in this precariously impolitic situation.

Wonyoung heaved. The strain on her body drove her ass backward into my groin forcing me to reach out to keep from tipping off my feet. I grabbed, unsurprisingly, at the prominent curve of her anatomy, her right breast.

She didn't shrug me off because she was probably too drunk to care. I used the handhold to get myself back on my feet but then, failing to be slapped, I kept my hand where it was. Wonyoung groaned as she leaned over the sink, ass straight out. I realized too late that I was unapologetically copping a feel.

Was it worth it? Definitely. It reacted against my fingers with a springy vitality, its swollen roundness so elegantly pronounced on an attractive woman in this inelegant state. I squeezed. Here this poor girl was trying to barf in my sink and I groped her like any drunken frat boy. Call me an asshole, I regret nothing.

I gave one more tentative squeeze before she swatted my hand away. My dick stirred in my pants and I hoped that she didn’t feel it, or was too far gone to care.

“I’m fine!” she barked. She must have thought I was trying to keep her on her feet. “Keep your hands off my tits,” she told me. Maybe not.

“It was an accident.”

“Yeah,” she said with a smirk. We waited together for her to vomit again but after fifteen minutes she finally asked to be sat down in the kitchen and given a glass of water. I had brought her a blanket and was about to retire when she grabbed my wrist and told me to get her purse. She had left it on the kitchen table when she smashed into the kitchen. I picked it up, handed it to her.

I sat down next to her on the couch and watched her cross her legs. The jeans had so many holes and rips that I could clearly see the muscles in her thighs flexing against each other. She searched for something inside the purse and I saw no harm in taking the opportunity to stare right down her cleavage while she had her head bowed. I had never had such an unobstructed view of her chest and after leaning over the sink for so long her breasts were now fully in view. But I was satisfied with the sight before me, her chest expanding greatly as she regained her breath from the awkward crush of bending over the sink.

Wonyoung pulled her hand away from her purse and pressed something against my forearms. “What’s this?” I asked.

“Money.” she said. Right. Wonyoung snapped her purse closed and put it on the ground at her feet. She kicked off her shoes. Then she laid her fingers over her bare knees and finally looked up at me. Clearly the girl was pissed, but she wanted me to see her anger, not the fear behind it. I saw both and was curious, not to mention still buzzed enough to want to take my new mental images with me to the bathroom.

“I need you to hold this for me.”

“The money?”

She let out an annoyed grimace. “I can’t believe my sister dating a dummy.”

“Hey,” I said, handing the money back, “if that’s the way you want to be.” She shoved her hands against mine. “No, sorry, God. Just take the money.”

“Jinyoung…”

“Don’t!” she hissed. “Don’t let her know. Put it someplace she won’t find.”

“Um,” I said, trying to put my thoughts into words. “I don’t—”

“Please,” she said. That was new.

“Okay,” I said, more from exhaustion than common sense.

“And I won’t tell her you touched my tit.” I chuckled. “That was an accident.”

“Whatever. You stare at them all the time.”

We left it at that and Wonyoung curled up on the sofa. I took the money and hid it in the same panel of my toolbox where I hide my cigs. The next morning Wonyoung was gone. According to Jinyoung she was staying with their parents for a few days. I actually forgot about the money for a few weeks until I tried to sneak a cigarette the next month. Wonyoung called her sister a few weeks after that to invite us to her new place. We drove over. But Jinyoung hardly spoke the whole time and I realized that she’d actually been fairly distant for the last week. I asked if there was something the matter. After some cajoling, she told me that a few weeks back, some money were stolen from her parents’ house. The money had been saved for a rainy day. Instantly I thought of the cache of bills stashed in my toolbox.

“Do they know who took it?” I asked. Jinyoung shook her head. “Nothing else was taken so whoever stole it must have known it was there.” She paused for a moment, “…that means it must have been someone in the family.” Jinyoung was visibly shaken. I wondered if I should say something but decided to hear the rest first.

“Who?” I asked. Jinyoung sighed. “They’re not sure. The last time they had anyone over was weeks ago and they just realized the money was missing this week.”

It had to have been her sister. I wasn’t sure for what, and I definitely didn’t know why she thought she could get away with stealing something so conspicuous, but there it was. Yet a shred of doubt clung to my mind. Maybe it was a complete coincidence. Maybe last month Wonyoung had just come into a fortuitous quantity of money and wanted to unload it somewhere without telling her sister. Yeah… Right.

We were on our way up to Wonyoung’s apartment when Jinyoung suddenly stopped. “I forgot the wine,” she said. I myself had forgotten we were here to celebrate Wonyoung’s birthday. “I’ll go,” I said. “Just tell me what to get.”

“No, no,” Jinyoung was already putting a list together in her head. “I also need to get a card and that chocolate she likes.”

“Alright, well, let’s go.” I started heading back towards the car.

“No,” she said. “Stay here. I think Wonyoung’s setting up for the party later.”

I didn’t relish the idea of spending time alone with Wonyoung. She had never been my biggest fan. But it might give me a chance to find out what was going on with the enigmatic cash. After Jinyoung gave me a quick kiss and sprinted back to the car, I walked up the slightly damp stairs to Wonyoung’s place. When she opened the door, she was beaming. But the smile vanished when Wonyoung saw it was me alone.

“Where’s my sister?” she said flatly.

“Had to go pick up some things. She asked me to help you.” I followed her into the apartment.

“Everything’s already set up,” she said distractedly. As she crossed to the kitchen, I got a look at her swivelling bottom. The party was not for several hours and she had yet to get fully dressed. Wonyoung was wearing gym shorts and a black cropped top. She trod barefoot through the small but welcoming apartment. Banners and streamers hung from the ceiling and a table stacked neatly with cups and an assortment of alcohol was pushed against the wall. When I closed the door, Wonyoung was all business.

“Do you still have the money?”

“Uh—” I started. “Yeah.”

“Is it with you?”

“Why would I have it with me?”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes as if somehow it was her great misfortune to be partnered with so inept a criminal companion. Her lips, which were pressed together in a firm arc of disapproval, were a deep red. She began to speak again but I volleyed first. “Where’d you get that money anyway?”

She narrowed her eyes and placed her hands coolly on her hips. Even half-dressed she was a knockout. Her black hair was a little longer than shoulder length and straight and shiny as leaking oil. Her skin was pale and smooth like a porcelain. Then of course there was her chest, amply stacked below her round shoulders. Wonyoung’s painted nails tapped against her hips, probably wider than she liked but undeniably curvaceous. She had thighs that looked like they could wrap around a man’s back with dire consequences.

“Before you ask if that’s my business,” I said, raising a finger to staunch her bubbling protest, “bear in mind you did leave the money in my care.”

“What…” she spat. “‘Bear in mind,’ ‘in my care,’ who the hell talks like that?”

“Are you angry because I’m choosing my words carefully or because you’re trying to figure out an excuse?”

Wonyoung gave me an icy glare. “It’s just money,” she said. “I started a new bank account and I hadn’t withdrawn all the cash from my old one. I didn’t want to be walking the street with that much on me so I wanted Jinyoung to hold it for me.”

“But you told me not to tell Jinyoung.”

Wonyoung’s lips twitched. “You were a little drunk, maybe you don’t remember,” She said “…and I didn’t want her to see me drunk,” she said quickly. “That’s all I meant. You could have told her about the money.”

“Should I tell her when she gets back?”

Wonyoung swallowed hard. I could see the gears working overtime behind the white cloud of her eyes. I wanted to see how much she would admit to before I brought up about the burglarized. “No,” she said slowly. Then, “Where is it?”

“The money?” I asked.

Wonyoung nodded. A few strands of bangs fell over her eyes fetchingly. I couldn’t help notice her breasts jiggle slightly too. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

“It’s… safe,” I said. A strange but powerful notion peeked from within the dark recesses of my brain.

Wonyoung wiped the hair back from her face and bit her lower lip. We were standing roughly ten feet apart from each other, she at the counter of her kitchen and I very close to the front door. “It’s not my money,” she said.

“Oh?”

She narrowed her eyes again. “You jerk.”

I held up my hands. “Hey, I didn’t take the money. And I’m pretty sure I know where you got it from.” This shook her. “What do you mean?” she said.

“It’s your parents, isn’t it?”

“How did you know?” was out of poor her beautiful mouth before she knew how to reattach her poker face. She winced and brought her palm to her face. “My sister…”

“Yes, Jinyoung is really upset about that.”

“Does she know?” she said frantically.

“Not yet.”

Wonyoung sighed. She leaned her head to one shoulder. “Okay. So, what?”

“You tell me.”

“Are you going to give me the money?”

“I don’t think so. I feel pretty bad about your parents.”

“They can spare it,” she said acidly. “Do you want to know what I need it for?” I thought about that but I realized I didn’t really care. “No,” I said simply. This pissed her off. “God, you’re so— Fine! Let’s just sit here until Jinyoung gets back so you can tell her all about it!” Wonyoung began to tromp out of sight, into the bedroom, when I raised my alternative.

“Who said I was going to tell her?”

Wonyoung stopped. “You’re not?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. You need the money, I guess, but I don’t know if that makes it right to keep it.”

“If you give it to Jinyoung she’ll ask where it came from.”

“True,” I replied.

“So… what?” Wonyoung asked, frowning and looking at me over an open mouth. “Are you gonna give me the money?”

“I could be persuaded,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Wonyoung asked. “You want some?”

I grinned. “No.” My eyes were unapologetically lingering on her cleavage. Wonyoung actually followed my gaze to her own chest. When she looked up, she had this rage in her eyes. “You better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.” She said.

I crossed my arms. “What am I thinking, Wony?”

“You’re a fucking jerk,” she said. “I’m telling Jinyoung.”

“Tell her what? That I stared at your chest because you stole the money?” She stared at the ground for a half second before looking up at me from under her dark fringe of hair. “What do you… want?” she asked.

“Well let’s get one thing out of the way first. What do you want?”

It took longer than it should have for Wonyoung to realize we were making a transaction. But she got it eventually. “I want…” she stopped herself and cleared her throat. “The money. I want you to bring it to me.”

“Okay,” I said. “You took it for your own reasons. I wash my hands of that. One day maybe you can square it with your family.”

“What do you want?” she asked apprehensively. There was a note of tension that eased into an uncertain fear.

“Um,” I said. “Take off your shirt.” Wonyoung looked offended but also surprised. “That’s it?”

“No. But that’s the start.”

Wonyoung seemed to weigh herself on either foot. She glanced at the door. “If… Jinyoung will be back soon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. Outside I tried to project a cool control. Inside I was equal parts giddy, excited, fearful. Part of me was given over entirely to the lustful query of how far this could possibly go. I knew exactly what I wanted to do… But part of me didn’t see how Wonyoung could submit to it. She must have really needed that money.

“You want to see my tits?”

“Well, that and a little more,” I said.

“I’m not going to fuck you.”

I smiled. “Wony, I don’t want to have sex with you—”

“Then what?”

“How about a titjob?”

Wonyoung made a face. “Ugh. You’re disgusting.” I shrugged happily. “Okay. I’ll give Jinyoung the money when we get back, you and I can just sit here on our hands until she gets back.”

“There’s no way I’m letting your dick anywhere near me.” She said. I looked over at the chairs arranged by the door and sat down. I hooked my ankle over my knee and sat back, arms folded.

“You scumbag…” Wonyoung growled. Then she took three steps forward and crossed her arms over her taut belly. Her fingers grasped the thin fabric of her shirt and she pulled up. I was so excited I almost forgot to say, “Slowly…”

Wonyoung grumbled from somewhere in her shirt but that sound was swallowed by the smooth glide of fabric rushing against her bare skin. Wonyoung pulled up with her lithe arms and then all of a sudden, the swollen undersides of her pale breasts dripped from underneath, sprung from the cotton like fat dewdrops. I saw the first and then the second pink nipple peek from the black top and then sink down with its sister, falling solidly against Wonyoung’s chest and giving a beautiful trembling quiver. She must have been glaring at me as she balled up her shirt and tossed it onto the drink table. But I was enraptured. I drank in just the sight of Wonyoung’s full, exposed breasts. They stood out from her chest, the beautiful nipples pointed not at me but at my forehead, almost the ceiling. The areolas were smaller that made the slope of her unfettered bosom so much sweeter somehow, it was delicate. That, ultimately, was the defining attraction to Wonyoung’s breasts. They were the budded fruit of all her womanly sweetness, a blossomed youth that was sexual and feminine. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Wonyoung crossed over to me. She stopped when she was standing only about three feet away and crossed her arms under her boobs and tried to look bored. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s—”

“No,” I said. “The less you talk the easier this will be to explain.” Wonyoung was furious. But half naked. So, the effect was diminished. I was horny as hell and my dick was doing everything it could to grow hands and undo my zipper itself. “Squeeze yourself,” I said.

Wonyoung grabbed her tits in either hand and squeezed, quickly, and dropped them. She gave an evil grin.

“Do it better than that,” I said. She sighed and raised her hands.

“You’ve just been waiting for this day, haven’t you?” she sneered.

“Oh yes, ma’am,” I replied cheerfully.

“What’s the matter? My sister’s tits not big enough?”

“About the same, but I like yours more, apparently.”

“You freak…” she mumbled as she drew her index fingers across her dark red buttons. “Spit on your hand,” I said. Her eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Spit on your hand and rub it on your tits. Rub it all over.” She licked her hand defiantly and smeared it over her left breast.

The skin on her nose wrinkled. It looked like she was ready to hurl another insult but glanced fretfully at the door for an illuminated realization that if her sister walked into the door she’d have both tits in her hands, presenting them to her boyfriend in lustful supplication. Wonyoung brought her palm up to her chin and spat in it, glaring at me. “Spit on your hand again.” I said. This time she did it without protest.

Wonyoung rubbed her saliva into her skin. “Do it again,” I commanded. “Ugh,” she said. She spat again and rubbed it over her breast. It was beautiful. The smooth sheen of her pale skin was now glistening under her apartment lights. I told her to repeat the same for her right tit.

“Lick your palms.” Wonyoung licked her palms and ran them over her breasts. She ran her hands down her chest, to her taut belly. I made her do it several more times. After a minute both of Wonyoung’s breasts were coated in the sticky lather of her saliva. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I reached down to my pants and yanked down the zipper. I’d barely unhooked the button before my dick popped out of my boxers and stuck straight out at Wonyoung. She actually jerked back at the sight of it.

“Holy…” she stammered, looking a little ridiculous, her cheeks shiny from the excess moisture of her spit. ‘Oh my god,’ she moaned. “I can’t believe you’re going to do this. This is so fucking gross.”

I kicked off my shoes and pulled my boxers down with my jeans. I stood up to hook them off my ankles and faced Wonyoung. Separated by less space than we’d ever shared, I gazed down into her muddy brown eyes. “Your dick is poking into my stomach,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Spit on your hand again.” I smiled as she glared up at me and spat what she had left into her palm and rubbed. A wet smacking sound of sticky skin arose between us and I gently pried her hands away and laid my hands on her tits.

I let Wonyoung go on glaring as I ran my fingers over her wet chest and weighed each breast in my hand. Her skin yielded to me. I leaned down and sniffed the spit on her chest and ignored Wonyoung as she slapped ineffectually at my shoulders. I gave her nipples two very welcoming kisses and she pushed me away.

I sat down heavily in the chair, dick sticking straight in the air. I asked her to squeeze herself a few more times before commanding her to get on her knees. Surprisingly she did this without comment. Wonyoung was now sitting with her head and neck more or less aligned with my lap. Her raven hair trailed down over her shoulders. She stared at my dick as it wagged before her nose. Her tits were inches from brushing against my balls. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

“How do I do this, I’m not that big, it’s not gonna work.”

“Make it work, Wony, rub in it.” I said. Wonyoung didn’t answer. She just leaned in and rubbed her palm over the top of my cock, pressing it hard against her chest. “Is that what you want?” she murmured.

“That’s what I want.”

“You want me to rub my tits over your dick, you shit?”

“Harder,” I commanded her, and she complied. I stroked the back of her neck and humped forward to rub my balls against the sticky surface of her slick stomach. “Ugh,” she groaned.

“You don’t like my balls rubbing against you?”

“No,”

“You don’t mind that dick though.” I said, she didn’t say anything. I couldn’t help myself. I figured if she was willing to go this far, she couldn’t protest to a little dirty talk. “Aren’t you a little slut.”

Wonyoung knew what I was doing. She kept her eyes trained down at my cock peeking up through the tops of her breasts and bent low until it almost hit her neck. Then she flexed and came up again, my swollen dick rubbing down her cleavage and leaving a slimier trail of precum on her smooth pale skin. “Yeah, I’m a little slut,” she replied. “You like getting off on your girlfriend’s sister? That get you off, asshole?”

“Yes,” I said. I grabbed her shoulders and ordered her to rub her tits. “Harder,” I told her. “You want to fuck these tits harder?” she spat. That gave me an idea.

“Spit on it,” I told her.

“On what?”

“You know what.” — A long white trail of spit left Wonyoung’s lips and dribbled over the slit and onto my cockhead. “Kiss it.”

“No,” Wonyoung said. She didn’t look up. Her raven black hair framed her hands wrapped around my cock.

“Spit on it again.” A thin line of saliva left her angry mouth and missed my cock. It hit the wet surface of her breasts and she shook her chin to separate it from her mouth, finally using her hand to wipe it off her lips. “Don’t bother.” I told her.

“I can’t… I’m out of spit.”

“Then use your mouth.” I said as she continued to rub my dick with her breasts. She looked up at me defiantly.

“Use your mouth, Wony. I want my dick wet.”

“That wasn’t what you said you wanted…”

I pulled her hands away. Wonyoung stayed on her knees and wiped at the streaks of spittle on her chest. I cupped her boobs in my hands and rubbed them over my dick. “What am I doing to you right now, Wony?”

“You’re fucking my tits.”

“Good girls don’t let boys rub their dicks all over their tits.”

“Stop,” she said. “You said I could. Say it. Tell me you’re a good girl.” I grabbed her hands and pressed them to her breasts. Together we rubbed my dick in and out of her sticky cleavage. Wonyoung had to arch her back and sit straight while on her knees to let me fuck her tits. She tilted her neck back to keep my dick from banging her face. I wrapped my hands around her bare shoulder and drew her close. “Say you’re a good girl, Wony.”

“I’m not a …” she started “Then say you’re a bad girl.” She glared. “I’m a bad girl,” she muttered.

“Tell me how slutty you are.”

“I’m a slut.” — “How slutty are you, Wony?”

“I fucking hate you,” she said. I wiped some dry spit from her cheek. She almost bit me. I leaned back, bringing her with me. I still had my hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what you’re doing.” — “I’m giving my sister’s boyfriend a titjob.”

“I wouldn’t say this was a titjob” — “Fuck you!”

“Well, I’m going to. Do you let lots of boys cum on your breasts?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you to say it.” I said. Clearly no one had ordered her around this way before. Her anger was close to being spent and now she just looked incredulous. “I let boys cum on my breasts,” she said flatly. She kept my gaze the entire time, her tits rubbing up and down, up and down, the precum oozing from my dick starting to leave a thick, sudsy trail down her skin. I watched it ooze down her chest and groaned appreciatively.

“You let boys cum on you, Wony?”

“All the time,” she said. “Do you cum on my sister?”

“What do you think?”

“Does she let you cum inside her?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Say you’re a slut.”

“No.”

“Say it, Wony.” — “I’m a slut.” she repeated.

“Say you’re my slut.” — “I’m your slut,” she said.

“So put your mouth on my cock,” I demanded. Wonyoung’s eyes widened. She stopped rubbing her tits against me. For a moment she looked, instead of angry, perplexed. Then she looked down at my dick as if she’d forgotten what she’d been rubbing her tits against for the past five minutes.

“Can you spit?” — “No…” she said, still staring down at my cock. It was red and a little chafed but damn it was worth it. “Open your mouth, Wony.”

Her hair fell forward over her forehead as she leaned down. She bent over until my balls were smothered in her breasts and she could breathe over my cock. “Agh,” she said. “God, I can smell your dick.” I leaned up and felt Wonyoung’s puckered lips suck my cockhead. Running my fingers through her hair. I reached down and pulled my dick from her mouth. Mid-suck, I pulled a string of saliva and cum from off her tongue.

I pushed forward. Wonyoung tumbled backward onto the carpet. Her thick thighs widened to let me follow her down. I was suddenly intensely aware of how close I was to fucking a pussy that was not Jinyoung’s. Then again, I’d just had my dick in her sister’s mouth. I crouched over Wonyoung and pinned both of her hands with my own, my dick almost balanced on her chin. Wonyoung stared at it as if it would bite her.

“You don’t deserve my sister,” she hissed. I stroked her hair over her forehead and gazed into her eyes.

“Use your mouth, Wony. Make it wet. Just use your tongue. I’m keeping the money until you make me cum.”

Wonyoung shut her eyes and parted her lips, silently allowing me to slide my shaft across her open mouth. From underneath she stuck out her tongue. I popped my cock back and forth along her mouth, dragging my balls against her lips and pressing my shaft against her high cheekbone, and she dutifully licked it each time it entered her mouth. “Say you’re a slut,” My dick retreated from her face. “I’m a slut,” she repeated. I slipped my dick back over her mouth. “Say it again.”

“uhmaslot,” she mumbled as I entered her mouth. Then I pulled out of her lips and trailed my dick down her cheek and neck until it was resting on her breast.

“You’re asshole,” she hissed. “I hope my sister comes home right now and sees you jerking off on me.”

“I’d fucking love it.” Clear precum was oozing out of my cock and pooling in the hollow of Wonyoung’s neck.

“What about when I tell her what you did to me?”

I trailed my dick down her stomach and rested the base of my shaft against her clit. An expected tremor radiated out of her every limb and her protests were silenced by my mouth over hers. I slid my dick back up her stomach and watched the sticky mess it made of her curvaceous body. “I just needed to get you out of my system,” I told her. “I’m going to cum.”

“Don’t cum on my face,” she said. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she threatened softly. In her eyes was the spark of defiant seduction. “Don’t you dare cum on my face,” she spat. I held my shaft over her neck and made her grab me. As soon as her fingers slipped over my cock, she started jerking me.

“Don’t you dare,” she spat as she tried to point my cock away from her. “Don’t you fucking dare cum on my face.” She repeated. The heels of my palms dug into the carpet and I felt everything between the nape of my neck and my heels seize up. I drove my knees into the carpet beneath her shoulders.

“Jerk me off, Wony. I’m gonna cum.”

Wonyoung pulled at my cock, causing me to cum over her mouth. She closed her eyes as thick ropes of jizz splattered across her nose and hair. She cried and let go. I snatched my dick from her and continued to stroke myself, cumming down her chin and neck before grabbing each breast to rub my cum over her tits.

“Do you like cumming on me?” Wonyoung gasped. I watched my cum stretch over her opened lips and immediately squirted again over her neck. “Is this how you fuck my sister?”

“Never,” I huffed. It was true. It was never that intense. Wonyoung lay on the floor and let me rub my dick over her boobs until every string of sperm had escaped. When I was done, I sat down hard beside her and gathered myself. Wonyoung sat up beside me. I reached above us and pulled down a kitchen towel and handed it to her. She took it wordlessly and wiped at her face and breasts.

“You’re awful,” she said quietly but let out a little smile and smirked. It was weird to see her smile. I sort of just nodded.

“Okay so do I get my money now or do I have to perform some other depraved sex act on you before you give it up?”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Regardless, I was spent and knew in the back of my mind I had to get cleaned up — that Wonyoung had to get cleaned up — before her sister got back.

“I don’t know if that ‘titjob’ was worth the money,” I said. ‘But yeah, I’ll get the money to you.’ After she got up, I said, “And happy birthday.”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes. “Don’t even think about following me into the shower to try to exact more payment from me. I know you haven’t given me the money yet… But that would just be wrong.”

She walked across the carpet and disappeared into her room. The word "wrong" echoed in my head like thunder, and the image of her wet smile was as bright as the lightning behind it.

Jinyoung and I were making love. It was Thursday night, and it had been about a month since I'd cum all over her sister's face and tits. It had worked in a faithless and uninterrupted way, and by the time Jinyoung returned from the grocery store, Wonyoung and I had both cleaned up and pretended that nothing had happened.

I had promised Wonyoung I’d return her ill-gotten money the next time she visited, and I’d meant it. Four weeks later Wonyoung was coming to visit us, ostensibly to see the family who hadn’t been able to make it for her birthday.

Where was I? Jinyoung and I were going at it. She planted an adoring kiss on my mouth and shifted in the bed. I turned her over gently and pulled out. She scooted forward and laid her head on the pillow, raising her slim bottom to me. I got up, planted my hands on her waist, not looking, and prodded forward enthusiastically. A sudden “Yow!” alerted me that I’d mistakenly jabbed a sensitive place.

“Wrong hole,” Jinyoung said, giggling.

“Sorry,” I replied, and grabbed my offending member. Jinyoung reached between her legs and helped guide me into her body. When my head rubbed against her slit, she gave an appreciative moan and we continued our previous motion.

Later, sitting in bed together, spent but not really sleepy, I willed myself to ignore the urge to smoke. Jinyoung thought I’d quit a year ago. She was curled around my arm and rubbing her fingers over my chest. She kissed my chest and murmured something.

“What?” I asked, looking down.

“You were going to deflower my butt,” she teased. Jinyoung grinned at me from my elbow. I smiled and stroked her hair.

“Never,” I said. She looked puzzled. “Would you ever want to?”

I thought about how best to answer this. She might not have remembered, but one night early in our relationship we’d actually become almost startingly drunk together and proceeded to try anal sex. It didn’t go very well and I’d managed to get my half limp dick about an inch into her bottom before she pulled away and made me swear never to ask her to try that again.

“I dunno,” I said casually.

Jinyoung grinned at me. “I bet you’ve thought about it.”

I laughed. Well, truth be told, I had, but I never thought of asking Jinyoung to submit to something so degrading. At least not when we’re sober.

“Why, do you want to?” I asked.

Jinyoung wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Yuck. Like I really want your dick, or any dick — up my ass.”

I teased. “You might like it though.”

Jinyoung pinched my sides. “No way.” She settled into me and laughed. “I have a few girlfriends who’ve done it. Most of them hated it.”

“Most of them?”

“Hey, don’t get any thoughts,” she said smilingly, “actually, there was one who said she might like it.”

“Who?” I asked. Jinyoung shook her head.

“Oh, come on.”

She got defensive. “Why are you so interested?”

“I’m just curious.”

“It was Wonyoung,” she said.

My dick gave a throb of longing. My skin prickled at the memory of Wonyoung’s lovely breasts rubbing my cock. “You think she like it?” I asked, trying not to sound weird.

Jinyoung grabbed a pillow and smacked me. “Hey, don’t tell her I told you!”

I laughed and pulled the pillow away. We fell into a groping, tickling match and that was the last time we discussed Wonyoung’s backdoor proclivities.

The next day Wonyoung showed up early. I was washing the dishes in the sink and Jinyoung was getting ready for work. I listened to Jinyoung go to the door of our apartment and squeal with delight. She and her sister immediately fell to talking over each other and laughing. The rush of the faucet blotted out most of the ensuing mania.

As I scrubbed the dishes clean, I listened to them clatter over our hardwood floor in their heels, commenting on new pieces of furniture or the mirror Jinyoung had just purchased. They quieted for a moment and I figured they were either whispering about one or another family members or boyfriends or preening themselves in the mirror. I tried not to think too hard about what Wonyoung might be wearing. Unconsciously, my crotch did the thinking for me.

A few hardy knocks on the wood and Jinyoung were at my cheek with a quick kiss and a smile. “I told Wonyoung she could stay here and gave her the spare key. You’re leaving at eleven?” — “Yep.” — “I told her not to touch your desk.”

I grabbed Jinyoung’s fingers with my soapy hand and kissed her soft knuckles. “Thanks, babe.” She smiled and strode out of the kitchen. She and her sister exited the apartment together, their voices echoing down the three flights of stairs to the street. Then there was silence broken only by the door to our apartment building swinging open and shut. The old staircase made new protest at the swift stomping back up to the top. I heard each creak over the gushing water. I heard the apartment door swing open and shut. Then silence.

Wonyoung’s heels went clack on the hardwood five or six times until the final step emptied out into the kitchen. I turned around. Wonyoung was standing with her arms crossed and her long legs planted in black, open-toed heels. She had on, a plain black skirt that cut off at about the mid-thigh and a white blouse that was fairly conservative except for a long loose decolletage that draped over her breasts and bared her cleavage. She had her lips pressed tightly together and her thin eyebrows furrowed on her forehead. To say she was squinting would be the wrong way to describe it. But her eyelids fought hard to keep it that way.

“Where’s the money?” she growled.

I pointed to the faucet and then at my ear. “I can’t hear you,” I yelled. “The water!” I pointed at the faucet again.

“Where’s the money?” Wonyoung repeated, lower, actually, than last time. I lifted a sudsy plate to reiterate my handicap. Her white eyes flared. “It’s not in your desk.”

I switched off the tap. “Jinyoung told you not to mess with the desk.”

“You fucked my tits.”

“Fair enough.” I wiped the plate dry, taking great care to scrub every inch before setting it carefully on the rack. “How’s your day?” I asked.

“Where. Is. The money?”

“It’s safe,” I said. “Misses you. Says it’s been feeling a bit lonely.”

Wonyoung brought her hand to her mouth and bit at her nails. She was annoyed. She was very annoyed. She spat a bit of chewed nail at the floor and leveled her gaze at me. “I will stab you,” she said.

“Interesting notion,” I replied. “It gives me an idea, actually.”

Wonyoung shook her head. “What do you want?”

I grinned. “Is it that obvious?”

“I can see your hard on!” she nearly screamed at me. I looked down quickly. I was indeed sporting something of an erection. But Wonyoung was beyond being offended. “I knew this was going to happen. I was going to spend all day hunting through your stupid apartment to get the money because I knew—” she jabbed an accusing finger at my dick, “I knew you wouldn’t give it to me! This is bullshit…” She shut her eyes tightly and groaned.

“The gods must be crazy,” I assented.

“Shut up!” she hissed. Her eyes snapped open. “Give me the money!”

“I don’t have it with me.”

“Then GET IT.” She looked at me with white fury. Wonyoung brought a hand to her left breast, almost unconsciously. “I gave you…” she started. Her frown became a dark mask. “You…”

“I know, call me whatever you want.”

She shook her head, purposely crossing her arms over the obvious gap in her shirt. “I’ll just wait till you have to go to work and find it when you’re gone.”

“That would be a very cunning plan. If the money were still here.”

“You’re lying.”

I shook my head. “When we got back, I put it in the bank. I figured I wouldn’t risk Jinyoung finding it.”

“Smart,” said Wonyoung. She lowered her arms until she was holding her forearms to her waist. “You think you’re so fucking smart.”

I didn’t say anything. I just smiled, triumphant.

“Whatever you want,” Wonyoung said, grasping her thin belt between her fingers and pulling it loose from her waist. ‘Whatever you make me give you,’ she went on, dropping the belt on the floor and reaching under her shirt. My breath caught in my throat as she pulled her blouse over her shoulders and stretched it over her arms.

Her jet-black hair slipped from the loosened neck. The black bra that clutched possessively to her chest was nearly the exact shade of her hair. She reached behind herself, her elbows sticking out and then springing back around as she effortlessly unhooked the snap and slipped the straps over her shoulders.

“I’ll tell Jinyoung,” she said, wrinkled her nose as she shrugged the bra off her breasts. It dropped carelessly to the kitchen floor. The bra lay at her feet. Her fists were balled at her hips. She squared her shoulders and leaned back, her pinkish areolas tilted up to the window and her beautiful abdomen bare from the waist up. “You want me to suck you?” she intoned, arching an eyebrow. “You want to fuck these tits again?”

I smiled.

She sneered. “Of course you do. I’ll tell Jinyoung everything. I’ll tell her everything. I don’t care if you do give me the money.”

“Oh you’ll get the money,” I said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take off the skirt?”

Wonyoung bent down and unzipped herself. She carefully stepped out of her skirt, still wearing her heels, drawing one knee and then the other up and over the fabric. She let it, like the bra before it, drop unceremoniously to the floor. She wasn’t wearing panties. Wonyoung’s small pubic hairs glistened in a trimmed tuft between her naked thighs. The light from the kitchen glanced across her flat stomach and made her skin glow. She stood proudly, arms akimbo, long legs lean and toned, open heels tapping at the floor.

“How badly do you want to fuck me?” she asked.

I swallowed. “Turn around.”

She did so. She pivoted in place slowly, giving me time to watch the way her muscles moved underneath her skin, the way her tight ass flexed and rippled between the small of her back and her taut calves.

“Take the heels off,” I said.

She bent over, affording me an unobstructed view of her naked ass. I heard her heels clatter over the floor and watched her stand up again, her legs suddenly less defined, her height reduced by a few inches. She was completely naked.

“Get in the shower,” I said. Her big eyes seemed to observe me from somewhere inside herself. Her mouth set in a firm line and she gently turned her head, her body following and padding rhythmically to the bathroom. I followed her as if I were invisible and she were traipsing alone through her own apartment. As we passed through the threshold together, she grasped the door and turned back.

“I’m going to tell her,” she said.

I was dumbstruck by her lips. They were always hard, always curving down, always dark, twisted away. Now they were lighter, without anything to harden them, suddenly soft and without guile. I traced the line of her soft neck down to her breasts. My eyes found their way back to her face.

“Get into the shower and soap yourself.”

“My tits, right?” — I nodded.

“You don’t care if I get my hair wet?” She rolled her eyes. ‘Right. How stupid of me.’ I watched her ass wiggle as she stepped over our fluffy bath mat and bent down to twist the knob. “Are you going to take your clothes off?” she asked without looking back.

I pulled my shirt over my head and threw it in the sink. I whipped off my belt and struggled with my zipper. By the time I’d pulled my socks off Wonyoung was standing in the shower running her fingers through her dark hair and frowning into the spray. She mushed her lips together and blew out the water that mixed with her mascara and dripped down her face. She wiped at her cheeks a few times until she’d cleaned her face and then reached for the soap. A generous blue glop of body wash squirted into her hands and she began to soap her tits, making sure she drew her fingers up her ribs and tightly scooped at her bosom the way boys like to see. She massaged her nipples until they were pointing majestically into the cascade. For a moment she held herself and glanced over at me, specifically my dick. She watched it hover over my aching balls as if hypnotized by her moistened hips.

“I guess I should thank you for not making me spit this time.” Said Wonyoung as I closed the door behind me and moved in. Wonyoung watched me apprehensively and drew back to the far side of the shower. I joined her, standing with my back to the spray.

“Can you get on your knees?” I asked. Wonyoung looked worriedly at my dick, her hands drawn up over her breasts and glanced down at the bath mat. “I don’t want you to hurt your knees,” I said.

“Gee, thanks.” She glared at me as she tilted her neck up. The bathroom was getting good and misty now and Wonyoung reached for the rim of the tub as she set herself down in front of me.

“Is it alright?”

“Just rub your dick between my tits…” she said. I did as I was told. Except I had to sit on the edge of the tub to make it work and not slip. I reached behind myself and braced against the toilet bowl. Wonyoung leaned forward and rubbed my shaft up through her breasts and heaven kissed my cock with buttered sunshine. I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening to the overpowering patter of water and humping my hips forward as Wonyoung rubbed her breasts over my cock head and stroked me up and down against her soapy skin.

“Is it worth it?” I heard her say under the spray.

“Yes,” I said. I opened my eyes. Wonyoung had to shut her eyes against the downpour of the water. To keep water from slipping up her nose she had to open her mouth. Wonyoung was blindly rubbing my dick with her tits, mouth open, water streaming down her cheeks, lips and chin and splattering off her eyelashes and bouncing against my chest. I leaned forward and slipped my lips over her wet mouth. Wonyoung jerked back.

“No,” she said. I reached down and sifted through her slit. Instinctively I found her clit and watched an uncomfortable shudder wrack her body. “No,” she said again.

“How much no?” I asked.

“No, no,” she replied. My index finger glided over the entrance of her pussy and she leaned back further. She kept trying to open her eyes under the spray of water but was deluged every time.

“Stand up,” I said. We stood up together. I helped her out of the tub and made her kneel on the carpet. Wet and shining under the bathroom light, she put her hand on the bathroom counter and softly went to her knees. She took her tits in her hands and presented them to me with her lips curled to the side.

“Bend over,” I told her. Wonyoung was flushed, confused. Her black hair was plastered to her forehead and clung to her shoulders and back.

“What?”

“Jinyoung said you wouldn’t mind.” I said as I caressed her ass.

She stared at me for a solid second uncomprehending and then suddenly her eyes went wide. I put a finger to my lips. “Ah, I wasn’t supposed to say anything.” I smiled and drew a hand over her wet shoulder. “Will you bend over for me, Wony?”

“No,” she said, “there’s no way…”

“I’ll be very, very gentle.”

Wonyoung’s neck seemed to swing on a hinge. “No, you won’t.”

“I really want to fuck your ass.” I said matter-of-factly.

“I bet you do! You want to fuck my tits, you want to cum in my mouth, you want to fuck my ass! You just want it all, don’t you?”

I held her gaze. “No, please…” she plead.

I leaned forward and kissed her neck. She shoved her fists against me. ‘Never,’ she said. I kissed down her neck, sucking at the water that collected in her clavicle. I held her hands back, thrilled at the feeling of her nipples swiping against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her and slid my hands down her ass, clutching at her cheeks. Wonyoung had to shove her arms under my armpits to get around me and beat on my back. I easily pulled my left arm back and felt down her abdomen to her hairs.

The shower roared and filled the bathroom with still more fog and Wonyoung and I silently struggled as I rolled beads of water across the soapy surface of her clitoris. “Ever…” she groaned, her body convulsing forward, instinctively attuned to the massage of her privates. “Do you want me to stop?” I asked.

“Yes,” she whispered. I sent an exploratory ring finger along the edge of her labia and dipped my middle finger inside of her. I rolled the tip of my finger along the inner front of her vagina, searching for her spot, wondering if it was possible to find it with so much hate firing back at me.

“Yes,” she grunted again, leaning against me and sinking her teeth into my neck. Suddenly she gasped as I swung my finger along the fleshy inside of her slit. “Do you know how…” she stammered.

“How what?”

“To… to put it in…?”

I continued rolling along the inside of her pussy, my thumb gently slipped against her clit. I felt her breasts relax against my chest. “I do.”

“Do you have the money?” — “I do.”

“This is the last,” she said. “You have to give me the money.”

“Bend over.” — “Promise me.”

I looked down at Wonyoung. Her nose and mouth were buried against my neck. She glanced up at me, squinting. “You know that promise is no good,” I said.

“Jerk,” Wonyoung groaned. She pushed forward, pushing me out of the way. All of her black hair tumbled forward from her shoulders and neck and I leaned back on the balls of my feet. I traced my hand over the curve of her spine, drew it over her plump ass. Then I reached back, grabbed the bottle of shampoo and squirted it into my hand. I stepped beside her and kneeled down. When my gooey palm slipped into her ass crack she tensed forward on her knees.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “it’s water based.”

“Asshole,” she muttered.

“Exactly.”

Fanning my fingers together, I drew my palm over her crease, rubbing the thick solution over her posterior and vulva. Wonyoung shuddered again and presented her ass to me. I dipped a finger into the shampoo and gently tickled her clenched asshole.

“You have to relax,” I told her.

“Enh,” she huffed. “Then don’t put it in my ass.”

With my other hand I softly stroked her clit, swept back over her pussy. She gave an involuntary release. I took advantage. I wormed my finger into her behind. Wonyoung gave a sudden “Oh!” Then her canal clutched at me like an anemone. Generously lubricated, I had no trouble slipping my finger in to the first knuckle, then the second, and after a minute all the way down.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this…” Wonyoung groaned. Her shoulders were like the hackles of a cat. “You’re going to fuck my ass…”

Hearing her say it, I couldn’t wait anymore. I drew out my finger. Then I grabbed her hip, grabbed myself, and gently encircled her anus with the head of my cock.

“She doesn’t let you, does she?” Wonyoung said from the fluffy carpet.

“No,” I said. Her body was shaking. “You want to fuck my ass?” She asked as I pressed the head of my dick against her asshole.

“You want to fuck my ass?” she repeated.

“Yes,” I said. Suddenly, or magically, her sphincter gave way and accepted the head of my cock. Her asshole slurped at me greedily.

“Fuck my ass,” she huffed. “Slowly…” Wonyoung threw her head back. A wave of flexing muscle swelled against my dick. “God I hope I rip it off.” She groaned. Just for that I pushed another inch inside. The slimy shampoo gave me easy access between Wonyoung’s crack. “Ah,” she stammered.

I drew my hands lovingly over her hips. There was no need to hold onto myself anymore: already a third of the way inside the girl, the walls of her rectum cautiously squeezed my cock.

Wonyoung hung her head. “Your dick’s too big...” Smoothly, but probably not gently enough, I pushed myself another half inch inside. “Ahh…” Wonyoung moaned. Her little fingers disappeared inside the carpet.” How far?’ she panted. “How far is it?”

“Almost half way,” I told her. “Unnh fuck…” Wonyoung groaned as I pushed inside her. “How much money?” she asked.

“All of it.”

“I’m your slut for ‘all of it.’”

“Say it again.” — “No.”

“Say it again, Wony.” — “M-make me…”

I pushed myself another inch inside and her asshole squelched around me. This time I groaned. I felt myself resonate along Wonyoung’s wet hips.

“Harder…” she coaxed. I pushed deeper inside her. I looked down. The shaft of my cock was almost buried between my girlfriend’s sister’s ass cheeks. “Make me say it,” she gasped. I slap her ass. Wonyoung moaned. “You’re my slut for ‘all of it.’”

“I’m your slut,” she breathed. “I’m…ah fuck…” She bowed her head and flexed her thighs. She actually pushed herself back. She slowly, achingly, thickly impaled herself on me. “Your… slut…” she grunted.

I squeezed inside of Wonyoung until I was balls deep. I dragged my nails against her shoulder blades and watched her muscles shiver up and down her ribs. “How does it feel?”

“Full,” she said, swallowed even. “It feels so full.” I gently pulled out. “Ah,” she sighed. And then, mercifully, I pushed back in. “Awnh,” Wonyoung shuddered. “Not… too… hard,” she pleaded.

“Promise,” I said.

“Oh no,” she moaned, as I pulled out slowly and sunk myself back inside her. Wonyoung laid herself on her forearms and put her head to the floor. The warm mist of the shower settled over us and I squeezed myself inside Wonyoung’s tight ass and imagined her sister, fucking Jinyoung softly, and watched myself fuck Wonyoung’s beautiful ass. She made tiny sounds of relief and anticipation as I pulled myself from deep inside her, and plunging back again with more vigor.

“You got it,” she moaned. “You got what you wanted…”

“You like it up the ass?”

“Punish me…” she groaned to the floor. “Don’t…” But I was never sure just what ‘don’t’ meant. I pulled out and thrust back in. Her asshole gripped me tightly but it was getting easier to slide in and out of her.

“Fuck…” Wonyoung cried into the carpet. She twisted and squeezed the shag between her thin fingers, her knees drawn together, her feet curled under her thighs and her elbows pressed to her ribs as if trying to keep my dick from poking her insides. I kept one hand on her bottom and reached between her legs to fiddle with her clit.

“Oh fuck,” she spat as she shoved herself against my dick. It was almost too good; I almost wasn’t there at all. I was suddenly back, cock buried inside Wonyoung’s rectum. And she was crying out. “Fuck me!”

I slammed into her. Wonyoung pressed her forehead into her fists and swung her pelvis back to meet me. Over the gush and senseless waste of water the sounds of our skin slapped angrily against each other — my thighs against her glistening, naked ass — bounced from tile to linoleum tile. I shoved as many fingers as I thought Wonyoung could take up her pussy and raked her ass with my other hand. “Fuck you!” she screamed. “Fuck you for being inside me!”

I’m not sure if she came. I’m not sure if the wild spasm that wracked her tits and made her belly twitch as if a million lustful worms had suddenly ejaculated inside her, made her glutinous bottom clench and the hair on her neck stand on end, was a release or some kind of guilty vibration, but Wonyoung suddenly shut up and growled low, long and deeply.

“I’m going to cum,”

“Don’t cum inside me,” she panted. I pounded her ass again, the soap, sweat and slick mucous of her insides dripping from where we connected. “I’m going to cum, Wony” I repeated.

“Don’t…” Wonyoung grunted, utterly incapable of turning or removing herself, her upper body spent. “Do you cum in my sister?”

“What do you think?”

“Don’t…” she repeated.

“I cum inside her all the time.”

“Don’t fill me with Jinyoung’s cum,” she moaned. “I can’t take her boyfriend’s cum.”

“Take it, Wony.”

“Don’t!” she groaned. “Don’t! Don’t! Don’t!”

The cum shot out of my cock like a cannonade. Wonyoung’s rectum instinctively tried to pinch me off but I was buried so far inside her it felt like I’d ejaculated into her stomach. “Annnh!” Wonyoung growled again. I pumped harder, and harder. I shot my load deep inside of her. I fucked and emptied my seed into her ass. I came, unapologetically.

Wonyoung remained on her knees and let me squeeze handfuls of her ass. I pushed in as far as I could go. My balls beat against her exposed pussy and her asshole shuddered all around me. I pulled myself up to kneel — with my knee up I was able to shove myself another quarter inch inside, then a half. Wonyoung just stuck her head back like I’d straightened her posture. When my balls finally stopped quaking, Wonyoung murmured, “Are you done?” I slid my hands over her body, my fingers pressing the supple flesh of her back. She remained on her knees; gaze locked on the bathroom door.

“I have to…” she started. She jerked her head over her shoulder, most of her face buried in her tangled black hair. Her eyes regarded me sardonically. “I have to use the bathroom,” she said. “Number one or number two?” I asked.

“Asshole.”

“Exactly.”

I pulled slowly. Wonyoung’s hips shook again. She didn’t try to hide the relief and slight pleasure of my shrinking penis exiting her body. A trail of cum followed me out, oozing from her twitching muscles. She didn’t look at me again. She just reached for the sink and pulled herself up. I sat up, too, turned off the tap, and took the door, grabbing a washcloth on my way out and rubbing myself down.

“Wonyoung,” I wanted to say something but for the life of me I didn’t know what. She was pulling her wet hair behind her ears, glaring at the two of us in the mirror.

“I’m not interested,” she said.

After Wonyoung had finished in the bathroom. It was my turn, she glared at me as I stepped past her. I soaped down to the alternating sounds of Wonyoung maybe breaking things and asking when we would go to the bank. By the time I was done Wonyoung was already dressed and holding her cell phone.

“Was that the promised call to tell Jinyoung how much fun we had?” I asked but Wonyoung wasn’t looking at me. “I have to go,” she said blankly.

“What?”

“Jinyoung called. She’s leaving work. Our grandmother died.”

“I- I’m sorry.”

“I…” she started. She seemed to think better of whatever she started and clattered past me to the front door. “I won’t be able to sit for a week, asshole.” She said, “I’ll be back for the money.” Then her world class legs were stomping down our creaky old stairs and taking her out the door and across the street.

For the funeral, her family had invited everybody, and somehow everyone got their own rooms, Jinyoung and I included. It was a surprise to me, but then again Jinyoung and I were both adults, with jobs and responsibilities. Speaking of jobs… I was sitting up in the bed. My underwear was hanging over the side of the mattress, and I glanced at it when Jinyoung’s brown hair dutifully lowered over my tight member. She was beautiful to me in that moment: in her bra, her plain pajamas on, her hair in a loose ponytail. It was the casualness of the act. She had been getting ready for bed, had taken her shirt off, and begun to comb her hair in the mirror, when she turned to me. Quietly, she’d approached me when I’d just gotten my shoes off, and helped me remove the rest of my clothes. Then she pulled the sheets back and had me sit down. I did, naked. She crawled up on the bed beside me and kissed me, then kissed my chest, then kissed my cock until it grew hard. And then she started sucking.

She did it quietly, for the most part. The house was full, though mostly quiet now that everyone had gone to bed, and we didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves. I had to wonder why she was going down on me now, today of all day, but I wouldn’t question it, not in the middle of the act.

It gets messy. I didn’t tell Jinyoung I was going to cum and she had me pretty deep. She spluttered, coughing suddenly. When she pulled her mouth back my dick was still ejaculating. Strings of cum leapt from the tip of my shaft while driblets of it stained the corners of Jinyoung’s flushed lips. She wiped her mouth and glared at me. “What the fuck?” she said. She was angry, angry enough to curse. “Ugh,” she groaned. She coughed again.

“Babe, I’m sorry,” I tried.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said. She sat up on the bed, in her bra, her tight stomach tensed. “It felt so good,” I said. “It’s… kind of a compliment?”

She shook her head, eyes narrow “That’s so gross.”

“Well,” I said, trying to sound dignified while my cock twitched and my sperm dried on my stomach, “if you swallowed it, maybe it wouldn’t get everywhere.” Yeah, that was not the right thing to say.

“Jesus,” said Jingoung as if that explained everything. “Sorry, I thought I was making you happy.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” I said. “I’m sorry. What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I have to take a shower.”

“I’ll join you.”

“I don’t want you to.” She got up off the bed and made for the bathroom that adjoined the guest room. She came out just as quickly with a thick towel and folded it neatly on the edge of the bed. “You can use the one in the hall.”

“Okay,” I said. “Are you mad at me?” Jinyoung coughed in reply. I sighed and let her disappear back behind the bathroom door. In a moment the light was on, she coughed again, and then the shower started.

I understood her anger, at least. We had a system, and I’d blown it. My obsequious attempts at placation were always disheartening to me, because all the ‘honeys’ and ‘babies’ in the world couldn’t make me feel like I’d reclaimed my balls. It was a very real threshold Jinyoung and I were on. Not that had anything to do with cumming in her throat, though. That was my bad.

It had everything to do with where my mind wandered, and maybe why I was never relaxed with her anymore. I wiped myself off with the towel and reluctantly stepped off the bed. I’d been at war with myself for a long time, and it had only been a week since I’d cheated on her with her own sister. Yes, I was the bad guy, there was no denying that. All Jinyoung wanted was commitment and trust. I wrapped the towel around my waist. ‘You know your problem,’ I said quietly to myself, turning the bedroom knob, ‘you just can’t be trusted.’

I smiled in the dark hallway. It was true. I was a creature of instinct, but cunning instinct, and I probably didn’t deserve Jinyoung, or I didn’t deserve her. The truth was, I did love her, but it was a comfortable, uneasy love. It was affectionate, and safe. Who could ask for more? but then…

A knife at your throat.

A knife at your throat brings a lot of focus. A knife at your throat can torch your self-loathing into a sudden brick of ash, leaving you with nothing but a bath towel and dried cum on your balls. In the dark hallway, right at the edge of the bathroom, a long, sharp knife emerged from the shadows and met my neck; lightly pressed against it. It was, to put it mildly, not what I was expecting.

“Get inside,” a voice whispered.

“The… uh, bathroom?”

“Yes, idiot.”

That would be Wonyoung. I sidestepped slowly into the bathroom, the knife held firmly against my neck the whole time, Wonyoung following me into the room. She shut the door behind us, locked it, and flipped the light on. Reflexively, I had my hands up. The towel was wrapped loosely around my waist, but other than that I was naked to the world — at least the house. Wonyoung, under the light of the old-fashioned bathroom, was still in her funeral attire, minus the sport coat. The tight black blouse strained to contain the girl’s ripe breasts. The thigh-length skirt still molded to her body and, surprisingly, she was still strapped into her black high heels. Most of her makeup had been washed off, except for the thin mascara that seemed to eternally circle her eyes. And her dark, dyed black hair seemed thicker, longer now that it had ever been, like a wild mane. The full lips, the upturned nose, the familiar sneer; all of it combined with her haughty, tight body to communicate something arrestingly unattainable. It occurred to me suddenly that I was fucked, because a straight razor was in her hand, and the hand was at my skin.

The blade rose and lowered on my neck. I swallowed, “W- what happened?”

“What do you think?”

I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to answer that, but I tried anyway, “This might be because we… had sex?”

“You fucked my ass in my sister’s apartment.”

“You’re upset about that… now?”

The knife pressed against my neck and I tried to raise my hands in as unthreatening a manner as possible. “Okay, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Where’s the money?”

“It’s not here.”

She pressed the knife harder. Enough to actually draw blood. “Whoa! calm down… why would I bring it here?”

“I gave you what you wanted. It’s your fucking turn.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you wanted it now.”

She surprised me by taking a swift stride forward and taking my shoulder in her other hand. The grip was tight. She was half a head shorter than me but her eyes burned up to mine with an unmistakable malice, and her hands did not waver. She was so close to my face I could have slipped my lips into the soft tresses of her bangs. The smell that came off of her was some thick but unsweetened perfume. I recognized, too, the vague smell of sweat, her sweat; in the tiny room evidence that she was human, and not entirely cold. Her breasts, unavoidably, brushed the bare skin of my chest. The two tight pinpricks I felt through the fabric alerted me to the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. In blind defiance of my fear, my cock began to harden.

She practically spit her next words: “When did you think I wanted it?”

“It’s in the bank — I told you.”

“You…” Her eyes searched mine for an interminable moment. Then she seemed to decide something. “You’re never going to give it to me, are you?” The knife between us was like a third person interrupting the conversation. Everything I could think to say was stopped by its contact with my skin.

“Of course I’m going to give it to you. The knife is very convincing.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, without humor. “Get on the floor.”

“What? Why?”

“Get. On. The floor.”

My palms towards her, my eyes widened slightly, trying to grasp what was happening. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to get on the floor. Lie on your back.”

I took a deep breath. There wasn’t much for me to do otherwise, so I slowly bent at the knees, and went down on one, then the other. In the process, the towel caught under my right knee and fell off, piling on the floor behind me. “Uh—” I started but Wonyoung said, “Leave it. Get back.”

So, naked now, hands still raised, I slowly lowered them to sit on the big, thick bathroom rug that lay between the sink and the bathtub. Wonyoung came with me, the knife ever at my neck, her other hand digging into my shoulder. We lowered together to the bathroom floor until I was on my back, the towel splayed out beneath me on the bathroom rug, and Wonyoung slipped her legs over my hips, just below my cock, and sat on me.

“You’re already hard.”

“Sorry, can’t help it.”

“I know,” she said as she reached down with her right hand and tugged at her skirt. The fabric clung to her so tightly she had to pull at one side first, then the other, then back again, to get it up her legs. When she’d tugged and pulled enough, I could see her bare thighs under the bunched skirt. A sheer pair of black panties hugged her bald pussy. It was completely shaved, and just visible through the nearly translucent fabric. She was practically sitting on my balls, and that sight made my dick grow harder.

“Hope you’re enjoying yourself,” she said.

“I have a lot of mixed emotions right now.”

“Shut up.” She brought her right hand up and planted it beside my head. She leaned forward. Suddenly I felt the silk material of her panties shift over the base of my cock. The fabric tingled where it slid over me, and I could feel the unmistakable cleft where the panties had ridden up into her pussy. Wonyoung dragged the panties over my cock, slowly, until she reached the head, and sat on it. Buried under her pussy, my cock was swamped by the heat that emanated from inside her.

“Does that make you hard?” She asked. I didn’t answer. But my cock twitched with a reflexive throb.

“That’s what I thought,” said Wonyoung. “Rip my panties.”

It was hard to know where to look. With the straight razor against my throat, it was dangerous to look anywhere but up into her cold eyes. Her tits pushed her shirt down, until they hung over me, ripe and within reach. But I didn’t dare move my hands. You know, in case Wonyoung was crazy. I replied with a clueless, “Huh?”

“Rip. My. Panties.” The words hissed through her gritted teeth. “Asshole.”

“Wony, I don’t understand.” She dragged the razor lightly over my skin. “Shut up and do it.”

I reached up. My hands couldn’t find her by sight, so I lifted my fingers into her flat stomach. She made a face but seemed to understand it, so she allowed me to drag my fingers down her waist, and the bunched-up skirt, until I reached the gossamer material between her legs. The straps that bound her hips were barely there at all. I reached deeper, until I brushed her mound, and pulled the fabric between my fingers.

I tore them. They ripped so easily I wondered what woman in her right mind would buy such fragile things, but the pulsations deep in my cock cleared that mystery up right away. In Wonyoung’s eyes was the registered shock of feeling our bare genitals suddenly in contact, but she didn’t do more than issue a tight gasp from her mouth. I ripped, and continued to rip until the panties were in tatters. They still hung around her hips; I hadn’t touched the band; but her pussy now lay atop my cock, its lips snugly parted over my shaft.

She shifted to roll me between them. “Was it worth it? Being a prick?”

With my cock inside Wonyoung. it was difficult to answer. She leaned down until our noses almost touched. “Are you going to give me the money?”

“Yes,”

“I don’t believe you. And I fucking hate you.”

“Is that right?” — She pressed the knife against me to shut me up.

“Here’s what I’m going to do.” She reared back until she was sitting on me again. My cock was still hard, flattened against my stomach and underneath her pussy. She laid her right hand over my mouth. “Lick it,” she said.

…..

“More,” she said. I licked her palm. I licked the creases in it and the spaces between her fingers. Then she reached down, underneath her, and lifted herself up on her knees. The breach of contact between us alerted me to the coolness of the bathroom air. Above me, Wonyoung rubbed her palm into her labia. The fingers slipped in. She returned her palm to my mouth, laying her pussy over my cock again as she leaned down. ‘Lick it,’ she said. I did. This time I tasted her pussy on her hand, and my mouth lingered over the taste of her fingers. She pulled back after I planted a kiss in her palm. Wonyoung rubbed the hand into her cunt again, coating herself with my saliva. She pushed her hand into my mouth. “Lick it,” she said, more hoarsely than before. This time her thighs trembled a bit when she rubbed herself. “Again,” she said. My lips and tongue danced over her fingers. This time when she reached down, she took hold of my dick. Her moist fingers clenched, rubbing my head until the precum oozed from the slit and mixed with the saliva.

“You want to fuck me?” she asked, finally pulled my dick upright. It bulged against her belly. “You were staring at me all day.” She said. It’s true, can’t deny it.

“You fucked my mouth… You fucked my ass…” With every word her thighs contracted and released. I felt her heartbeat through her stomach, and every contraction was simultaneous with a tight stroke of my cock, like a rough caress. “You had everything. And you still fuck my sister…”

“Yes,” I said, though it was more of a groan. She leaned forward slightly, not so easy to do with my cock pressed stiffly into her. She was relentless, squeezing it in her hand. If Jinyoung hadn’t blown me minutes ago, I would be ready to cum, but the earlier ejaculation had relaxed my body. It did nothing, however, for my burning urge to reach up and pull that blouse down her beautiful chest. But she kept the knife to me at all times.

“You just want more… and more, don’t you?” She looked down.

I could see her looking at my cock but I couldn’t remove my eyes from her face, even in this state, she was gorgeous. I felt the first drips from her pussy land in my pubic thatch. “Were you going to make me fuck you?” she said. “You want my pussy? Do you want my pussy?” She rubbed my shaft against her pussy. I had to lean my head back against the tile.

Then, her knees hugging the carpet and my hips, I heard the toes of her heels clatter on the tile, she rose up; she positioned my cock straight up, and wiggled it between the lips of her pussy lips, she gasped; it made her stomach jiggle, her breasts, too, and sank down.

We both groaned as my shaft plunged in, in to her naked flesh. “Ah,” she said, as if in pain. She was wet, but not dripping. She stopped about halfway and pushed her right hand down into the carpet.

“You like that?” she hissed as she sank her hips down, forward. My cock slid along her uterine wall. Then, to my pleasure and utter shock, she bucked her hips forward, dragging my cock in and out of her, gyrating on top of me.

“I hate you…” she said. “Your fucking cock… inside me… forcing me.” Her eyes burned down into mine.

“I didn’t force you,” I said. Her pussy was so tight. For some reason I’d imagined that her being such a bitch it would only make room for a big, loose pussy. But Jinyoung’s younger sister had a tight, wet snatch. It was like a trap, and I could feel it squeeze more precum out of me, to mix with the saliva she’d forced me to lubricate her with, to mix with the juice of her own body.

“You think I wanted you?” she hissed. She clearly had an agenda, and she took to it with forceful fervor, but it was impossible for my dick to elicit no effect that deep inside of her. I realized she was trying to work me in and out of her methodically, almost mechanically.

“If you cum before I do,” she started, “I’ll cut you.” Again, still with the knife at my throat. “And tell my father you raped me. And then Jinyoung will know what a piece of shit you are...”

Wonyoung wasn’t going to cum, that’s what she was saying… “If you cum before I do?” I said, “you won’t cut me?” She sneered. I suddenly thrust my hips up, and she had to grab at the floor. I pushed my feet into the ground and thrust again. The knife could cut me while I tried but I realized now that might be inevitable.

“If you cum before I do, you won’t cut me?” I repeated.

“You can’t make me cum,” said Wonyoung.

I raised my hands up and placed them on her hips. I forced her to go down, deep down, until her tight pussy was opened over the thick base of my cock, her ass practically riding my balls. “Anh,” she gasped.

“Do you want me to make you cum?”

“Fuck you,” she said. “Tell me how badly you wanted this pussy?”

“Badly,” I said. My fingers bit into her hips. I ran the fabric of her blouse up against her ribs until I was grasping her tight skin. I made her hips swivel against me. I pushed inside her.

“What about the money?”

She leaned back. She had to keep the knife on my throat but she leaned back, very business-like, her back almost straight, while I made love to her vagina like she wasn’t even a part of it.

“You wanna give it to me now?” she said. “If you give it to me right now, then pull out. Pull out of this pussy.” She flexed her ass on top of me.

“But then you wouldn’t get a good fucking,” I said.

“If I wanted a good fucking, I wouldn’t be fucking you.”

“You just want to make me cum?”

She sneered again, the coldness in her eyes dire contrast to the heat below her waist, and the movements, almost gymnastic and snake-like, of her writhing, curvaceous body. It was her body that was built for sex; every undulation, every inch of her soft, pale skin, was meant to attract attention, meant to draw the eye, meant to force lewd fantasies.

Did Wonyoung know the men in her wake were left with no recourse but to stroke themselves to ejaculation at the thought of her wide hips under their palms, her tight ass clutching their cocks, her fearsome eyes hating them as they squeezed their manhood between her tight, moist crevices? Of course she knew.

“You’re going to cum,” she said. “You’re going to cum inside me. I’m going to squeeze your f-fucking cock until you can’t take it anymore… and, then, you’ll do it. You want to do it.”

“Yes,” I said, my hands forced her hips deeper down.

“Better slow down,” she gasped.

“I’m just getting started.”

“Oh yeah?” She reached up to her blouse. No, I thought, it’s too cruel. Her fingers slid over the slopes of her upper breasts. Her finger dipped into her cleavage. “You want these tits?” she whispered breathlessly. I didn’t say anything, but I did slow my strokes.

“That’s what I thought… You can’t handle me.”

That would not stand. I grabbed her ass and plunged my cock deep, thrusting my hips hard towards her pelvis. She bumped forward; her hand fell beside my head. Her breasts swung over my face.

“Does that make you mad?” she hissed. She leaned down until her nipple, under the black fabric, grazed the skin of my lip. I couldn’t stand it. I stretched my mouth forward, trying to catch it through the shirt. Wonyoung leaned up, laughing. “I don’t think so,” she said. “You can’t handle it.”

I didn’t like being told what I couldn’t handle. I dropped her hips suddenly, and reached for her chest. She let out a stunned “What-?” before I grabbed the blouse between my fingers and tore, like I’d torn the panties.

Her breasts freed from the rent fabric. At first, they just rolled forward, freed from the pressure but too full, too squished to leave the shirt. Still stunned, Wonyoung was pinned by my dick plunging into her behind and her hand bound to stay at my throat, so she couldn’t stop me from grabbing the torn shirt and ripping it the rest of the way. Her gorgeous breasts were freed from her clothing, plump and swollen, the bottoms still tightly trapped but the nipples, the soft skin at their sides, exposed, even held so that each bounce of her ass on my thighs, at every increasingly wet thrust and gyration, they make little jiggled forward.

“Prick,” she said.

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes,” she gasped. My thrusts were merciless now. She tried to right herself, to get more rigidly on top, but I angled my hips so that she was forced to lean forward, forced to keep her one hand planted in the tile, I hoped her knife hand was getting tired. Her breasts were beautiful, and I adored them. She shut her eyes tight.

“Do you want me to touch them?”

“N-no…” she groaned.

I thrust harder, faster. “You bastard…” she rasped. “Don’t…”

It was beautiful. The way breasts swung over me, forced to bounce with every push of my cock. It hurt her, but there was an open, hungry pout to her mouth that proved that some tangle of nerves caught in the strain forced her to like it. I couldn’t bear to see her like that any longer.

I reached up and held her breasts. Their thickness filled my hands. The hard nipples practically carved her initials into my palms. I squeezed them, and she let out a deep moan. I reached down and tore the rest of the shirt. Her breasts flopped out all the way and I scooped them hungrily between my fingers. Sweat had built up between our waists; I could feel it trickling down from where her skirt bunched up against her hips. One hand slid behind her back, the other pulled her in to me. I took one pale, puffy nipple between my lips and sucked on it.

“Suck it…” she whispered. “Is that what you want? You want to suck my tits?”

I just groaned assent to her dirty mouth. I slowed my strokes to savor the taste of her breasts. My tongue dragged over the slopes of one, licking deep between them to the space in the middle of her chest. I felt her right hand on my shoulder, maybe pushing me, maybe trying to stay steady, as I scooped the left breast towards my mouth and suckled on it, bit it lightly, tried to get as much of it in my mouth as I could fit.

I sucked harder on it, loving the taste of her, the hot, angry taste of her, and the wondrous texture of her bumpy areolas. It occurred to me, only then, at the height of my arousal and hunger for her, that I had stopped thrusting, that her pussy was slipping and gliding over me, that her left hand had gone limp — had not dropped the knife — that her stomach was quaking over mine.

“That what you needed?” she said huskily. “Needed these tits in your mouth? I know you did.” I let her nipple slip from my mouth and reached up. I took her face in both hands and pulled her mouth to me.

“Fuck you,” she spat into my mouth. She actually spat.

I wet my lips and cupped them over her own. Her tongue slithered out and tippled over mine. I thrust. She pushed. Her breasts squashed against my chest. I reached down and gripped her ass fiercely, forcing it up and down on my cock. Our spit mingled while she acted like her tongue in my mouth was there by protest. I, for my part, sucked on it, kissed her mouth, and reached for her hair. “Cum,” she whispered when our lips peeled away from each other.

“You wanna make me cum?”

“I make you cum,” she said, her face still inches from mine. She rested her breasts on top of me. “You came inside my ass.…I had to… push it out…”

“You didn’t like that?” I groaned. “You didn’t like shitting out my cum?”

“You are sick,” she gasped. “Ahn. You’re vile. You fucked me. Your big dick. In my ass.”

“Are you going to cum?”

“You can’t make me cum!” she whispered violently.

“You’re wet.”

“I’ll cut your throat.”

I got a good grip on her ass cheek. My right arm braced against her side. “You want to cum, Wony? You want it good? You want it rough?”

“Don’t—” she said. She could feel my arms’ tensed strength. “I’ll… cut…”

“Do it,” I said.

“Cum,” she said. “Ah!” She said it as I shifted my weight. She said it as I pulled at her tight ass and pushed up into her pussy with my hips. She said it as I grabbed her back and torqued her to the ground. The knife at my neck was there, but suddenly wasn’t. It clattered to the floor as we tumbled. We seemed to be a ball of wet limbs and tangled clothing for a breathless, sightless time, then suddenly she was on the ground, on her back, her fingers scratching at my neck, and I was on top, plugged inside her, and I reached down and pulled one long leg up against my body to open her pussy wider.

“Take it, Wony…”

“Ahn fuck…” she hissed. Her eyes went wide and to the toilet bowl just above her head. I pulled her hands off my neck and pinned them to the tile. She fought against me the whole time but my muscles bulged, hot with lust, and my grip on her wrists unyielding. Her open palms grabbed at nothing, her outstretched arms forced her exposed breasts up, so that their full, rippling bounty was flattened over her torn shirt. I heard her high heel knock the bathroom floor. And of course, between her legs, between her open, limber legs, where her bare pussy shed its juices under her torn, mangled panties, was me, slipping it to her, guiding my tight, insistent cock between the hungry lips of her devious sex.

“You like it better this way?” I whispered into her ear. “You don’t have to do the work. You can just let me fuck you until you cum.”

“Can’t… make me… cum…” Wonyoung panted.

I laid a wet, passionate kiss on her mouth. It was devoid of love and full, bursting with all the ravenous urges I’d built up since I’d seen her this morning. I was glad the knife was now somewhere behind the toilet, but I was plunging harder and harder into her body and I wanted to cum. Yet I refused to unless I could make her do it, and believe it. The squelches of our sex only made the hot air stink more fragrantly of two angry people fucking. I grabbed her hair and tilted her head back.

“You like it dirty?”

Hands freed, she reached down between our bucking hips. I felt her fingers work at the skirt, try to free it from my pounding hips.

“You got cum all over my skirt,” she gasped.

I reached down and pulled at it. She worked it from her side. I felt something give in the material. Something snapped. Her other hand reached down to take the clasp and open it. Then it was off, ruffled and pinned under us, like the towel and the rug and the shreds of her shirt and panties. I slowed my strokes enough to savor the curved entrance to her soft pussy.

I bent my neck to pop one of her breasts into my mouth. It was dotted with quivering perspiration. Her breath was ragged. Suddenly she reached up and clutched my shoulders. I licked up her chest to her neck and chin. And her eyes burned into me.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

“You gave me everything,” I gloated to her, on top of her, my fingers biting her ass cheek and hiking her leg even higher.

“You took everything,” she rasped.

“I’m going to make you cum, Wony.”

“Can’t force me…”

“I’ll force you.”

“Force me,” she said. Her mouth now refused to close. Her upper lip was spotted with sweat; her pink tongue was writhing in her mouth. She had to breathe through that mouth, had to kiss me with it when I made her, but she couldn’t close it; the sound that issued out of it, a high but deep groan that pressed up against her flat stomach, wouldn’t allow it. Her teeth grit together for a rough instant.

“Force… me…”

“You’ll love it,”

“I hate it.”

Her leg had ridden as high as I could get it with my hand in that position. I reached under so that I was now holding it up from underneath, the back of her knee between my thumb and forefinger. The sweat running down from her calves, from the tight straps of her high heels, flowed over my knuckles and to my wrist. Our hips slapped together. Her other leg went up, the knee pointed to the ceiling. The heel scraped over the floor.

“Your dick,” she ranted. “Your fucking dick…”

“Inside you.”

“Inside me…”

“Cum on my cock, Wony. Cum for me.”

“Forced me…” she gasped.

“You forced me.”

“I didn’t force your dick between my tits.”

“Give it to me, Wony.”

“Didn’t… ah… nah… force your… cock…”

“Into your ass.”

“My ass.” She shuddered. ‘Now,’ she said. “Don’t stop…”

“Let me hear it.”

“Oh… Fuckngh…”

My dick slid back and forth, never stopping, her ass slapped the bathroom floor. She lunged for my neck. I felt her teeth bite into my shoulder. I reached up, pushed her moist back up, curved my pelvis up to meet her bucking pussy. She came silently, biting into my shoulder, her whole body a wicked vibration.

An instant later I came as well. My cock stuck bolt upright and ejaculated, pumping Wonyoung full of my cum. The thick deluge that I’d been holding back, it all came, shooting, unending. Wonyoung let out a little shriek when it happened — nothing loud enough for the house to hear — nothing that sounded pained, but a tail added to her own unleashed orgasm, something that ended her quivering and transformed it into full body squeezes. She clamped over me, with her legs, her arms, her mouth, and released all of them. If my hand hadn’t been behind her head, she would have knocked back against the toilet bowl.

The two of us shivered together without speaking, her arms draped loosely over my shoulders.

Somehow, and sometime later, we got to our feet. We gathered the pieces of clothing and the towel, into the middle of the room. She bent down and undid the straps on her heels. Then I started the shower.

-

It was the practical thing to shower together. We did it without speaking. I let her use the water first, then I came forward and soaped myself. Finally, however, it was just too much to see her splashed in water, the white suds dripping all down that buxom body. I pushed her against the shower wall, my hands cupping her breasts, then her ass, my tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She kissed me weakly, a hand skating down my back but not knowing, truly, where to go. I thought I might even feel another tingle in my crotch. But it was Wonyoung pushing me away.

“No,” she said quietly. “I really mean it.”

We parted. She finished shampooing her hair, then she stepped out and grabbed a towel from the sink cupboard. When I shut off the water, she handed me another one. She had already bound the ripped articles of clothing in another towel. I didn’t ask what she planned to do with it. The straight razor had been returned to its place.

She sort of nodded, not looking at me, and reached for the door. But I stopped her with a hand on her wrist. She didn’t say stop, she didn’t say no, she just looked at my hand, and then at me. It wasn’t really an angry look; it was tired, and more than a little ambiguous.

I started to say, “I want…”

But she cut me off with, “Yeah.” Her eyes burned into mine, without hate, but without anything I recognized. She opened the door and was gone, her hips under the white towel shifting, sashaying, into the shadows.

I shook my head. Well, who’s to say what I wanted, or what Wonyoung wanted beyond the money? I didn’t know, and other than the fact that I’m a bad boyfriend, I wasn’t going to know anything more. At least not tonight.

I went through the door to the guest bedroom, to the little yellow light by the side of the bed. Jinyoung was sitting up with her glasses on, reading a book from one of the ancient shelves.

“You were in there for a long time,” she said, looking up.

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly exhausted. I threw my towel over a chair and wandered heavily to the other side of the bed. I slid in next to her and turned over.

“Hey,” she said.

“What?”

Her voice rose. “Where’d you get that bite mark on your neck?”

Two months. Two fricking month later and all I needed is a date.

My company was hosting a large end-of-year celebration at a downtown hotel, and they were providing the rooms, food, and everything else. We only needed to show up and have a good time. There was business to be done, as well as some late afternoon seminars to attend, but the most important thing was that I needed a date. Because after the dancing and drinking, I'd have a whole hotel room to myself.

Nice guy that I am, I thought of calling Jinyoung first. But nice as I am, I’m also an asshole. It didn’t take me long to remember.

The breakup was bad. The hicky Jinyoung found on my neck began a series of questions that led to a series of shouts that led to me leaving the house before the entire family was involved. Of course, that didn’t stop it. There were angry phone calls, from both Jinyoung and Wonyoung—Jinyoung about Wonyoung and then Wonyoung screaming for her money or to get her sister off her back.

Things weren’t easy when Jinyoung and I shared an apartment. I had a head start but it wasn’t enough to get all my shit packed up and out the door. When she came home, she immediately set to tearing the place apart. She threw my toolbox out the window, and it came very close to shattering and spilling out all the money that was hidden inside of it.

I had to find someone to sub-lease my half of the apartment, which was a nightmare in this economy. I had Jinyoung’s friends calling me, leaving text messages, telling me what a monster I was. Yes, me, a monster. Well…

Comes the end of the year and I need a date for this shindig. I hadn’t even thought about it, was planning to just feel sorry for myself, drinking and try not to slit my wrists alone in the hotel room. But a chance encounter in a coffee shop changed my mind.

-

I had been sitting in the corner of the cafe with my laptop for about ten minutes. I’d been in there for an hour already, catching up on work, trying to get everything in my docket finished before the company party, when I noticed a girl come in through the door with a group of friends.

Her friends were fine, but she had a long trail of raven black hair, the unapologetic cleavage in her low-cut top clued me in to her breasts; the mini-skirt tipped me off to the ass. It was Wonyoung. For five minutes I didn’t know what to do. On the sixth minute, I shut my laptop.

She excused herself from the group to use the restroom, and when she did, I followed her in. She was closing the door behind her when I slid my foot between the door and the jamb. She started fuming even before she saw me. “Hey…” She stopped.

We regarded each other with quiet, calculating grimaces, and then, as if on cue, she opened the door and we entered the restroom together.

“What the do you want?”

“To give you your money.”

She snorted. A puff of air escaped her lips and tossed one of her bangs back over her ear. The action was adorable. “Right,” she said. “What do you want me to do, fuck you in this shitty bathroom?”

“No, but good guess,” I said.

She crossed her arms and gave me a nasty smirk. “My family thinks you’re just the sleaziest shit right now. It’s awesome.”

“What about you?”

She shrugged. “Like I give a shit. No one’s thinking about the money right now. My sister won’t stop giving me shit about you but whatever.”

“So, I guess you don’t need the money anymore?”

She bugged her eyes as if receiving some sort of revelation. “Oh, wow, you mean you’re really going to give it to me? I’m not stupid!”

“No,” I said agreeably. “No, Wonyoung, you’re a smart one.”

“Look,” she said, “you’re not my sis’s boyfriend anymore and I don’t care what you do with the money. So, uh, I think we’re done here.”

I nodded. “We can be, if you want. But I have a proposition for you.”

“Fuck that.”

I threw up my hands. “Oh Come on, Wony. Didn’t we have some laughs?”

She sneered. “Yeah, Riiight. All those times you fucked me when my sister wasn’t around? Yeah, those were great times.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints though.”

“I literally complained the entire time. Or did you not hear me calling you out, while you were cumming in my ass?”

“Good times,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “Will you please leave? Or do you want to watch me piss now?”

“No,” I said, “my perversion does not extend that far. However, I do have a proposition for you and I ask only that you hear me out before any further profanity.”

“Fuck you.”

“Right,” I said. “I’m willing to give you your money back.”

“If…?”

“If you come to this company party with me. You’d come as my date. You’d be there with me.”

“And that’s it?”

“No, that’s not it.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I thought so. You really get off on getting off on me, don’t you?” She made a grand show of searching the ceiling with her eyes. “My sister hates you right now.”

“I understand that.”

“So, what, I have to wear a nice dress, pretend you’re my prince charming?”

“You’d only be there for the drinking and food. The boring business stuff is earlier in the day.”

“Right,” she said. “And I should believe you because…?”

“I’ll bring the money with me. I’ll show it to you as soon as you get into the hotel lobby. If I don’t have it, you can walk out and leave. If you stay, I’ll give it to you.”

“When?”

“After.”

She laughed. “You think you’re so smart,”

“Actually, I thought I sounded desperate.”

“You do,” she said. “You are. You’re pathetic. Why don’t you get some other girl to come with you? Oh, that’s right. Cause you’re an asshole.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe I’d rather go with you.”

“I bet you would.” She leveled her gaze at me. “When is it?”

“End of next week. I can send you the directions.”

She took a deep breath, and without another thought, just nodded. “If I show up and you don’t have the money, I will stab you in the lobby, I don’t care who sees it.”

“I believe you,”

“Now leave, I have to piss.”

“Can I watch?”

-

The weeks stretched by like they were laden with lead weights. On the day of the party, I tossed the ill money in my duffel bag. The seminars were excruciating. The small talk was boring. But at about 7 PM, when the company members were coming downstairs in their finery, my boss was already drunk, and I was waiting in the lobby, the night, quickly, and briefly, was all worth it.

Wonyoung arrived. She had a small bag with her, enough for a night’s stay, and it was taken by the bellboy without much fuss. She knew what number the room was. And she strode towards me on the wide red-carpeted floor.

She was in nothing but a straight white dress, and I mean nothing else. She did have a pair of white heels that went all the way up, but there was not a bra strap in sight over her bare, brown shoulder. Her breasts were squeezed into the outfit, that shimmered and bent the light, and the hem went to just about thigh-level. Just about. When she walked the fabric slithered over her ass. And the eyes of the hotel did likewise.

I opened my mouth to tell her what she already knew but she cut me off. “Money,” she said. Her eyes were rimmed with dark mascara, her cheeks blushed. The money appeared in my hand and swiftly returned to my pocket.

“How do I know it’s all there?”

“It’s all there,” I said.

“Liar.”

“It’s all there,” I said. “Do you want to tell the bellboy to bring your bag back?”

“If it’s not…” she growled.

“You’ll cut me, I get it,” I said. ‘Fair is fair, I know. Now, look,’ I said, I looped my arm through hers, “you’re here as my date. So, you have to make believe you’re having a great time.”

“My imagination isn’t strong enough.”

But it was decent enough. I introduced her to my co-workers as Wonyoung, which she was, my girlfriend, which she definitely was not. They all wanted to know what she did and where she came from and she smiled and nodded whenever possible, laughing when she absolutely had to, and only tensed and flinched when I slid my hand down her backside. After thirty minutes of small talk while we waited for the bar and dance room to clear, she bent her mouth to my ear. “Where’s the expensive wine, you promised me?”

“Inside,” I said.

“Your co-workers are boring.”

“Yes… Yes, we are.”

What followed would only be more of the same. My boss came over to ask me who I was with, and I happily told him she was in love with me, a woman who believed in all the great qualities I possessed, who supported me, was faithful to me, who was not necessarily prettier than her sister, but much hotter, and fucked like a wild rabbit. My boss smiled and nodded, drunk off his ass. He had to find it first and Wonyoung sneered at his wife as she gave us both a dirty look and carted him off. “Wine,” said Wonyoung. “He drank it all, didn’t he?”

We were back at the table, everyone loosened up and drinking freely, and Wonyoung was giggling with my co-worker about how smart I thought I was, and I was just laid back enough to let them have at it.

-

The four of us broke away from the group as the night wound down, and we all helped each other find the way to the elevator and up to our floor. They said goodnight and tried to look casual as they strolled off to their room. As soon as they had their backs to us, I pressed Wonyoung up against my hotel door and kissed her.

She kept her eyes wide, watching them down the hall. I could feel her body tense, waiting for them to disappear into the room. And I kept my eyes open too, to drink in the sight of her angry eyes, feel her charged muscles, while I slid my tongue deeper into her mouth.

My hand gently pushed her to the door, while my other found her backside. I fondled one curvaceous ass cheek, almost reaching the hem of her skirt. She reached behind herself and pulled me away, but she didn’t break the kiss.

Her mouth was wet, her lips was puffy. Wonyoung pushed me off. “Ah,” she groaned. She wiped her pink-colored lip with the back of her hand. “You bit me.”

“Thought it would help your concentration.”

She gave me a withering look. “Just let me in so I can get my bag and get out of here.” I smiled in the most diabolical way that I could. Mostly for her displeasure, but the motivation behind it was very real. “You’re not leaving tonight.”

Her brows knit together. “Fuck that,” she said. “I did what you said, showed up to this stupid thing, now pay up.”

“Nope,” I said. “I told you I needed you here for the event. Tomorrow morning is when we leave. How’s it going to look if I show up tomorrow and my date’s high tailed it out of there? They’ll think you were some kind of escort.”

Wonyoung looked furious. Her eyebrows came down over those blazing eyes. I had to wonder if she genuinely hadn’t known, or if my company disgusted her that much. Down below, in my pants, I hoped it was both.

“I’m not…” she started.

“You know what you’re here for,” I said. “Don’t waste my time.”

“Don’t waste your time?” she fumed. “Okay I’m going.”

“Really? You put up with everything tonight to go home empty handed?”

“I’m not spending another second here,” she hissed. “Especially not to…”

I put my hand on the door, barring her way. “I have some of your money in my pocket. The rest is inside,” I said. “You want it, you can look for it.”

She shook her head.

“You can always just tell me no.”

The skin on her nose wrinkled, her whole face joining in to grimace. “No,” she said. “No, I won’t do anything your sick brain wants.”

“It’s not my brain,” I put in. I leaned in closer. Our bodies brushed together against the door. “Do you want the money or not?”

“It’s mine,” she said.

“So, you’re welcome to take it. Inside.”

Her eyes studied mine, the wicked gears inside calculating, maybe ways to subdue me, maybe how to kill me. I could see, though, that tonight had been no joy for her and to walk out now would only compound her fury. “Fine,” she said. “Open it.”

“Not until you know what you’re going in there for,” I said.

“To get the money.”

“To honor our deal.”

“You said I had to pretend to be your girlfriend for the night,” she said quickly, spitting the words out without thinking.

“Oh yeah,” I said.

Before she could protest, I’d swiped the key into the card lock and we pushed inside. Wonyoung’s bag was set primly beside the bed. My suit and bag were on top of it. Wonyoung stalked to the bed, to my bag, and I was treated to the sight of those long legs flashing in the striped light of the blinds, the lamp inside and the hall’s diminishing radiance. The door swung shut, and Wonyoung was at the bed, my bag unzipped, rifling through it.

I let her search, closing the door. Should I lock it? I wondered, and casually strolling into the room. It was a good room the company had provided. There was a bathroom on my left, a small kitchenette behind it and running from the door to the wall. On my right was the sliding closet, with both doors’ full-length mirrors. The bed was on the far-right side of the room and the bathroom was across from it, beside the TV.

Wonyoung’s face only grew darker as she flung my shit further across the room, to no success. A gray undershirt hung from the TV, and one of my socks had even caught in the half-lidded Venetian windows. I savored the movements of her, her bare arms scouring the bag, the fine muscles beneath the skin twitching with unconcealed tension. This was the first time, I thought, the first time my proper girlfriend wasn’t sleeping around the corner or waiting for me to return, the first time her family wasn’t around to threaten me with. We were two people in a hotel room; for all intents and purposes, as far as my colleagues knew, she was happy to be here, doing the things that couples did.

My body stirred, even as I stood motionless in the center of the room. My manhood stiffened. She had stopped going through the bag. She’d turned it upside down, finished with it in a petulant fury, its flattened fabric deflated, just like her hopes to finish this without another word to me. But if her hope was deflated it did not stop her anger. It radiated out of her, making every glistening surface of her shine that much brighter. We were both lightly sweaty from the dancefloor downstairs. Some of it had evaporated in the intervening hours. I could smell myself, sort of, but I couldn’t ignore her. Her perfume and shampoo were still lingering in her hair but her sweat, a pure, natural aroma, filled the room. She sat on the edge of the bed, one leg drawn up under her skirt, one leg heading down, way down, to her white heel in the carpet. Her hemline, which had started low, was drawn up and stuck under her bottom, so half her ass was visible on the bed. Her breasts pushed at the fabric of her top, the deep shadow of her cleavage lined with sweat. Her hair trailed over her shoulders, almost reaching the tops of her breasts.

“It’s not in there,” I said simply.

She was up, she was moving. She was in front of me, breathing in my face. She didn’t shake with all that energy; she kept it bottled and bound inside. I imagined it swirling behind her eyes.

“Give it to me,” she said.

“I will.” My eyes fell over her full lips; the bright eyes that lacked the inquisitive earthiness of her sister but were filled with something more obvious, sinister, and lancing.

“Where is it?” she said. Her lips came together, puckered. “Give it to me,” she said darkly.

“Take off your shoes.”

…

I did not expect the slap. It came so quickly, one minute I was leering at her, the next I was staring at the floor. I shook myself, and cocked my head back. Wonyoung still looked mad, but satisfied.

“You can do that again, if you want.”

“You…” she started.

“Take them off.”

She remained planted to the ground, a buxom statue, a sweaty, organic embodiment of all my sexual demons. I wanted to peel off her clothes and taste every wet crevice she hid underneath them. My cock only hardened to think I had the time to do it. Provided she didn’t castrate me in the attempt. What tickled me, though, insofar as I could be tickled, was the glimpses of superiority that I caught from her time and again. She knew I wanted to fuck her; there could be no mistaking that; but did she recognize how hard I wanted to fuck her, how strenuously I needed to sink myself inside her, how badly I wanted to hold her, and squeeze her, and hear her curse me and groan? She thought I wanted her tits and ass. That was true enough. But did she know I wanted her, inside her body, her ignorant, evil little heart?

I reached into my pocket. The money appeared, slightly damp from the sweat of my body, but neatly folded in a metal clip. Wonyoung’s eyes registered the cash, but her mouth betrayed her. It was surprise that I saw. I smiled and tucked the cash away again.

“You said that was half of it.”

“No, that’s all of it. I just didn’t know how else to get you inside. And believe me, when I lose my clothes, you’re free to take it all. I’ll keep my word about that at least,” I said. “And you’ll get it. But the night’s not over.”

“No,” she said.

“Take them off, Wony.”

Without taking her eyes off me, she fiddled with her heel beneath her. I didn’t break the stare. I watched her descend, heard the clop of her heel hit the ground, then the other. Her toes slid the shoes from her feet, and slid them behind her. The heels must have been several inches, because now her nose was about level with my chin. We stood there in silence for a moment, her seething, me letting my cock harden against the fabric of my slacks. I could do anything with her, I thought. Malevolent thoughts swirled in my brain, but if I had to be honest, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

“You know what you’re here for?” I asked.

Her lips hardened to a tight line. My eyes led down her chin to the stiff, proud neck, to her deep cleavage, and the sparkling white dress. I wanted to throw her down and make her say my name. She never would, I thought.

“Are you going to say anything?”

“Let’s get this over with,” she said.

I reached out and drew her to me. She came without protest, though still stiffly. I let her feel me against her mound, our bodies still hot from the dancefloor. My mouth went to hers. But I was only kissing her lips. She didn’t open.

“I don’t have to put on a show for anyone,” she muttered into my tongue.

“Just me,” I said.

“Fuck you,” she said matter-of-factly.

I pulled away and nodded. “Go to the wall.” I pointed to the wall between the bathroom and the TV. She went. I waited so that I could watch her ass shift and sway under the shimmering material. How, I thought, how could a man know that was in the world and not want it? And how evil would he have to be to get it?

She turned when she reached it, looking only partly confused. She probably expected me to tell her to take it off. That wasn’t going to happen yet.

“Face the wall, Wony.”

She put a hand on it, then narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?” she said.

“I’m telling you what I want, No more questions. Face the wall. Put your hands on it.”

She did it quickly enough. She turned and laid her palms flat on the wall. But she didn’t trust me — and I couldn’t blame her — so she kept glancing behind, her eyes not failing to show her trepidation.

“Bend over,”

For once she did it without protest. This she understood. This she could see in her mind’s eye. Me, wanting her, plunging into her. Wonyoung’s hand slid down the wall as she bent at the waist. The skirt rode up the backs of her thighs, up to the bottoms of her tight little ass.

I slid the skirt the rest of the way. It nearly took my breath away. Wonyoung’s bare ass was taut, moist from the night’s exertions, the delectable handfuls of her bottom perky, round. And she wasn’t wearing a strip of clothing under there. No panties. Her pussy was shaved bare. I could tell because she bent over far enough for me to see it. I reached for her cheeks and pried them apart, to get a look at her asshole.

“What are you doing?” she growled, nearly sliding off the wall.

Annoying her, I thought. “I said no more questions.”

“Stop,” she said. My fingers dug deeper into her. Was it her asshole she was worried about? I wanted to spread those cheeks to make her uncomfortable. And it was working.

“You can yell out for whoever you want,” I said. “It’s just us tonight.”

She was turned from the wall, her hands still planted on it. “Just take it out and do it,” she hissed.

Almost business-like, I thought. I gently released her, letting her ass cheeks wobble, loving every bouncing inch of them. But I didn’t do it, at least not what Wonyoung intended. I got a good grip on her left hip, and arced my hand back, and delivered a swift smack to her right ass cheek.

Wonyoung let out a choked cry. Her hair whipped as she sank a demonic glare over her shoulder, at me. “Face the wall,” I said. She did. She pushed her hands into the wall and leaned back. I rubbed the reddened skin of her ass and swung back. I laid a second smack on her cheek, making her reel forward on her toes. “Ah!” she gasped.

I gripped her right hip, and raised my left hand. “You got me in a lot of trouble,” I said mildly, and brought my palm down on her thick little ass.

“AH!” She didn’t even try to stifle her gasp.

I slid my hands down her thighs, not stopping the slow journey of my fingertips until I reached the backs of her knees. I bent forward, my nose at her tailbone, and kissed between the fleshy meeting of her cheeks.

“Don’t…” she pleaded.

I stepped back. “Don’t what?” I spanked her again.

The white dress hung off her waist and I had to imagine what her breasts were doing under there. Without a bra, she must be hanging right against the fabric, something I could see if her long hair wasn’t in the way. But she was half naked, from the waist down, all that elegance bundled up and wrinkled at her waist, lower body planted in the carpet, anticipating her next spanking. ‘You knew what tonight was about,’ I said. I grabbed her ass roughly and spanked her hard on the right cheek. This time she swallowed her cry and released a tight exhalation. I could see her calves tense. “Didn’t you?” I said. I spanked her again. She went up high on her toes.

“Nuh!” she said.

“If you were my girlfriend, you’d be enjoying this right now,” I said.

“Fuck you,” she said.

I gave her another slap on the ass. She pressed closer to the wall.

“I asked you to come to my company retreat, and you show up without a bra and panties? Not very lady-like,” I said as I squeezed her cheeks. Then I gave her a sharp underarm smack, right between her thigh and ass.

“Ah!”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I bent over her. My lips drank in the sweat on her spine, wending a wet trail down to her tailbone again, down her cheek, to the flushed skin on her rump. “Can I kiss it better?”

She wiggled me off.

I pressed close to her. My hand sunk into the cleft of her ass until I found her labial folds. Without warning, I slipped a finger high up into her snatch. She was soaked.

“Agh!” Wonyoung growled. She peeled one hand off the wall and I pinned it back with my own. My shoes slid behind her heels to keep her at the wall and I bent over her while my fingers rimmed the inner edges of her pussy. “You… shit…” she groaned.

I bent my mouth to her ear. “What did you tell your sister?”

She laughed. This close I could smell and see the sweat running down her face, and from the line in her forehead I knew that my fingers in her were not without their reaction. Still, she laughed, ass out and bent over against the wall. So, I lubed up my thumb in her sticky pussy and pushed the button of her asshole until it sunk in.

“No,” she groaned.

“Push back, Wony.”

She did. My knuckles vanished within her tightness, and she drew herself closer to the wall, her orifices nearly free of my fingers.

“Push back.”

She sank herself back onto them.

The thought of her orifices just made me hotter, and I couldn’t stand the wet mess I was making on the inside of my slacks. With my free hand I reached down and undid my belt, telling Wonyoung not to stop pushing herself back and towards the wall. I pulled my pants and boxers down, my dick flipping up from the waistband, and hurriedly kicked my shoes off, kicking it all in a pile in front of the bathroom. I came up closer, till my cockhead was rested against her butt cheek, and snaked a finger of my free hand across her mouth, until my index broke past her lips. She tried to bite, but I ignored it. And soon she was sucking on my finger, pushing my left hand in and out of her ass and pussy.

“What did you tell her,” I said, returning to her ear. I wrapped my wet finger under her lips.

“I told her you liked to fuck me,” she said. “That you’re a pervert.”

“That’s true,” I said. I rubbed my dick back and forth on her tight cheeks. “But is that what you really told her?”

She laughed again. “Do you actually think you’re getting back together with her?”

It was something I still considered, but hearing Wonyoung say it didn’t make it sound any saner. I shoved my fingers deeper inside her.

“Ah! Don’t!”

“Don’t?” I said again. “Do you not know what you’re going to do tonight?”

She spat back her answer, the only honest answer, the one we’d both known since she’d hit the dancefloor. “I’m going to fuck you,” she said.

“That’s right,” I said. “I think you’re wet enough.”

She didn’t have an answer to that. But her body answered for her. Her juices were running between my fingers and dripping down the inside of her bare leg.

I pulled my fingers out and slid them up to her waist. She shuddered. Her whole body shook. Wonyoung sank lower into her position, the muscles in her back and legs straining, but not giving out. She was built for this, I thought. She was hard in all the necessary places to let me fuck her the way I wanted, to stay bent over against this hotel wall, soft in all the best places to take me standing up, deep. I had no doubt how deep I could go, as hard as I was for her, as wet and wide as her legs could spread. But I refused my aching cock, and that lathered pussy. I reeled back and spanked her again.

Wonyoung let out a shocked growl. “Stop!” she said.

I spanked her again. “You want to be fucked but not spanked?” I said.

“Fucking… asshole…” she growled, but it sounded half-hearted, caught in the lie.

“You were going to tell your dad I raped you when I’m not?” I said. “The knife at my throat. Your pussy on my cock? I didn’t think that was very funny.” I brought down my palm on her firm cheek. Its jiggle gave me a deep satisfaction.

Wonyoung growled again, but she laughed. It was a forced laugh, but still high, higher than the growls she made when my fingers were inside her. “I would have…” she said.

I spanked her again. Her head swung closer to the wall, but she was lower now, expecting to be fucked. She couldn’t pull herself away without falling, and I was locked behind her. She had to take the humiliation.

I pulled her dress farther up her back, exposing her smooth porcelain skin. I trailed my fingertips over her shoulder blades, digging my fingers gently under her ribs, wending down, squeezing her cheeks like I owned them.

“Why don’t you call him now?” I said. I swung back and spanked her left cheek. She rocked forward. “Unh.” I spanked her again. “Do it. Call for daddy.”

“You sick…” she groaned, then I slapped her ass — her shivering, red, tight ass — “Pervert!” she cried.

I squeezed her. My fingers teased, one after the other, the line of her moist pussy. “Say it,” I said.

“Ah!” she hissed as she felt my hand leave her skin, but she stuck her ass further out in readiness. When the spank came, she rolled with it, her hair brushing the smooth wall. “Ah!”

Pressed up against that wall I knew exactly where I fit. I grabbed myself, forced myself between her cheeks, and plunged my cock as deep into her soaked pussy as she could take me.

“AH. FUCK,” she cried.

Just as lightning fast, I slid out. Her juices came with me. There was a thick sheen of her fluid coating my cock, and a short trail of it that followed when I pulled out. Inside her, even for a moment, I knew my resolve would melt. I wanted back inside her as soon as possible. Wonyoung, however, was shaking, her legs quivering, her body rocking back and forth on her heels and toes. Her ass bent farther, and farther back, her waist gyrating, twisting like she had on the dancefloor, seeking my cock.

To my surprise, she pushed off the wall and reached behind her, pulling at the white dress and clawing it off her head. She was naked in an instant, the dress thrown beneath her. I reveled in the sight of that strong, supine body, braced against the wall.

“Just do it!” she screamed.

“Did you miss it, Wony?” I asked, rubbing my cock in the cleavage of her ass. Her body jerked at its sudden contact. “Do it,” she hissed.

“No,” I said as I put my hand on her ass. “Call for daddy.”

“You…” I spanked her. “Ah!” I spanked her harder on her tight right cheek. I gripped her cheeks possessively and laid another harsh smack on the other.

“Daddy…” she groaned.

“Say you’re sorry,”

“Fuck…” Wonyoung moaned, for the first time sounding tired. She relaxed against the wall. “Sorry… I’m sorry… daddy.”

I patted her rump. Then I gripped her hip, and guided my cock, between her pussy lips, up into that hot, wet lips.

“Ahh,” Wonyoung growled.

“Not so bad, is it?” I said. “When you apologize.”

“I hate you…”

I pulled out of that lovingly tight canal and dragged my wet cock along her leg. “Say it,”

“No,” she whined.

I spanked her.

“Fuck! I’m sorry daddy! Are you happy?”

“Yes,” I said, plunging my cock up inside her.

Wonyoung let out a breathless moan. “Harder,” she gasped. “Oh, God…”

I pulled out. Reeling back, Wonyoung let out a grunt of frustration. When she pushed her ass back to me I spanked it hard.

“Enough!” she shouted.

She whirled. The sound of her back colliding with the wall was loud, a fleshy thud. She tried not to wince when her tender bottom brushed against it. Her eyes were wide, not mad but almost crazed.

Her chest rose and fell. She was breathless, her sweat forming a trail that shined from her cleavage to her clean-shaven pussy. My hands were on her breasts in an instant. Then my mouth was on her.

“Just… do it!” she stuttered between my kisses.

“You don’t want to be spanked anymore?” I said, bending down. I rooted in my crumpled pants until I found the folded bills. I pushed them between her lips until she clamped down on them with her teeth.

I pulled off my shirt, then my socks. I trailed my hands down her arms and dragged them up above her head, then I descended on her chest, slathering her soft skin with wet kisses, popping one nipple in my mouth, balancing her full breasts in my greedy palms. Wonyoung didn’t protest. She kept her arms above her head, the money in her mouth, and I sank lower. I lapped up the sweat between her tits, drank it up from her bellybutton, going lower and lower, until I was at the wet trap of her pussy. Descending to my knees, I attacked her pussy like it was ripened fruit, first sucking up the wetness that collected at the vulva, then suckling at her exposed clitoris. Wonyoung grunted through the cash. Her hands jerked off the wall.

I dug in deeper, using my fingers to open her wet pussy, darting my tongue deeper inside her. Wonyoung jerked again, then sank her fingers into my hair. She had to, I realized. It was getting harder for her to stay on her feet. I listened to her groan again through the cash and let her unconscious sounds guide me further into her vagina.

I drank her up, what came pouring out of her, and it was danker than her sweat, unmistakeable vaginal fluid, thicker and pungent. Wonyoung ground her pussy into my face. I was so involved I didn’t notice her leg on my shoulder at first. But I felt it when the heel dug into my back.

Wonyoung pressed my head deeper between her leg, tilting her hips up to force more of herself into my mouth. She lifted her leg to steady herself, opening herself up wider. The cash tumbled from her mouth and hit me on the head. It fluttered to the ground, forgotten, when Wonyoung gave her first scream.

Like a lot of sounds Wonyoung made, it was hard for me to tell if this one was pleasure or exasperation, but suddenly she was sawing her pussy back and forth on my lips, insistently rubbing her clitoris on the soft indent in my upper lip. My tongue lapped at her, diving into her. The flood of her juice made me spit some back. It washed back over my mouth, covering it with sticky residue.

My cock was stiff as a pole between my legs. I reached down and gave it a firm squeeze, then ran my hand lovingly up the inside of Wonyoung’s knee. She slid down the wall slowly, the leg that was bent over me taking some time to roll off my shoulder. Cock in hand, on my knees, I presented it to her.

“You’re going to suck this now,” I said.

Wonyoung was past the point of arguing. She wiped her hair out of her eyes and leaned forward. I grabbed her shoulders first, her chin. I tilted her face up to mine. What I saw in her eyes was an exhausted sullenness, still the smoldering rebellion.

“Do you want to taste yourself?” I asked.

My tongue was out and her lips were on it, sucking up her own juices, letting her own stickiness coat her soft lips. I broke away and put my palm gently at the back of her neck.

Wonyoung’s lips wrapped around my dick.

I leaned back. I groaned deeply, at every fervid lick. She lapped at the slit, slathering her tongue around the swollen head, then took my member deeper to the back of her throat. Like a pro, she reached down to cup my balls.

I balked at the first sound of a gulp. “Don’t swallow,” I said. “Spit it out.”

She gave a rude noise and suddenly my balls were coated with precum and her saliva. Very soon the wetness was dripping from the base of my shaft to the floor, and Wonyoung’s fingers were massaging my balls, squeezing them just hard enough to make me groan.

She bobbed down lower. Her hand pushed my stomach, and I went back, my knees folding under me. Wonyoung crawled forward until she was on top, her throat opening above my cock until her lips were buried in my pubic bone. I twitched, and my cock bulged, and I had to pull her off or I would have cum right then and there. She came up gasping.

Her eyes were so wide I could see the whites in them under her long black lashes. She was mad, yes, but she was always mad at me; her nostrils flared as much from anger as from having her breath choked off by my wet cock.

“You like that?” she said proudly. “That make you feel big?”

I sat up on the floor, eye level with her. “Get on your hands and crawl to the mirror.” With only an eyebrow she squeezed all her contempt into that look. “Prick,” she said.

“Crawl,” I said. “Let me see that tight ass wiggle when you do it.”

She scowled, but she leaned down to the floor just the same. “Is that what it takes to make your dick hard?” she said.

“You would know.”

Wonyoung crawled, on her hands and knees, to the sliding closet and the full-length mirror. I watched her pass, every sweaty muscle on her lithe, slinking form gliding. When her ass moved past, I saw how red both cheeks were. She would be sore tomorrow, maybe even bruised. I remembered how long it took for the bite on my neck to heal and thought it might have been an even trade. That wasn’t true, but it made me feel better.

Just like it made me feel better to stand up and follow Wonyoung’s slow crawl to the closet mirror. My eyes travelled from her swaying rump to her body in the mirror. And her eyes were watching me. Her full tits were full on display. The tight ass on her rolled each time she drew up a knee to travel closer to the far side of the room. She didn’t say another word when she reached the mirror, just waited on her hands and knees for me to arrive.

I made her spread her legs. Then I kneeled down behind her.

My cock was hard and red, slick with her spit and the cum from her pussy. She was so wet it took little more than an insistent push for me to enter her. And when I did, I got to watch Wonyoung’s face as it filled her up. It made her mouth tilt down, in not quite a frown but a stiff little moue. And she got to see my smile as I kneeled behind her and placed my hands on her ass. I fucked her, and mounted her and mounted her, slowly, slowly wedging myself in. Wonyoung’s mouth widened, her shoulders broadening, her chest jutting out. The muscles in her neck and clavicle pulsed, then became more prominent as she took the weight on her arms.

I liked her on her knees. I would have said as much to her, but she knew that already. “See? That’s hard.” Then I spanked her.

She hadn’t expected it, but this time she got to see it. Her body rocked forward; her tits bounced against her arms. And I got to see, to my surprise, her shut her eyes and press her lips together, not wholly from pain but from something else, something that made her frown very much like pain, cross her brows very much like she was trying to expel my cock from her body, but something very much like she endured as much knowing what came next.

“Fuck me,” I said.

Her eyes opened slowly in the mirror. She leaned towards it, slowly pulling herself off my dick. Her thick pussy lips eased from my cock, leaving a glistening coat on my naked shaft. She pulled herself slowly and slowly, all the way until my head was just hanging on the tip of her pussy lips. She left it quivering there, her bent back shivering; not from the cold; there was enough heat radiating off the both of us to make a whole new layer of sweat burst from our bodies.

I spanked her.

Wonyoung cried out and drove herself back down on my cock. The jolt to my senses radiated from the base of my member to all the nerves in my body, and Wonyoung let out another cry when her tailbone impacted with my pelvis. Her eyes weren’t open anymore.

“Fuck me,” I said.

Wonyoung slid off my cock, this time on unsteadier limbs. She tried to speed it up, and it would have felt so much better if she had, but I gripped her hips fiercely and made sure she did it slow, slower even than the first time. This time I held her at bay, with my cockhead balanced at the outer edge of her pussy. With my other hand I wet my middle finger in her leaking sex and plugged it into her asshole. She bit her lip, but didn’t protest. I shoved it farther in, almost losing it up to the second knuckle. I let go of her hip and spanked her again.

Wonyoung cried out. She nearly bounced forward on my dick but I held her hip and pushed in tighter, grinding my dick deeper and deeper inside her. She barely muffled her breath, suddenly letting out a sharp, “Ah. Ah!”

“Fuck me, Wony” I said.

She slid off my cock like an uncoiled spring. I spanked her hard, my finger deep in her asshole. She drove herself back down on it. She buried me in her sopping sex. She was so wet now that her fluid was dribbling down my balls. I wormed my finger deeper into her asshole, until the only thing stopping it was the rest of my fingers. I thrust my hips, and Wonyoung thrust back until her ass mashed against my palm.

I pulled my finger out to sink my cock deeper inside her. She gasped when I curled my fingers over her hips. She pulled herself towards the mirror and shoved her body back onto my cock. She thrust so hard her breasts shook, her hair snapped, but the eyes stayed shut, clamped. I spanked her.

“Harder,” she grunted. I spanked her again.

“Harder!” She pulled off me and slammed her pussy down on my cock. I slapped her ass so hard my hand stung. ‘Ah!’ she growled. “Harder!” I spanked her again and she backed up on my cock, until she was drawing it in and out of her, and the thick sound of our mingling wetness made rude squashing and smacking noises.

I barely thrust, letting her do all the work, pistoning herself back and forth on me. Her hips were locked under my palms, ensuring that she always came back to my hard, straining member. I slapped her ass, spanking her with every downthrust. Wonyoung’s screams for harder melted into guttural cries that built in intensity. She was bouncing herself on my dick, lost to the world, moaning, screaming.

“Is this what it’s like to be your girlfriend?” she hissed.

I held onto myself as long as I could, letting the girl work her wicked power on my body, trying to hold myself back as well as I could, but it was only a matter of time. Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore her pace dropped off, and she arched her back, driving herself up and then down on my cock, instead of back and forth. She whipped her face up to the ceiling.

“Don’t…” she said. “Don’t pull out…”

I did the exact opposite. I lunged forward, forcing Wonyoung up on her knees. Her hands wildly thrust out in front of her, bracing herself on the mirror. Suddenly we were pressed together, up against the full-length mirror. I slid my hands around her chest and squeezed her breasts, hard. I had enough strength left to angle my hips and shove up, deep into her pussy. Wonyoung cried out.

“Open your eyes,” I said. Wonyoung’s eyes fluttered open; her mouth wide as she watched my face. I thrust her again and again against the mirror. Her body fell back against mine.

“Watch me cum inside of you,” I said.

“Ahh.” She moaned.

The rest of her response rose higher, breathlessly higher, as I came hard, and spilled my seed. She felt my balls twinge and I unleashed my thick ejaculate deep inside her pussy. Wonyoung was grinding herself down on me with extreme prejudice. For every spurt she pumped down harder, bouncing herself on me without ever pulling up too far. She kept me in her, rolling her hips around the base of my cock to milk her own panting climax.

“You never ask,” she moaned.

I sunk my teeth into her shoulder. She arched her neck back. Our bodies rolled in twisted motion, our sweat mingled, the stench of our bodies burning together steaming up the mirror. Her hair was thick and matted stuck to the skin of my neck, and her bare pussy lips ate up my cock, pressing harder and harder, her legs opening wider to fit me further inside while my balls clenched and continued to force my ejaculate up her canal.

“I’m going to fill you up,” I breathed into her ear, “and when you get my cock hard again, I’m going to do it again…” My dick swelled as I thrust. Her breath caught in her throat. “And again…” I pulled down and plunged up again. “And again…” Wonyoung’s hands left sweaty smears down the mirror’s face. The closet wobbled each time we pushed. “And again,” I said, and she grunted. “And again,” and she moaned.

Each time I spoke I thrust harder, and my dick stayed ramrod straight in her body, even as the cum dripped out of her and ran thickly off her lips and over my aching balls. I spanked her.

“Unh,” she groaned.

Her ass tightened and tingled under my palm. “Unh!” I spanked her again, my other hand leaving her breast to wrap around her stomach, forcing her down on my cock each time the spanking bounced her to the mirror. ‘Unh!’ she grunted. “Ahn! Ahh. Ahn. AHHN.”

Together we slid off the mirror. The perspiration on her tits and belly were enough to smear our reflection on the glass. She dropped to all fours again, me firmly planted inside her. I had begun to soften, but I wouldn’t leave her sopping pussy.

I let my cock slip in and out of her as I continued her spanking, letting them land rhythmically, gentler than before, in time with her breaths. All the while I watched the soaked space between her legs, the base of her pale ass cheeks red and smeared with sweat and our cum. At length I popped out, my dick softened but far from flaccid, still half-turgid at the sight of Wonyoung prone beneath me, and the grace of her body’s lithe muscles. I reached down to caress the thick fluid that collected at the lips of her pussy. Wonyoung hissed and leaned forward. I slid my fingers in. Her pelvis rocked back against my hand.

“Hard again,” she said.

I could no longer see her face in the mirror but I could practically hear the sneer that came with it. “Like you could get it up. You just blew your load inside me. You’re done. Let me get up and wash your cum out of my pussy.”

I rolled my fingers inside the front of her pussy lips. She shivered, her ass jiggling. “No, I think I’m going to let you squeeze me out one drop at a time.”

Without another word Wonyoung’s butt cheeks clenched and she thrust her hips out. I watched her pussy lips tighten over my hand, and squeeze a thimbleful of white cream from her slit. Her legs relaxed, and then she did it again. Both times she released a soft sigh as her tight pussy clenched on my fingers. Despite her orgasm, her body was still aroused.

“If you’re going to wash, I’m going to make sure you wash every one of your dirty little holes…” I murmured.

I pulled my fingers from her snatch and drew my fingertips up her crack. Her skin twitched, dancing away and then to my glistening digits. I found her anus and teased it with my fingered until I could shove two fingers inside with minimum difficulty. Her rectal muscles clamped down, but I was lubricated enough to slide deeper, and deeper.

Wonyoung let out a low mewl.

“If you’re so obsessed with my ass…” she groaned. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is? You’re done. Let me go wash so I can get the fuck out of here.”

“I got a better idea. Why don’t I put my mouth where your money is?”

I pulled my fingers out of her. I leaned down, gripped her ass cheeks with both hands and spread them apart. While Wonyoung was still yowling about that I brushed the tight bud of her asshole with my lips, and then I kissed it.

Wonyoung jolted forward as if I’d stuck her tailbone in an electrical socket. But my fingers bit into her soft flesh and kept her from wriggling free. My tongue darted out — and I won’t lie, it didn’t taste like peaches and cream; but the tight squirm of her muscle, the sudden reeling of her hips, the bewildered tone of her screech, was worth it. “Eugh!” she cried. ‘You pervert!’ She said it once more; hissed it, rather. “You sick pervert! You like that? You like to eat my ass? I bet you want to stick your dick in that again.”

I gave her asshole a big fat kiss and pulled back. “I know that’s right where you want me, Wonyoung.”

“Not gonna happen,” she said. She tried to pull away again, on her hands and knees, but I held her hips. It didn’t really seem like she tried that hard anyway.

“Your limp dick couldn’t even if you tried.” She said.

But she was wrong about that. Her pussy was wet and her body writhed at my touch and already I was hard again. I wiped my mouth on the back of my wrist and angled my cock towards her juicy ass. Lovingly, I brushed it up that winding curve.

“Is that right?” I said. “Tell me, do you think you can take the whole thing?” The muscles in her back rippled like a startled pond where I brushed my palm against it. I was growing even harder, and Wonyoung’s shoulders were shaking.

“Your little dick?” She laughed. “Please.”

“Yeah?” I said. I grabbed hold of my dick and slathered the wet head in the clear honey that dribbled from her slit. “My little dick huh?” I slid it between her tight, puffy pussy lips. I pushed and pushed, filling her again, taking my time, letting my blood course through my cock and widen me to my full girth again, straightening my cock and getting it tight and hard as I led it, slow inch by soaking inch, to the top of her uterus.

“Ah. Fuck...”

“Since it’s just a little dick, you shouldn’t have a problem fitting inside your big ass.” Wonyoung’s face suddenly appeared over her shoulder. My fresh bite marks were just beneath her burning eyes. “I do NOT have a big ass.”

“No,” I said. I pulled out of her. Her pupils temporarily rolled back inside her head. With my hand, I guided my cock up to that tight brown button hidden between her cheeks. ‘You have a beautiful ass though’ I said. “But I think it’s just the right size.” I rubbed the head against her asshole. “Why don’t we give it a try?”

Wonyoung’s hips must have been on a different wavelength than her mouth, because her pelvis curled and fell, rising like a sultry snake.

“Fuck you.”

I gripped her haunches and pushed. Her asshole was tight. “C’mon Wony. Don’t make me beg.”

“I do NOT have a big ass.”

“Why don’t you let me and my small dick decide on that?” I said. “Maybe you’ll barely even feel it.” With enough pressure I had managed to squeeze my head partway into her asshole. Her hips shook beneath my steadying palm.

“Anh,” Wonyoung moaned. “You’re obsessed with my ass.”

“Sure am,” I said. I pushed harder; she leaned back on her knees. “I’m obsessed with your tits, your ass, and your dirty little mouth. Open up.”

“Give it up,” she said. “I can still taste your cock at the back of my throat. Pull it out and get off me.”

“Not yet,” I said. “I haven’t given you the ass fucking you wanted.”

“I don’t…” she started, but I had my first inch inside her, and that choked off the rest of her words. “Ah…”

I squeezed her buttocks. “Ease up,” I said. “Let’s see how much you can fit.”

“Nuh…” she said. “No…” Her sphincter relaxed slightly, letting another half inch of me slide up her butt.

“I’ll push in,” I said, “and pull it out. And when I’m done, I’ll cum up your ass, and you can wash that out too.”

“No…” she groaned. She lowered her head. All that wet and tangled black hair fell over her shoulders, sliding off her neck and hanging to the ground. Her anus relaxed a little more and I plunged my wet cock further inside her tight rectum.

“Ah. Ahhn…”

“Think you can take the whole thing?” I said as I pushed in deeper.

Wonyoung grits her teeth and pushed air through her cheeks. She didn’t say another word. She bent forward on her hands and leaned back, and I retreated some, gave her tight ass a reprieve and a caress, and then gently slid forward again.

“Your sister said you were a real slut for an ass fucking,” I said darkly, watching my cock disappear inside Wonyoung’s butt cheeks. Her sweltering tightness was making my dick even harder. With the flat of my palm, I scooped the sweat from her back towards her cheeks, letting it trickle down her crack, then using it to soak my shaft as I held it and jerked myself into her asshole.

“Ah…” she whimpered. “She didn’t… tell you… shit…” she said.

“Pretty trusting of her,” I said, “telling her boyfriend what a slut her little sister is. Do you want me to stop? How’s that little dick?” I was halfway inside her and I could now let go of my shaft, letting Wonyoung’s muscles squeeze me deeper. I laid my hands on her ass and gave her another gentle spank.

“A-ha…” Wonyoung gasped.

“Good thing I’m such a gentleman,” I said. I reached up between her legs and found her clit. Slowly… I rolled the engorged button back and forth with my fingered, her juices soaking down to my knuckle. I slid my thumb lightly over the line of her slit. “Otherwise, I might take advantage.”

“Shut up,” she groaned. Her head rose with each push of my cock, each circle of my finger, and each gentle grazing of my thumb. I laid another soft spanking on her right buttock. “Stah-stop…”

“Do you really want me to stop, Wonyoung?” I said. “Or do you want me to fuck… your slutty…” I squeezed into her with my hips, “little ass. Can you take the whole thing?”

“I can take it…”

“Deeper?”

“Deeper…” she groaned.

Her whole body shook like she was about to have a fit. I couldn’t stand seeing those perky tits in the mirror, so I leaned forward and cupped them. They rose in my hand, the nipples zig-zagging in my palms. I bucked my hips, gliding my shaft up her colon. “Anh… f-fuck…”

“Deeper.”

“That’s a good girl.”

My stomach finally rested against her buttocks. She’d taken me all the way, the full length of my cock, every inch now stuffed securely in her quaking, writhing anus. I flexed my penis inside her, feeling the precum squirt, and Wonyoung uttered a sharp cry. We both rested for moment. I massaged her tits, rubbing them up and down her moist chest. Her nipples were hard as diamonds. I tweaked one; Wonyoung bit her lip and groaned. Then I pulled myself gently out, about halfway, before guiding it back into her hot depths. ‘Good thing your sister was wrong about you,’ I said. “I’d feel bad if I was fucking the slutty sister. She couldn’t help herself.”

Wonyoung seemed to struggle to find her words. My left hand still groped her tits but my right hand gone back between her legs to play with her pussy and clit. Wonyoung’s hips were alive with squirming sharp and herky jerky twists.

“I am not a slut,” she said.

I spanked her for that. “Where can you taste my cock, Wonyoung?” When she didn’t answer right away, I spanked her again when my cock was as deep inside her ass as I could fit it. I felt the spank resonate on her skin, and the vibration made my cock buzz inside her. Taking the cock and the spanking at once made Wonyoung’s ass writhe beneath me and her upper body swing lower to the floor.

“In my mouth…”

“Who went up to my hotel room without a bra or panties?” I drove my cock inside her and spanked. We both shivered.

“I’m not… a slut” she whined again, taking me up her ass.

“Whose cum is that I can feel leaking out your pussy?” I spanked her.

“Yoursss…”

“Whose cock is up your butt?”

Wonyoung whipped her hair back. She nearly screamed the words to the wall.

“My sister’s fucking boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I said. “Does that turn you on?” In response to my push, she opened up her anal muscles and let out a throaty groan. “Do you like that I can’t keep my dick out of you?”

She growled. “I don’t care where you stick your dick.” I thrust hard and she bent her elbows. “Ahn… fuck!”

With an audible squelch I pulled out of her. The thick coating on my cock was from the cum I’d unleashed inside her pussy, the new precum slathering my head and glans, her vaginal juices and sweat and more than that. I watched it drip off my cock and from her anus for a moment while she remained prostrate on the floor. I grabbed her hip; she tried to swing me off but I pulled her to the side. It didn’t take much strength at all to roll her on her back. She hardly fought it at all. Her perky tits were heaving, her body covered in sweat, her hair plastered to her face.

I crawled up on top of her, my dick slapping against her tummy. My mouth found hers, and we kissed furiously. Her hands found my dick and started jerking me. Hard and faster. “Not yet,” I groaned into her mouth.

“You’re gonna cum,” she said. “I can feel it...”

“Get up on the bed,” I said. “I’m going to cum in your ass.”

“No,” she groaned.

“You’re going to take it, Wony.” I growled back.

“You’ve cum enough,” she said, refusing to let go of my cock. She pumped it faster, and faster in her hand. My fingers wrapped her wrist like a vice and flung her off. She didn’t miss a beat, grabbed me with the other hand and kept pumping, a cruel smirk on her face.

I swatted the hand away. Panting, I got up on my knees. Her chest heaving, my eyes barely able to tear themselves away from the sight, I grabbed her arm. She didn’t come easily. I had to pull her; I had to heave her up, and she slapped at me and tried dodging me all the way; but I got her up on the bed and I rolled her on her back. She locked her legs together.

“Make me,” she said.

I pried them apart. That beautiful tight pussy looked sweet as heaven with its vertical smile but I was after the road less travel. I tilted her hips up until I saw her brown eye. I gripped my lubricated dick in my hand and rubbed it against her asshole. “Unh…” she groused.

I could actually see the twisted upturned nose this time, her folded brows. Her hands still pushed against me but her anus opened up. Before long I was pushing up inside her like her muscles were coated in grease. More or less, they were.

I rolled it up inside her until my balls were dangling on the mattress edge. Wonyoung grunted all the way. “Unh… uhh… unnh.” This position was a lot more uncomfortable for her, and her angry eyes told me so, but there was a hunger in those angry eyes that jolted and flared each time I retracted and slid myself back in. And from this position I now had full access to her pussy.

Better than that though, best of all, was that on her back, my dick up her crack, Wonyoung no longer could brace herself on her hands and knees. Her legs were in the air, her arms wide open on the bed. She couldn’t claim submission here; her limbs were free to flail and strike me as she pleased. But both arms and legs stayed open and limp, as she watched me spit and apply them, in vibrating circles, to her engorged clitoris.

“Fuck… you…” she groaned.

My balls were begging for release. My shaft was thick and tight inside her. But I nearly made myself blind trying not to cum. I slipped a finger and then two, up Wonyoung’s streaming cunt and she kept screaming, groaning, taunting me, gyrating her hips to pull herself up and down on my cock.

“Just cum… I know you wanted to.”

All pretense to gentleness in her ass was gone. I was thrusting myself in and out of her rectum like a racer pounding for the finish line. Wonyoung’s legs widened, her thighs clung tightly to my sides, her toes curled suspended above the bed. The bed slammed the headboard, the coils squeaked. And she reached out to brace herself, her palms on my stomach, not to stop me, to keep her body steady while her belly rolled and undulated. Her irises rolled back in her head till I saw the fluttering whites of her eyes.

“You first, Wony,”

“N-no…” she stammered out.

Then, sweat coating her forehead, her hair fanned wildly all about her head, she cracked a twitching, feeble grin.

“Jinyoung… said you were… such a nice guy.”

I thrust deeper up her asshole. “I do,” I panted. I was coming to the edge as I watched Wonyoung’s juices flow over my knuckles.

“Balls deep in my ass,” she grunted. ‘You want to see me cum?’ Her mouth hung open, her tongue bright pink beneath her white teeth. A trail of clear saliva left the corner of her lips. “You want to see me cum on your fucking cock?”

“Cum for me, Wony.”

“Grab my tits,” she groaned. I slowed my strokes and reached out, my hip pistoning slower to bend forward. I took two handfuls of those perky tits. Wonyoung’s hands splayed flat on top of mine and she arched her back.

“Harder…” she grunted. I plunged deeper, not faster, pulling out, then bucking my hips against her pelvis.

“Ahh… It hurts,” she grunted, but didn’t tell me to stop.  “Squeeze me,” she said. She repeated it: “Squeeze me.”

I squeezed her tits. Sweat burst from under my arms and on my forehead. I was at the end of my rope. I had to cum in this girl. She was gorgeous, wet, writhing, legs wide open and her butt plugged tighter. “Cum...” I said.

“Can’t… force me,” she said.

“Cum with my cock up your ass, Wony.” I arched my hips up. Her feet twitched, toes curling…

“Not a… slut,” she grunted.

I squeezed her tits. “Cum for me,” I said. “Show me what a good slutty little sister you are.”

“Anh,” Wonyoung grunted as I slid my left hand down her flat tummy and laid my thumb gently on her fat pink button. She hissed and bit her lip.

“Give your sister’s boyfriend a show, baby. Cum for me.” I punctuated each word with a smooth thrust into her tight asshole.

“Ah. Ah-ahhhh,” Wonyoung cried, rubbing her pussy against my hand and the fingers dancing over her clit.

“You know how badly I want to cum inside you. Just give it up,” I groaned.

Wonyoung shoved the fingers of her right hand into her mouth and began sucking and biting on herself. Her left hand cupped her breast. “Ahh god, you fucker…” she groaned. “Don’t…” she started. “Don’t stop. Don’t… don’t… don’t—”

“Give it to me, Wony,” I grunted. “Be my little slut.”

“Nah…”

“Be my pretty little slut.”

“I’m not… a slut,” she muttered, back arching, forehead shining.

“My slut.”

“Oh God!” she gasped. “Annh!”

“Yes,” I groaned. “Yes— Yes— Yes—” She grabbed my hips, and grabbed my sides. “Now,” she commanded. “Cum in my ass, you asshole!”

When she felt the initial spurt of my cum, she let out a full throated scream. It wracked her body and made her belly dance. She threw my hand off her clit and ground her ass way down on my cock, her ass tensing, toes curling. My ejaculate was nothing compared to the first, but her climax came like an operatic crescendo. She wriggled on me, letting the weight in her rectum tingle in her tightness, her clitoris engorged, and she screamed. She tightened every muscle on her body, every beautiful muscle. And she came. She came so hard I was almost frightened. But I’ve got a soft heart.

After I pulled myself out, she practically ran to the bathroom. It shut hard and stayed closed for a long time. I heard the shower, I heard her washing, and I heard the toilet flush. And I sat on the bed, stinking, wet and my balls limp on my inner thigh.

After more than a half hour, she emerged from the bathroom, steaming wet, wrapped in a towel with another wrapped over her head. She picked her way, queen of dignity, over the mess of clothes on the ground and pulled the money from the pile. She counted it.

“The bathroom’s free,” she said simply.

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure she would be there when I finished, or even that my clothes and bag would be. But I was coated in enough residue to never mind that for the moment, and took my time cleaning, took my time in the shower thinking about Wonyoung, her body, and us — whatever that was.

I emerged from the shower to a quiet room. The one lamp was on, giving off a dirty yellow glow in the corner, and it smelled now of a mixture of dirty sex and freshly washed bodies. Wonyoung was a dark shadow under the covers, her wet hair on the pillow furthest from me.

I sat down on the bed. “Are you sleeping?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. Soon, I was too.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up. There was a warm body beside me, almost curled against me. The breasts rose and fell on my ribs, the nipples rolling. And she felt good, whoever she was. So I slid my fingers down her back and grasped her tight buttocks.

“No. I’m so sore…”

“Did I hurt you?”

“You always hurt me,” she said. “You’re always rough with me. That’s how you fuck me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No, you’re not.”

I noticed that she hadn’t pulled away from me, even as drowsy as she was. Tentatively, I slid my hands up her shoulders, up her back. “Don’t,” she warned.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” I said. “I’m just…”

“Just go back to sleep,” she murmured. “I’m staying here because I’m too tired to leave.”

“I am sorry,” I said adamantly. “I don’t mean to… actually hurt you.”

“Yes you do. Stop being an asshole,” she said.

In the solid darkness of the hotel, I could see absolutely nothing. All I could sense of her was her breath on my neck and the weight of her body. And her voice, rising up from the sheets.

“Rough sex is rough,” she said. “And that’s how it is.” Suddenly she bit my chest so hard I shrieked. “Jerk,” she said, when I’d tumbled back to the mattress. I leaned down to kiss her cheek, but she pulled away. “I said go back to sleep.”

“This might be the last time I ever see you,”

“Probably.”

“I didn’t…” I searched for the words. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

She gave a mordant little laugh. “Yes, you did.”

“Okay, yes I did,” I said, “but I didn’t—”

“What are you trying to say?” she said. “Do you always babble like this after sex? Jesus Christ, and this is what my sister got.” She was unnaturally quiet. When she spoke again it was after she shifted against me under the covers. Her thigh draped over my cock.

“I’ve got my money back,” she said.

“So, this is the last time?”

“Probably,” she said. “Do you know what I actually hate about you?” She was quiet for a moment, then let loose a husky laugh. When she resumed speaking again, she was quieter.

“I wanted to fuck you,” she said. “That’s what I hate about you. I wanted a nice guy. I guess I didn’t want my sister’s nice guy. I wish you were a nice guy. I wish you were a better guy. If you were, you’d still be with Jinyoung and you never would have fucked me. But I wanted you to fuck me. I could have told you no. I didn’t even need the money. But it was wrong to fuck you, so I wanted to fuck you. I wanted you to show me how bad you had it. And you had it so bad, and then when you fucked me, you fucked me like you owned me, fucked me like you had to, like you couldn’t stand not being in me. All the teasing, your selfish arrogance. I really did hate it. I hated it so much it turned me on.”

“And it would be fine,” she went on, “if we met each other and it was like, hey, we hit it off or something. But I never would have met you if you hadn’t been fucking my sister. And you never would have fucked me if you hadn’t fucked my sister first. So, you are a scumbag. And you made me cum. You made me cum.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. ‘Maybe,’ I said, “maybe this works. Maybe that’s what it took to—” She cut me off with a harsh laugh.

“Are you serious? You don’t want to be in a relationship with me. You just want to fuck me. You don’t even know me.”

“I could start,” I said.

“No,” she said, laughing. “No. This is the situation: we have freaky stupid sex, and that’s it. Every time you tried to make it something more than that, it never was. If I hadn’t been into it from the beginning it never would have happened. But I am into it because… I don’t know.…Because, I did like you, actually. And when I found out you were just the same as any other guy, well, Surprise, surprise…”

“But you still fucked me.”

“You blackmailed me.”

“You said you didn’t need the money.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “I also didn’t need the fucking. But that didn’t stop you from taking what you wanted. I took, too.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “So do you like me or not?”

“You’re useful for one thing, at least. Jinyoung never went overboard talking about your sex life but I know for a fact you never fucked her like you fuck me.”

“No,” I admitted.

“Why? Cause I’m the other sister? Cause I’m hot? Don’t answer that. The answer’s yes.”

“Yes and no,” I said. “There’s something in you that I recognize, something in me. I’m not that nice of a guy, fine, but I was never honest with myself or with Jinyoung. I kept putting up a front.”

“You think you don’t do the same thing with me?”

“You do the same thing with me,” I shot back.

Her breath was hot on my face. “So, what’s your point?”

“Just that I do want to fuck you.”

“Great, I’m glad we cleared that up.”

“And I do… sort of… like you, in a weird… not entirely practical way.”

She was quiet. “Remember when I said you’re not as smart as you think you are?”

“Okay, fine. I don’t understand what this is but I don’t want you going away thinking this was all about just fucking your—”

“—my tits, and my ass and my pussy—”

“And your mouth, too. Yes, I wanted you, but I shouldn’t have ever asked you to demean yourself for me.”

“No,” she agreed. “But that’s what you wanted. And that’s what I wanted. And we let it happen. If I didn’t care more about fucking than about my sister, I would have told her a long time ago. You think good sex is enough to break up a relationship for? No. But it wasn’t my relationship. Jinyoung’s good at lots of things, lots of things that aren’t about fucking.”

“So, you’re saying I made the wrong choice.”

“Yeah.”

“Because it felt good.”

“Of course it did,” she said. We lapsed into a hot silence. Cautiously, I stroked the back of her head with my palm. She didn’t push me away.

“So where does that leave us?” I asked. “I mean, if I want to see you again, do I just call you up?”

“You really think you can fuck me whenever you want?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

“Well, we don’t have to find out. My sister would kill me if we dated. And I don’t want to date you.”

“So, I lost both of you.”

“Yeah,” she said, ‘but I was only in it for the sex.’ She rubbed her thigh against my cock. During our conversation it had grown until it pressed into her skin.

“Do you want to…” I started.

“No. I told you I’m so sore… you’re not getting another fucking from me tonight.”

“Yeah, well... How about a blowjob?”

[dilf-docs]

All Roads Lead To Rome

pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your boyfriend swears he isn't annoyed at your little surprise visit on the set of gladiator II; you might have to help him release his anger, one way... or another.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (BARK BARK BARK), smut, p. in v., bit of exhibition kink cause they fuck on his trailer, he swears he's mad but he just wants head, oral (m. receiving), he also uses his armor and skirt while at it bc its hot and not bc i totally want that to happen to me or smth!!!, brat taming, orgasm denial, breeding and daddy kink lowkey, i'm so down bad for him so there's fluff!!! + pedro being whipped cause that's exactly what i want in my men, the cast makes cameos bc i love them!!! use of spanish (i'm latina so don't even try me), pedro wearing a skirt tehee

word count: 3,519 words

side note: i'm about as FERAL and horny as much as one could be!!! damn u pedro, making me walk out in the middle of class and walk on foot to the nearest theather for an early gladiator II screening (bc they're cheaper and i'm a jobless broke student lmao) that mind u it's my first solo trip to the movies but it's okay!!!! nobody interrupt me on my horny dilf hours amirite I TELL U that cinema was almost empty: just me, pedro and hey there's a spot if u wanna join mescal (look at my blog banner IYKYK) so yeah!!!! enjoy this porn lovechild that steemed from it; my pedro renaissance that'd been asleep since tlou dropped AWAKES (u don't get it, i literally watched narcos just for him) i'm so fr i need this man BIBLICALLY!!

"Lemme guess, that's her, right?"

Pedro looks up from his phone, slightly red and embarrassed. He would blame the color on the sun, and as an actor, fake his way out.

"No idea what you're talking about, Paul"

The young man chuckles.

"I mean, every break we get, you take your chair, sit the farthest and pull your phone with the most ridiculous grin I've ever seen. I'm afraid to tell you, friend, you aren't as slick as you think"

He leans back against the chair, covering his face with his large palm.

"At least I tried" he finds no point in lying anymore, "seems like I'm addicted, but if it wasn't for y/n, I wouldn't touch it"

"I'm curious, though" Paul scoots his chair closer, "who texts who? You or her?"

"Me" he answers, but then corrects himself quickly, a bit ashamed of how that makes him sound, "but it's mostly her first".

"Right" he doesn't sound convinced, rather curious and annoyed, something he's too old and tired for, "I don't believe you"

He's about to lock his phone, but the wallpaper (a selfie with you) would probably earn him another mock from Mescal.

"Too bad I don't need you to"

Before he can do so, the irish man yanks his phone away.

"Give it back!" he shouts, earning a few glances from the crew around them, "what are you, ten?"

"No, twenty-eight" they look like kids bickering. "No need to fight me, Mr. Pascal, they haven't taught us the new fighting choreography yet" he mocks, before the phone chimes; they both stop at the sound.

"What does this mean?" Paul asks. "Malta's nice" he reads out loud, "were you talking about possible future vacations? I might have to tag along"

He doesn't follow the man's joke, instead, looking at the message on your chat. Malta's nice, says the little cryptic message, and yes―it is cryptic, because you were just talking about missing each other and some other corny stuff he'd take to his grave. Not vacations, and certainly, not about the european island, which happens to also be the place were he's filming his latest movie.

"No, we weren't" he replies confused, "what do you think it means?"

"Well, obviously, you boys don't know anything" May pops up from behind, laughing.

"Were you eavesdropping?" he asks playfully, albeit, a little offended.

"No, you guys are just too loud" she replies nonchalant. "Besides, you aren't very good at hiding it, either"

"That's what I said!" Paul backs, laughing on his face.

"Stop being misterious and just drop it"

"It means" she pauses―laughing at her own little dramatic effect, "that you're getting a visit soon"

When you met Pedro, you were working in The Last Of Us. Nothing fancy, just part of the technical cast of the show: helping with the filming and stuff.

During those months, it was easy to find yourself falling for the main star (alongside Bella Ramsey), especially when you spent months behind a camera, capturing all of his perfect features; learning them by memory until you could draw them without seeing his face.

Yes, you had fallen for the older man, because it was as natural as breathing; easy as being alive―the fall so gentle and so easy, it was hard to know when the feelings started. You just woke up one day, feeling different.

You liked to act up―always had what you wanted, and times had changed (so it's not like he had to ask first): why not? Which is why during your last day of shooting you took some liquid courage on your veins and went up his way. It was at a little gathering the crew you've grown to call family organized, while wearing your favorite and tightest dress, that you approached him.

It surprised you that he even recognized you, but that's who he was: warm, welcoming and caring.

To augment the surprise, turns out he had eyed you already, but was too shy to do anything. Yes, the worlds most famous Chilean man. It did stroke your ego, and maybe that's why you feel like most of the time, you've got the upper hand on your relationship, despite the years in between.

Still, you feel like the last message you just sent was a bit too blunt. Now you sit at the tiny airport, pondering your next move.

You know your boyfriend isn't exactly the type to scold or get mad―despite his strong figure, but going against the only thing he asked you might test him. Which is why you feel nervous, despite the happiness around you, everyone in the airport looking straight out of a picture perfect summer edition magazine.

And your theory is proven exactly right when you arrive impromptu at the Gladiator II set: making heads turn and guards almost kick you out, thinking you're a fan.

"You don't get it!" you protest, "he's my boyfriend".

"Sure", they laugh on your face. "you're not the first to say that".

"She's not lying" oh, how you love that gravely voice. But not today: not when he sounds like a parent scolding a naive child. Not when his eyes bore into you, slightly irritated.

So now he's dragging you among the set, right to were his trailer is.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" you ask, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance. He keeps dragging you by the arm, without sparing a glance in your way. Who does he think he is? "I wanted to tell Paul he made me cry―twice. You know I don't play about Normal People and Aftersun"

"But you do seem to play about my orders" he grunts out, opening the door to his trailer. The sunlight reflects against the white, slightly bothering your eyes with its shine, contrary to your boyfriend's gloomy behaviour.

"Are you being serious right now? You're not my dad to scold me. I just wanted to surprise you" you stand still, refusing to get inside. Pedro knows your character tends to be stubborn, and thought he finds it hot to reel you up sometimes, there are other times where he can't just stand that juvenile spirit of rage you tend to have when things don't go the way you want them to. "What's gotten into you?"

"I could ask you the same" he mocks. "Get inside. Now"

"Rude" you scoff, but obey regardless, and he breathes out relieved you didn't do a scene like last time; he still can't show his face on that restaurant to this day.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me" you say a tad bit dissapointed, and Pascal feels the pissed off feelings clouding his brain start to dissipate.

"I do, amor" he sighs, "just hate to see you do things I tell you not to; waltzing in here like you own the place".

You don't see the mistake, though. What's wrong with wanting to do a little surprise? It's not like you were a stalker or something; just a very clingy girlfriend who happens to miss her boyfriend.

"So, you're not mad?" you venture, "tell me you're not embarrassed"

He looks at you, the fondness of his gaze betraying him.

"I'm not the one wearing a skirt while trying to sound intimidating" you joke while caressing the crook of his nose, knowing you always get on his good side. Being mad isn't something that lasts, "if anyone should be embarrassed, that's you"

"Are you saying I shouldn't wear one because I'm a man?" your boyfriend looks offended, "Have you forgotten the movie I'm starring in? People feared the skirt-wearing Roman army"

"Well, I'm not intimidated" you stand defiant, and something dark tints his brown eyes. You can feel the excitement begin pooling in your stomach.

"You're not?" he grips your wrists and yanks you to him, then holds your chin, tilting your head between his calloused fingers. "Well, cariño, you should be"

Your body slams against one of the trailers walls, and you have to suppress a whine.

"You must be punished for what you did today"

You give him a doe-eye look, pretending to be all innocent, as if you weren't enjoying the punishment.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've been a good girl"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about" he clicks his tongue, "don't play dumb with me"

"I just came to visit you" you murmur, voice husky against his ear. He grunts, and with the proximity, his hard-on rasps against your bare legs, only partly covered by the flowy summer dress you're wearing, "is that so bad?"

"It is. Has sido mala, cariño" his hand travels down under your dress, carresing with his large palm the silhoutte of your ass. The rings on his fingers create a shock, cold metal against your warm sun-bathed skin. "Naughty girl"

"I promise I'll be good, papi" you purr, using that honeyed voice of yours that makes it hard: hard to say no and hard between his pants.

Pedro sits on a small couch he has inside the trailer, guiding you with his hand enveloped around yours, motioning you to follow with a care so soft, you'd doubt he's about to do to you what he is about to do to you. He pulls you across his lap, smiling (God, you love his smile) as your stomach presses against his tights.

"Don't worry" he breathes low, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make you a good girl. Tell me, aren't you?"

You swallow, "I am"

He moves the panties easily to the side, rubbing your pussy a little. He then spanks it softly, making you mewl at the sting.

Pedro continues to trace over it, "Are you sure about that?"

"N-no" you shiver in delight, resolve dissolving as quick as it came. "I'm naughty"

"It's good to be aware" he murmurs, "Dilo otra vez"

"I'm a naughty girl"

He lifts your head by your hair. "Tell me what you did"

"Disobeyed your orders, coming to the set" you whisper. He lets go of your hair, his hands traveling down again, slowly teasingly rubbing your pussy while he humms.

"You were a little brat, amor"

You whimpered and mewled in delight. "I was a very naughty brat"

He pushed his fingers inside you, plunging his fingers into your pussy.

"Look at you. You're soaking wet" he pumped his fingers in you, making you moan, "Is that why you came to see me? Couldn't wait any longer for daddy to be inside of you?"

You bucked a little, making him stop. He drags his fingers out, causing you to beg for him to go back.

"Answer my question you greedy thing" He leaned closer to your ear. "Did you need my cock this much?"

You whimper, "I do! Missed you so much"

He pushed his fingers back into you, provoking a moan out of you.

"You're always so needy for me" your core tenses, making you shiver. "How badly do you want me? Tell me"

You whimpered "Badly, papi"

"Say it" his face contorts in satisfaction at your pathethic display; crying little mess, "Who's cock, fingers and mouth make you feel good?"

You can't think at this point, your brain fuzzy and pussy hot, leaking. You kiss his lips, moaning against them, "you!"

"Just me, yes? Nobody else can make you feel this good?"

"No one!"

You involuntarily roll your hips to aid you in pleasure, yet Pedro stops you just before you can reach your orgasm.

"Little brat." he tuts, making you groan. "Did you think I'd let you? You were naughty today, baby"

You huff in annoyance, used to having your way.

"That's your punishment"

"But I'll behave" you mewl against his ear, "I promise"

“Good, because I'm planning on fucking your brains out” his hot breathe whispers in your ear seductively, trying his best not to slur the words at the drunken haze that your arousal provokes in him, "but you have to help me first"

You get on your knees, looking at the garment he's wearing. The skirt and general costume makes this all the more hot, mouth watering at the sight. You raise the skirt, glancing at the briefs; just seeing his dick strained against the fabric makes you wet in anticipation.

He sees the pleasure bore into your orbs, and before you do any dirty idea of yours, he's already warning:

"You have to take this off, what if we-"

"Alright" you cut him off, "but the skirt stays"

"Sigue, pues" he growls, voice low yet demanding, following you in your little game.

As you pull the briefs down, his erection springs out enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.

"That's right" he chokes out, "show me how much you missed it"

You give him a proud lick, and Pedro hisses at the moment his preseminal fluid goes in between your hungry lips.

Your tongue darts to the head of his cock, running over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. He keeps praising as you pump the base of his cock with your hand. Your head bobs, yet you peek up to hear Pascal's little sounds and facial expression, a motivation so intimate in the way his brows furrow and eyes roll, mouth agape at your movements while his lip suck on those pretty lips of his. It makes you keep going. With every bob you take as much of him in your mouth as you can, before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. A throaty moan escapes the man above you when you now focus on the final lick, making him closer to coming, all while maintaining eye contact the entire way through.

"Don't do that" he rasps, yanking you by the hair again, as of punishment, but he knows you enjoy it, "you promised you'd be good"

You can't answer, so instead, you reach the head of his cock again, and now his eyes roll back, mumbling profanities that sound like heaven.

"Do you want them to hear us, brat? Qué necia eres" he manages to chastise while moaning.

You feel his dick stuck in your throat, and the way he's about to come; you think that after some time dating, you know him well enough.

You're about to leave with your mouth when he stops you.

"No" your eyes open in shock, "what? Did you think your punishment is over?" Pedro laughs, "don't look at me like that. Like you have never done it before"

He keeps you in place by the hair, the rings prickling against your scalp. You feel his muscles tense up, and before you can think anything else thick and hot shots of cum invade your mouth, making it sticky and warm.

"Don't pretend you don't like it" his voice goes dark, husky. "Swallow it all. Te han enseñado a no desperdiciar nada, ¿verdad? Show me your good manners, then"

When you pull out, your throat feels raspy.

"You gotta reward me" you cough out.

"I promised, didn't I?" his fingers trace your face delicately, with adoration.

"It's all about duty, General Acacius" you purr, and the dick springs out again. Hard.

"Princess..." he warns.

"For the glory of Rome" you joke and laugh, then cough, as your throat is still sore.

"Have you been reading my script?" as you avoid to answer, he just chuckles, "ay, nena"

"C'mere" he motions, and you sit on his lap again. Pedro lifts your dress, exploring the curve of your ass. There's anticipation as he hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to access your core.

"Fuck" you squirm at his touch, grinding your freed cunt against his hard cock. He grabs you by the hip, adjusting you right on his lap.

"You taste so good" he kisses down your throat, ending at the chest were your tits peak.

"Want them?" you offer, pulling your dress down. He kisses them, gently nipping at your perked up nipples.

A wave of pleasure courses through you, and with whines and moans, you show how desperate you are, the hunger making the meal taste better. After all those weeks missing him, you just want him to fuck you senseless.

His lips are rosy and swollen against yours, mouths clashing; starved of the yearned contact. Truth is, no matter how much you know how to touch yourself, it'll never be the same as having his hard cock tear through your tight folds.

Pedro easily aligns his leaking cock with your uncovered pussy, all while mantaining the kiss. He pushes down on you, your dripping cunt taking all of his rock-hard cock, fingers holding onto the soft brown grey sprinkled locs.

"Pedro" you cry out his name, full of ecstasy as the stretch burns so sweetly. His low grunts only fuel your desire.

You trace with your eyes his body, now bare without the upper part of the costume: his pecs and abs, flexing with every pump. With now free hands, your fingers travel to softly caress his stomach, even if your tits are jiggling and the pace is rather frenetic.

"I miss your tummy" you pout.

"I miss eating too" he whispers out, tiredly. He's reminded of his old age, forgetting about it as soon as you two kiss, because you bring out a stamina he thinks he doesn't have anymore; almost animalistic. His bones creak and adding the tiring filming day under the hot sun, he feels his body start to give up, the orgams closer and closer.

"No matter how you look" you clash your lips onto his, the adoration translating through the smile you press against, a trail of saliva that symbolizes how interwined you are, "you always look so fucking good"

He blushes, feeling like a stupid school boy with a crush. What did he even do to deserve you? Never thought a pretty young wild thing like you would even spare a glance on his way, but now you're taking all of his cock inside with such greed yet loom into his eyes with a love he's only dreamed of.

You're real, and his.

As soon as those words leave your mouth your orgasm spills over him, some of it dripping onto the skirt, making him curse. You can't stop, still meeting his thrusts halfway, despite your trembling body after reaching your high.

"Mierda" he groans against your mouth,

You feel yourself collapsing on top of him, the weight of the jet lag catching up.

"Getting tired, baby?" he coos. "Shit, and I thought I was old"

"You are" you reply back; you can never not have the last word. And he lets you, because, God, doesn't he love you? He pretends to look offended by it, but the way your eyes shine tell him you didn't mean it that way. "You and your white hairs" tracing over his moustache, a soft hand combing through his locks, "These wrinkles... don't you know how much I love them? how much I love you?"

"And you have no idea how much I love you" he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling it coming through. "God, wanna make you mine. Sólo mía" his pace slows. It's coming, and yes, you will take it all. "Wanna make you a baby, mami. Want you to take it all like the good girl you are"

When he comes, filling you with burning hot cum until you feel like you might burst, you're numb. But there's a feeling so content that pools warmth in your chest, that you can't say anything else, resting your head against his bare chest, both covered in sticky sweat.

"No sé cómo voy a explicar esto" he speaks through ragged breathes, and you can only smirk, "a squirted and cummed roman skirt".

"That isn't my problem" he scoffs, and you feel your head rise against the movement, earning a laugh out of you, "I'm not part of the movie"

"You'd sure think so, with the way you walked in here"

You roll your eyes, face hidden against his chest, "can you let that go?"

"You're right" he pulls you closer to him, hand enveloping you behind your bare back. The quiet doesn't bother you as you lie closer to his chest, his heartbeat the only thing you need to be at peace, "I think punishment time is over. Think you've learned your lesson"

"Then, how about we go out? I've heard Malta's beaches are pretty"

"Relájate, cariño. Seems you've gotten your energy back" he quips, then kisses your forehead. "We need to wait for everyone to get out"

"That embarrased you are of me?" you joke.

"No" he can already imagine his fellow cast members making fun of him, starting with Paul and Joseph when they see you and Connie who will totally notice the fun sticky stains on the costume, "but embarrased of the explanation I'll have to give"

[dreamscapeee222]

You're Super Affectionate

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

Vi isn’t used to being on the receiving end of so much open affection, so at first, she’s a little taken aback by how freely you give it. You’re always reaching for her hand, leaning into her shoulder, or playfully poking her cheek to get a smile.

"You’re like a kitten, y’know that? Always climbing on me," she teases, but the way she softens under your touch gives her away.

She secretly loves when you curl up beside her, resting your head on her shoulder while she absentmindedly rubs circles on your back.

When you surprise her with random kisses, her cheeks turn pink, and she mutters, "You’re gonna be the death of me, babe."

Jinx

Jinx thrives off your affection—she drinks it up like sunshine after a storm. You’ll catch her grinning like a maniac every time you give her a random hug or boop her nose.

"You’re mine, and everyone better know it," she says dramatically while wrapping herself around you like a clingy koala.

She adores your constant touches, even if it’s just holding her hand while she works on a new gadget. It grounds her in a way nothing else can.

On days when she’s particularly restless, your affection is her safe haven. She’ll flop dramatically into your arms, mumbling, "You’re my favorite. Don’t tell the bombs."

Caitlyn

Caitlyn isn’t overly used to physical affection, especially in public, but with you, she finds herself leaning into it more than she ever expected.

Your habit of brushing her hair out of her face or resting your hand on her arm when you talk makes her heart flutter in ways she’ll never admit out loud.

She’ll pretend to roll her eyes when you surprise her with forehead kisses during patrols, but there’s always a soft smile lingering afterward. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

Caitlyn secretly adores how you leave little love notes for her in her coat pockets or slip her hand into yours during quiet moments. She might even start reciprocating with her own subtle gestures.

Ekko

Ekko lights up every time you show him affection. Whether it’s hugging him from behind or pressing a kiss to his cheek while he’s deep in thought, you always catch him off guard in the best way.

"You’re something else, you know that?" he says with a smirk, but you can tell he’s flustered by the way his ears turn red.

He loves how natural you are with your affection—holding his hand when you’re walking through the Lanes or sitting so close he can feel your warmth.

When he’s stressed, your habit of brushing his hair out of his face and murmuring, "You’re doing amazing," works wonders to calm him down.

Jayce

Jayce adores your affectionate nature. He’s just as touchy as you are, so you two are constantly exchanging hugs, kisses, and playful nudges.

You love running your fingers through his hair when he’s working, and he’ll stop mid-sentence just to lean into your touch. "You’re distracting, you know that?" he says with a grin.

He absolutely melts when you randomly kiss his temple or grab his face to smother him with affection. "Okay, okay, I surrender!" he laughs, but secretly, he never wants you to stop.

Jayce goes out of his way to return your affection, often scooping you up in a bear hug or peppering your face with kisses until you’re both laughing.

Viktor

Viktor isn’t accustomed to physical affection, so when you first start showering him with hugs and kisses, he’s unsure how to react. But it doesn’t take long before he starts leaning into it.

He’ll pretend to focus on his work as you rest your chin on his shoulder, but the faint smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

"You’re very persistent," he teases when you brush your fingers through his hair, but his voice is softer than usual, almost shy.

On particularly rough days, your affection is his anchor. The way you hold his hand or rest your forehead against his reminds him he’s not alone.

Mel

Mel is used to grand gestures, but your constant little signs of affection catch her off guard in the most delightful way.

She smiles every time you kiss her hand or brush your fingers against hers during meetings, subtly showing your love even in formal settings.

Mel thrives on your attention, especially when you snuggle close to her after a long day. "You spoil me," she murmurs, her tone laced with warmth.

She loves how open you are with your feelings, and she’ll often reciprocate with tender touches—a hand on your cheek, her fingers tracing your collarbone—as if to remind you she cherishes you just as much.

[aliceoseman]

Heartstopper S3 Q&A weekend!

Hello everyone! I don't usually use this blog to answer questions, but I've been wanting to answer some of your questions about season 3 of Heartstopper, and I figure this is probably the best place for it!

It's nearly 2 months since the release of S3 and I'd love to go on a deep dive with you all. I always feel like I don't express myself very well in interviews, so I feel more comfortable getting to express myself in the written word here! You may have questions about characters, relationships, themes, production, music, animation, and more... I shall try my best to share some interesting behind-the-scenes trivia!!

Please keep your questions relevant to season 3 of Heartstopper - I probably won't answer them if they're about anything else!

The ask box will be open from now through this weekend, so you have about 2 and a half days to send your questions. I'll answer what I can, probably slowly over the next week or two! I won't get around to answering everyone's question though, I'm sorry in advance! You're welcome to share the answers on other social medias if you'd like to.

If you don't want to see Q&A answers and are simply here for the fan art, please block the tag 'heartstopper s3 q&a'.

*

Also, just to get a few FAQs out of the way:

Season 4: I don't have anything more to share about season 4 right now, I'm sorry! As I've said, we're working incredibly hard to make it happen, and there's nothing else I can say about that at the moment.

Bloopers: Are coming soon, but I don't know exactly when!

Deleted scenes: I'm not currently sure whether there will be deleted scene releases.

*

Thank you so much for your support for the show! I look forward to chatting with you about season 3 of Heartstopper!!

[woso-dreamzzz]

If You Were My Little Girl II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Things are looking up

Alexia watches from the stands.

They're mostly empty, like almost all Barcelona B matches.

Women's football has only really started picking up steam recently but only at the top flight. The lower level leagues are still having a bit of a popularity issue.

But Alexia, for once, finds that she doesn't mind.

Because it means she can sit practically alone in the stands as she watches the home match.

A notepad sits on her lap, a pen tapping against the pages thoughtfully as she watches.

Barcelona B are good and Alexia has never expected anything different. She's seen the system at work many times as La Masia churns out players like Aitana and Pina and Jana, and more recently Vicky and Martina.

There's a reason so many clubs wants La Masia products.

They're all good players but even now, Alexia can tell a great player when she sees one.

You rise up among the crowd in the box and slam the ball into the goal, the net rippling with the force of the shot.

The best part, Alexia thinks, is that you didn't even need a moment to control the ball, hitting it in on the volley and grinning as your teammates practically dogpile you.

A hattrick in ten minutes is impressive in any league and Alexia makes another note in her notebook, humming softly to herself.

She rises out of her seat at the end of the match, disappearing into the building and out the doors.

It takes another half an hour for you to appear again, hair damp and an old crew neck sweater that Alexia's pretty sure is Alba's being tugged over your head.

You slip into the passenger seat, throwing your bag into the backseat and Alexia pulls your head down to press a kiss against the side of it.

You smile shyly at her as she offers up the fries she'd bought for a job well done.

"You did good, kid," She says," Very impressive."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. But I think we're going to work on evading slide tackles next," Alexia says as she drives off," We're trying to keep those ankles of yours intact, alright? I'm going to need them this season."

You roll your eyes and Alexia clicks her tongue.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," She says," I've got a good feeling about that meeting later in the week. A great feeling, actually. You should have one too."

"I'm managing expectations."

Alexia looks at you fondly. "Well, we'll see which one of us is right in a few days."

She lets you choose the music in the car, like she always does when you've scored a goal and you pull up to the apartment a lot quicker than you want to seeing as you're in the middle of singing along to your favourite song but, still, you drag yourself out of the car and up the stairs.

"How was the match?" Olga asks as she greets Alexia with a kiss on the lips.

"She did very well," Alexia brags," A hattrick within the first ten minutes and another goal in injury time."

"Exciting," Olga says indulgently as Alexia grins, already giving her running commentary of everything that happened during the match.

You escape though, hurrying to raid the cupboards before Alexia finally comes to her senses and tries to stop you 'spoiling' your dinner.

You don't know if there's any way to thank Alexia for what she's done for you.

Just three months ago, you were convinced that you were going to quit. You had no passion for the game, no hope of what your future was going to be but now all of that had changed.

You had direction. You had a manager. You had new boots and a place to live that wasn't a group home and support and love and everything seemed to be coming together for you.

A toe pokes you in the leg.

"Move."

"Alexia says that if you're trying to nap on her sofa again then I don't have to move," You tell Alba, who huffs and pokes you with her toe again," She also says that you have your own apartment and should stop mooching of us."

"But Olga's a better cook than me," Alba complains and you roll your eyes.

"Aren't you an adult? Even I can cook."

"Yeah but it's not like you could mooch off your sist-"

Alba falls silent quickly and you pretend to not notice what she was going to say for both hers and your own sakes.

The topic of your sister is kind of off limits when you're in the room. It's not completely banned because Alexia's still Jenni's national teammate but she's not really spoken about if you're in the room.

Alba's face flashes with terror for a moment so you pretend you don't notice her slip up ever though it sends a bolt of lightning into your stomach, a deep pit forming there.

It works for the most part, everyone in the house pretending Jenni isn't who she is to you, pretending that she's just Alexia's teammate and not her friend and ex, pretending that Alexia fostering you isn't her walking on a tight rope because Jenni doesn't know.

All Jenni knows is that you didn't quit when she told you to.

Jenni doesn't know that you live with Alexia. Jenni doesn't know anything. You doubt she even thinks about you when she's got a life far away in Mexico.

She lives there, far away from you and your life here in Barcelona.

She lives there and her presence is hardly ever mentioned around you.

Life is good at Alexia and Olga's house. Life is even good at training, though you could do without the smug little smirk Alexia has on her face when she picks you up.

"You already knew!" You accuse her, waving a finger in her face.

"Knew?" She asks, lips curl up in what can only be described as pure smugness," Knew what?"

"Right, who told you? Go on. Who was it?"

Alexia grins. "You do realise I am the captain? Any time they're looking to bring someone in, they ask me my opinion."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah and I'm sure you gave it."

"You're a good player. A great player," Alexia says," All I did was tell them what they already know."

You look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. You want to be mad at her, to yell at her for keeping this from you. Maybe even yell at her for promising to the staff something you're not but you know she hasn't done that.

If she thought you weren't ready, she would have told them that.

But Alexia didn't. She didn't tell them to let you have a bit more time with the B team. She didn't tell them that you don't quite have what it takes.

"Thanks."

Alexia smiles at you as she drives home, a comfortable silence enveloping you both until your hand is on the door handle.

You stop.

"When I open this door, there's going to be a party, isn't there?"

"I may have told Olga...who told Mami...who told Alba...who told the rest of the family..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Possibly..."

"And there's no getting out of this?"

Alexia ruffles your hair, a soft kiss being pressed to the side of your head. "They're here to celebrate you."

You suck in a breath, just ready to turn the handle when the sound of the lift doors opening chimes down the corridor.

Both you and Alexia turn your heads towards.

It's just a fleeting second.

Just a moment.

But your good mood plummets as the door opens.

Alexia's hand tightens on your shoulder, pushing you slightly behind her and putting herself between you and the elevator.

Between you and Jenni.

[peppermintquartz]

Buck volunteers for the Thanksgiving shift. When Maddie asks, he apologizes, saying, "I don't really feel festive right now. But keep some leftovers for me?"

On the day, firehouses around the country all have similar calls to deal with: kitchen grease fires from frying turkeys, sprains in backyard games of football, people injuring one another because "did you hear what she said about our Emma/Francis/Kailey?". Buck is kept too busy to think, and it's nice having the time to catch up with Ravi, who's thinking of going to school to study law.

Their brothers and sisters in uniform also drop off dishes at the station, so between calls, they get pretty good food. Captain Graham gives them an hour offline after four consecutive calls. Buck collapses into a chair and serves himself pasta salad and a delicious honey baked ham, while his dinner rolls warm up in the oven.

He's scrolling through his phone, diligently avoiding the messaging apps, when a message preview pops up.

Tommy.

Buck almost drops his fork. He scrambles away from the dinner table, even though no one on C shift will try to take his phone from him, and finds a spot in the stairwell to read it.

Tommy: hope you have a good & safe Thanksgiving

As he's reading, another bubble appears and Buck's heart skips several beats, but this time it doesn't disappear. A second message arrives, followed by a third.

Tommy: don't know why I texted that

Tommy: guess I just wanted to say something to you

Tommy: you don't have to reply

Tommy: anyway. Happy holidays

Buck feels a slight loosening of the vice around his heart that has been there since that night. With a smile on his face, he types, deletes, types again.

Buck: happy Thanksgiving to you too

Buck: how many kitchen grease fires you got this year? We had 3

Tommy: you're working today?

Tommy: 4, but one of it was in the backyard

They're having a conversation. They're having an actual casual conversation, as easy as they used to on calmer shifts. Buck wants to cry. But he has to answer Tommy's question or have this conversation end too soon. Thinking about his options, he decides that he has nothing to lose anyway.

Buck: I didn't wanna sit around and smile and pretend I'm thankful for everything

Buck: it's better to keep busy

Tommy: I know that feeling

Tommy: I'm sorry

Buck: I'm sorry too

Buck: I wish we could've celebrated together

Buck: I would've said that I'm thankful for you

Tommy: I would have said that too

Tommy: I'm still thankful for you jsyk. I'll always be grateful to have got to know you

Does Tommy think he can't stay in Buck's life just because they broke up?

Buck: I don't think you know me well enough

Tommy: sorry

Buck wishes he'd run after Tommy that night, or done something since to show that he wants Tommy. Well, here's your chance, his brain reminds him. Do something.

He takes a deep breath. Then he types.

Buck: I want to meet. If I come over after Thanksgiving shift, will you please be home?

Tommy: is that a good idea

Buck: idk. But I can't stop thinking about you, and I miss you, and I wanna know what I did wrong. I wanna meet.

Tommy: I miss you too. You didn't do anything wrong, I just didn't want to... Idk. I didn't want to get my hopes up too much.

Buck: we need to talk in person. Texting is not good enough.

It isn't. He needs to see Tommy again. Tommy with his storm blue eyes and tender smile and broad shoulders and soft clothes. Tommy whose crinkly smile drives Buck a little (a lot) insane. Tommy whose lips he now knows the shape of by touch alone, whose body he has mapped out in detail, who knows how it feels to be inside Buck in the most intimate of ways.

He waits for a response. Hopes there will be one. It comes several minutes after, like Tommy had to really think about it.

Tommy: maybe not immediately after Thanksgiving shift

Tommy: are you off on Monday

The relief that crashes into Buck feels almost as overwhelming as the tsunami he was caught in years ago.

Buck: yes

Buck: your place this time

Buck: I'll bring cake

Tommy: you don't have to bribe me to open the door

Buck: no I just baked too much stuff is all. I'll explain when we meet

Buck: I'm really thankful you texted

Tommy: I'm thankful you replied

Tommy: have a good rest of the shift, Evan

It's Evan again. Buck can't hide his smile at all. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he goes back to dinner. Monday can't be here fast enough.