#They’re just way too easy to make stupid stuff for

[youngerfrankenstein]

Please let this be the last one, I want to pretend I still have dignity.

[hsslilly-blog]

hollywood u never specified what addison’s mother is sick with, or if it’s terminal; just that she’s really sick, right? rather, that she has been really sick (for a while). personally, i’ve always read it as if it were terminal. lmao not surprising. anyway you know what that means *hits her with dead parent beam*

[saetoru]

Tee…

I’m now on my hands and knees BEGGING for bully Gojo who is (secretly) DISGUSTINGLY IN LOVE over the reader PLEASE ANY CRUMBS I WILL TAKE

(you don’t actually have to write this it was just a nice thought)

idkkkkk if it’s rly bully gojo—but he’s definitely a real cunt for sure.

i just think about an asshole! gojo a lot like he’s ur lab partners or something and he does that stereotypical jerk move where he’s like “seriously ?? her ??” when he’s first paired with you. and he’s just naturally an douche, yk ?? wears sunglasses indoors and makes jokes at the professors expense under his breath that gets him snickers and snorts from his frat guys in his class. has to be asked more than once to “please keep it down in the middle of class” by wtv prof he’s in class with.

and he ofc makes u do all the work bc he can’t be bothered—and on the rare occasion that he is bothered, he just does a poor job that’s the bare minimum and sloppy enough that ur like wtv i’ll just do it myself. and then ofc sometimes u don’t have a choice but to meet up to finish something after class every now and then—he wouldn’t care to, but he actually needs to know the stuff for the final report he has to write individually, so he begrudgingly meets up with you, and sometimes you notice his friends give you an amused look when he walks up with them. they snicker before they leave as he sits with you. sometimes they make a snide comment here and there like “have fun with ur super hot date” that makes him roll his eyes—he doesn’t do much to hide the look of distaste on his face.

but then—and he doesn’t even know when it happens—you start to slowly grow on him. because ur actually pretty snarky urself, sometimes making a dry comment here and there about the professor and his stupid bald headed self. sometimes a girl in the distance laughs too hard a group of guys that u roll ur eyes and mumble how “if i had a voice like that i’d never laugh in public” and it makes him snort a bit without meaning to. sometimes you stare daggers at the person who has their music so loud thru their headphones they can’t help but notice u and turn it down in embarrassment. ur actually not as much of a pushover as he thought—you just genuinely think he’s too incapable to help u out that you’ve just shrugged him off and started doing his part. it’s an easy weekly lab class anyway, you don’t need him—and then he realizes that u rly just don’t care for him. his little snickers at u with his friends and their snide comments roll off ur back bc well…he’s him—an asshole little frat boy and u didn’t expect anything better from him. so it makes him a little intrigued—maybe a little wounded in his pride, deep down, because no one has ever been indifferent to him before. they’re either madly in love, or they hate his guts, or they follow his lead. either works—he still gets the attention he craves.

but u just don’t rly care. and ur actually pretty cool, and kinda sorta funny in a way no one else is. he likes it…and fuck, now he’s starting to like you. he can tell bc when his friends ask how his little date with you went, he starts getting a bit huffy ab it bc they don’t need to talk about you. they don’t even know you…but also….its not a date. and that’s the worst part. sometimes it feels like a date. almost—sometimes you both decide to take a break in between and go get a coffee or a light snack. sometimes he’s even paid (to which you look mildly shocked before politely thanking him) and you both walk back to the library while u make light banter and it’s…well, fun. and nice. and your laugh is pretty. and your smile is kinda cute and he (though he hates to admit it) rly likes it when u laugh because of him.

and then things start to get messy—really, he didn’t mean for it to start this way. he really was meaning to ask you in a genuine manner to see u again once the semester was finished. because he’s actually started pulling his weight—he wants u to see him for someone who’s smart. satoru is actually rly rly smart and no one knows it because he doesn’t rly show it but he is. he wants u to see that side of him—somehow there’s some sick validation he rly needs from you knowing he’s not a dense frat guy who drinks and fucks until 3 am every night. so he starts doing his parts and actually communicates with u about sections. so starts ur texting routine—sometimes a little longer than u rly need to for just doing a lab together. sometimes it’s “did u hear ab that girl in our class getting dumped in front of the kfc ??” and sometimes it’s “god our prof rly needs to get some pussy” and other times it’s “look what the guy who sits behind us just posted on his story” and it leads to a few long convos that admittedly…are rly fun. ur so fun. he likes it. he rly does like u and he thinks maybe….maybe he’s grown on u too and you know what ?? satoru’s always a jerk but ur nice and who’s to say he can’t be nice too ?? just for one person. for u, he can be a nice guy—u carried lab all on ur own long enough that u deserve it anyway.

until he gets swayed in that way only a coward can. in that way you do when ur used to being “the man” around ur friends and ur too pressured to keep up that energy for appearances sake bc u don’t wanna be the laughing stock who softened up for “some nerdy chick who’s a nobody.” so he laughs when they laugh at the fact that ur probably “still a virgin who’s never touched a guy before” and then they’re patting gojo on the back and shoving at his shoulder as they laugh harder and suggest that “y’know what would be so funny man ?? if u took her virginity. you could probably do it.”

the thought is sickening because…satoru wouldn’t want to fuck you like that. god, you have him caring about when and how he fucks you—in fact, just thinking about you lewdly makes him feel guilty. disrespectful, even. you’re more than a fleshlight for his dick. since when did he become so respectful ?? but he doesn’t know how to say no, especially when everyone starts agreeing one after the other—and oh no, now they’re betting on how quickly he can do it….and oh, now it’s not just fucking. now it’s “how long until you think she’s head over heels for you? man, that would be a sight, huh ??”

and….well, satoru decides it couldn’t hurt, right ?? he does want to be romantically involved so that would include you being head over heels. hopefully. fingers crossed. and he doesn’t rly want to seem lame in front of the guys either, so he gets to keep both sides of the coin, so is it really that bad ?? maybe not the right idea but certainly the right execution. he’ll treat you well—that much he’s confident of. so he forces out a laugh and says “gimme a month or two, you’ll see.”

and a month or two they give him. and a month or two it takes—but not for you to be head over heels. it’s him who’s utterly and completely obsessed and fallen head first and whatever else they say to describe love because wow. this must be what it is. this must be that stupid fairytale shit they always talk about because fuck, no one has ever looked at him like that. like he’s some miracle to this earth and some wonder only you know of—like you hope it stays that way and that he’s yours and yours alone and no one else comes in to take him away. satoru really likes being yours, it kinda feels better than you being his. being yours means you hold him like that at night and wake him up to a kiss between his brows and sometimes, when he gets those migraines he’s prone to getting, you always seem to know. always seem to understand when to close the blinds and keep quiet and wrap him up in the covers as you rub your thumbs over his temples soothingly.

he almost forgets about that silly little bet he made two months ago when he’s around you. actually, he forgets everything when he’s around you. he’s only ever thinking about you, you, you. when he comes back to his frat house, on the other hand, they’re all gathered around waiting for the newest details. how you must’ve been so pathetically star struck by him. how you must be embarrassingly bad at kissing. how you must stutter over every other word around him. how you must be making a complete and utter fool of urself trying to impress him and be someone you’re not bc the real you would never pique his interest.

they’re wrong ofc. if anyone’s star struck, it’s satoru bc how the hell are u so…cool ?? and so funny and witty and carefree ?? and you’re good at kissing—have him chasing your lips with a whine every time. sometimes you even chuckle at him when he does and make him blush a bit. he’s the one who stutters over his words when he sees you in your little date night outfits. sometimes he watches you drink from your straw and his brain short circuits a little until you snap at him and ask him in confusion if he’s alright. but the real kicker ?? it’s that if anyone’s pretending, it’s satoru. you’re always just you—unapologetically so, that it’s endearing and beautiful and so unearthly he wonders how he got so lucky. but him ?? he’s always acting like some guy he’s not. some chivalrous guy who opens doors and pushes out seats and kisses the back of hands and waits at least a few dates before even considering fucking. some nice, sweet, genuine guy who’s deserving.

he’s not that—never was. if you knew the real him, you’d leave in a heartbeat. it’s a scary thought. a raw feeling he doesn’t like. makes him feel all self conscious and insecure and all that weird shit he never thought he’d feel.

he tries. so hard, he tries to make them forget about that silly little bet and just slowly drop it and maybe even forget ur dating so he can just stay living this peaceful little fantasy with you—but that’s stupid. that’s naive. it’s been 4 months and enough is enough—the guys need to see the look on ur face when u realize what a fool ur being and satoru is “being a lazy ass who’s too comfortable not having for work for pussy these days.” so then there’s a video going around. it’s everyone gathered around on the couch drunk and talking about you. and satoru. you both, in fact. how it’s been two months and u seem desperate for his attention with the shrill little voice you use to call him toru, baby! it’s so, so fucking embarrassing, they say. how you think he likes it. (he does. god he does so much, it hurts. he loves it, actually, when you call him that. makes him feel special in a way he never has.) but then, the worst, most disgustingly nauseous part of the whole thing is when satoru laughs along and plays into their awful words. just lets them talk about you like you’re some piece of meat. something for him to chew up and spit out after he has a taste or you. not even worth savoring and enjoying. he laughs along and agrees—you’re nothing special and he can’t wait until he’s free of you.

that part hurts. that part sucks the most—when he acts like he didn’t tremble under your touch every time you kissed him. like he didn’t beg you to stay just five more minutes! before walking out the door to go home. he acts one way in front of you and one way in front of them and what’s worse ?? you don’t know which one is real. couldn’t tell even if your life was on the line to decide. because there’s no way he’s that good at pretending to be desperately in love, no fucking way. but there’s also no way he can be in love if he’s talking about you like that. that’s not what love is—that’s not what love feels like. that’s not what it means to someone.

you don’t know which satoru is the real one, but you know that neither is worth your time. not if he can’t stick to it.

it’s terrible thing—the way you break up. it’s messy and teary and he’s begging, he’s actually begging. he never thought he’d do that. but he doesn’t even hesitate to plead for you to hear him out. baby, please let me explain. wait, please don’t walk away—please just listen! i can explain.

he can’t explain, though when you as him to. stands there with a bitten bottom lip and teary eyes that are pleading you to just stay with him. to overlook this and just … ignore it like it’s nothing. like what he did and said was just nothing and you can shrug it off like you’re nothing too. like your feelings are nothing and so is your worth and that’s why you should just ignore the way he absolutely destroyed your pride and reputation and dignity and worse….every ounce of your love.

such deep, raw, pure love—it’s almost enough to heal every dry crack and crevice of this earth and bring it back to life.

you look at him with teary eyes and something so broken, it makes him feel like dirt beneath your feet.

“it’s embarrassing, satoru,” you hiss that night through tears, “you’re in your twenties getting a degree and you’re still just a high school bully. life’s really gonna kick you in the ass some day.”

life’s already kicking him in the ass as soon as you walk out. the air is colder. the world is dimmer. food doesn’t taste as good and fuck—there is just so much loneliness when you have no one to be yourself with. when there’s no you.

but he supposes you’re right though—he is just a bully. it’s pathetic, really. and maybe it’s for the best. maybe you don’t deserve someone who’s only ever known how to feel good because someone else doesn’t.

[pressureplus]

this blog is the goat i love it sm :) totally get if it's too much but i'd love drunk seb headcanons. thnx ❤️

LOVELY, YOUVE GOT THE BIGGEST BRAIN ANON /POS

♡Drunk Sebastian Solace Headcannons♡

Warnings: Intoxication, Warnings to not Fuck The Fish™️, Brief Sexual Content

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

First off, getting him drunk isn’t gonna be easy

His body is significantly bigger so it’ll take a lot more alcohol than a normal human person

That and he could already hold his drinks well, so it’ll take some work to get that man actually drunk instead of just buzzed

Don’t try to match him drink for drink, you WILL die of alcohol poisoning unless you’re an alcoholic

Which wouldn’t matter he’d still out drink you based on weight/size alone, so I guess try not to die is the only goal?

Doesn’t feel comfortable drunk around most people unless you’re BOTH that kind of tipsy or he’s already close with you

When you do actually get him drunk?

The flirtiest, giggliest drunk you’re ever met

Sebastian will laugh at literally everything, it makes him so much easier to talk with

The world is sunshine and rainbows as long as he’s really fucked up

Honestly? He deserves it. He’ll smile at you so softly and actually fully listen when you talk. Maybe he’s not the brightest, or most talkative, but he has weirdly good advice

Though he is super giggly and playful, he does flirt

Usually they’re kind of fun. They’re not meant to really invoke any real feelings

“Hey there hot stuff, you lookin for a chair?” As he pats a portion of his tail.

He WILL forget that he flirted with you later, so don’t try to corner him on it as some kind of gotcha moment. He won’t believe you.

It also doesn’t reflect his feelings entirely…well unless he really likes you.

He’ll get a bit tongue tied and may even let it slip that he thinks you’re just gorgeous

His flirting gets very personal if he has a thing for you, but it’s less frequent because the man is too busy squirming from just sitting with you

Think flustered school girl energy

If he likes you he will do ANYTHING you ask

Please don’t try to fuck the fish, he isn’t very smart and he’s not gonna be able to top you

You’d have to do 100% of the work, and he wouldn’t remember most of it tomorrow anyway

He will probably just fall into a fit of giggles at the offer, honestly, so the likelihood of it happening is like nothing

So unless you’re both so drunk you’re not thinking straight? Don’t do it. Dont even try it.

If he doesn’t like you in that way? You might actually die for attempting it. It’s not worth it.

Speaking of not worth it, that man loses so much motor function. His tail is apparently weirdly hard to control all the way

Will prefer to just sit with you and not go anywhere as he will not have the control necessary to do damn near anything

He tried only once to go do something while really fucked up

Stupid fishman got stuck in a vent for a few hours

Worst experience of his life, (drunk fishman claims) he would never ever do it again

He’s the kind of man that sings when he’s drunk too, but only if you do it with him. He mimics like a parrot.

Or if you manage to play songs with him somehow, he might sing them if he vibes with or knows the song

Get a man to sing your favorite songs horribly at an octave that outright hurts

Idk something like California Girls by Katy Perry? Have fun with it

He can’t exactly dance really well but he might do a fun little shimmy if the music pleases him enough

Have fun doing your shared little dances, drinking to forget (always remembering), and laughing about nonsense

I’m sure, as long as you get him something strong and a whole lot of it

The both of you will get along fine!

After all, he likes people that get him gifts like this a little more

[seijorhi]

Violent Delights

for my very dearest best friend (wife) @iwaasfairy i'm sorry it's super late, but august and april both start with 'a' which basically means they're the same month <33 iwaizumi hajime x female reader w.c 4.4k tw: yandere themes, non-con, drugged reader, blood/gore, murder, incest, sorta smut (nsfw)

M I N E

It’s funny in a way. Amidst the wreckage, the blood, what was left of your friends and the cooling puddle of cum splattered across your naked stomach, four letters carved into your bedroom wall seemed almost… harmless. Or at least the easiest to digest. Fixate on.

The detective asked about your ex partners, the dates you’d been on recently, whether or not you’d noticed anyone in your day-to-day paying you too much attention, if anyone made you feel uncomfortable, or said anything that seemed out of place.

But your exes don’t care enough to kill, and the two dates you’ve been on in the last six months never bothered to text you back. No one’s left weird, unsettling gifts, or stared too long in line at the coffee shop. There’s nothing. No precursor or warning, no giant red flag waving in front of you.

Mine. 

Hovering on the edge of numbness, blind hysteria just out of reach, you stare at the beige walls of the hotel room they’d put you up in, the angry gouges flickering in and out of existence with every blink. 

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Kaori was the one obsessed with all the true crime stuff. She’d be the first to tell you psychopaths and nutjobs – they don’t jump straight into drugging and triple homicide. There’s a pattern of behaviour. Escalation. 

Something you missed. 

Then again, considering it’s her blood still caked under your fingernails, there’s a strong possibility she wouldn’t be all that enthusiastic about the whole thing to begin with. 

You need a shower, a proper one – not the glorified sponging off they’d given you at the hospital. Enough to get you out the door, not nearly enough to scrub away the grime and rid yourself of what he did to you–

The others had it worse. You survived. He barely touched you.

Mine. 

The thought of scalding water, of scrubbing yourself raw does hold a certain appeal, yet hunched over atop starched white sheets, those same bloody fingernails sink into the flesh of your arms instead, grounding you in the tiny bite of pain. 

Minutes tick past and you don’t so much as twitch. Not until a sharp knock sounds at the door and a gruff voice calls out your name. 

You wait half a beat, but when nothing more is forthcoming, you slowly edge yourself off the bed, making your way to the door. Through the peephole you spy a dark haired officer, different to the one who’d dropped you off, staring back at you. 

They did tell you there’d be an officer with you the whole time, at least for the next twenty four hours. 

“Miss?” he calls again, and you distantly realise that while your hand is poised over the deadlock, you haven’t moved to undo it. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, your forehead meeting the wooden door with a muted thud, you curse that stupid, tremulous fluttering in your chest. They’re here for you, protecting you. You’re safe.

Open the damn door. 

“Y-yeah?”

Coward.

“Brought some food for you. Dinner.” There’s a rustling on the other side, and you raise your head to peer back through the glass in time to see him lift up a paper carry bag to the peephole. The idea of eating anything right now has your stomach roiling in protest. “Nothing fancy, but it’s good, I swear,” he says. Then, gentler, like he’s talking down a spooked animal, adds, “You need to eat.”

Still, you hesitate. All you need to do is open the door, grab the food and then at least it’s there if you want it later. Easy. 

Too quick, too jerky to be natural, you twist at the handle and yank the door open a scant few inches, enough for you to reach out an arm expectantly for the food. “Thank you,” you pre-empt, because hungry or not, you’re not completely without manners.

The officer lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. I’m not taking heat from the Cap when the guys on the next shift find you passed out ��cause you haven’t eaten anything,” he scoffs. “C’mon, we can talk while you eat.” Not a suggestion – you barely have time to stumble back before he’s pushing his way inside and kicking the door closed behind him. The second he takes to flick the lock somehow simultaneously eases the knots in your stomach and sends your heartrate ratcheting.

It’s halfway to a miracle that you’re still standing at all. 

“Eat,” he tells you, his deep voice brooking no disagreement as he shoves the bag of food your way and grabs the lone chair in the room, dragging it closer to the edge of the bed and settling himself down. Clearly he has no intention of going anywhere until he’s satisfied you’ve eaten your fill.

With little else for it, you do as you’re told, reaching into the bag to find steamed buns at your fingertips, still warm as you pry open the wrapper– and wince. The familiar scent of pork, ginger and chives wafts through the air, unwittingly digging at old wounds. 

Suddenly you’re a kid again, strolling down the hill with your family, one hand tucked safely within your brother’s, the other grasping a steaming hot bun. You’re happy and whole and so, so young–

“Something wrong? You don’t like meat buns?” 

Not the time. Ignoring the bitter ache the memory conjures, you’re quick to shake your head, “No. No, thank you. It’s great.” You doubt he buys it, but then again you also doubt he cares so long as you get something in your stomach. 

One bite, chew, swallow. Another, chew, swallow – mechanical until it isn’t. The first bun disappears and you reach for the second.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

You swallow down another mouthful. “Fuzzy. Sore. I still can’t remember anything,” you  admit, in case that’s where this line of questioning is going. Nothing beyond waking up in your bed covered in blood and a stranger’s cum at any rate.

The blood work they did at the hospital confirmed you were drugged along with the others, the detective mentioning the near-empty bottle of wine they’d found, which they were in the process of testing too. He’d also pointed out the lack of evidence indicating any kind of forced entry, which paired with the former is something you’ve been trying not to dwell on. 

The officer gives a considering nod, “That’s to be expected, don’t worry about it. I still think it’s worth asking a few more questions if you’re feeling up to it?” Again, it’s phrased like a question, but already he’s pulling out a voice recorder, setting down on the mattress between you. 

“Um, sure. Yeah,” you croak. 

A small smile, “Good.” He leans forward to switch on the recorder. “We’ll start with the other victims – your friends. Tell me about them.”

“Kaori, she’s– she was my best friend. We worked at the same grocer when I first moved out of my parents’ place, when I got a job here she made the decision to move with me. That was about six months ago.” 

“And the other two?” 

“Her brother Koji and another friend of ours Takashi. They came up to visit; Kaori’s been back once or twice since we left, but I hadn’t seen them–” tears blur at your vision and your voice just… gives out. 

They’re gone. 

You drag a shuddering breath in and it hurts. 

Blindly, your hand reaches across the bed, blood tipped fingers sprawling over pristine white, and when they meet warmth – an open palm outstretched – you seize it and cling on with everything you have. You’ll unravel if you don’t.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you chant, each syllable shakier than the last.

He dips his chin, just barely, and squeezes your hand, “You invited them?”

A wordless, wide eyed nod. 

“You were close.” Not a question. He sounds like he’s mulling over the thought, though his expression is inscrutable. “Were you involved with any of them?”

This time, there’s the slightest hesitation before you shake your head. The officer frowns, “I need the truth. Your friends were attacked for a reason. Lying to me won’t help bring their families peace.”

The blood drains from your face, your heart lurching on a sickening thud. 

Your fault. 

Instinctively, you yank back your hand, or try to at least, but his grip tightens – enough to keep you from drawing away, not enough to hurt. Though neither his tone nor his expression hold any condemnation, it doesn’t change the truth of the matter. 

You didn’t drug them or pick up the knife and swing. You didn’t invite this psycho into your life, but the fact remains that they’re dead because of you. 

“I– it wasn’t like that. We weren’t… I didn’t–” 

MINE.

Tears threaten to spill and your bottom lip trembles. 

For a long, drawn out moment, he simply stares. There’s a twitch at his jaw and he sighs – more of a grunt, really – leaning back and pulling his hand from yours to rake through his dark hair. 

(Stupid, you think, how some part of you mourns the loss.) 

“Okay, alright. Fine. We’ll come back to that,” he concedes. “What about other friends? Coworkers you were close with?”

“No, I– I already told the detective I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

An irritated flash darkens his gaze. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking them.” And you must make a truly pathetic picture then, flinching like a kicked puppy, because he lets out another huff, closing his eyes for a beat and visibly working to soften the harsh lines of his expression. “Shit, okay– I’m sorry. It’s been a long day for us both,” he makes an odd noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humour. “The guy who did this, he either already knows about the people precious to you, or he’s gonna do his damn best to find out, and if he thinks they’re threats, he’ll hurt them, or worse – he’ll use them to hurt you. I need you to tell me everything.”

And so, feeling the exhaustion of the day creeping over you, you do.

You tell him about the small group from work you occasionally go out for Friday drinks with, your old friends from uni, right down to the neighbour two floors below, who’d seen you hauling boxes the day you’d moved in and immediately offered to help. When you’d christened the kitchen baking you’d made sure to bring him some, and just last week you’d had tea with him and his grandma.

“What about school? Anyone you still keep in contact with?”

You try for a laugh but it sounds all wrong. “I wasn’t exactly popular back then,” 

His eyes narrow. They flit across your face like he’s searching for… something. You feel like a bug, pinned in place, squirming and uncomfortable, your face too hot. 

“Bullied?” he probes. 

Another nod. 

“How ‘bout family?”

Your mouth dries.

“My parents… I haven’t spoken to them in months. We don’t really get along.” The last conversation you’d had with them, if you could call it as much, lasted all of five minutes. Dry pleasantries and thinly veiled criticisms, wrapped up in yet another pointed reminder that things didn’t have to be this way – you were the one adamant on shutting them out. 

You doubt it’d raise a single eyebrow between them if you went the same again without contact. 

“Siblings?”

Another tear slips from your lashes and you swallow against the tight lump in your throat. The weight of his gaze feels oppressive, you’re too bare, too vulnerable, you don’t want to talk about this, so you shift your line of sight to the paper delivery bag, half crumpled now, and let your fingernails sink into the skin of your palms. 

Still, the words don’t come straight away, and when they do, they’re strained. Choked. Painted so thick is grief that you wonder if he understands them at all.

“No. I uh, I had a brother– a twin brother. He died.” 

You don’t talk about your brother, ever.

Kaori knew the bare bones of it. Koji and Takashi too – you had a twin brother, he died, and it fucked you up. Without ever uttering a word, they’d known not to press, that the wounds left behind weren’t quite as healed as the scar tissue led to believe. 

“How old were you?”

Seven, when you lost him. Twelve, when the letters stopped coming. 

“Fourteen,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “He was sick.”

Stop asking, stop talking, stop, stop, stop. 

When you risk a look in the officer’s direction, his features are hewn granite, eyes set in a hard, angry glare that steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” he grunts, rising to his feet. “You stopped writing long before that.”

There’s just enough time for understanding to crash over you, for your lips to part, a feather light gasp of “Hajime?” to slip out before you’re flat on your back, wrists pinned to the mattress above your head, the officer– a ghost– Hajime looming over you. 

“What did I fucking tell you?”  

—

‘Sweetie, make sure you hold your brother’s hand.’

They’d meant when you were walking home from the bus stop, or crossing the road. When there was a buddy system so no one got separated or left behind. 

Hajime was always holding your hand. Not because your parents told him to, but because that’s how it was supposed to be. You were twins, he’d been born first (by all of six minutes) and you had followed. You were always following Hajime, and he was always going to look after you. 

Until he gets put into the Otter class with Mr Inagaki, and you go into Dugong with Miss Ino. 

Hajime’s nothing short of enraged. He throws chairs and yells and tries to kick the Principal, but it doesn’t change anything.

It would be good for you, they said, to have a chance to make other friends. ‘You can’t keep using your brother as a crutch, honey,’ your mother gently admonishes. 

Hajime scowls at that. Later, when it’s just the two of you hiding away in his room, he tells you she’s an idiot and a liar. ‘You don’t need anyone else. You have me.’

You knew that. You’d always have Hajime, but the other kids in your class weren’t as awful as he made them sound. Some of them were actually kind of cool, and they liked you, too.

For a while, you began to believe you could have both; Hajime and your new friends. 

Until one day you’re waiting for him at lunch when a boy from your class tugs on your braids and with a wide, toothy grin, loudly proclaims to the whole playground that even though you were a girl, and girls have cooties, it’d probably be okay if you wanted to be his girlfriend. 

You didn’t see Hajime coming up behind you. You’ve no idea where he found the scissors. The only warning either of you get is a sudden, splitting roar before he’s throwing himself at the smaller boy, tackling him to the ground. 

‘She’s MINE!’

Silver glints, flashing in the sunlight, and a high pitched shriek rips through the playground as he brings the scissors down on the poor, struggling boy. 

With a viciousness you’d never known of your brother, he swings again and again. It’s chaos. The other kids scatter and the teachers run to intervene. Hajime, spitting and snarling, red in the face and half-feral, doesn’t stop for them.

He stops for you. 

At the sound of a sharp little gasp, a line of red slashed along your forearm, Hajime stops dead, wide, horrified eyes fixed on yours.

—

‘Sweetie, what have I told you about snooping? I raised you better than that.’

‘But they’re addressed to me. Hajime wrote to me.’

‘Your brother’s not well, those letters– they’ll only upset you. I don’t want you reading them.’

‘… He says he misses me.’

‘I know, but he’s where he belongs, getting help. You want that for him, don’t you? To get the help he needs?’

‘I want to write back to him.’

—

There’s another letter waiting for you when you get home from school.

You hang your backpack near the door, still damp from being tossed in the pool, and eye the opened envelope sitting by your father. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when you reach for it, doesn’t lift a finger to stop you. Nevertheless, the displeasure radiates from him clear as day. 

“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s not well.”

You’d scoff if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. Nothing you said could ever be taken as ‘encouragement’, and you’re under no illusions about who and what your brother is. 

The violence terrifies you. Sometimes he says things in the letters he writes that make your stomach all twisty and your palms sweat, but Hajime could be a monster, and you think you’d love him anyway. You wouldn’t have a choice. 

So you pluck at the envelope and tuck it close, making your way to your room without another glance at either of your parents. Sitting cross legged atop your bed, you eagerly scan the contents;

He hates the new therapist. They had a movie night planned, but some asshole started a fight and the whole thing got cancelled. The food’s still shit. He’s fed up and pissed off, whether he behaves or not, they won’t let him out and they won’t give him what he wants, so what’s the point in pretending?

The both of you turn twelve in ten days time – you owe it to him to come spend it together. 

—

‘Maybe it’s for the best, sweetheart.’

Dismissive. She’s always dismissive. Your hands curl in response, tightening before you force yourself to flex them out and bite your tongue. It’s not worth the fight. Neither one of them actually care, and nothing you say will ever change that. 

He’s angry at you. Or hurt. Both, probably. 

They wouldn’t let you visit. You’d begged – cried, even – and it hadn’t swayed them. The rules are that you aren’t allowed to go and see Hajime and you aren’t allowed to talk to him on the phone. The letters are the only communication you have, and when your twelfth birthday comes and goes, those stop too.

You’ve sent four letters since, no response. 

He’s shut you out entirely and while you can’t blame him for it, it’s painful.

You’ve always had Hajime, through everything. Him shutting you out feels like losing a limb– 

No, it’s more than that. It’s like slowly losing some vital function inside of you. Like your lungs are shutting down and you can’t breathe properly and your heart isn’t pumping the way it should. You feel guilty and horrible and at least twice, you debate trying to find a way to sneak out and make the two hour journey on your own, just so you can see him.

It’s a stupid idea, they wouldn’t even let you through the front door, but it’s the only idea you have and so you cling to it.

You keep writing to him– panicked. Desperate. Begging his forgiveness. 

He never writes back.

—

They sit you down at breakfast three months after your fourteenth birthday and tell you Hajime’s gone.

There was another fight, someone pushed him–

You don’t want to hear the details. They don’t matter and your ears are ringing too loud to make sense of them anyway.

Hajime is gone.

The cord between you was stretched and fraying already. He hadn’t written in over two years and probably hated you towards the end but he– he was–

Yours. A part of you. 

Gone.

And your mother’s asking about the English test you have second period. 

—

“What. Did. I. Say?” Each word is slowly enunciated, a quiet growl that drags an unwilling shiver down your spine. 

He smells of wood – of cedar, spice and musk, the notes melding, coiling with the dizzying body heat, the solid weight of him, bracing himself above you.

His lips are mere inches from yours. 

Not dead. 

Here.

There’s a thousand thoughts racing through your head, connections that light up, clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle, painting a deeply unsettling picture – all of which are drowned out by the revelation that Hajime is here.

You burst into tears–

and Hajime – your brother, very much alive and glaring at you from above – surges down to swallow them in a vicious kiss.

The moment your lips touch, all the tension in his body just… bleeds out. Hajime groans, low and heated, his hips rocking, grinding along your stomach, and if you weren’t too preoccupied short circuiting, dangling on the precipice of a panic attack, you’d feel the twitch of his mouth, curling into a small but no less satisfied smirk.

He relaxes, like he’s coming home rather than returning from the dead to land the killing blow.

“Mine,” he answers his own question, breath heavy and ragged as his teeth nip at your jaw. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

The scratches on the wall. Kaori and Koji and Takashi, asleep in a sea of red. The viscous mess spilled over your belly. Your mother’s hushed voice, carrying down the hallway, ‘– only a phase. The books all say he’ll grow out of it before long.’

She hadn’t sounded convinced. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out as more tears spill into your hairline. Hajime won’t let you. He groans your name into the shell of your ear and licks at the tears as they fall. “Don’t,” he warns, fingers pressing tightly around your wrists ‘til they shoot back open with a gasp, “don’t you dare check out.”

When he rucks up your shirt to find you sans bra and a warm palm slides up to grope the soft, supple skin, a fresh burst of panic spurs you into action. Pinned under his weight as you are, you can’t move, and the idea of trying to physically fight him off is as laughable as it is terrifying – but when you were younger, you were the one – the only one – who could coax Hajime back from the edge, your hand in his.

Until he leapt from it entirely, and they took him away.

“H-Hajime?” A trembling, hiccuping whimper, thick with tears.  

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause – shuffling down your body to mouth at them instead – but hooded, simmering pools of green flick back up to your face, a hum of acknowledgement rumbling in his chest as he nips and sucks pretty, burgundy blooms across your breasts.

“I-if you ever loved me, even a little… Please, Haji– don’t hurt me like this–” you choke on another sob, pathetic mess that you are.

Hajime goes preternaturally still, eyes boring into you. 

You stare right back, fighting the urge to cower and flinch, to turn your cheek and stare at the discarded dumpling wrappers, letting him take what he wants. Praying that he won’t hurt you too badly if you give it to him without a fight.

Because it will hurt, you think. It’ll break you entirely. 

(Are you not already broken?)

When his head drops, you can’t help it – the sharp, terrified hitch in your breath – but his lips meet your forehead, then each cheek, before finally they brush over your lips with a tenderness he has no right to. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he vows, cradling the side of your jaw, “I won’t hurt you, ever.”

But that’s a lie, too.

“I love you more than anything.”

He kisses you again, soft and sweet and gentle, as if those promises weren’t sewn from violence and legitimised in blood. As if he isn’t breaking your heart with every sweep of his tongue, plundering your mouth.

There’s no fight in you left when he reaches for the waistband of your sweats and slowly starts easing them down. You don’t claw and shove when the hold on your wrists loosens and then disappears entirely, both hands needed to strip away his clothes. 

The sound of his belt buckle clinking, the soft hiss of a zipper, they wash over you, white noise lost to the pounding in your ears. 

But you don’t look away.

He strokes his cock – long and thick and flushed to the tip –  crawling up the mattress to kneel between your legs like a supplicant before an altar of the divine. 

Devotion demands sacrifice. 

“It killed me,” he starts, dragging the mushroom head along the slit of your pussy. He frowns a little, leans back and spits – a fat glob of saliva landing dead centre, adding to the mess his weeping cock’s already made. “When the letters stopped coming. I was angry, so fucking angry, all the time. I’d lash out and they’d put me in another cage, and I’d do it again, and again. They tried convincing me you’d moved on,” his eyes flash darkly, “which was bullshit. They’d have to carve me out of you with a knife.”

What shocks you isn’t the violent imagery, but the truth of it settling into your bones, inescapable and undeniable; you’ll always love your brother, even if that very love destroys you.

“I didn’t–”

The first thrust rips a strangled yelp from your throat. 

He’s too big, you’re not prepared to take him – and Hajime doesn’t care. His head tips back, shuddering out a breathy laugh. 

There’s no pause, no period of grace, seated deep inside of you, the walls of your pussy hugging him tight, Hajime won’t allow you a second to catch your breath and wait for the burning sting to abate. His hips draw back until only the throbbing head of his cock remains inside, and, upon grabbing a leg to hitch over his shoulder, uses it as leverage to punch forward, stuffing your tight little cunt to the brim.

The pace he sets is brutal from the outset. Bruising. He licks at your tears between kisses and moans when you clench and shudder around him. “Never again,” he pants into your ear. “I’ll kill them all if you leave. Every last fucking one. You’re mine. Mine.”

And you’d think it cruel, a punishment, if not for the way those green eyes burn. 

When his fingers twine with yours, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there, you wonder if this was always an inevitability. 

Hajime led and you followed, hand in bloody hand. 

He’d never allow anything less.

[cazshmere]

Some of my favorite synastry aspects and house overlays that I’ve experienced <3

materialist🔖

DISCLAIMER: These are just my personal observations and are meant for entertainment purposes only; it may not resonate with everyone due to the nuances of astrology. Please respect my work and avoid copying or stealing it. Enjoy reading!! 🎀✨

🎀 mercury trine mercury synastry - OMG mercury synastry is SO SO important when it comes to both friendships and relationships. I have a sag mercury and whenever I talk to other fire sign mercury’s, I feel SO heard and seen fr😭, they genuinely match my freak (mentally). Not a single dull moment with these people ����🫶🏻

🎀 mars in the 1st house synastry (esp when I’m the house person) - okay now HEAR ME OUT😭🙏, yes the mars person can be super ANNOYING but for some reason I enjoyed them annoying me 💀💀💀 does that make sense? It was them irritating me and me pretending to be annoyed but secretly turning away and smiling/blushing cause I lowkey enjoyed it😭👀. Playful bullying core fr

🎀 sun opposite sun synastry - okay this is not everyone’s cup of tea cause it probably depends on the sign but as a sag sun I LOVE gemini sun’s (mostly the women, the men are uh…💀) anyway my best friends are all gemini’s and I absolutely love and adore them🫶🏻🫶🏻😌

🎀 mercury in the 1st house synastry - okay this synastry felt so awkward and comfortable at the same time😭😭. It took ages for me to talk to this person but when we did speak it was sooooooo easy. Also somehow we always accidentally bump into each other or touch each other 💀

🎀 mercury in the 6th house synastry - there’s something very comforting in knowing that this person will be consistent in your life. Talking to them daily will definitely become a habit and they’re literally a part of your routine and you can feel like your day isn’t complete without talking to them😭🩵

🎀 mercury in the 8th house synastry - oh my this synastry was really really good, the house person understood me inside and out and that was scary and comforting at the same time. I had this with my ex and he knew me a bit TOO well which got concerning honestly 💀💀. But either way I could happily express my point of view and never feel stupid or dumb to share stuff with him and he always understood and reciprocated my energy.

🎀 mars opposite moon synastry - goddamn😭 this synastry is spicy for sure🥵👀. Lot of banter and arguments for “fun” (I blame my aries moon for enjoying this synastry lol). I had this with one of my classmates and he would try to tease and annoy me for no reason, we always butted heads💀. Also there’s a lot of jealousy involved in this synastry but hey it was exciting so🤭😋

🎀 venus trine mars synastry - come on everyone knows how attractive this synastry is! trines are obviously not as intense but the attraction is OBVIOUS, you can’t NOT notice each other! Lots of eye contact too😋. They might not be your usual type but you still find them attractive nonetheless 🤭👀

should I post my least favourite synastry aspects and overlays next?😋 lmk

pic and banner credits : @/heavenurl

© cazshmere 2024 [All Rights Reserved]

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 3

Masterpost

Content warning: This chapter involves depiction of a train derailment and subsequent fire throughout. There is also brief mention of death. I will be putting a brief summary in the description if you prefer not to read this part.

Danny jolts up from his fitful sleep. He’s intangible and invisible before he’s even fully sitting up and he’s in the air before he registers the loud boom that woke him. Any concerns about his bright transformation are made totally irrelevant by the warning sirens blaring in his head.

Wait, no. Those are real sirens.

In the distance, lights are now accompanying the sirens; flashing as they speed down what looks like main street. It’s pretty clear where they’re going too, from the violent orange glow cascading over the tops of the nearby buildings.

I knew it, Danny thinks, flying towards whatever disaster is unfolding. probably it’s stupid to get involved, when he still knows so little about this place, but- well, old habits die hard. It doesn’t take long for the problem to become obvious, and Danny freezes as he struggles to process the scene before him.

The metal carnage is nothing like Danny’s ever seen before; what looks to be a freight train has derailed at the worst possible location, sending its cars careening into the various apartment buildings and stores on the east side of town, and to make matters worse, one of them has clearly crashed straight into the gas station by the freeway, and fire is spreading faster than Danny could have imagined.

Danny can already see two buildings blazing, but he quickly focuses his attention towards the carnage of the train itself. Luckily it’s fairly obvious what direction it was headed, and Danny moves fast, looking for the engine. In ghost form, physical sensations always feel a little more distant but even through that, Danny can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest. Luckily it takes less than a minute to find the engine, but as he approaches it, the presence of death catches in his throat, and he immediately knows it’s a lost cause.

He can’t sense any actual ghosts, though, so instead Danny whips around to stare at the derailed cars. He’s far more used to fighting than he is rescues, but he can hardly just ignore the possibility of people trapped, so he carefully begins phasing through the wreckage, searching and listening for signs of anyone. Already, people are starting to gather outside; both those who were nearby and those who have managed to escape on their own, and Danny is careful to maintain his invisibility as he works. 

Danny’s made it through about half the wreck by the time he spots the firetrucks arriving, he’s pretty certain that nobody’s trapped under any of the cars, and he’s also thinking more clearly. The fire has also gotten worse now, and Danny watches as fully equipped firefighters spill out onto the street, already jumping to work as the fire chief shouts out orders. Some rush to start battling the flames, but others head towards the crowd.

They’re getting headcounts, Danny realizes. It seems so obvious in retrospect, but of course, Danny would have to be visible to check with anyone. And now that they’re here, anything he tries to do in secret would probably just make things harder. There is, of course, an easy solution to that, but- Danny has yet to find any evidence that all the meta stuff is anything but propaganda.

Even as Danny considers the dilemma, he knows what he’s going to do. He’s survived danger before, after all, and if he can keep people from assuming ghost, then he’ll have an advantage on them even if it comes to the worst. Besides, there’s that whole great powers-great responsibility thing, so in a way, it’s kind of his responsibility...

Danny floats out of the wreckage before shifting into visibility, figuring it’s probably polite to approach in their field of sight.

“What can I do to help?” Danny asks, causing most of the crowd to stare in shock. Belatedly he realizes he’s still floating, but actually that’s probably a good thing. Makes it clear he’s a meta right off the bat, at least

“New hero, huh? Powerset?” The man responds promptly, leveling Danny with an even gaze. Probably the lack of shock is a good thing. Probably.

“Uh, flight obviously, enhanced strength as well, and um... The ability to turn people and things intangible?” Danny responds promptly. It’s far from his full set, but he figures those are the most relevant, and keeping most of his tricks under his sleeve makes him feel better about what he’s doing.

“Is the fire gonna hurt you? I’m not sending some kid in there to die of third degree burns or smoke inhalation.” The man frowns, giving Danny the distinct feeling he’s not particularly impressed with Danny’s answer.

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’ll be fine! I like, don’t exactly need to breathe? And I’m fine in extreme heat too, so it shouldn’t be a problem...” Danny trails off and the head firefighter narrows his eyes as he tries not to flinch at the assessing look. To Danny’s right, someone shouts and when he turns to look, he sees a firefighter wave their arm and plant some kind of flag before moving on. No longer paying attention to Danny, the chief walks over and speaks to another firefighter. Danny wonders if he’s been dismissed, but before he can do anything, the chief calls out to him.

“Alright kid, you’re up, I guess,” he says, when Danny walks over. “We don’t know how injured he is, so do not move him, but if you’re strong enough to move this stuff fast and safe, that’ll be a damn good help.” He gestures to the twisted mess that Danny’s pretty sure was the edge of a building. 

Danny nods, stepping forward to examine the rubble. The firefighter that spotted the man points to a couple beams.

“Those beams are protecting him from the worst of it right now, but we’ll need to move them in order to get him out, so you gotta make sure that there’s nothing that’ll fall on him him when you move them.” 

“Righty-o,” Danny says, stepping forward to grab the two support beams he’d pointed too. He carefully examines the rubble collapsed around and over it. It’s sort of like a puzzle, he realizes - not quite the same as fixing his parents tech; certainly nothing here is supposed to be smashed together like that, but-

Danny blinks and refocuses. If he  just moves a few things first, he thinks he can get enough cleared away and just intange the beams. He tries to be fast as he does, without forgetting the emphasis the chief had put on safety, and after a few moments, he’s ready to move the beams. He gets into a good position, and then carefully makes them intangible, ready to react if anything bad happens. When nothing does, he carefully pulls them up and away, watching as the waiting firefighters rush in and start to work on actually extracting the guy.

He watches for a bit as a backboard appears and they begin a very slow and careful process of getting the guy onto it.

“Kid,” the chief calls, pulling Danny’s attention away.The chief guides him towards one of the buildings that’s on fire. “Got two people trapped on the third floor here. The stairs are unsafe, so if you can, get yourself up there, locate them, and get them out.”

Danny nods, not waiting for further instruction. He flies up two floors, and goes straight through the wall with his intangibility. The majority of this building isn’t terribly damaged, but one side has collapsed in on itself so if that’s where the stairs were, he can understand the difficulty. The air inside is already thick with smoke, and he quickly stops breathing, belatedly remembering that he’s supposed to not get smoke inhalation. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to catch the sound of voices, and Danny follows it to a room where two people are huddled next to an open window. Right, that’s a smart way to limit the danger of the smoke.

“Rides here!” Danny announces cheerfully, dropping his intangibility. Both people startle as they spot him, but one recovers relatively quickly.

“Him first,” they say, nodding towards their companion, who definitely looks more dazed.

“Right, here we go!” Danny says, stepping forward, and scooping the person up, and wasting no time flying directly through the building, and down to the waiting paramedics. There’s no stretcher currently available, so Danny gently sets them on the ground away from the worst of the smoke, before flying back to get the other person. They’re already standing up, and waste no time in wrapping their arms around his neck as he picks them up and flies them out to the medics as well.

Danny hardly has time to set the person down, before the chief is pulling him away again. They send him in to save a couple other trapped people, but after that, it sounds like everybody is accounted for, because the chief starts focusing all their energy on putting out the fire, rather than just containing it.

Danny is surprised to find himself pulled into helping with this part too. He gets assigned to a fire attack team, and Danny trails along after the two firefighters as the enter the building and begin to fight the fire from the inside.Occasionally, one of them will point at some piece of wall or ceiling and ask him to check what’s on the other side. He goes where they say, looking for signs of the fire, and when he does spot flames, occasionally tearing stuff down so they can get to it with their fire hose. It’s honestly a fascinating process. Danny’s never been anywhere near a major fire and the fact that the firefighters actually do more damage to the building as they work echoes in Danny’s brain as a morbid refrain.

What they’re doing is clearly working though, because he can actually feel the ambient temperature going down as time goes on. He briefly wonders if he should be trying to use his ice powers when one of his teammates complains about how hot it is, but they have protection, and he doesn’t want to risk any more info on him getting out. And anyways, he’s busy enough just doing his job. By the time they leave the building, Danny is exhausted. The interrupted night’s sleep is making itself known, alongside the surprising realization that Danny has actually worked harder tonight than he ever has before.

He lets himself half-collapse against a wall beside one of the fire trucks, once they finish their work putting out the fire. Beside him, his teammates are divesting themselves of their gear. it’s funny, Danny was anxious about revealing himself at first, but this whole night - and Danny belatedly realizes the sun is beginning to drift above the horizon now - he’s not been scared at all. Sure he’s been worried; with people in danger he’s hardly going to feel good, but in the last few hours he’s both worked harder than he has in any of his fights, and he’s done it without feeling terrible. Now, with just everyone accounted for and just about all of them either fine or in the hands of doctors, he feels odd.

It’s not a bad feeling or anything, kind of like when he successfully beats a hard level in a video game, or how he used to feel when he finished science projects in middle school.

Satisfaction, he realizes. And that’s what it is, though it’s far stronger than any version of it that he’s ever felt before. He does have a lot to feel proud of too. He  helped, even though he wasn’t sure it was safe to, and he might’ve actually saved somebody’s life tonight.

“You did good, kid.” One of his teammates says, echoing Danny’s thoughts. He startles a bit, feels himself flushing, and then in his embarrassment, he feels himself tumble over into a full blush. It’s always felt more embarrassing blushing in his ghost form. The way his skin actually glows with the green tinge is just so obviously inhuman, and he tries to avoid, tries his best to seem normal and alive, even when he’s a ghost.

Of course, these people don’t know he’s a ghost, but from what he’s seen, most of the heroes out there at least look functionally human, and he waits for the firefighters around him to freak out at the reminder that he isn’t even remotely one of them.

“Damn,” one whistles. Green glow is a new one. Makes your freckles real cute though.” The others laugh, and the other of his teammates steps forward to pat him gently on the back.

“Stop embarrassing my new favorite hero,” the chief says, walking up to join them. “You gotta name?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Danny answers, desperate for a distraction from this line of conversation. “I’m Danny!”

“Danny,” the chief responds flatly. he almost sounds exasperated, though Danny can’t imagine why, unless...

Unless that absolutely sounds like he just introduced himself normal and they think he’s a hero and he sounds like a dumbass without a secret identity, which- technically isn’t exactly wrong. 

“Yup!” Danny says, trying to make it sound intentional. “Danny Phantom at your service! Y’know cause of the intangibility and like. It just sounded good?” There. That sounds plausible. If he actually does end up having to be a hero, though, he’ll probably need a different first name. If he gets a civilian identity, that is.

“Well, Phantom,” the chief grins, that same assessing look from before back, but noticeably more relaxed now that there’s no immediate danger. “We’re damn grateful for all your help, and if you need anything you come let us know, alright?”

“Yeah, one of his teammates echoes. “You’re an honorary firefighter now, you should come hang out at the station sometime!” A couple of the others echo the sentiment. It’s surprisingly kind, and Danny smiles at the unrelenting wave of welcome.

“I’ll think about it,” he offers uncertainly. “For now, I think I ought to go back to sleep for a few more hours.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Danny,” the chief says. “Just make sure to get something to eat first. You’ve burned a lot of calories today.”

“Yeah, will do,” Danny offers an awkward salute to the man, and then, before he can actually fall asleep standing up, he takes off to hunt down a good spot for a nap.

[mcondance]

listen…hear me out…i’m imagining stu falling for a real sweet girl but this girl is like yuck i know your reputation playboy and since he’s obsessed with the chase he’s really gunning for it maybe even calling her as ghostface, getting her scared just so stu can swoop in and be like awh poor baby here i’ll keep you safe <3 big mean ghostface can’t get ya when im around

we should form a collaboration. (this got so long anon. i blame you. 18+) this idea has my brain turning like it gets him going so bad to scare you and then be able to come back and be your savior. it appeases the side of him that likes the chase, and the side of him that likes being in control. i think they’re both linked to his need for dominance and his sadistic nature so this is a win win for him.

you know him through sidney’s boyfriend billy, but you’ve never said more than a couple of words to each other outside of the friend group. aware of his reputation, your answer to his question is easy.

you tell him no, that you wouldn’t touch him with a 3-and-a-half foot pole. (he responds in typical stu fashion. he slaps a hand over his chest, expressing how hurt he is by your rejection, a knowing smile etching across his face.)

and so begins the chase. you turn him down over and over again, inviting sidney to the dates he asks you on, saying that the movie he wants to see with you just isn’t your taste— even if he knows he heard you talking to sid about how you wanted to see it just the week before, stupid little excuses to avoid everything he asks you.

he doesn’t mind. your rejections of his advances let him feel the way he does when he’s shrouded in that fearful black cloak, coming up with more and more ways to get you.

he keeps his distance— ghostface, that is. stu doesn’t want to scare you yet. with occasional phone calls that he directs to more people than just you, he lets you off easy, makes it seem like it’s just random.

but he’s getting a little anxious, and he’s always been impatient. he wants you.

billy and sidney are out of town for the weekend. and you’re terrified, more and more people close to you have been turning up dead. you resort to asking stu to stay with you for the weekend.

if he gets you to fuck him while he’s “protecting” you from ghostface? god he’d feel so good. he never forgets his alter ego, the slasher that terrifies your sleepy little town, but playing as your loving, caring little “friend” is fun too. he thinks you’re kinda stupid, to let him stay over at your house under the guise of keeping you safe.

you’d changed into your house clothes when you both got to your house, telling him not to touch anything while you were gone. when you came out he was in a t shirt and shorts, and he looked awfully good.

you’d let him have some of your snacks, throwing a bag of hot chips at him and perching on the other end of the living room sofa. you’d turned on some long ass video essay, and he actually found it sort of interesting, quizzing you on what certain stuff meant before you got tired and wanted to sleep.

he thinks, maybe you do have a thing for him. why else would you let a freak like him stay over? whatever the case may be, he’s here. in your pretty pink and white bedroom, he almost scoffs at the softness of it all.

“‘s cute.”

“yeah. i put blankets and shit on the couch. you sleep there.”

his lanky body barely fits on the small chair, but he knows he won’t be there too long, so he doesn’t complain.

the blanket you gave him smells like you, and he basks in it. your room is silent, for a while. in the darkness, your mind gets to you and you’re so scared even with stu right there.

“stu,” you whisper.

“yeah?”

“can you come sleep over here? i’m scared.”

there it is.

“yeah, ‘f course.” he feigns genuine sympathy, though you’re smarter than that and no matter how hard he tries, there’s always a sliver of depravity peeking through his words.

you scoot from the middle of your bed to the one side, lifting the covers up to let stu take the other side. too terrified to even get smart with him, you welcome him into your bed.

what a terrible mistake you’ve made.

in the light streaming through your windows, he looks gorgeous, blue eyes gazing softly at your worried expression.

“hey,” he starts, reaching out to rest his hand on your shoulder. you don’t shrink away. you’re frozen. “i got you. promise i’ll keep you safe.”

he’s full of shit. but it works.

“can you just. . just hold me. don’t make it weird.” you scoot closer to him.

“i won’t. come ‘ere.”

shifting, you move until your back is pressed to his front. he wraps his arms around you, cradling you and your fragile psyche in the palm of his hand.

“d’you think he’ll try and come for me?” you ask him.

“i dunno. but i promise i’ll do everything i can t’keep you safe.”

god, he impresses himself sometimes.

“thank you.” you whisper, the words stuck in your throat.

“no problem.” you can feel him looking at you, can see him out of the corner of your eye.

with his arms wrapped around you, all the feelings you’ve gained for him over the past weeks come to a head. he’s warm behind you, and he’s holding you just tight enough.

you twist around to where you can see him, and if you were standing your knees would have buckled from his gaze.

“if i let you kiss me, would you promise not to make it weird?”

“promise.”

“okay,” you breathe. and you kiss him.

what a terrible, terrible mistake you’ve made.

it all goes so fast from there. one kiss turns into many and you’re turning around so you can face him all the way.

he’s got you on your back and his hand down your shorts before you know it. his lithe fingers toy with you, his mouth swallows every single one of your sounds, his body provides you comfort, a distraction from the murderer desecrating your safe town.

you come for him. you make a mess on his fingers, the ones he knows are soaked with blood. he could almost shout from how elated he is to have you wrapped around his fingers.

over you he moves, pulled by his collar on top of you and to your lips again. he wants to be smug about it, to note the lack of 3-and-a-half feet between you two, but he doesn’t.

instead, he kisses you like a normal boy would kiss a girl he liked. instead, he professes his protection when you make him promise again.

instead, he kisses you through the stretch of him entering you. “‘s okay, you got it. doin’ so good.” he could blow his load now, at the sight of you in pain and pleasure, at the sound of your hisses and deep breathes.

he slides home. inches deep inside you and even farther in your mind, he fucks both. he’s done this before, fucked a girl in a show of devotion that she’ll fawn over, a false bridge of vulnerability that he inwardly laughs at. it brings him satisfaction he can only get one other way.

you feel safe. safe as he pushes his hips against yours, his cock kissing and sliding against every electric spot inside you. his hand is warm on your cheek, cupping your face and the other is firm on your hip. you whine with each rock into you, body tingling, ears prickling as he groans in your ear. sounds he’s only ever heard on the other end of the phone.

with slow, calculated moves he makes you come again, and god it feels good. in the back of your mind you’re embarrassed, cause all it took was being afraid for your life and stu got you where you know he wanted you.

but stu’s been in this situation enough times to know what comes next, and how to prevent it. it’s easy, kissing you before you have the chance to keep thinking and fucking you to another orgasm.

it happens again the next night. battered and paranoid, you’re being played into his arms and you don’t even know it. you’re embarrassed about it, but in your clouded mind it feels genuine. it feels like stu really cares. at first it didn’t, but now that he’s still coming around even after he got you in bed, maybe he does care.

sidney comes home and stu goes back to his and billy's place. you think you can calm down with sidney back and stu and billy coming over occasionally. you let stu stay the night in your room sometimes, and he gets what he wants from you again.

your neighbor's killed. what the fuck, when will this end? this time, stu comes over, and he stays. you can't sleep a night without him. you think you're being targeted. the only time you feel peace is when stu's fucking your mind away. you’re reliant on him. in his absence all you feel is fear.

the phone calls continue, and stu’s there to answer them, telling whoever’s on the other end to go fuck themself. again, he plays you into his arms. “don’t think about him. think about me.” he tells you, guiding your face from the phone beside your bed to his, and he lets you close the gap. he likes letting you make the first move. it fills him with pride at his psychotic deception, the way he’s turned you into exactly what you said you’d never be.

he thinks about sneaking out to don the cloak, showing up at your doorstep just to see the horror in your eyes. he resigns to dialing your number when you’re out, calling you and listening to your voice as you realize who’s on the other line. he follows you out sometimes and watches your paranoid moves, blood coursing hot through his body every time you look over your shoulder.

at your house, he comforts you when you crumple into his arms, suggests that maybe, you shouldn’t go anywhere without him. you accept.

god, what have you become. if you’re not full of stu then you’re full of terror, and he takes pleasure being the bearer of both of these things. you belong to him, your thoughts, your body, your feelings, it all belongs to him.

he loves to hear you go over his and billy’s crimes over and over again, lives for the disgust and fear in your voice when you recount the murders. he could probably get off to it, to your sad little words. and at night, he revels in being the only one that can make you feel okay.

you’ve become the perfect victim, and he didn’t even have to flash his knife. maybe he’ll keep you around.

[ghostgirl-22]

https://www.tumblr.com/ghostgirl-22/767591680266436608/vibratoranon-you-made-me-write-this-too-for-some?source=share

Okkkk pls tell me I'm not the only one who wanted this to turn into a lil locker room gang bang... just slutty suggestible Art getting so riled up by the teasing touches of his team mates he finds himself bent over the bench being used in both holes.

Patrick just there watching the whole thing knowing he controls Art's orgasm. It's his cock that'll make his girl squirt back in their dorm and that's it.

Thoughts?

(love your writing so much you're so talented oml 💖)

Nope, you were not the only one my darling 💫

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Explicit

—-

Patrick knows Art.

How silly he gets when boys want him. When boys really, really fucking want him. Surprisingly it happens all the time. Maybe it’s all the all boys dorm, all the hormones. Close quarters. And Art’s always been pretty. Tall and blonde, baby blue eyes, long lashes with his boy next door charm and stupid little know it all smirk. The kinda stuff wet dreams are made out of.

Patrick starts it actually. Right after practice. Arts pulling his socks up over his calves and Patrick starts teasing him in front of everyone in the locker room. Touching his legs and asking why they’re so soft and hairless.

“They really are soft,” another boy chimes in, smirking and stealing a touch.

“And pale,” one more teammate says.

“Do you shave them? They’re so smooth like a girl,” Another boy laughs.

“No, no I don’t… stop it,” Art pushes them off and they’re off to the races. The touching leads to playing with his hair, leads to asking if he’s smooth anywhere else, everywhere else. Art starts flushing as the rest of the boys pile on. They start teasing and touching and then it's easy. So easy.

He goes mindless so fast from the attention. Boys, half naked, playing with him and he’s sitting there—chewing on his hoodie strings, eyes all soft, wetting his lips on every other word. Not even aware he’s doing it.

Patrick gets so fucking hard watching him. It’s why he did it in the first place.

He knows he’s not the only one. Half the boys in school already want to fuck him. Though if Patrick pointed that out (when Art wasn’t cockstupid) he would just laugh and say “you just think everyone wants to fuck me.”

He doesn’t have the intuition for this kinda thing the way Patrick does. Didn’t even understand why he’d get so hard for the teasing.

Even so Patrick doesn’t expect it.

He’s chatting with one of their teammates, Jesse, laughing about something that happened at a party over the weekend. He’s got an eye on Art. Always has an eye on Art. Especially when he’s in this state. Jesse follows his gaze and leans in whispering… “He’s too pretty right? Like girl pretty.”

Patrick smirks, tilting his head to the side, so he can stare at Art properly. “I dunno.”

The locker room has mostly cleared but for Patrick, Art, Jesse and a couple of other guys, Craig and Justin, who are still teasing Art while he’s leaning up against the locker. Art is flirting. Always flirting. Silly, slutty, mindless, flirting. He can’t turn it off.

One of the boys has his fingers in Arts hair. One with hands on his waist.

“You know you should probably let me kiss you,” Patrick can hear Craig say. Arts all flushed, glassy eyes and stammering as Craig leans in, taking his mouth. Justin starts rubbing Art through his shorts.

“Mm shit, you’re so hard, aren’t you?” Justin says quietly.

Patrick feels something in his brain start to malfunction. Getting stuck on this image.

Holy fuck.

The teasing has never ever gone this far.

Art is whiny through the kissing. “I think I’m…” He looks around breathlessly when Craig lets up for a minute. He looks like he’s trying to find some kind of semblance of control but he can’t focus. Can’t stop letting them touch him. Hands everywhere. Lips all over him. Fingers in his mouth on his body, under his hoodie. Even as Justin starts grinding up against him. He’s pushing back. Dizzy, drunk with need.

Patrick can feel his dick growing achingly hard along his pant leg.

Craig pulls Art down on the bench, onto his lap, Art’s moving his hips before he’s even on him properly. Its like they’re already fucking but they’ve still got clothes on. “You should come to my room. Sleep in my bed.” Craig says, biting, kissing, touching while Justin is kissing Art’s mouth.

Art groans, riding against whatever Craig is giving him. Patrick can’t help but wonder if its big.

“Jesus,” Jesse sighs next to Patrick. Patrick can see that he’s also visibly aroused. “He’s so…”

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees.

“What about you?” Jesse whispers. “You ever fuck him, Zweig? You ever fuck your roommate?”

Patrick rubs his palms along his thighs, over his dick (yes, yes, fuck yes, but only after years of breaking, breaking, and breaking through sexual tension, is what he doesn’t say). He takes a deep breath and shrugs picking up his water bottle. “What do you think?” He asks, biting down on the cap.

“Of course you did.” Jesse says, lightly. “Better question, can I fuck him?” He asks.

Patrick smirks. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because… everyone knows he belongs to you.”

Patrick thinks he’s gonna lose his mind.

He’s not mad or angry or jealous. Just suddenly so… so hungry. He gets up from the bench seat to grab his stuff out of his locker. “Art are you ready?” He asks, like Art’s not two steps away from letting their teammates use both of his holes to slut him out properly.

For whatever reason his words register for Art. “Mm Patrick?” He looks up, empty headed, still settled on Craig’s lap. “I can’t find my…” he trails off, hopeless.

“I know,” Patrick says.

“And I’m all…” Art shivers as Patrick helps him to his feet.

“I know. Come on,” Patrick says.

Craig is grinning at Patrick, he tries to grab at Art’s leg one more time. “You can come over whenever you want Donaldson,” he says.

“Anytime,” Justin agrees with a sigh, looking at his ass.

“I think I need to…to go home,” Art says, stumbling forward in his little adidas slides. Patrick steadies him.

And oh god is he a mess.

Hickeys blooming all over, sexed up hair in his eyes, lips pink and kiss swollen. Hoodie halfway unzipped, falling off his bare chest and shoulders. He starts biting idly at the sleeve of his hoodie, (fucking oral fixation) while Patrick grabs at it and zips him back up.

“Yeah sweetheart, you need to go home,” Patrick agrees, breathless, grabbing the fabric and pulling him close. “Hey look at me.”

Art’s gaze is cloudy but he tries to follow Patrick as much as he can.

“You can tease them all you want, fuck them if you need to, but I only want you to come for me okay?” He whispers in Art’s ear.

Art nods, still chewing on his sleeve and as brainless as he is right now Patrick thinks he gets it.

It happens the second they get back in the dorm room. Just inside the doorway and Art’s all over him. He wants to be fucked, fucked, fucked for real. They do it up against the wall, on the bed, till Patrick rolls over all sticky and wet with lube and spit and come.

Art is all lucid now. Getting ready to go clean up. Doesn’t say sorry, probably doesn’t even remember how he got so desperate he almost let his teammates fuck him raw in the locker room. He’s just sated and warm, barely any clothes on, socks sliding off his calves and laughing at some dumb movie on the television.

And yeah. Patrick thinks he’d probably die for him.

Blergh, I have to admit this was kinda difficult to write because I don’t think Patrick really wanted to share but these OCs got farther than most methinks! One day I’ll just go for it… full on gangbang for that blonde boy.

[xxiiam]

All caught up ! ☆

Wk - 3.6k I got carried away with the plot instead of the pron

Nerd!kento x Mean bimbo!reader | female reader | soft dom! Nanami | college au |

Note : my brain so rotted , need nerd bf starts to bite on the bars of my enclosure .. some conversation based off of irl stuff lwk lwk lwk starts to bite the walls 🤭

you never thought all that much about studying or being academically successful, smart wasn’t something people would describe you as. You weren’t too upset by this fact because everyone says , “college isn’t like high school bleh bleh bleh” , “this attitude will have to change in college meh meh meh”

Well that attitude got you to be the sorority president of Nu Zeta . Okay so did you actually give a fuck about popularity or being the Regina George? No … buttttt since the academics are lacking , being the president of the most popular sorority at college looks just as good on your resume… probably…

You majored in business but you didn’t know it would be such a sausage fest ! And don’t get started on the guys that are there . They’re in total nerds or like try hard wannabe jocks that never went D1 and try to impress you even though they tore their acl and are super insecure about it.

But one is different, normally the silent nerd types always seem to be the biggest manipulative , nasty , cheating SLUTSSS..but kento nanami .. he was different . You’d never share this admiration to his face because you don’t wanna inflate his ego . More than it probably already is because he’s a big nerd yeah but like he makes it sooooo hot ?????

The only chance you get to see him is class since like he’s a total recluse hermit type and doesn’t show up to parties..not that HE would ever be invited , but stillllll .

You’ve never spoken to him per say , a couple of snarky comments he might’ve heard but that’s it . Until , today you had to get a partner for a mock pretend business that you had to write about and do a PowerPoint on to be graded on and yadayadayadaaaa . You just figured your professor would put you with someone but he said to make things more interesting you had to pick someone who you would actually want to invest in a business with.

You assumed you’d just pick on of the minority of girls since girls stick together but then like a miracle from the higher above , you heard a man clear his throat behind you . “Excuse me , y/n” . A voice you didn’t hear often but you still swung your head around to listen to , then you locked eyes with the stoic , quiet , embarrassingly nerdy Kento Nanami. You raised your eyebrow , his face began to flush as your gaze burned into him . Clearly he didn’t think this through all the way. “I was just thinking..you know this project you will get an easy grade if you work with me since I practically get A’s on everything…like I have a 95% average”

The corners of your glossed lips began to curl into a smile , “are you trying to pitch yourself so I’ll work with you?” Your eyes fixated on his tired hazel eyes that were shielded by his stupid nerd glasses .. that made him really cute too. He furrowed his brow and stammered , “well, it’s just that to be a sorority president you have to keep on top with your grades so I wouldn’t want you to fall behind since you know you’re not the best academically” . You scoffed at him , “excuse me?” He nervously gripped at his desk with clammy hands , “no- that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to help. I can be of good use” . You grinned at him , “you want me to use you?” .

His eyes widened before he shook his head once more , “I meant in the context of-“ “whatever blondie, I can’t have you snoop around my sorority who knows what kind of pervert you are so I’ll just come to your place Friday night, yeah?” You smiled at him once more before pulling up your phone number and holding your phone up to him . To which he quickly scribbled down your number , pushing his glasses up , “Friday is good” he gave you a flushed half smile before you turned your back to him and collected your stuff and leaving your class. Isn’t he just the cutest?

As you sat around in the lounge with some of your sorority sisters your phone buzzed , normally notifications didn’t bother you since you’d hear the same buzz many times throughout the day . But the message on your screen peaked your interest.

unknown number : hey this is Kento Nanami, the one from your business class. You called me blondie. You might remember me as that.

You : omgggg blondie

Blondie : You can just say my name too..

You : nahhhh it’s better so people won’t know I associate with business nerds LOLLLLL

blondie : you don’t want to be associated with me? Should I not include my name on our project?

You : LOLLLL ur so cute I was jk

Blondie : I see, my mistake.

You : wtvvrrrr wyd rn blondie

Blondie : brainstorming ideas for our project and well studying. I don’t really do much else really.

You : show me send me ur snap

Blondie : snap?

You : snapchat? R u Amish do you not know what snap is?

Blondie : I don’t really use social media , haha .

You : could tell

You : make a Snapchat account!!!! I luv sending snaps it’s fun

Blondie : okay. I have made one , it is kento.nanami

You : kk !!!

You got so wrapped up in the conversation you even convinced this nerd to download Snapchat. You even giggled at how formal he texted , “what’re you laughing at y/n?? Are you watching insta reels?” One of your nosey sorority sisters asked as she pressed to your side wanting to watch Instagram reels with you , “nopee not right now lia I’ll send you some soon. I’m gonna go up to my room now see you all tomorrow” .

Being president of the sorority meant that you got the privilege of having a bedroom to yourself . You wouldn’t mind sharing but it meant having a guy over would be a million times more difficult . Luckily since you don’t have to share means that any male suitors can get down and dirty with you in private.

You slumped down onto your bed and awaited as Mr Kento Nanami to get off of his high horse and add you back !!!

Your phone buzzed once more..

Kento added you as a friend!

You rushed to your phone and began typing telling him to show you his plans . This was really an excuse to see if he would send any snaps of him .. in his room … with his stupid glasses on.. shirtless?

Kento sent you a snap

And it was just a photo of his hand pointing to his own personal whiteboard in his room .. point…his hand . Indirect hand pic , tut tut tut kento nanami the man you are. The sleeves of his white button down shirt rolled up to his elbows , veins decorating his arm in a subtle manner. His forearms filled out his shirt nicely , you began to wonder how well his biceps did too. Your eyes were fixated on the screen , day dreaming . Does he think it’s weird that you left him on open for so long? Why do you care?

You snapped him back a photo of you laying on your bed , sticking out the tip of your tongue at the camera . Like snaps that you send to your sorority sisters . he left you on opened for a minute , is he analyzing your snap too?

Opened for ten minutes .

Okay , maybe you were a bitch and said snarky things when he was in earshot BUT TEN MINUTES ARE YOU SHITTING ME? You sighed and began snapping the other boys on your phone hoping they’d entertain you for the night.

By the time Friday rolled around , you and Kento had talked like twice and messaged like once . You weren’t that big of a bitch were you? WHY WAS HE TOTALLY IGNORING YOU? You kept yourself busy with your presidency plans and planning darties and regular parties . After class when walking out you saw the same blonde man standing there , was he waiting for you?

“BLONDIE HEY” you said in a singsong tone but still very loudly it looked like it had startled him , he pushed his glasses up with his thumb and middle finger, he half smiled at you yet again . He proceeded to walk over to you , “do you wanna ride?” . “On college campus? Blondie you’re dirrrttttyyy” you grinned and began to laugh at your own joke , he looked away and shook his head , “no no I meant to my apartment..so we can work..on the project, our project..together?” . You had totally forgotten, “ohh yeah no totally, why don’t you live on campus in the dorms?” You said while you began to walk , “do you want me to walk five feet behind you or something?” He asked in a serious tone , you couldn’t help but laugh at him . “Are you serious , no blondie.. no one is even around , now hurry up and answer my question” . He took a few strides forward to begin walking next to you , “I don’t like dorms..people invading my space, I have a roommate but he has his own bedroom so I’m not too bothered. It’s just how I like things. You know?”

You rolled your eyes , you could’ve answered the question for him that’s how predictable it was , “yeah and you also just hate people that’s why you never text me” . He pushed his glasses up once more , “no..I just thought you didn’t want someone like me to text you because of like..reputation” . You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him yet again , “don’t be stupid blondie you seem pretty cool even if you are a loser virgin nerd”

“Loser virgin? I’m not-“ you put your hand to his face shushing him , “whatever whatever which one is your car blondie” he pulled out his keys and unlocked the white car in eye view , when walking in front of it he stopped before opening the door for you . Well mannered , smart , tall , polite . You could cream in your thong from just these interactions.

On the ride there you noticed kento kept his hand on his thigh whilst driving with one hand , you hand the urge to move it onto yours but that might weird him out . You wouldn’t want to scare him off .

The project you both managed to get through a significant amount , nowhere near done by any means but still a lot of work was done . By kento..mostly . You just sat on your phone for the majority and chimed in on any creative ideas he asked you for your opinion on . “Are you gonna help or just sit there or are you gonna actually help with any of the work?” Kento finally asked , anger bubbled in his tone but his stoic expression never wavered. You grinned , “no I like seeing you work , plus I wouldn’t be much help. I’d be more of a nuisance than help.. I’m not really good at stuff like this , talking presenting sure but actually doing the work is so bleh”

He hummed and his eyes darted around your face , “how about I teach you..an easy way to do things, it’ll be easy trust me” he motioned for you to sit closer , you were now shoulder to shoulder instead of sitting from across the table . This tension , it might not exist to him but to you .

YOU WANTED THAT DICK.

After a while things actually started to stick into your brain , things actually made sense when kento explained how to do everything to you , showing examples from his work to compare with yours . In comparison his notes were so detailed yet concise it made everything seem so easy . So simple. “See you can do it. I don’t see why you had such a negative outlook on it even though you hadn’t even tried yet” . Your face began to warm , he believed in you . He looked up from your work to your face , “blushing?” and this time you were rewarded with a full smile.

“N-no..I..I don’t-“ you stammered , while your face began to grow more red with embarrassment that he managed to get such a reaction out of you . Embarrassed by your childish reaction , to blush and stutter . The president of a sorority wouldn’t react like this by some loser nerd.

“Hm? Can’t get your words out?” The smile plastered on his face he was basically mocking you but why was it soooo sexy? You hid your face in your hands to hide from the embarrassment, “don’t hide I like seeing you like this..I don’t think many others get to see you in a state like this. It makes me feel good , plus you look cute like this” Kento’s babbles didn’t help much , you were still very embarrassed .

you kept your face hidden until you felt a pair of firm hands on your wrists pulling them from your reddened face . “I like this y/n…not the front that your sorority sees.. I like when you get shy . It makes you more human.” Your faces were inches apart , your breath hitched . “I don’t like you seeing me like this..makes me nervous you won’t see me the same” you admitted . He stared at you once more , he was contemplating.

“Would you slap me if I tried to kiss you?”

“…no”

His large hands moved to your face his lips crashing against yours . For some reason this felt right , a passionate kiss , something so rough by someone so quiet. This felt right . His nervous hands moved from your face to your waist , pulling you into his lap . His lips broke away from yours , he began to kiss down your jawline . “Sorry, just wanted you closer to me..needed you closer. Is this okay?” .

“I like it , stop worrying blondie I like when you take initiative like this” you said as your hands ran through his blonde hair . “ say my name” he said practically begging as he began to kiss your neck . “Kento..I want more..” you said not being able to look at him , the embarrassment of him getting you so flustered. No boy had ever gotten you so stupidly feral like this.

You just wanted him to rip your clothes off already. It’s almost like he could read your mind , your shirt was taken off so quickly but Kento latched his mouth back to your collarbone and he continued to kiss you. He wanted to get a good look at your assets but you finally looked down at him to notice that his glasses were all fogged up, his lips were swollen from kissing you and his cheeks were a cute pink color. He removed his glasses setting them on the table , “sorry, you’re just really pretty. I always thought it…can I take this off?” He asked nervously but you were too caught up staring at how attractive he actually was. Well you thought that yes , but his bone structure with his glasses off his face is so chiseled . But you thought the glasses made him look so much cuter.

He nervously took your bra off watching as your tits spilled out of it. His dusty pink cheeks intensified, “sorry for being so forward , I’m just really excited” but you shook your head at his apology , “I told you I like you taking initiative..I get nervous in situations like this, even if I try to hide it but, you make it impossible to hide it from” . He gave you that same smile , it made butterflies start to circulate your stomach like they were on a wash cycle . He hiked your skirt up and moved your thong aside before he began to separate your folds that were collecting an embarrassing amount of wetness , just from kento’s words and kisses . Is this really all that it took to get you this worked up?

His thick fingers began to slip inside you, even though you were so wet it didn’t distract from just how thick his fingers were . As they began to curl up inside you , you arched your back against the table . You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle your whimpers but kento just removed his fingers from you which made you start to clench around the sudden emptiness that left you shaking your head , “no no Kento I don’t want you to stop” you whined which made him smile , “then don’t cover your mouth I wanna hear how much you like it” . You nodded , “I will I promise I will” , “you’re so good aren’t you?” Which you nodded in response as his fingers returned inside you , the sounds of your moans and the sounds of kento finger fucking you. But the feeling of him hardening under you made you all the more desperate and you could tell he felt the same way.

“Are you gonna let me fuck you properly now princess?” He asked as he lifted you up onto the table that was still littered with your project and other pieces of paper he used to study with . “Ken- wait the project” you said gripping onto his broad shoulders , he shook his head , “I don’t care I can make up for it if it gets destroyed , I just care about you right now” he said like he was hungry , he rushed to unbuckle his belt . You laughed at how much he wanted it , how strange it was to you that someone wanted to have sex with you this much. Although you really hadn’t known each other that long , he wasn’t an immature boy . He was a man.

He lined himself up with your sopping wet hole that was practically begging to be fucked at this point , as he began to thrust inside you , you couldn’t help but squirm and wiggle around . Whatever thickness you thought you had experienced from his fingers only intensified with his dick . WHO KNEW NERDS WOULD BE SO HUNG

You were chanting his name like a mantra , your eyes fixed in the back of your head . Your tongue began to lol out of your mouth , kento grabbed your ankles and brought them to his shoulders so he could fuck you deeper . In all honesty you still weren’t adjusted to his sheer girth , you were sure he was leaving an imprint of the veins on his cock like a tattoo inside your cunt.

He grinned as he began to feel you pulsate around him , watching you struggle to take all of him made him want to watch your alter ego unravel more , the more he fucked himself into you. “I wonder how all those dumb jock frat boys would react knowing that you secretly love to be fucked by a..what was it that you called me?” .. he watched in awe as you struggled to even formulate simple structured sentences , “mmn- I..I called…mmn loser…mn..kento” you tried to speak but struggled to even think of what to say , he smiled , “so close princess , you called me a loser virgin”

You were wrong , no loser nor virgin could fuck you like this . How could this quiet boy secretly be able to fuck you so good , so good you might cum. Cum? What a man is actually gonna make you cum? But kento was smart he knew you were close so he put his thumb onto your clit making small circles it made your legs interlock tighter around kento , toes curling and everything . He made it seem so effortless , he knew exactly how to please you.

If soul mates were a thing, maybe he’d be yours.

NO

DONT THINK THAT

THE DICK CANT MAKE YOU THIS DELUSIONAL.

“It’s okay baby..just let it go cum on this dick I’ll take good care of you . None of those athletes or frat boys can make you feel this good can they?” He said softly but it was a complete juxtaposition of how much he was slutting you out . You couldn’t take it anymore , the knot in your stomach finally snapped and your the muscles in your legs began to tighten and vibrate . Leaving your legs shaking and tears streaming down your face , completely ruining the makeup you so desperately wanted to keep on. But kento stripped it all away everything you do desperately wanted to keep hidden from him he just managed to reveal everything about you.

Nerds weren’t so bad after all.

You were kinda glad you got caught up with one.

[ccrites]

chokehold

listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him

(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)

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The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.

It was predictable, really.

A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.

Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.

No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain. 

You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.

The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.

At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).

The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.

You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.

Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.

He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.

There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket. 

Yet this man.

Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…

You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.

You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.

You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.

You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.

No, a chest.

Fuck.

“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.

Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.

Double fuck.

“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.

He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.

“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?

You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.

He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.

“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”

You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?

“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”

You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.

His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.

He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.

“Whenever yer ready, hen.”

You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-

The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.

You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”

It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.

“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.

He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.

Deep breath in– hold it…

Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.

You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.

“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”

He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.

“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)

You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.

+++

The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by. 

He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.

“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.

(It’s not a date, you dumbass)

“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.

Wait, what?

His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”

“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.

“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.

“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”

He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.

“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”

You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.

You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.

“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”

He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–

The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.

His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.

“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”

“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”

“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.

“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.

Brain.exe has stopped functioning. 

Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.

And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.

“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”

“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”

But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”

A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.

You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.

In the end, you’re the one that pleads.

“Johnny, please.”

Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.

The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.

It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.

“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”

He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”

He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.

“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.

His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.

He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.

“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”

“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”

It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.

You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.

You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.

“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.

“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.

You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.

“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”

“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot? 

“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.

That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.

Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?

You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.

After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.

“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.

“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.

Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours. 

You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet. 

He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.

“Ye’ with me, bun?”

“Mmhm.”

“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”

He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.

You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.

“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.

“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”

Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.

“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.

“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”

You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”

One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.

Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.

It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.

You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.

“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.

You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.

He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.

“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.

“Next time.”

[moonstruckme]

hi hun!! i have another in a week :]] it's a little less cute than sunshine reader, but i read the fic where reader swore at someone and everyone was shocked and i thought it was so funnyy

i was thinking a.. hothead!reader who's got a sailor mouth and quick temper, so naturally she curses a LOT. and the boys dare her to try not to curse for just one day, and she accepts it, but without them even doing anything mischievous to tick her off, she drops something and she's like "fuck- shit, damn it!" and the boys are just giggling their head off and constantly reminding her to put money in the swear jar

ooh and maemae, i love the way you write descriptions omgg <333 especially when you write from james' pov, he's such a sweetheart!! ahh you're such an amazing writer, your stuff gives me all the warm fuzzies :] i hope you're taking care of yourself in the midst of writing all these requests!!

- ✏️

Thank you my love!

join the party

poly!marauders x hothead!reader ♡ 677 words

You know your boyfriends are plotting something. You eye them suspiciously as Sirius whispers to James, both of them giggling like children. 

“What,” you say flatly. 

James doesn’t even bother trying to hide his grin. “Nothing, sweetheart.”

You huff, biting your lip before you can call him any name that’ll make you lose your prize. It’s nine in the morning, and you’ve only got about sixteen hours to go with no cursing. Twelve if you go to bed early as a measure of self-censure. 

Remus had raised an eyebrow at you after a particularly colorful stream of expletives the night before, asking as you made your contribution to the swear jar, “Do you think you could go even one day without swearing like that?” You said you could, and Sirius had pounced on the opportunity for a wager, betting you that you couldn’t go the entire next day without using a single curse word. 

You’re sure the boys were hoping you’d forget overnight, but you weren’t accustomed to losing, and damned if you weren’t going to get your prize. Sirius had so little faith in you that he’d agreed to letting you pick what movies you all watched for the next month if you won the bet. The next month. That meant a month-long reprieve from those stupid fucking heist movies they all loved so much. 

You’re also certain that, failing their first plan of your poor memory, your boyfriends are going to be cooking up some other scheme to make you falter. One of their famous pranks, to be sure. They tease you incessantly for your short fuse, and they’re bound to try and ignite it any way they can today. 

You wonder what it’ll be. Dog breath potion slipped into your water bottle? Stink pellets tossed into your room? Or maybe something so simple as salt in your coffee?

You look down at the mug Remus handed you a minute ago, sniffing at it. They always use Remus when they want to be inconspicuous; it’s so hard to suspect him. But he wants you to lose the bet as much as anyone. 

You stand, carrying your still-full mug into the kitchen. 

“Not this time,” you mutter. 

Remus looks up from his paper, frowning at you as you stomp over to the sink. “Dove, what are you doing?” 

“You must think I’m so gullible,” you drawl, pouring the hot coffee down the drain. “There’s no way I’m ingesting anything you—” the handle of the mug slips from your grasp, the dish shattering in the sink “—ah, fuck!” You look up to see Sirius’ eyes widen, glee sparking to life, and realize what you’ve done. “Shit. Damn it!” 

Remus puts a hand over his mouth while Sirius hoots, and James simply collapses in giggles, disappearing behind the couch. 

“Tha—that was too easy,” Sirius cackles, using his forefinger to wipe under his eyes. “We didn’t even do anything yet!” 

“Sweetheart, I’m almost disappointed,” Remus says, shaking his head even as he grins from ear-to-ear. “I thought you’d make it to the afternoon at least. Get your money for the jar.” 

“That’s, what?” James' voice comes from behind the couch. “Three dollars?”

“Five,” you say gravely, holding up your favorite finger on each hand. “Fuck you, you assholes.” 

“Pretty sure that’s six, babydoll.” Sirius cheeses at you. “Gestures count, don’t they Prongs?”

“A dollar per hand,” James agrees, now recovered enough to sit up on the couch. 

You seethe at them, and Remus comes into the kitchen to help you clean up your mess, patting your shoulder consolingly. 

“We’ll put it towards date night,” he says. 

“Good idea.” Sirius kicks his feet up on the table, making a show of lounging in his chair. “I’m thinking tonight, we order in from that Indian place and watch The Italian Job. What do you think, lads?”

You bristle, but Remus sees the comeback sizzling on your tongue and squeezes your shoulder warningly. “Save your money, dove. Want me to make you some more coffee? Seems like you might need it today.”

[thus-wrote-mrs-zeppeli]

Hello! I have a request. Can I have some head canons about how La Squadra would react if you were disrespected by someone? Let’s say their s/o (preferably female) works at a cafe or restaurant and a rude customer throws the money at her, completely expecting her to pick up the bill from the floor (yes, that is a real experience I’ve had, unfortunately).

How would they react? What would they do afterwards or say?

Would really, REALLY appreciate it. Honestly, I wish someone had stood up for me back then.

Author’s note: Hey hey~

Thanks for the request~

Sorry no one stood up for you, what happened to human decency?

And I can totally relate, the entitlement of people is insane. Two days in to my very first job as a cashier I had a customer say some really atrociously awful things to me and I just took it because I didn’t know what else to do and afterwards my managers told me I should’ve called them wow. Like my manager literally wouldn’t repeat what the customer had said because it was so abhorrently inappropriate and disgusting.

So yeah. Respect employees, we’re all human beings here it’s literally so easy to Not be insanely rude.

Interestingly enough I actually had some thoughts on this written in my personal La Squadra notes, particularly in regard to Prosciutto since he gives me lots of thoughts about stuff similar to that, cool that I get to address that heh.

-La Squadra x female reader: When someone disrespects you

Content, PLZ READ: female reader who works as a waitress, discussion of unhealthy and toxic masculinity paired with sexism (Prosciutto), La Squadra is a group of (mostly) pretty aggressive men who act on that feeling so. Some canon compliant aggression, threats, violence and blood. They’re a group of assassins so Lots of Bad men doing bad things. Melone’s slightly perverse tendencies

Various scenarios involving rude customers, including the example in the ask.

Established relationship: dating/married depending on the character

Ok while writing this it’s finally really hitting me how bizarre it’d be to be a non stand user witnessing or experiencing a stand attack-

Reader is aware of stands and that her La Squadra man is a member of the Mafia

And attempts at Italian hopefully it’s correct but if not please lemme know!

Micro fics style

-Formaggio: Out of all the members of La Squadra he’s noticeably much more chill and relaxed than the others. But he’s still a proud member of the Italian Mafia. And you’re his girl. He’s no knight in shining armor or Prince Charming for you, he won’t intervene when there’s an occasional irritable customer giving you a bit of a hard time. He knows you can take care of yourself.

However, if some entitled customer has the audacity to go too far and say or do something Really disrespectful while he’s around, I think he has a preference for good old-fashioned humiliation, and only results to intimidation if they decide they wanna keep making a fool of themselves.

He plays it up like: “ooh, hey, if you wanted that pretty lady’s attention there are much better ways to get it, buddy.”

You don’t have to add anything. You resume work quietly, but keep your eyes and ears focused on him, in case he decided to get carried away.

After a little bit of back and forth with him using his usual coolness and charisma, the offender gets increasingly frustrated and flustered.

When your boyfriend’s finally had enough of this stupid game he stands up from his table. His playfully mocking expression remains, but his smirk shifts ever so slightly into something more sinister. “If you want we could just take this outside,” he says it so casually, with the tone of a man who wasn’t going to hold back if it actually did escalate into a fight. He was not bluffing at all either.

At full height and with the clear confidence that he was absolutely gonna win the fight, the rude customer wisely decides Formaggio was Not someone he wanted to mess with and awkwardly leaves the restaurant, Formaggio loudly exclaiming taunts as the guy skittered away with his tail between his legs.

He seems awfully pleased with himself after “defending your honor” like that. You let him enjoy that feeling, because honestly that was pretty well done and it didn’t get too ugly. He has some nerve expecting a bunch of praise from you for that though.

-Illuso: Someone saying or doing something rude to you is like insulting him as well. And his stand is uniquely qualified for an entertaining punishment against some arrogant idiot giving you a difficult time.

Illuso doesn’t say anything, but when you look over at him while some jerk is screaming his head off at you like it’s your fault his food took five minutes longer than usual to arrive, you see that he’s pretending to fix up his appearance in a fancy compact mirror you had gifted him on your one year anniversary.

You can tell immediately he’s actually angling it at the guy screaming at you so he can activate Man in the Mirror. You inwardly groan because honestly you welcome your husband’s interference, but it will be difficult to explain a man magically disappearing in the middle of a restaurant, especially while he’s causing such a scene with that excessive screeching.

All of a sudden…silence. Such a sudden silence that the sound of Illuso clasping his mirror shut is audible to you from where you’re standing. Of course all the customers were looking at that guy who was freaking out at you. And he literally vanished before their eyes. So you do the only thing you can think of and spread your arms in an exaggerated manner and go: “Ta-DAAAH~” like the supernatural disappearance was just a magic trick.

In a rather weak attempt to sell it, Illuso starts slowly clapping for you and commenting: “molto bene~”. You can’t muster an annoyed glare at him; the slight smile tugging at your lips gave you away. A few customers join him in clapping, a bit confused, but honesty just glad that the yelling has stopped.

Illuso’s version of torment is to leave the guy completely alone in the mirror world. Confusion combined with isolation is a cruel combination, and given his captor was Illuso who was absolutely bound to prolong the punishment because of his sadistic tendencies, you almost feel sorry for the guy.

“Make sure you let him go by this evening,” you remind him before you get back to work.

“Let who go, dearie?” he says, his acting pathetically bad.

Sigh. So he was going to play it that way…

“I’m serious,” you grumble.

“Me too.”

You meet his eyes at that remark, and his smug smirk tells you he wants to see if you’ll keep nagging him about it.

When you don’t indulge him he’ll get bored and let the guy go. Hopefully that brat learned a lesson. And if not, at least he has a story literally no one will believe.

-Prosciutto: Despite not being a very nice man to you, he’s got that ridiculous belief that only he’s allowed to be harsh to you. It’s “tough love” when he’s hyper critical of you or snaps at you for something small, but if anyone else does it to an excessive degree then it’s apparently unacceptable, rude behavior. Really it’s just his pride as a man and unhealthy view of masculinity that causes him to freak out when you’re disrespected. He’s your fiancé…By his logic, you need him to protect you, and it’s his job as a man to do so.

He’s a big hypocrite.

But at least he stands up for you.

You could usually feel Prosciutto watching when a customer started to get a little ornery with you. He wouldn’t always step in, unless something he deemed entirely disrespectful was said or done; he does think dealing with irritable people is okay for you until they get carried away.

It looked like he wasn’t going to intervene this time over the dirtbag being extraordinarily picky and fussy with you, just because he liked bossing essential workers around apparently. Prosciutto was listening, as usual, but didn’t seem too concerned, drinking his coffee disinterestedly. Until the customer decided to toss a crumpled up napkin at you when you turned around.

Ohhh boy, you didn’t even have to LOOK to know the coffee mug getting slammed down on a table was Prosciutto.

You debate what you should do. He strides past you, and you opt to just…hold still and listen for a moment. Pretend you don’t know him, and let him do whatever it is he’s about to do (though you have a pretty good guess what it is).

Despite all the tough talk he was doing before, that customer couldn’t hide the slight panic in his voice at Proscuitto’s sudden approach.

Unlike a lot of Passione members who preferred to hide their affiliation to the mafia, Prosciutto wasn’t nearly as subtle with that tailored suit, open shirt and the demeanor of a man who’s killed before and will kill again.

“Hey who the hell do you think you are?! Stay away from m-” the jerk’s nervous ranting is cut off by Prosciutto dragging him to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

“You dropped something,” Prosciutto says in that certain tone you’ve grown all too familiar with. He uses it often when he’s pissed off or teaching a lesson or both at the same time.

Before the man can even squeak out the beginnings of some sort of excuse or counter he’s gagging, and you turn around to stop Prosciutto from straight up choking the guy by shoving the same napkin he tossed at you down his throat, speaking about how disgustingly disrespectful it was to throw anything at a woman.

“Hey, I think he gets it,” you cut in.

You wonder if he’s actually gonna listen to you this time. For a moment it seems like he might ignore you and continue the lesson. But he decides you may have a point and that he’s not worth the trouble. Though it doesn’t stop him from roughly shoving the guy to the ground when he lets go of his shirt.

“Make sure you add an apology when you pay the check,” he says to the sniveling man on the floor desperately telling himself not to make a run for it like a coward now that Prosciutto’s back was turned.

You don’t know whether to smile or roll your eyes, knowing all your fiancé meant was that he better leave you a generous tip as compensation for such disrespectful behavior.

“Go smoke outside,” is all you say to him when you see Prosciutto reach for the pack of cigarettes in his jacket. He smoked when he was especially irritated; so he went through a lot of cigarettes. He waves his hand dismissively at you, but obeys and goes outside. Though he stays close to the entrance. He’s making it clear he’s not leaving til you’re getting paid well for all that trouble.

The guy ended up practically handing his wallet to you.

Prosciutto internally checks off his: do one good thing for his fiancée today mission.

-Pesci: He’s not the most confrontational of La Squadra, and there’s no love lost between the murderous members of the team beyond a mild respect for each other’s strength (and that’s only sometimes) but he’s more than familiar with how most of the other assassins handle disrespect or things they don’t like in public with violence and aggression (hard glares at Ghiaccio and Prosciutto in particular). And that usually results in them getting asked to leave the premises, how embarrassing-

He doesn’t want to embarrass you either when a particularly volatile customer started screaming at you and freaking out for no valid reason. But he can’t just sit there and let you take that kind of abuse either.

He tries to excuse you from the situation by calling you over to his table like he was a customer and it was something urgent. And well…it might just escalate the irritation of that insufferable jerk screaming at you but…

You go to Pesci anyways, opting to just ignore the jerk, pretending to be busy dealing with some made up issue Pesci was improvising.

To your surprise it actually kinda worked. The guy was steaming for a bit and yelling at you from his table but. You just ignored him. And if anything actually happened Pesci was 100% capable of handling it if he had to. He didn’t usually try to start fights, but if pushed he could absolutely finish them.

“Do you usually get customers like that?” Pesci asks with genuine concern in his voice once the guy finally gets mad enough to leave (without paying but that was a problem for later).

“Well…” more often than someone who doesn’t work in food service would think…

“Sometimes,” you admit vaguely, not wanting to worry him but not wanting to lie either.

He thinks you should find some different job, not that he’s actually in a position to suggest that given he’s literally a La Squadra assassin. And you’ve heard from the few times you’ve met with his coworkers that the money they make in the business of murder is minuscule all things considered. Honestly he should get a new job too. One that didn’t rely on the occasional commission and splitting a check with eight other people.

You both know it’s not that easy to just Find a new job. And he doesn’t think it’s a great idea to suggest you get more involved in Passione for quick but dirty money…sigh…no easy solution…

-Melone: Your boyfriend was the least confrontational man in La Squadra.

Usually you encourage him to not visit you at work…because he always stares at you in such a manner that your coworkers or customers sometimes warn you about a creep in the corner booth who’s been watching you for a while.

As someone who’s used to being yelled at (though only because he’s the one being a FREAK so it doesn’t Really count) he’s sure you can handle the occasional ornery customer who decided to raise their voice at you. He usually intervened only if you directly requested it, because more often than not you got annoyed at him for worming his way into your other problems. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice when he’s typing on his laptop at the restaurant you work at and someone starts destructively causing a scene all because you brought them the wrong brand of soda by accident. It’s been a long day, you’re tired, you’re working the evening shift and the restaurant’s about to close. So you don’t bother to try and appease this guy, you know he’ll just complain and give you a hard time no matter what you do. And he apparently took your: “I’m sorry, let me grab you the right one,” as disingenuous and insulting, because you didn’t call him “Sir”. You really don’t feel like dealing with this, and you’re about to just let it go until he has the audacity to knock the soda off the table and onto the floor, staining the floor and even getting soda all over your shoes.

God…just to humiliate you over something small-you find yourself quietly staring at the floor for a moment, trying to register what you should even do…bend over right now to try to salvage your shoes before the soda dried? You had napkins in your pocket. But then the damn customer won…

And you know Melone was watching everything. He’s so invested that he’s stopped typing.

Melone’s no gentleman, and has no shame, but he can’t just let someone get away completely with disrespecting his girlfriend…especially given he had bought those cute shoes for you!

You can only mumble Melone’s name quietly when he approaches the situation, his demeanor energized despite how late it was. You weren’t gonna deny him stepping in but saying his name was a warning not to be too weird.

He clicks his tongue, making a point to not even look at the jerky customer, like he wasn’t there, and focuses all his attention on you.

“You know those shoes weren’t cheap, tesoro mio,” he chides playfully, immediately plucking off some napkins from the customer’s table and kneeling in front of you so he can wipe your shoes clean himself.

You bite your lip. It might seem gentlemanly to onlookers, but you knew he was also using the opportunity to get close to your legs in public. But he manages to behave himself, even putting a few napkins over the spill on the floor once he’s done with your shoes.

When he finally stands back up, he makes a point of leaning very close with an especially devious look on his face.

“What a shame,” he says in a strangely exaggerated tone. “I think I’ll have to buy you a new pair of shoes…”

You just give him a confused look after reminding him you’re on the clock when he leans in for a kiss.

Then he wanders off. But at least he distracted the customer enough to dampen the worst of the disrespectful behavior.

You finish your shift. Melone was waiting for you outside with his motorcycle, as he’s your ride back to your shared apartment.

He looks especially pleased with himself.

“What’d you do this time?” you sigh and yawn, too tired to feel especially concerned with whatever he might’ve done.

“Your next pair of shoes is going to be Especially nice…I’ll even get you a pretty dress to go with them~” he licks his lips.

Under the dim light of the street lamp, you finally notice the wallet that he’s holding up. It isn’t his.

His little kneeling act by the table with the rude customer apparently had many purposes…your boyfriend really was quite a sly opportunist…

“Melone…” you were gonna chide him gently for taking the guy’s Entire wallet but…it was too late to start arguing with him, given he was your ride home. And you didn’t care too much about it in the first place, especially right now.

-Ghiaccio: Everything ticks him off so when you’re working you don’t mind if he doesn’t bother to stop by and say hi even when he’s in the area. He tends to get worked up about something minuscule even during quick visits. And your restaurant is quite popular with tourists, who he has a borderline obsessive type of hatred for. Yeah. You were okay with him NOT visiting you while you were working because inevitably one day he was gonna cause quite a scene-

You feel a very ironic cold shiver down your spine when you catch sight of a familiar red Mazda Miata going way too fast in the parking lot looking for a space to park.

“Dios mio…I don’t need this today…” you mumble to yourself, not realizing a particularly entitled customer was watching you act distracted for a moment by looking at a car from the window.

When you get to his table, you don’t really know what he’s yapping about when he says waitresses these days are SO ditzy and aren’t properly trained. You’re not listening too hard because you’re watching Ghiaccio walk past the window on his way into the restaurant. He gives you an acknowledging glance when he spots you, and it pisses off the customer even more because now he’s complaining about how completely unprofessional it was that you invited your boyfriend into the restaurant while you were working. You have no idea where this guy is even getting all these assumptions, or what was even so terribly wrong with the scenario he’s making up, so you don’t pay it much attention and just brush it off as the customer’s eccentric personality trait.

Until he says that if you were going to be disrespectful by inviting your boyfriend to work, you might as well look busy.

What a freaking idiot, waiting for Ghiaccio to walk in to the restaurant before literally throwing the money for his meal at you, completely expecting you to pick up all the bills.

Ghiaccio doesn’t even need to know the context to react (though it’s probably for the best he didn’t hear what started it because it’d just piss him off even more).

“Hey, hey, hey…” Ghiaccio’s voice from the entrance can be heard from half way inside the restaurant. “If you meant to give the money to her, it’d be MUCH more efficient for both of you if you just HANDED it to her, you freaking moron-“

Oh God, here we go…Ghiaccio wasn’t screaming quite at full volume as he speed walked to where you were standing, his hands twitching slightly, either oblivious or simply ignoring all the customers exchanging nervous glances as they watched him. He has to be literally the WORST AND the EASIEST member of his entire team to piss off…and when he got like this he sometimes didn’t even listen to you.

The customer glares at him, and dares to open his mouth to respond, but Ghiaccio’s rant wasn’t over and it just pisses him off even more to see the guy had the audacity to try and interrupt him.

“Ghia, hey-”

Yeah he was definitely not gonna listen to your attempt to calm him down. You wonder if he even heard you because he grabbed the guy by the back of the head while you were talking.

“IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY DAMN SENSE WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT! I MEAN, WHAT THE HELL IS THE POINT OF THROWING MONEY ALL OVER THE GROUND?! YOU JUST GET OFF WATCHING HER WASTE A BUNCH OF TIME PICKING THAT ALL UP?!”

Was he…more pissed about the illogical nature of the behavior or the fact that you were being disrespected…?…It’s kinda hard to tell…this ornery yapper on even more ornery yapper violence was Quite a scene this early in the morning…

“DON’T YOU HAVE A LIFE, IDIOT? OR DID YOU GO OUT JUST TO KILL TIME BY POINTLESSLY INCONVENIENCING A WAITRESS?! YOU MIGHT NOT HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE BUT SHE’S GOT AN ACTUAL JOB TO DO AND DOESN’T HAVE TIME TO PLAY 52 CARD PICKUP WITH ENTITLED JERKS LIKE YOU!”

It doesn’t even cross your mind that most people would be mortified to watch their boyfriend completely lose it like this in public, you’re so used to it at this point; you’re thinking about how it’s a bit hypocritical of him given how you’ve witnessed him Also going off on a poor server for nothing.

“GHIACCIO!” you finally make yourself shout, reaching out and grabbing the wrist of the arm he was using to hold the panicking rude customer by the back of the head.

You know Ghiaccio. He was about to slam that man’s head on the table.

“WHAT?!” he snaps, but when he whips his head, you can tell the raging blizzard of his soul wavered just a bit when he looked at you.

“Don’t…you’ll break the table, they’re flimsy…”

His physical strength always astounded you, given he wasn’t particularly large, and he wasn’t even resisting your hand on his wrist but you could still feel the power in his arm. “You already made your point…” you whisper, worried about getting in trouble for the scene he was causing.

“BUT-“

“Thank you, it’s okay…”

He REALLY has to debate it, but reluctantly releases the man with an irritated huff and an audible growl. Such a lucky guy…you were one of the few people who could get Ghiaccio to think before taking something too far.

“Is your shift almost over?” he asks, clearly still incredibly irritated, tapping his foot rapidly against the ground.

“About fifteen minutes to go.” You glance at the trembling rude customer, gazing wide eyed and flinching every time Ghiaccio moved in any way.

He checks his watch and the customer climbs further into the booth out of fear of the simple gesture, but Ghiaccio is forcing himself not to pay him any mind.

“I’ll wait for you in the car then.”

“Alright.”

As long as he left the restaurant…

Now everyone knew he was definitely with you in some capacity…damn.

He sends a pointed glare to a couple of the customers on the way out. A “gentle reminder” to keep manners in mind.

And when you give the rude customer one last look, you see he’s on the ground picking up the money he had tossed at you.

He’s trembling a bit. Probably from fear of Ghiaccio changing his mind and coming back to actually break his face. But he’s probably a bit cold too, just from coming into physical contact with Ghiaccio could leave anyone with a chill if he partly activated his stand while touching someone.

You really needed to have a chat with him about his temper but as the previously inconsiderate customer blubbers out apologies and begs you to protect him from your scary boyfriend while shoving the money (and a generous tip) directly into your hands you hesitantly decide today is not the day.

-Risotto Nero: He doesn’t go out in public often, but minus the whole “leader of an assassination division in the mafia with a truly frightening appearance” he’s a pretty normal guy. Keeps to himself and stoic, but he can hold a conversation. You’re fine with him not visiting you at work often, you get that he’s super busy, but when he does stop by you’re glad to see him (and he doesn’t cause any scenes. Bonus points for Risotto).

It was a slow morning for you, and he had finished an early morning mission earlier than he had expected. He even checked to make sure the diner you worked at wasn’t busy before he decided to stop in and see you.

Your face lights up when you see him, running over to him and giving him a quick hug, and bringing him a small cup of coffee on the house, allowing yourself a brief moment of respite to speak with your boyfriend. It wasn’t busy yet…there were only two other customers, but it was just your luck that one of them woke up on the wrong side of the bed and decided to come over and give you a hard time for taking a moment to spend with Risotto.

“Does your boss pay you to flirt with customers?”

You can’t even believe someone really came over just to say that to you. You weren’t even sitting down to talk to Risotto, and it’s not like you were being loud or obnoxious or anything.

“She’s doing her job,” Risotto points out with that signature stoic nature. The guy seems slightly put off by Risotto’s unique appearance, but was apparently in a bad enough mood to not back down so easily.

“If she was doing her job she’d be bringing me a refill and not wasting her time chatting with a guy she already served,” he points out indignantly. What an insane level of entitlement…Risotto seemed to think the same thing, though he wasn’t a fan of escalating things.

But this guy…he had some audacity talking to you like that.

Risotto puts his hands on the table, and stands up slowly, deliberately, to his full height, tilting his head slightly to better look the smaller man in the eyes.

“She’s just being polite,” Risotto corrects the man. His voice is still calm, but his speaking speed is Slightly slower. Paired with him purposefully emphasizing his full height, the warning that he wasn’t going to stay civil for much longer was clear.

The unwanted visitor inwardly debates for a moment, visibly shaken from Risotto’s intimidation but absolutely too embarrassed to just back off now.

He foolishly decides to keep going.

“She-” he’s cut off by an almost explosive gush of blood coming out of his own nose. You gasp at the suddenness, but instantly realize what’s happening. He slams his hand over his nose, the blood not stopping that easily, almost immediately leaking through his fingers.

“Oh…” Risotto remarks with obviously fake concern, leaning in as if he were examining the “mysterious” nosebleed. “You’d better take care of that before you get blood all over the place…” he states the obvious with complete unconcern.

It was admittedly a bit funny to watch that jerk sprint to the restroom clutching his bloody nose.

There is a minuscule tug to the edges of Risotto’s lips.

“Risotto! Sudden unexplainable nosebleeds aren’t funny at all,” you chide, despite not feeling an ounce of pity. It’s not like Risotto was trying to kill that guy, if he was he would be bleeding out on the ground right now. The goal was just to embarrass him a bit, and he definitely succeeded.

“I think that was just a suitable divine punishment,” Risotto replies with a shrug, as if his stand, Metallica, had nothing to do with it. It’s subtle but…you can tell he’s irritated someone really had that kind of nerve to bother you for no reason. But you won’t let it ruin his whole day, reminding him that you got off work early today and you’ve been really excited to finally have some free time to spend with him.

Author’s closing note: I hope this could bring you some entertainment~it was enjoyable to write and consider how a few of them could use their stands to mess with people but wow I was being sent back to my first job on occasion with some of these customer characters, sheesh-

[rebouks]

“What’re we doing here?”

Oscar shrugged casually, “Hanging out?”

Robin scoffed with what little joviality he could muster, “Yeah, right…”

Oscar paused and broke eye contact, staring at nothing in particular as Robin waited. It was usually fairly easy to ascertain the direction of a conversation before it even started, given that people tended to rehearse what they’d say beforehand, but not Oscar. His mind was simultaneously blank and fit to burst; he was making it up as he went along most of the time, but that was one of Robin’s favourite things about his father. It paved the way for genuine, on the fly honesty.

“Figured maybe you’d wanna talk-..” Oscar rubbed his temple, “Ask me whatever you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah-.. within reason.”

“Why’d you do it?” Robin blurted out; his eyes full of unbridled curiosity, though his father wasn’t looking at him.

“Willpower is a finite resource, y’know? I had a shitty day and I caved-.. didn’t really think about it all that much, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?”

Oscar sighed, backtracking slightly as he realised that wasn’t exactly the honesty he was going for. “Well, it’s not that you don’t think about it-.. I thought about not doing it a bunch of times, but the second I decided otherwise, I went on autopilot and got it over with as soon as possible so I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. Probably because thinking on it too hard is uncomfortable.”

“Where’d you go?”

Robin wouldn’t usually have to ask such a mundane question, but he’d struggled to fill in the blanks for himself. Oscar’s memories of the previous night were fuzzy and his thoughts sprawling.

“There.”

“The bar?”

Oscar nodded, still unable to meet his son’s gaze. “You remember it used to be a vet clinic, right? Your grandma ran it briefly, years ago-.. we lived in the flat above for a little while, when you were a baby.”

“I remember.”

Oscar sounded surprised. “You do?”

“Kinda-.. you’ve told me about it n’ stuff…”

Oscar shrugged a shoulder, supposing that’d make sense.

“You don’t have to feel so ashamed.” Robin ventured.

Oscar almost looked at Robin, though his gaze fell somewhere near his shoulder instead. How could a fourteen-year-old boy conjure such compassion? Such accuracy too. Shame.

Sometimes it felt as though he were talking to a man, not a boy. He was still a child, of course; arguing with his siblings over utter nonsense, playfighting, whinging about school and homework, leaving his dirty socks all over the place-.. but sometimes it felt like he understood much more than he should’ve. Oscar couldn’t imagine many people being so emotionally mature at thirty, never mind half as young.

“Dad…”

“I’m sure I’ll get over it-.. I always assumed I’d relapse at some point, but as the years went by, I guess I got complacent.”

“How’d it start? Like, did you just wake up one morning and realise it was an issue or..?”

Oscar shook his head slightly, running his thumb over his beard in thought. “Nah, it was slower, I just ignored it. I’d always been daft and over the top with stuff like that, partying n’ shit, y’know? It was like a crutch after a while though, and eventually, I needed it just to feel normal-.. went too far to feel nothing.”

Robin opened his mouth to speak, but Oscar wasn’t finished.

“You’ll probably get some stupid cop coming to your scout meetings or your school one day and they’ll stand there n’ tell you all about how drugs and alcohol are terrible or whatever, but it’s bollocks. Sure, they’re bad for you, but they feel good and that’s the problem. At least for me it was-.. is. It shouldn’t even be legal, really, not that it’d do much good if it wasn’t-.. it wouldn’t have stopped me, anyway.”

“I’d love to forbid you from going near it, but I’m sure you’ll all try it for yourselves one day. Maybe it’s just something to do, maybe it makes a boring night more fun, gives you the confidence to do something you’re scared of, talk to someone you’re shy around, I don’t know-.. you might hate it, you might not.”

“You hate that you still like it, don’t you?”

Oscar finally met Robin’s gaze as he nodded. “So much.” He wondered if he was making a mistake, being so open, but it was too late now and Robin had yet to balk or appear uncomfortable. If anything, he seemed concerned and intrigued, glad of the chance to ask whatever he wanted-.. not that he couldn’t usually, but the invitation was clearly welcome all the same.

“All your troubles just melt away, but they’re twice as bad when you wake up and doing it over again doesn’t solve much. It’s not the answer, Robin.”

“I know it’s not.”

Oscar’s frown softened as Robin slid beside him, threading an arm around his waist.

“You prefer being sober though, right?” he asked.

“Ah, that’s a loaded question…” Oscar sighed. “I prefer my life when I’m sober, but maybe a part of me will always crave that oblivion. It’s just something I have to live with.”

“Do you think you’ll do it again?”

“I don’t know, bud-..” Oscar admitted. “I’d like to say no but I don’t think I can make any promises, that’s not how it works.”

Robin nodded understandingly; he would’ve preferred it if his father could’ve made that promise, but a harsh truth was better than a hollow lie.

“They don’t mean much if you don’t keep em.” Oscar added.

“I get it-.. thanks for letting me ask you about it though, I know you’d rather keep it to yourself.”

“You’re still young but I know it’d drive you nuts otherwise. Besides, I don’t want it to feel like a dirty secret we can’t talk about, at least between us-.. might not wanna go telling all your friends your dad’s an alky though…”

Robin buried his face in the crook of Oscar’s shoulder and squeezed him tightly, desperate to convince his father that he didn’t think any less of him.

“Nah, they’re got enough ammunition.”

Oscar couldn’t help but snort at that. “I love you so much.”

“I know-.. I love you too.”

Robin said nothing a while as his father held him - or he held Oscar - only breaking the silence upon feeling his restless thoughts return.

“It’ll be the summer holiday’s soon, maybe we could go camping or something?”

Oscar smiled fondly. “Yeah, that’d be fun…”

Previous // Next

[mylovejimimi]

The Kims, your breeding problem | SJ & NJ TWO SHOT PT. 1

— PAIRING: mafiaboss!seokjin x mafiaboss!namjoon x mafiaprincess!reader — GENRE: smut +18. minors dni — WARNINGS: dirty smut (hell yeah), vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk ofc, fingering, ass action, anal penetration, double penetration, lots of degradation, some slaps, a bit of pain kink, breeding kink as per request <3, some plot that will be explained in part 2 (stay tuned), seokjin is MEAN — SUMMARY: Desperate to save your empire and your name, you walk into the lion's den with a plan. Turns out those two lions had a plan of their own, and now you're the piece of meat they had been so starved for. — WORDS: almost 9k SORRY DEAL W/ IT Ok babygirls i apologize for this eternal wait, it took me a month to finish bc i like to carefully plan my craft to not fall into boring stuff or repetitiveness. I hope it is worth the wait and you all like it <3 ALSO! part 2 will be up maybe tomorrow bc i wrote everything and it was way too long and u know, i wasn't gonna post a 20k words shot lmao Anyways pslease remember you can send me a tip by buying me a ko-fi if you like my works, it will meant the world to me ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ And as always, i look forward your thoughts on this. Enjoy !

Being the princess of an empire wasn’t as easy as you once thought – but you had triple the fun you expected.

The businesses of this lawless side of the world weren’t just for anybody, that’s why only a couple families survived and thrived despite of time and mass murders. In those select families, in which the highest honor was to have no fear of law or men, one must just grow up strong and shameless to fit in them; if not, it was better to step down (which, more often than not, meant dying). And you must, at all coast, beat anybody else with your intelligence and cleverness, or else you were relegated as a mere pawn. Even worse if you were a woman.

One of the top families in the businesses was yours, which couldn’t make you prouder – because you were the one behind their success.

For the world, you weren’t particularly different from the average woman, but you had many hidden qualities that set you apart: you had money and influence, charm and wit, though most important than anything, you had dauntless drive. Enough drive to make you break rules, promote corruption, break as many families as you had to, terrorize all other elite families into submission. You had the world in your hand and you were ready to eat it.

And because you knew you were danger, you recognized which other menaces out there were as deadly as you.

“I don’t give a shit whatever you plan” your older brother spat in your face, throwing at you the documents that you compiled so carefully, all of them full of valuable information about your biggest enemy in the business. You gritted your teeth; you went to the deepest of holes to get all that data, you bought many men for it – with money and anything you could give.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, I was just informing you before you get your stupid ass in my business and fuck it up.” The relationship with your brother has never been the greatest. Being raised to be ruthless, it only worsened when your parents got old and sick, because it meant that you were now competitors for the throne. You despised him mostly because he was a useless piece of shit that only leeched off of your hard work.

“I’ll fuck it up? You would get all of us fucked in the ass and then decapitated in a public park. Those fuckers are at the top of the food chain for a reason, shithead.” You reacted violently at the cowardice of your brother, hitting his desk with your fist.

“And they are burying our business! They’re already fucking us and massacring us! They stole all our dealers and our spots on the west and south; they killed all our links in the government; they even opened their disgusting brothels next to all of our strip clubs. And you will do nothing about it?!” Your brother rolled his eyes at your outburst.

“It’s not big deal. You will think of something else to avenge us.” And he turned around on his spinning chair, ending the conversation. You were fuming, to say the least.

“FUCK YOU!” you yelled before taking the lamp on his desk and throwing it towards the nearest wall. Then, stomping out, you decided to proceed as you wanted.

…

Your shiny dress moved with the wind and blinded the security guards as you stepped out of the car that drove you. Currently, you were in the Kim mansion, the territory of your enemies, infiltrating in the intimate party they were throwing for one of their birthdays. You thanked in your head the trusted friend that popped up out of nowhere when you needed them the most, offering you a way to take down the Kims. It was all you needed, the way in, you would take care of the rest.

After the long walk from the exuberant entrance to the more exuberant halls, you finally were in the big ballroom that hosted the most people. You noticed there weren’t that many; a couple you recognized from negotiations and such, and nodded your head in acknowledgment to them, but there were many new faces for you. And that worried you, because you didn’t know which ones were the Kims. Maybe it was a little careless to go there with just a description of their appearances instead of researching more for pictures (which was really difficult since the most powerful people in the business, including yourself, didn’t show their faces ever).

Taking a random glass from the service station and bar, you scanned the room and downed the strong drink in one go, thinking what to do next. But then, your luck struck again:

“Mister Kim, congratulations for your birthday.” You spun your head almost instantly to look behind you, to the supposed mister Kim. He was right behind you in the bar but giving you his large back dressed in black. And, damn, what a back. Peering down, you also checked his ass and legs, draped in black too. And daaaamn. How could all his behind look so hot? Was it the height? Were his proportions just mathematically perfect? You hoped he was as nice in the front because it would be really disappointing otherwise.

Right at that moment, Mr. Kim turned around to look at someone that called him in the distance, and you saw him clearly, but most importantly, he saw you. His dragon eyes fixated on yours intensely, pinning you in your place, for what you felt was an eternity. You recognized his fiery stare. He was deadly.

“I don’t think I know you, dear” he started in his deep voice, flashing you a smirk. You looked at him from behind your lashes, batting them coquettishly.

“Would you be interested in knowing me, sir?” Despite your strategic flirting, you were eclipsed by him. He was tall, graceful and so, so handsome. He looked like he could be on the cover of any magazine; be the face of every luxurious brand. And as far as you knew, he was single. Manly and powerful – your kind of man. If he wasn’t your literal nemesis, you would have tried to seduce him for real.

“A sweet thing like you? Very much.” Knowing as much as you knew, it ringed an alarm that he was that easy to approach, to fool. It was weird. You decided to be careful. “Tell me, beautiful,” he said, stepping closer to you and smiling darkly. “do you know who I am?”

“I do. And I find you a fascinating man, sir.”

“Do you now?” You nodded shortly, feigning shyness and sipping on your drink to avoid his sharp eyes. You realized quickly that he was a very calculating, very analytic man; he was observing you meticulously, and you felt like a rare specimen being studied when he dragged his attention all over your body and every inch of your face.

Though, you weren’t dumb. You knew how to pose, how to talk and how to dress to captivate a man; you did it a million times already, and you had big plans for this man and his brother in particular. His lingering on your almost naked legs; how he tilted his body more and more close to you; his constant smirk – everything told you that he was interested in whatever you had to offer. Still, the deal was yet to be seal.

“You are very well-known for doing what you want and getting what you want. You’re like a god, I heard.” You batted your lashes, also inching close to his standing body. “I like powerful men – and they usually like me back.” And you looked away, like ashamed of sharing that.

“So you like danger” he stated, while moving a strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand went down your neck slowly, caressing with the tip of his cold fingers your skin.

I am danger, you thought while smiling cutely for him.

“I find it kinda romantic to give yourself completely to a forbidden man.” You bit your lip lightly, mirroring his action when you grazed your fingers on the hand he rested on the counter.

He stared at you for a long moment, in absolute silence. It was difficult to read him with his impassive face and controlled attitude. Just in case, you passed a hand through your hair, the decided signal for your guards to be alert. By the corner of your eye, you saw one of them signing back discreetly. If needed, they would fire all guns to take you out of there.

“Would you like to watch the big man at work, sweetheart?” Mr. Kim suddenly said. You looked at him with big, naïve eyes, nodding.

“Really? I would love to, sir.” He offered his big hand, which you took eagerly. Once more, you carded your hand through your hair.

His slender fingers enclosed your hand firmly, guiding you from the bar across the groups of finely-dressed people in the open ballroom to long, dimmed hallways. You knew you were venturing into the lion’s den but what else could you do? You needed both of the Kims alone, and getting one of them at the time was easier. You would seduce one and get him, and later you would find and do the same with his brother – if they didn’t cooperate with you, of course.

“You know, sweet thing, we get lots of women at our feet daily. Some are useful, some are just a hindrance” Mr. Kim casually told you. You were getting to the end of a particularly secluded hallway; the end of your walk, it seemed. You decided it was safer to keep up with the façade until the very end. “Which one would you be?” Stopping at a large, wooden door, he looked at you expectantly. You found his eyes, and even in the dimmed light you saw something shine in his pupils.

Just now you realized the energy that swam between you.

His strong hand squeezed yours and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You bit your lip. Kim Namjoon (you guessed it was the younger Kim based on the descriptions you were given) was the hottest man you ever saw: his secure posture, his devilish expressions, even his work ethics were attracting. You would never admit it out loud, but you were really impressed by how the Kims ran their business. In no time, they build up an empire equal to yours, which had years and years of existence, and took over almost all of the city. It was really hot to you how they were fierce, and ruthless, and did whatever they wanted without a care for consequences.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, sir” you replied in a low tone. His obscure smile showed up again.

“Mhm, I think we would get along really well, dear.” The door in front of you opened, and a spacious and well-illuminated office appeared. It was modern and austere, with scarce black furniture a desk that had not a single trace of clutter as you would see, for example, in your own. “Hyung, I just received the biggest gift for my birthday.”

The chair at the desk spun around to reveal the most stunning man you have ever seen. Kim Seokjin had his hair perfectly brushed back to show the most well-proportionated face you’ve seen so far: plum, kissable lips; round, conceited eyes; an instant derogatory grimace when he saw you. His haughtiness was nothing; what worried you the most was that now you would have to deal with the two Kims together.

 “Really? That’s the big gift? A cheap whore?” You had to bite your tongue. You may be a whore from time to time, no shame in it; but cheap? CHEAP? When you had your own queendom and where the owner of half the city? When powerful men had died just for touching your hand without permission? He definitely didn’t know who he was talking about.

“No, hyung, no.” Namjoon chuckled. Getting bolder, he circled your waist with an arm and took your jaw to emphasize his next words “I got us a toy to spend the night, and if it is good, maybe we could consider giving it more use.” Seokjin just arched an eyebrow to you.

“I admire both of you, sir, that’s why I want to serve you” you expressed, lowering your eyes to the floor in a submissive manner.

“Serve us? Are you a fucking slave or something, stupid bitch?” The older Kim didn’t need to yell to be aggressive and threatening like a rabid dog – his words, neutral tone, and overall mean energy was enough to aggravate you. It took everything in you to stop yourself from setting your jaw.

“Do you want me to be one?” It came out harsher than you intended, and yet, you felt a slight shift in the air.

“You couldn’t handle being my slave, dear” Seokjin said as a matter of fact. “I’ll make you and your slut holes unusable after a day.”

“How are you so sure of that?” you counterattacked calmly.

“It would only hurt you, sweetheart, really” Namjoon joined in with a teasing tilt in his sensual low register and a mild push of his hips into your ass. Well, at least you could be sure one of them was interested in you, judging by the hard member that poked your behind.

“Do you really think I’m a virgin in any way?” Something burned in Seokjin’s eyes. Bingo. “Would I be offering myself to you if I were?”

“Your performance as a poor, submissive girl was shit, but I was hoping you dropped the act sooner than later.” The man at the desk smirked. You thought that maybe he wasn’t the brightest of the two.

By his hold on your waist, Namjoon walked you around the desk until you were in front of his brother, who turned in his chair and was watching you expectant, with his legs spread apart and hands clasped together. “Why don’t you show who you really are then, angel?” As he said that, he pushed you to the floor until you were kneeling between Seokjin’s long legs, inches aways from his crotch. Honestly, what was about to happen kinda excited you.

You had understood right away that they were the typical hyper-masculine control freaks. As most men you had met in the business, you assumed they would feel challenged as soon as you showed a little bit of character. What dominant, powerful man didn’t enjoy taming a brat from time to time? And thus, you would put up a little fight, just for funsies.

“Would you be able to handle me, sir?”

“I’ll fuck you up so bad, don’t mess with me this early.” You scoffed at the warning.

“But I said nothing yet, sir. Mr. Kim,” you called the other Kim, turning your head to look at him. “can I ask you, then? Like, does your brother have any idea of anything? It feels to me he is capable of words and nothing else.” Namjoon snorted.

“You’ll fucking see what I’m capable of” The elder grunted and proceeded to stick your face on his groin. “But your nasty mouth won’t be on my cock.”

Unceremoniously, you opened your mouth and closed it on the shape his member made in his pants. The cloth was very thin and he had no underwear beneath it; you could feel almost every detail of him, including his faint throbbing and the very massive girth. You let yourself indulge in it a bit – Kim Seokjin was too damn hot after all. You sucked enthusiastically on his shape, lapping obscenely with tongue and all for the greedy eyes of your spectators. After a couple minutes, you realized that Seokjin´s cock pulsed more when you looked up at him, so you fixated on him while suctioning on the place his tip was.

“Hyung, look, she’s rubbing her legs together like a desperate slut. Is your hungry cunt too empty, sweetheart?” Namjoon said from above you but you had no time to even form a thought before you felt a cold object between your legs, pressing on the apex of your legs. “Get off on my shoe, baby, let’s see if you aren’t just talk.” And he pressed even harder on your pussy. You let go of Seokjin’s hard member with a high-pitched moan when the shoe’s tip hit directly on your clit, and Namjoon, as evil as his brother, touched that spot over and over again. But the oldest Kim couldn’t let you slack off on your duty; no, he had to push you onto his cock once more, shaking your head until you got back to gobbling him sloppily.

“Fucking filthy whore, look at the fucking mess you made” Seokjin grumbled, and you confirmed he was right with a quick peek. The dark and expensive fabric was even darker all over the lap, and the man’s penis would stand all the way up proud and hard if not for the restrictions of the pants. You patted yourself in the back for your great work, before getting down to devour him some more – though, you didn’t because he continued: “Aw, look at you so eager to spread your legs for the enemy to save the family business. Daddy must be really proud of you.” You froze. Stopping all motion midair, you stared at him. Kim Seokjin smiled joyfully while he caressed your hair.

“Did you really think we didn’t know you were coming? How, if we were the ones that invited you over.” Them? Your blood boiled once more at realizing you were betrayed by one of your closest, most beloved friends.

From behind, Namjoon took a hold of you by the hair roughly, yanking you back painfully until you were looking directly at him. You yelped and grunted loudly at that. And then, the door busted open and one of your guards entered pointing his gun at Namjoon; but the criminal wasted not a second in pulling out his own gun and firing it at the intruder.

“Shit!” you exclaimed as you saw the body fall down with a thud and Namjoon took hold of your arms, gripping them behind your back to immobilize you. If only one of your men got there, it must mean the others were already dead.  “You fuckers, let me go!” you yelled at the men holding you. Struggling to get free from their tight grasp, you could only lift your knee with force, colliding into Seokjin’s crotch.

“Fucking bitch!” Despite his brother folding into himself and holding his crotch, Namjoon cackled. You felt a little proud for causing him pain.

“I see you’re not as average as I thought” the younger mused near your ear. You turned as much as you could to look at him and spit at his face. He was shocked but still grinned.

“There’s no bitch like me, you better learn it now.” Namjoon’s hold on you tightened as his tongue peeked out to wet his lips, catching a single drop of your spit that rolled to his mouth.

“No bitch like me my balls” you heard Seokjin grunt, but when you turned to look at him, he took you by the hair like his brother did previously. You catched just a glimpse of him putting a liquid onto a rag but you knew right away what it was, and so you started to insult them louder, fighting them violently. “Oh, shut up already, stupid whore.” And when the rag was over your mouth and nose, it only took seconds for everything to turn black.

…

Consciousness came back to your body in what felt to you like an instant. You groaned, opening your eyes slowly. Why did your body feel so heavy? You could barely move to get on your side, feeling your wrists tied together but lying on a comfortable bed. And why were you in your underwear? Though, that was the least of your problems.

Looking around, you found yourself in a luxurious bedroom. You grimaced at its ‘single man’ decoration though, disgusted with the lack of good taste. Was it the room of one of the Kims? It looked like an isolation room in a psychiatric ward. Well, you thought, they’re fucking insane so it checks out.

“I have to get out” you murmured to yourself, but you couldn’t even try to sit up without feeling too lightheaded. Groaning, you left yourself lie on the soft surface momentarily. You would see how to escape on the go.

“Look who just woke up.” You grumbled when the voice of Kim Seokjin entered the room. You moved slightly to look at the door, watching your two enemies getting in and nearing the bed. Seokjin smiled to you. “It’s our favorite girl.” When he brought his hand down to stroke your cheek, you tried to bit him, missing him for an inch. “Wah, you’re a feral one, aren’t you?”

“I’m your worst nightmare, asshole.” Both men chuckled mockingly. Namjoon stepped forward and took a sit on the bed beside your body.

“Maybe you were, before intruding in our home and getting tied up by us. But you seriously thought you could just walk in and shoot us up?” You held his stare without an ounce of shame because they hadn’t realized yet that wasn’t your real plan. You played along. Men in power were that easy to trick, you only needed to show a little bit of skin and act a little clueless and their ego would get in their way to make them think you’re so stupid and they’re so in control. Truth be told, you were pretty desperate to end them, but you not only had beauty – most of all, you had brains.

“Whatever, just kill me now so the fuckface of my brother drowns in his own shit.” You resigned to your possible fate with a roll of your eyes. Namjoon smiled at you for the nth time.

“No, baby, that would just be the easy way out for you. You’d been in this line of work since birth; you know we can’t just let you go without a lesson.” Your breath hitched a little when the man posed a cold hand on your hip, fondling the zone. Got you.

At this point in your hectic life, you were not afraid of whatever these guys might do to you. If it was something sexual, it would be just a short-cut for the ending you expected. Also, you had sex with all kinds of men and women, who had all kind of kinks and weird shit, so sleeping with the Kims wasn’t big deal – it could even be fun, in your honest opinion. Fun like a smart cat playing two buff, dumb dogs that thought they were in charge. They didn’t know what kind of cat they just caught.

“And so? You want me to cry and beg for forgiveness? Please, sirs, spare me my life! Don’t defile my pristine, virgin pussy!” you exclaimed in a mocking tone, snorting for the absurdity of your own joke. Not even a shadow of a smile graced the Kims’ faces before they pull the serious, mafia-men façade up. They were not happy with your mocking attitude. “Yah, is not that serious, really.” Seokjin got close to the bed to grip your neck menacingly. Like he could scare you.

“It is serious if you come with the intention of murder.” You snorted. So fucking dramatic, and for what?

“It is so obvious that you both are newbies here. We, the real crime-syndicates, just have fun with it.” Seokjin tightened his grip. “Woah, you feel threatened by the tied up, drugged girl, I see.”

“Nah, baby, we just want you to be silent.”

“I swear I’ll stop!” you replied with a short laugh. You could see on their faces that they didn’t find you funny. “Just let me say –”

“Just shut up before we really make you to” Namjoon warned with a pointed look. The frustration became evident on them; they clearly wanted you to submit, scared of them taking advantage of you. They were too used to frightening people into submission. What pair of fools.

“Oh? Why don’t you try?” you dared, batting your eyelashes at both men. Seokjin scoffed before taking you by the hair (again) to lift you until you were sat on the bed, and he got nose to nose with you. You complained for the harshness of his action, but loved it nonetheless.

“Remember you asked for it, sweetheart” Seokjin said lowly, almost in a grunt, before crashing his mouth on yours so hard that both your teeth clashed and clicked. He kissed you with vigor and violence, making it really difficult to keep up with his rhythm. Your lips ached already from the way he suctioned them. The only thing you could do was to whimper.

It was even hard to breath properly in that heated make out, so you felt more and more lightheaded than when you were drugged. His tongue wasted no time entering and reclaiming the whole inside of your mouth, and you could feel his warm spit getting into your cavity but also dripping from your lips the sloppier he became. It was safe to say that you were elated with the ferocity of the older Kim and proof of it was the wetness that you felt leaking from your see-through underwear to your inner thighs. Suddenly, the man separated from you with a wet sound, and you instinctively took a big breath quick enough before Seokjin moved you by the hair to collide with Namjoon’s mouth this time.

If Seokjin was dizzying, Namjoon was electrifying. He wasn’t as pressing but his hands seized your hips roughly and his tongue wasn’t letting go of yours; he even bit your lower lip here and there. At some point, his lips took a hold of your tongue and he sucked it viciously, while his brother pushed your head against the assaulting mouth insistently.  

“Open up, honey” Seokjin grunted in your ear, and you didn’t know what he was talking about until you felt a big, cold hand on your inner thigh, a hair away from your pussy. He dabbed the skin there, no doubt entertained with all the wetness that seeped from your panties, but the demon that he was could not give you the satisfaction of touching your cunt properly.

With a man devouring your mouth and the other holding you still and rubbing nimbly your folds and flesh, you did start feeling overwhelmed – the kind of overwhelmed where you need more direct stimulation, though. So you whined loud. Namjoon released you.

“Want more, baby?” No words were left in your mind, so you nodded. The younger Kim, with wild fire lightning up his hooded eyes, smiled big in a shark-like smile – deadly, deadly, deadly. “Hyung” His brother looked up at him, and both shared a knowing look, like they already had planned the next step. Maybe they did.

But you had no time to think about anything. Each of them took one of your knees and shoved you back until you were lying on top of your tied hands; then, they parted and lifted your naked legs as much as your damned good elasticity allowed, ending up folded in half. And, somehow, they made themselves fit in that space side by side, as large as both were.

Next thing you knew, someone’s teeth were pulling your flimsy underwear down, grazing lightly your folds. You cursed, throwing your head back and thinking how the hell did you ended up in the best-case scenario possible. Taking you underwear out of your body in a flash, the Kim brothers seemed very eager to please you – or to torture you in their own way. Whatever they planned, you had no other choice but to take it.

Soon enough, a rough tongue parted your folds rudely and licked your juices away with the urgency of someone that doesn’t want a single drop wasted. Then, another tongue appeared, but this one went straight to your clit to punish you in the most delicious way possible: whoever it was, started by sucking it fervently, petting it with his tongue at the same time until he touched a nerve that made you scream, and jabbed at it repeatedly. They didn’t spare a single gaze in your direction, and, with the way you were losing your mind piece by piece, it was difficult to focus and distinguish who was who when both their heads were down – but whoever was lapping at your labia, now circled your wet hole with his whole tongue just the way you liked, both to tease and lubricate you.

Though their attention was getting overwhelming, it was also nice, because you had been shared by several men in various occasions in the past but none of them ever used you like this. No, they only cared to get their dicks in whatever part of your body they could and get off in there – and, really, you never minded since you weren’t expecting (nor didn’t want) a romantic lovemaking night where you ended up satisfied and chirping. Business was business. The Kims, however…

“You were so smart a minute ago, now can’t even form a single word?” It was Seokjin taunting you, lifting his head from your mount and you realized he was the one assaulting your poor clit. Of course it was him.

“You fucking idiot,” you started in a breathy voice, trying with all your might to fixate on him and not get distracted by Namjoon penetrating you with his tongue. “you don’t need my instructions, you’re eating my cunt like you’re my good bitch on your own.” At that, he pressed his thumb on your sensitive button roughly, and moved it in circles keeping the same pressure. “Fuck!” you exclaimed out of surprise.

“Goddamn, do I have to force something down your throat, stupid slut?” And then, he did force his index and middle finger into your mouth, pressing on your tongue to slide down your throat. The older Kim was extremely short-tempered, you concluded – it explained why people kept talking about the violent Kim brother whenever a massacre was done out of seemingly nowhere.

You have heard millions of stories of them, one worse than the other, but you were too prideful to believe even an ounce of whatever dumb shit they supposedly did. Burning down a whole building? Yeah, right. Bombing an enemy’s car? Suuure. Kidnapping a whole family because the father dared to go and try to take advantage of them? Well, maybe that had some truth, given your actual position. No doubt, all of those things – if true – were Seokjin’s idea.

Speaking of the devil, he almost hits the back of your throat with the tip of his longer digit, forcing the ugly and loud sounds of gargling out of you. The choking itself wasn’t so bad, but his insistence of keep pushing and pushing was making your jaw hurt a little. Drool was all over your lower face and his fingers, sliding down from between them and dripping into his palm. Through your teary vision, you catch a glimpse of Seokjin’s sadistic smile, so pleased with your degradation. You made sounds of complaint between gargles.

“See why you have to watch your tone with me, dumb cumdump? And quit pushing your luck because we will fuck your whore cunt into submission.” Right at that moment, you felt a hand parting your asscheeks and something wet circling your wrinkled hole. A surprised whimper escaped you. With a short chuckle, Seokjin took hold of your face with his free hand. “Right, and we will fuck your ass too, sweetpie.” His fingers left your mouth suddenly, and you took a big gasp of air, not knowing what else to expect from the brothers.

You didn’t have too much time to wonder because a finger surprised you bottoming out in your back entrance. No easing into it, no finesse, just plain, old Seokjin penetrating your ass with his long finger as a punishment of some sort. But was it really punishment if you were enjoying it? It was not, but Seokjin didn’t need to know that.

You could feel every knuckle, every ridge of his digit grazing your tender insides; stretching you, sliding in and out with the help of your saliva on his index. You whined out loud shamelessly at the sensations, which only spurred the men to go faster. You saw it in his eyes: he was merciless.

“You like it, sweetheart? You like when we’re rough to you?” This time, Namjoon got up on his knees to speak to you, in his low, raspy register. You moaned and clenched on Seokjin really hard when his eyes fixated intently on yours. Like bewitched by his dominant aura, you nodded to him dumbly. “Oh yeah? Should we take it up a notch?” His brother got out of his way so he could descend on you and capture your mouth in another ardent kiss. His whole frame pinned you down, coercing you to accept whatever nibs and licks he was giving into your cavity – not that you weren’t willing to accept them in the first place, though.

Distracted enough by his searing kiss, he seized his chance to push down your bra and take hold of your left breast; most precisely, to take hold of your nipple between his index finger and thumb, and squeeze it. He swallowed every noise or gasp you made while squeezing and rolling your nipple until it hardened. Meanwhile, his older brother had made way for a second finger in your ass and was scissoring them to open you up more and more. All of this was way more than you expected, but in a good way.

“Please,” you gasped when Namjoon went to suck your lower lip. “untie me, please” you begged in a whine. If there was just one thing you would beg for tonight, it was for them to let your arms go, because having your own weight on them plus Namjoon’s was cutting your circulation fast. Both men stared at you pointedly. “I swear I’ll not try anything funny, I just can’t feel them anymore.”

None of them believe you; however, Namjoon gets off of you and turn your whole body over with a single move of his hand, getting off the bed too. Seokjin is quick to get you on your knees and get his fingers back into you, now adding a third. You face to the side to the night table just in time to see the younger man opening the drawer and getting out a small knife. Your heart accelerated at the prospect of real harm but you didn’t show it. It would only put you in disadvantage in front of the men.

Luckily for you, Namjoon only used the knife to cut the ropes that bound your wrists. You let them fall to your sides with a satisfied moan at being liberated, despite not being capable of moving them yet.

“Does the princess have any other request?” The younger Kim, who was the one that tied you in the first place, inquired sarcastically with a tilt of his head, toying with the tip of the weapon. Closing your eyes and exhaling heavily at one deeper thrust of Seokjin’s fingers, you nodded.

“Can you fuck me already? The fingering is getting boring” you taunted in a thread of voice, weakened at the feeling of Seokjin’s dry digits grazing harshly your insides. The aching in your fingered asshole only added to your over-stimulated body – and to add to it, you felt a sting on your right ass-cheek that spread all over your skin. It barely even hurt on your long-stimulated body; instead, it felt like electricity hitting right on your sensitive clit. Seokjin’s hand was big and heavy, and he slapped you one more time on the same place. You moaned when it echoed between your legs.

“Boring? I was being nice.” And he slapped now on your other cheek. You yelped. “I was being a gentleman and stretching you.” He hit you a couple more time on the tender and red flesh; you kept your eyes close since the first impact and whimpered but still took it like a good girl. While all of that was going on behind you, something sticky and wet rubbed on your upper lip. When you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of Namjoon’s monstruous cock pocking the corner of your mouth. You opened it to let him in, but he was content with painting your face with his precum. “But ungrateful whores like you don’t deserve niceness” Seokjin spat – figuratively and literally. You felt his spittle drip down the crack of your ass, and then, a hard rod impaling you.

You screamed out of surprise and the pain of being overstretched; the man’s fingers, as many as they were, did not compare in the slightest to his penis. The thick and curved meat hammered into you as soon as it entered, leaving you breathless with the vigor of the movement. Seokjin’s drove his hips into you with guttural groans and wild abandon, not giving you a moment to catch your breath. Honestly, you felt a little in love with the way he was rearranging your guts – and more so when you felt the tips of his fingers wandering on your clit.

“Ah, so now you finally have nothing to say?"

You were just about to give Seokjin an out of breath but clever retort, when Namjoon took advantage of your wide-open mouth and eased his own dick into it. Gentler than his older brother, he just glided his member in and out, more so to wet it with your saliva than to pleasure himself. Despite being a heartless hit man with no morals, he saw the overwhelming pounding Seokjin subjected you to and felt a little compassion for your clearly tired self.

Taking his cock out of your mouth, he started to fuck his own hand. You stared at him in confusion – didn’t he want to use you like his brother? – but you understood what he really wanted when he got his crotch closer to your face, still jacking himself off. Keeping your mouth open, you received one of Namjoon’s balls inside, slurping it right away. You licked and sucked on it hard, until you could hear him groan louder than the slapping of Seokjin’s hips into your ass. Letting saliva pool in your cavity, you soaked his nut thoroughly before passing to the other, and lave on it. Looking up pass the standing penis invading your vision, your eyes found Namjoon’s heated ones; you just now looked at him but his piercing dragon eyes hadn’t left your face not even for a second.

You intuited there was something behind his intense staring, but Seokjin’s hand snaked, once more, to your scalp and grasped, hair tightly in a fist and pulled back.

“You’re slacking. Weren’t you supposed to lure us to ruin with a good fuck?”

Namjoon seated with his back on the headrest and his legs on each side of where you and his brother were on your knees. Seokjin, with the zero consideration he had with you, threw you sideways onto his brother and you realized he wanted you to face him now. You smirked and gulped enough air to push his buttons again.

“You’re the one doing all the work. Can’t you not even satisfy yourself? Maybe the problem isn’t me but that teeny weeny peanut dick.” You saw a frown appear on Seokjin’s handsome face and, next thing you knew, his hand was coming down to slap you on the cheek. Just like the slaps in your ass, this one stung but send waves of electricity all over your skin. You groaned and put your still weak hand on your cheek to sooth the dull pain. “You’re too easy to work up, dude. Insecure much?” you sneered.

The man’s response was to take hold of your legs and open them to fit himself. He moved close enough to your body that you felt every inch of his manhood when he grinded it roughly in between your folds, which, at this point, were drenched and dripping, and that only made the glide very slippery. You moaned when his tip aimed to your nub, hitting the bundle of nerves repeatedly. He just grunted.

Behind you, Namjoon got his hands on your breasts, massaging them almost tenderly, while his hips thrusted up a little until his member lodged between your asscheeks. You didn’t expect his lips roaming on your neck, and much less for him to leave open-mouthed kisses and a trail of saliva there where his tongue licked; you were too distracted squealing as Seokjin gripped your waist and rammed his cock into your pussy in one go. By now, after everything you went through, nothing too soft or vanilla would satisfy you enough; the spark of excitement was always missing when men fucked you slowly and carefully. You were a woman of action, of adrenaline – so you liked how he was rough and wild.

“Are you liking how Seokjin fucks your pussy, baby?” Namjoon murmured right in your ear before taking your earlobe between his lips and sucking it. He was the real menace. “You want him to fill you up? Because, I’ll tell you a secret,” If it wasn’t for his closeness – his mouth glued to your ear – you wouldn’t be capable of hearing him due to the smacking of skin with skin and the blood that was rushing in your ears. “That’s all he thought about since he found you.” Through half lidded eyes, you looked up at the older man while Namjoon kept talking. “Fill you until you were gushing with his cum. Mark you as his bitch, he said.” He cupped your breasts and played with both your nipples, but you couldn’t even close your eyes at the feeling because you couldn’t miss even a second of the sight Seokjin was.

You didn’t really like him like that, but it was undeniable that he was one of the most beautiful men you have seen – now more than ever. His face was flushed and glowing, with a drop of sweat down his side; his full and bitten-red lips a little open in a panting; his cold stare down to you, judging you, hating you, and yet, fucking you franticly… And you haven’t even started on his god-like body. If you had to be attracted to someone, it would be someone like him: heartless, vain, profane. Someone not afraid of wanting, not afraid of taking.

“And, you know? Good bitches have to be bred.” Out of a sudden, Namjoon had his fingers shamelessly torturing your clitoris. You squeeze Seokjin’s member and moaned in a high-pitch, feeling your insides tightening fast. “That’s why we brought you, to stuff you with cum until our bitch is well bred– fucked until you beg to be filled over and over again.” Your breath shook as a result of his words, and your core was clenching until the point of no return. Just then, the older Kim reangled himself and penetrated you deeper, nudging all your hot insides with the tip of his long cock. “Would you like that, sweetheart? For us to put a baby into you? To fuck you until you´re round and can do nothing but take our cocks in all your holes all day?” The speed of his digits on you increased, rubbing past the hood that covered you most sensitive part. You cried when he started touching directly on the nervous nub. “Come on, baby, I know you want it. Beg for it.”

“Ye-yes” you exhaled, overwhelmed with sensations. You were so close that anything you heard sounded hot and cum-inducing. Being reduced to a bearing slave and a hole to warm their cocks? Hell yeah. “I wa-want you to – want you to b-breed me. Please!” With a sharp movement of his index finger, Namjoon made your tense core snap. You cried louder when your climax hit you all at once; your cunt tensed and gripped Seokjin like a vice, while all blood flushed down south of your body and electricity ran all on your clit, folds and thighs. For a second, everything was white and muted, and Seokjin’s clash with your body prolonged your climax, sending wave after wave of more electricity. “Please, breed me. I’m your bitch, cum in me, please” you murmured in the middle of ecstasy. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut normally, much less in that mind-altering moment.

Seokjin stopped for a moment, releasing your legs, though you didn’t realize it until you felt his tongue forcing his way into your mouth. You had no energy to kiss him back, but it was not needed; he took your jaw and forced your lips to apart with his. Once again, he licked all inside your cavity, brushing your tongue with his and sucking each of your lips until they were red. You let him do as he pleased, and it even felt quite nice to make out so passionately after cumming so hard.

However, none of the men had cummed yet. Still hazed, you felt strong arms hooking under your knees and lifting you, causing you to circle your arms around a neck to avoid falling. You hugged yourself to Seokjin while he got up from the bed and stood on the floor beside it – cock never leaving your pussy. Focusing again on reality, you felt the heat of Namjoon’s body behind you when his skin sticked to yours. With an extraordinary strength you didn’t know he had, Seokjin moved your body up on his standing dick and down until he bottomed out. From this upright position, gravity naturally made your body go lower and the thick penis go deeper. You whined from overstimulation.

“Shush, whore. Didn’t you wanna be bred? This is how filthy whores have their cunt filled” the older brother grunted. You whined louder like the brattiest of brats just to annoy him. At this point he could only roll his eyes to you. Though your fun didn’t last long – next time Seokjin pulled you down, you found yourself filled to the brim suddenly.

It took a little patience and team work from all parties to make both of them fit into your pussy at the same time. You whimpered for real the whole time, closing your eyes tightly, because you were stretched to the limit, and despite having done this before, it was never with two cocks that large. Between shaky exhales, you felt Namjoon tonguing at the spot under your ear and nibbling his way to the base of your throat.

“Holy shit, it’s better than I thought” Seokjin groaned, half lidded eyes posed on your strained face. “Do you like your cunt stuffed like this, baby?” He saw the intention to clapback when you barely opened your eyes, so he thrusted the tiniest bit up to tear a yelp off of you. He admitted to himself that he kind of admired your tenacity; you came this far and never once had you showed the littlest trace of fear or regret – no, you kept pushing and challenging them even in that moment. It really was admirable how far you would go for your fortune.

Finally, you felt yourself reaching the base of their penises, with much, much effort. You couldn’t think, much less utter a single word from how overwhelmed you felt. All you could do was gasp and gape like a fish, digging your fingers on Seokjin’s shoulder – who was enjoying every second of your helplessness. Having you at his mercy was all he had thought about for years, and all he had needed was patience and time. And there you were.

“You turned out just a meek kitten, baby” Namjoon commented on your left ear, swiveling his hips slowly into you. “I don’t like proving Seokjin right and I told him he was fucking crazy with this stupid plan, but here we are.” Both of them secured their hold on your legs, and just like that started moving taking turns; each time one was out, the other penetrated you with a hard thrust.

“Told you this dumb whore would fall for it” Seokjin grunted, looking down at the place where all three of you connected. “She thinks running a business is fucking people and that’s it. ‘Cause that’s how you made your way to the top, right? There’s no other way for you to get anywhere, as useless as you are.” Seokjin was really, really into degrading you. He spat his words to your face with the utmost disgust, pounding into you harder whenever he said something demeaning. “You’d been a disgusting slut since daddy gave you the wheel, hadn’t you? Letting anybody use your cunt, dripping everywhere you go with any bastard’s cum.”

Now they were really getting into it – and so were you. Heat stirred up in your core again and you found yourself panting and whimpering, needing more. You opened your glazed eyes and focused on Seokjin, expecting he catches up the silent begging. He did, but he would make you suffer before anything.

“It was going to be a surprise, baby, but your beautiful, tortured face is weakening me a little so I’ll tell you.” Still shaking you everywhere with their pounding, the older of the brothers got his mouth on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and he bitted hard enough to hurt. When he heard you scream, he sucked the tender spot and laved his tongue on the dents he left, before getting right by your right ear to talk. “You’ll stay here with us. We will shoot your brother, steal your kingdom and make everything, including you, Kim property.”

Namjoon fucks into you at the last sentence, not waiting for his brother to be fully out. You shout as he fills you suddenly; the pressure of his entire cock inside of you, alongside the half Seokjin didn’t get out, got your whole body quivering. A collective gasp echoed in the room, and after that, the smacking of skin with skin resumed.

“You know what your future here holds, baby? It was true, we will knock you up,” Namjoon’s satin voice paired with his ramming into you every time he said will made goosebumps run up your spine and your insides to tighten. “We will make you bear our children, and we will make you tend to them only for the rest of your life. What about that, baby? The great mafia princess lessened into a breeding machine, good for nothing but popping out our babies.”

After hearing his brother, Seokjin begins fucking into you rougher, more urgent, moving one hand to your throat so you won’t look anywhere but at him as he fucks you. Sweat was making it difficult for you to keep your hold on his strained biceps so, in a particularly hard thrust, you sank your fingers, nails and all, deep onto his skin with a moan. Both brothers bang into you together, cocks heedlessly slamming and dragging over your walls, their pace picking up as they jackhammered into your pussy at the same time, into the same spot. They were rubbing your insides raw; sensitive skin swollen and unbearably tender, way past the point of pain and pushing into pleasure.

“This is your life now, sweetheart” Seokjin panted on your face, now holding you by the jaw. “Get used to being my bitch because I’ve been waiting for too long to fuck” he thrusted up with force. “my seed” His brother caught on his rhythm and now you had to cocks punctuating every word with rough movements. “into you.” With one last pound of the two members, filling ridiculously stretched and overly sensitive inside and out – and with a single stroke of Namjoon’s magic fingers on your clit – you tip over the edge. You scream, your muscles tense everywhere like a rubber band before releasing all at once, and both men keep fucking you despite you blacking out for a moment.

Fucking themselves into you, both brothers knew they wouldn’t last much longer given how you clenched around them, your walls throbbing alongside their cocks. Unable to hold out anymore, Namjoon groans low, hips getting sloppier as he started pumping his come deep into you. It just took Seokjin one more spasm from your cunt to moan loud and long and come beside his brother, white ropes filling you up as both of them continued to fuck every last drop inside. White, liquid cum seeped from your pussy and between their joined members to their thighs. All of your chests heaved in and out to catch your breaths, and just then they realized you let yourself fall onto Seokjin, body liquified and mind still out there.

[physalian]

Plot Holes and How to Fill Them (Or, The Hidden Potential in Your Mistakes)

“But why didn’t they just do that earlier!”

“You can time travel – so time travel!”

“Doesn’t X have Y spell? Why aren’t they using it to escape?”

“You. Have. Telekinesis! How are you this stupid?”

Plot holes! The bane of every writer’s existence. You think you’ve polished your beautiful manuscript, you have it all sent out for the masses to consume and praise and shower with compliments and adoration… and then they start tugging at a thread that may or may not begin to unravel your entire story. You’ve read this thing top to bottom, forwards and backwards and upside down, so many times the letters are burned into your brain. You mumble your monologues in your sleep — how did you not see this? How do you fix this?

See this post about beginning the writing process that might help you avoid opening a plot hole entirely with a solid enough script and outline.

Types of Plot Holes

Your magic system’s established rules have just been broken for TeNSioN

Your Deus Ex Machina really did come out of nowhere and is quite out of character

Why doesn't Character just run away from a fight they can't win?

Characters forgetting they have superpowers, extreme intelligence, handy tools or weapons, survival skills, common sense, or crucial information to escape and/or solve a situation

Characters dying for the above mistakes when said death could have been avoided

The entire story could have been avoided had Character A just told Character B the truth

Character X should have known ___ all along given their profession/backstory/friend circle/education/personality

And variations of the above, I’m sure I’m missing a couple. Fixing plot holes generally come in two camps: Those you can fix by rewriting the existing manuscript that contains the hole, or those you have to work around from a previous manuscript that’s already been published.

Why Plot Holes Happen

Plot holes happen in reality. Expecting your first, second, or 15th draft to be completely foolproof is utter nonsense. Real people forget stuff they’re supposed to know all the time, tools that would be useful are left behind, GroupThink makes very bad decisions.

The difference is: You are writing fiction. Your goal is to be entertaining, not necessarily realistic. A character simply *forgetting* Macguffin X at the climax of the story does not make for an entertaining read, no matter how likely it might be to happen in the real world.

You’re making this entire world up as you go and that alone is an impressive feat millions of others can only dream about – cut yourself some slack, okay? Everything is fixable.

Plot holes also happen because we’re so engrossed in our own story that we forget it’s all made up. You’re 22 chapters into a 24 chapter novel and you’ve just realized your psychic hero would never have been caught unawares like this. “But that’s just how he is!”

No. Stop. That’s not just how he is. That’s just how you wrote him – and you can go back and un-write him. Any excuse you can dream up you can un-write, and unfortunately, you’ll likely have to do a fair bit of it if you still have the opportunity.

Plot holes generally open long after the inciting incident that causes them. If you’re going to fix it, duct-taping together a solution in that very same scene isn’t the way to do it. You have to figure out why it’s a hole at all, then go back and fix its foundations.

Finding Your Own Plot Holes

Sometimes you’re lucky enough to stumble upon them before it’s too late. A fair bit of the time, though, your audience has to tell you. Finding your own plot holes requires stepping back from your work and looking at it like you’re just a reader, not the author.

Read your plot out loud to yourself and keep asking questions like:

Does this make sense for the scene?

Does this only exist to look cool at the cost of logic?

Are these rules I wrote too easy to break or contradictory in any way?

Is there any other way for this character to escape this situation?

Is the only solution here too contrived?

That, and having an army of beta readers who should show you flaws you’ve overlooked. Even then, some things just aren’t obvious at all until someone too smart for their own good points out something no one else considered before.

It’s okay. It’s not the end of the world.

Filling Plot Holes

Fix your broken magic system

A “magic system” broadly describes any type of powers/abilities/supernatural entities that function in your world. They can be in high fantasy, urban fantasy, sci-fi, or any genre really. The Force is a magic system, as much as is bending in Last Airbender even if no one calls it “magic”.

For example: Force users are telekinetic… and yet don’t simply repeatedly spam the “chuck my enemies into a wall/off a cliff/anywhere that is away from me” button. It’s what you’d call a “soft” magic system, it doesn’t have explicit rules on how and when it can and should be used. It just *is*.

Fixing holes in your magic system first demands examining why you wrote it the way you did, why you gave it these specific rules, or why you didn’t, and all the ways characters should otherwise be able to use it when your story demands they get creative.

For soft magic systems — never let the magic system win the day. It invites far too much scrutiny. Gandalf from Lord of the Rings is a Wizard. He can do an undefined number of spells and has an unclear number of abilities and limit to his reach. Gandalf’s magic is never the saving grace of the Fellowship. So asking “why didn’t Gandalf just do X” isn’t ever a question people have because success never depends on Gandalf doing X.

Everyone hates on the time turner in Harry Potter, as they should. Time travel is essential to the plot of Prisoner of Azkaban, without it the heroes fail. And yet, because it is time travel, why it never existed earlier and why they never use it again to solve more massive plot problems is a valid question. As goes with many spells and abilities in the series.

For hard magic systems — remember that you wrote the rules, you can go back and change them at any time before it’s published. Bending in Last Airbender is rarely the focus of any conflict. Yes, two benders will fight each other, but it’s not “who’s the stronger bender,” it’s “who’s smarter with their element”. Who better uses their environment? Which one is racing against a clock before reinforcements arrive and overwhelm them? Which one runs the risk of exposing themselves if they start bending? Whose mental state is crippling their bending today?

These are all character-driven explanations for why certain abilities do or don’t manifest in a given scene… until the finale when it really is just a clash of red and blue aura lasers.

There is never a scene where a character is trapped when they shouldn’t be. Never a “why didn’t you just X” moment, because it’s never about the bending, it’s about the bender.

Turn plot-reasons into character-reasons

This means taking a “why don’t they just do X” and making the reason because one of the protagonists is morally against doing it, not because the hand of the author demands it.

In Last Airbender, Aang is vocally against simply killing the Fire Lord. It would be easier, it would risk far less casualties and carnage, it’s fastest. And yet. Aang doesn’t do it simply because he’s not strong enough or he doesn’t have some magical super weapon, or the stars have aligned and now he’s lost a very convenient ability – Aang doesn’t want to take the easy road because that’s who he is as a person.

He’s been raised as a monk to value the preservation of life above all else (ignoring any accidental casualties over the course of the series). Him being desperate to not simply kill Ozai is central to his character and even when he has the chance in the climax of the fight, he still doesn’t take it.

Now “why didn’t you do that earlier” does, still, concern the “energy bending” established out of nowhere just for the finale so Aang doesn’t have to compromise his morals to win… but the show is so damn good and Ozai’s just desserts so damn sweet it doesn’t really matter.

Making these plot decisions character decisions, so long as they are in-character, gives some juicy potential for schisms within Team Protagonist as fan favorites clash over ideals and morals and whether or not the greater good is worth them sacrificing something so central to their being.

This also applies to characters not sharing crucial information with each other. Make them distrustful of the others, or let them attempt it anyway and have some other consequence for the effort. Anything is better than a character sitting on valuable info simply to maintain the mystery.

Avoid Deus Ex Machinas

The “surprise reinforcement cavalry charge” is one of my favorite deus ex machinas in fantasy. Everybody cheers, it looks amazing, the music is swelling, our heroes on the battlefield realize they haven’t been forsaken by their friends, etc. In Lord of the Rings, yes, Theoden could have arrived 30 minutes earlier and saved even more lives, but we already knew he was on his way moving as fast as he could without exhausting his horses. Theoden’s army also took care of the bulk of the battle so when Aragorn arrives with the second surprise reinforcements, it’s less a decisive blow that comes out of nowhere and more the victory lap.

In “Battle of the Bastards,” Game of Thrones has its third surprise cavalry charge of the series, only this one much more explicitly comes to save the day. The difference between this scene and Theoden’s charge is: Audiences had no idea Littlefinger was on his way, and neither did Jon Snow. Had Sansa told him she had a plan, Jon could have waited. He wasn’t backed against a wall and forced to fight right then and there, he could have stalled an extra hour by just not showing up to the battlefield to wait for his cavalry. With Sansa inexplicably not telling him, she risked his life and the lives of his entire army because the hand of the writers wanted to keep it a surprise. Worst of all, when the battle is over, he compliments her decision, despite all the blood on her hands.

Surprise reinforcements, saviors, powers, and abilities always run the risk of “why didn’t they do that earlier” and you should be asking yourself the same question. If you can’t come up with an explanation other than “because it’ll look cool” go back to the drawing board.

Or, have your very own characters pissed that the savior didn’t just do that earlier. Have your characters ask where this special power was, have it mean something to them and the story at large. Had Jon been angry with Sansa, given their incredibly pyrrhic victory and the potentially avoidable death of their youngest brother, it might’ve made for some interesting character drama.

Give your saving graces deadly costs

“Why didn’t they just do X earlier?”

“Because doing X would have killed Character D, dummy.”

Giving your super special magic, mutant, super, or supernatural powers costs, drawbacks, and limitations forces the characters who use them to not resort to them every single chance they get. Their magic drains their physical stamina, or the demon they made a deal with camping in their brain threatens to overtake their psyche, or the sword is cursed and every time the hero raises it in battle, they lose a little piece of themselves. Or, using this creepy power strains their relationship with their friends or community.

Without risk and consequences, you cannot avoid “why didn’t they do that earlier,” because the only answer you have to give is “because I, the author, said so.” The only time a character is allowed to have selective amnesia about their superpowers is if it’s been established beforehand as a potential problem. Then it’s not “this came out of nowhere.” Then your audience is dreading the entire time waiting for that chekhov’s gun to fire.

Don’t compromise your story for sensationalism

I can complain about ~subverting expectations~ in another post, but what I mean here is this: Are you writing this scene purely for shock value, for the sake of a twist, because a story this grim demands at least one character death, or because it’s going to look epic?

In this post about pacing and this post about how to write tone, I talked about making your scenes pull double duty. You can write a scene for shock and awe, but if it’s at the expense of a character’s integrity or intelligence, come up with another way to make it spectacular.

You want the villain to monologue to give the heroes time to save the world? Then write a villain with an ego and personality that would monologue. You want the hero to be a one-man-army? Then write their personality as the lone wolf type and have it be a flaw of theirs that they keep striking out alone, consequences be damned.

You absolutely need the hero to not take the easy road and fight the bad guy without using their most effective weapon? Give them a reason to stall this fight. Maybe they really do need to simply run out a clock, or they don’t actually want to kill/subdue their opponent, or in doing so, the villain’s death is what causes the Bad Thing to happen.

If I write a character that can kill with just a look, every time I put them in a dangerous situation I need to then justify why they don’t do that over and over again, unless it’s by their own stubborn integrity that they choose not to.

If I write a villainous plan so devious and well thought out, the only thing standing in the way is living protagonists? I need a reason the villain doesn’t just murder the heroes every chance they get. Maybe they’re internally struggling over actually going through with it, or their ego demands the hero doesn’t get a quick or honorless death, or they do actually need a living hero for the plan to work.

Fixing Plot Holes in Sequels

All of the above is advice for issues within the same manuscript. What happens if you’ve already published and have the chance to address a known plot hole in the sequel?

About the worst thing you can do is slap in a throwaway line or hasty explanation to cover your ass. Everyone reading and watching will notice. Saying nothing is better than saying that.

See the duct-tape in Rise of Skywalker when the heroes explained that they couldn't just hypersspace-jump another ship into the enemy fleet because it worked so horribly effectively last time. Doesn't matter that they could have put it on autopilot or sacrificed a droid, or that, at any point in the history of Star Wars, someone else could have and should have done this desperate maneuver. For the sake of "looking cool" it opened an entire sinkhole.

Less a “hole” and more an inconsistency — the pegasus Blackjack in Percy Jackson is explicitly a mare, a female horse, in one book, and then inexplicably male in later books. Why? Well the author made a mistake, simple as that. He did *not* attempt to explain this error away or dig the hole deeper. It just is. Though I’m not sure why Blackjack couldn’t just stay a mare and how he didn’t reference the previous book when writing the sequel is a bit baffling.

If your heroes can no longer use the Deus Ex Machina they used before – have them attempt to use it, and then come up with a solid reason why it’s not possible. Maybe it was one-time use, or the savior simply doesn’t want to, or the cost/risk is too high to attempt it again, or it simply can’t be found and it’s very frustrating.

Have the heroes be morally opposed to doing what they did before, or overconfident, or skeptical that it will even work again only for that choice to bite them in the ass later. Have the magic item all used up, the recipe to recreate it lost to history. There’s a hundred better excuses than the hand of the author simply saying so.

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If you aren’t going to write a sequel and you accept living with the plot hole unfilled… chances are people are going to love the story despite its flaws. Harry Potter is the poster child of “why didn’t they use X spell to solve the problem” or “they have a spell for X, yet they don’t have a spell for Y?” and how many people love that story?

In the end, a plot hole can be tiny or massive and chances are the story you told is entertaining enough to make up for it. It’s just a story, it’s just fiction. Learn from your mistakes so the next piece you create is even better.