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worldsover · 22 hours ago

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Detonation Mechanism ft. Isa

20k words

It's cute, fluffy, love-at-first-sight romance with Isa, but it turns out the kitten is naughtier than she appears.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

She'll be just like the last one. And the one before that. The one before that. The pattern, you've done everything in your power to break it and have yet to do so successfully. You'd rather not meet her at all if it's going to be that way, but the pressure from your mutual friends to get together for a blind date is akin to trying to turn around a tank with grocery bags in hand. You don't know if it's the same for Isa, but she didn't exactly put up a fight to meet, either, and that worries you a little bit. All you knew about Isa was a list of allergies so extensive that it resembled a complex food import document. You were always complaining about eating out at the same five places, so you were at least looking forward to eating at the trendy vegan restaurant she suggested.

Waiting amidst the bustling pedestrian plaza nearby, you double-check for the time and address on your phone and scan the area again. In truth, you want to get this over with. The air is thick with noise—the roar of traffic, people chatting, a street busker playing her guitar under the shade of an awning across from where you wait. The sun glares down mercilessly and your eyes water without warning, the summer heat already leaving you parched. It feels as though the world itself doesn’t want you to find love.

A notification on your screen.

> "you here already?"

> "Yep!"

> "i'm by the sculpture! of the guy! you'll know it's me!"

You do. Or, you hope. Hope that Isa is the red-haired woman waving wildly and looking around.

As you wave back with more restraint, you smile, because how else can you respond to the warmth of the sun—oh, how quickly you change your tune. You smile because that's how you combat freezing up at her prettiness. On first impression, Isa is already the most stunning person you've ever seen. Her eyes become half-moons when she smiles brightly, and you happily melt under her gaze. But then, there are those jeans holding in her thighs, her tight shirt not holding back her smooth midriff. All in all, very cute. You liken her expressions to that of a feisty cat. You haven't stopped smiling; how can you?

The world wants you to find love.

You can't believe it when she hugs you like she's known you for years. Her perfume wafts into your nose, and she smells sweet, too sweet, like you'd probably go into anaphylactic shock if you kissed her—who's the allergic one now?

"Hi!" Isa gives you one last squeeze before releasing you. "Nice to meet you."

You sputter—great start. "Wow, hi. Nice to meet you too."

"I'm Isa." Her grin is like a curly bracket as she looks up at you, not even close to your height. Her lips are pouty, red like her hair, and it doesn't help that she's looking at you as though you were already boyfriend material. "It's a nickname."

You have to hold back from telling her that she's the cutest thing you've ever seen in your life. "Isa," you repeat, almost stupidly, but then get over yourself. "It suits you."

"Yeah? Thank you." Her eyes turn into half-moons again when she smiles and nods, looking as though she'll purr any second now.

"Hold on, let me guess. You look like a… Sumin."

She laughs out loud. "Oh my god."

You gasp. "Did I get it?"

"No, no, that's one of my best friend's names."

"Damn. I thought I figured you out."

"Nope. I'm Lee Chaeyoung. Nice to meet you." She offers her hand.

You shake it and tell her your name in turn. "So, ready to eat?"

Her smile widens. She takes your bicep in hand, again her innate familiarity surprising you. "This way," she says, squeezing your arm.

"I know, I know," you say.

"I'm glad you agreed to come here. I've only been once, but I love this place."

You're inclined to like the place as well—the atmosphere is bright and vibrant, and the energy is positive like everyone's in their element. The restaurant has large windows with shutters drawn up to let in a lot of sunlight and natural airflow. A large indoor tree sits by a seating area next to the windows, providing a nice feeling of nature indoors. The tables and chairs are all a light-colored wood that matches the decor. You'd never walk into this place by accident—this is clearly a hipster vegan joint meant for millennials who think they can live forever if they just eat the right plants—but with Isa by your side, you don't care.

You care. You haven't felt nerves like these for ages. You're blaming your stuttering on how difficult the menu is to read, but if you're being honest, her beauty is throwing you for a loop. You're afraid you'll misspeak or do something weird like accidentally spill some soup on her, or try to kiss her before you learn her name properly, or any number of other things that can go wrong on a first date.

Isa orders for the both of you as if she knows the menu inside and out (you have no reason to suspect she doesn't), and as soon as she starts talking, you hang onto every word. She sounds passionate about this place, which is so cute of her, so of course, you agree with what she chooses.

The dish that appears in front of you, ratatouille and spaghetti, comes as a surprise because you were more focused on Isa than paying attention to what you ordered. You're embarrassed. If you had one great property about you, it would be your ability to snall talk and bullshit; instead, you're all avoidant eyes and quiet eating. You don't want to reveal too much about yourself, how humdrum your work is, or how many hours you spend on YouTube or reading manga every day. But Isa, she's a force of nature that can't be held back by any of your defenses, and you can't remain so closed off for too long, what with her relentless teasing and prodding at all the right times. She has you smiling in minutes.

A woman of many passions, she talks at length about decorating her house, finding new artists to listen to, and recording vlogs for all the countries she's visited. You're on the topic of travel. "No, I'm serious, there are some nice parks in Canada," you say.

"I could see that. I'm imagining somewhere remote, where the stars are visible and you can stand on top of a hill and breathe in the fresh, cool air." Isa takes in a deep breath as though to demonstrate. "Ooh, have you ever seen the aurora borealis? So pretty."

"Yeah," you say as you keep your eyes on her.

"Wait, you've been?" She's bouncing in her seat now.

You chuckle. "I did, once."

"I'm so jealous."

"It's a long drive, getting far enough from the city lights. Plus, you have to be lucky with the timing. But it's worth it."

"Can we go?" she asks, all sincere.

"Together? To Canada?" you ask.

Isa ducks her head. "Sorry, that's presumptuous, right?"

You pat her forearm. "No, it's okay. I didn't mean to make fun, that would be incredible to do. You really wanna go?"

"Eventually. If the stars align." Isa makes a dramatic face, as if winking but unable to get her other eye to cooperate and stay open.

You burst out laughing, attracting stares.

"What? What?" she asks.

But you keep laughing, and she can't help but join in. In that moment, there's something true and incomparable and fantastical about Isa, and whatever connection the two of you have. Her foot touches yours and neither of you move away. She meets your eyes, drawing you in closer. Every laugh. Every smile. Every quirk of her brow. Her beauty ensnares your attention like a well-laid trap. Beckons you to steal glances, toward her plump lips, her clear skin, the outline of her neck as she drinks from her glass, the graceful slope of her nose, the red hair that frames her face. Her legs, encased in tight denim that stretches beyond infinity, make you linger longer.

"I don't bite," she purrs, leans forward, offers a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. "Unless you want me to."

Your stomach drops. Whatever picture you had of Isa as a wholesome, innocent girl crumbles to pieces, in a good, groin-stirring, mouth-shutting way.

"Hey." Her hand touches your forearm. "I'm sorry if I'm coming on too strong. I'm having too much fun."

You clear your throat. "No, you're fine. More than fine." You squeeze her hand, admiring her delicate fingers and white-manicured nails. "I'm having fun with you too."

"Good! I guess we should, like, actually get to know each other though."

"Yeah," you reply, chuckling nervously. You first share the more basic biographical information: you're a few years older than her, but you agree to drop the formalities as though you were close friends already.

"Oh, by the way," you say, "I'm sorry."

She freezes up. "Sorry for what?"

"About all your allergies, I mean, chicken? Come on. I didn't even know that was a thing."

Isa laughs, and the more you hear her laugh, the more you want to tell jokes over and over just to hear it again. "Well, it's okay. I can just eat everything else. Like this ratatouille. It's really good."

You laugh with her. "Yeah, it is."

From there, it's easy to open up, talk more about yourself when she asks questions, to engage in small talk you wouldn't normally bother with. Just as with her hobbies, she wears many hats in her job, always busy doing something whether it's brand deals or graphic design or one of her million side projects. Somehow, she manages to make your life sound interesting with her unabashed sincerity. The more you ask about her interests, the more your own apathy toward dating seems silly and unfounded, a self-defeating cycle you've made worse by following it.

You're halfway through your meals when suddenly, Isa breaks the rhythm of the conversation with the question: "Why are you single?"

"What?" You snort. "Where did that come from?"

"Well," she begins, setting down her fork, "you're handsome, for one."

You hold back a gasp, not wanting to seem overly affected. "Thank you," you say in earnest, smiling bashfully.

"You're funny, and you're really good at making me feel comfortable with you." Once again, she squeezes your bicep, and more quietly, like admitting a secret, she adds, "And your body is nice. Any girl would be lucky to have you."

You're blushing, if not for her compliments, then for how adorable she looks being so transparent about how she feels. You decide to return the favor. "You're cute. Very cute. And I love your sense of style, especially the red hair, and how much fun we're having talking."

"Really?" Her eyes light up as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah," you say quietly. "I've never met anyone quite like you before."

"And I want to know more about you," she whispers. Isa leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, fingers laced together. "So, explain yourself, why you're single."

"Geez," you say, putting your hands up in defense, laughing again. "Okay, okay. Where to begin? I guess I haven't exactly had the best luck with dating."

She frowns. "Aww, I'm sorry. That's no good."

"I mean, it's tough, right? You have to meet new people and try to get to know them and they might turn out to be terrible dates who dump you in public or ghost you." You laugh, but it's mostly forced. "Or even worse, there are the friends that you dated and then had to stop being friends with because the relationship just didn't work out, and you have no one to hang out with on weekends. And now I sound like a loser."

"Hey, it's not like that." She squeezes your arm. "So you don't bother with dating as much, right? Well, that's understandable, especially after those bad experiences."

You appreciate her empathy; it helps to put your worries into words that feel more grounded, as though your concerns were normal rather than yours alone. "Right, but it doesn't help when people ask why I don't have a girlfriend, as if having a significant other is the only important relationship in your life. As though that's all that matters." You realize you're ranting too much and try to rein yourself in. "Sorry, I didn't mean to lay it on you so thick."

But Isa is already leaning into your arm. "Don't be sorry. It makes me feel better about myself to hear that other people have their own problems they have to deal with." She pauses. "If you're comfortable sharing, what happened before this?"

You straighten up. "Are you sure?"

"Of course."

So you do. Tell her about the failures, the heartbreak, how your ex was still in your friend group after the breakup. You shouldn't. This is the exact sort of first-date taboo that should be avoided at all costs. But she listens. She truly listens, and she understands. It feels good, to be heard by someone so receptive. There's a relief in getting it all off your chest, an intimacy in sharing secrets—and it helps that she's more attractive than any other woman you've met.

You've never taken so long eating such a simple dish.

After finishing up your meal, the mood to something light-hearted, and Isa asks if you want some… She's leaning forward, once more showing off her breasts in her crop top, and you stare in awe. She watches you take in every detail, and slowly, seductively, slightly, parts her mouth open. You blink rapidly and force yourself to meet her gaze.

"I said, you want some vegan ice cream?"

"Sure. We can, um, split it." You swallow.

Like nothing happened, she orders the creamy delight and as you tuck into the shared bowl, she savors each spoonful with slow, tantalizing movements of her tongue. Desire surges in your lower regions, and you attempt to adjust yourself subtly.

Isa flashes a provocative smile. "It's okay to look, you know?"

That ice cream must taste really good for her, how deliciously she's sucking on it. Your mind wanders. How might her lips taste, feel, upon yours, upon your neck, upon your chest, down? Shuddering at the thought, you clumsily shove a large scoop of the frozen treat into your mouth, only to regret it as your brain tries to make sense of the contrasting temperature.

When your face contorts from the chill, Isa laughs, and then she seems to catch herself; her eyes go wide. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I swear, I don't act this way with people I just met. But, it, you know, feels natural with you for some reason. Maybe you bring out the animal in me. Or, err…"

You clear your throat. "No, it's okay. It's hot. Actually, no, it's not okay, don't bring animals into this restaurant."

Isa laughs—another success, another tug at your heart. Her legs graze yours under the table until every nerve ending is on fire; you and Isa end up having a side competition under the table, both of you taking turns touching the other, to see who can make the other react first.

Isa wins.

Her cheeks flush red and you can't stop glancing at her parted lips.

Music. You were talking about… "You said you like R&B, right?" you ask. "You have a really nice voice for it. Ever consider singing?"

"Actually, I've thought about it," she says, straightening up in her chair. "I even took some lessons in high school. They said I could've been big, you know?"

Picturing Isa on stage is easy; she'd have a million followers. "That's really cool," you say. "Maybe you could sing me a song sometime."

"Maybe. But I might need to be in a more comfortable setting. Like, maybe my home or yours." She winks and your stomach drops again. She is toying with you and it's working, maybe too well. The anticipation of her flirty touches has you wanting more and more, the sexual tension building each time her foot or her hand brushes against yours. It feels like she's already undressing you with her eyes.

"That sounds good," you say.

"Yeah," Isa says, "we could do karaoke, drink a bit if you're down for that."

"You have any more talents or is a million hobbies not enough for you?"

"I also learned dance too. I still do that actually, I'm in a club."

You scoff. "Seriously, what are you doing here instead of performing? You could literally be the top idol, right now."

Isa shrugs. "That's just life. Sometimes, we don't get what we want. But then better things come along. And you get to eat ice cream with them." She laughs again, so carefree and happy—and so sexy that it's hard not to feel confident around her. "You're a pretty good thing, if I do say so myself."

You contemplate Isa's sudden musing. "I'd be your biggest fan, trust me."

"But, you know," Isa says, "I could teach you a thing or two about dancing too."

You imagine Isa dancing with you, her body pressing against yours. It's a delightful thought. Unfortunately: "I'm pretty much a fish out of water when it comes to anything involving coordination. Mmm, maybe one day. I can try and surprise you."

"It's okay. Everyone's gotta start somewhere. Or, you can watch me." Her lips curl up. "I like showing off sometimes." Eating her last bite of ice cream, a large dollop falls onto the bare skin between her neck and clavicle, its white and creamy and sticky nature reminding you of how it'd be to leave a warmer mark there. A streak of desire runs through your body, and you almost feel bad at the sudden urge to lick it off her skin. Instead, Isa whimpers at the cold sensation while her fingers scoop up the excess and pop into her mouth, sucking each digit clean.

"I see that," you reply, voice strained, and look away.

How Isa is able to move on from that so easily, you don't know. Your shirt feels too tight on your shoulders, and you shift in your seat to adjust your trousers.

You call the server over for the check—just in time to save you from your horniness—and Isa thanks you with a peck on your cheek that has you almost melting into her arms. The moment your card is swiped and the receipt signed, she takes your hand in hers as though she never wants to let go.

There's a crowd of people outside, bunches of people coming in and out of restaurants and stores, a group of college students dancing to some choreography, but you feel like you and Isa are in your own bubble.

"Thank you for tonight," she whispers in your ear, as the streets are getting loud with all the people. She's warm, and her breath is warm, and her smile is warm, and every moment makes you feel warm. Isa looks at you like she's feeling the same way, clinging to your arm and to your every word and to the promises of more dates.

You continue to sneak glances, ensure you're not dreaming. The setting sun peeks out behind the skyscrapers, shining light onto her bright skin—she may be an angel in her radiance; you’ve never told anyone that on the first date because a pickup line like that would be too cheesy, but you have to tell her anyway. (“Seriously? Fell from what? Ugh!” She rolls her eyes but with a huge smile on her face. Nothing could be more precious.) You didn't realize otherworldly beauty even existed outside of the internet or the cinema, but somehow, it just ended up on your lap for the price of a vegan entrée and some wine.

As you walk through a nearby urban park, Isa squeezes your hand. "I'm kinda surprised."

"About?" You tilt your head.

"How well this is going. I didn't think blind dates were supposed to go this well."

"So this is your first one?" You nudge her with a playful shoulder. "Lucky. So, you wanna do anything else?"

"Do you?"

You scan the shops, assessing your options. There's a stationery store, a convenience mart, and a plethora of designer boutiques far exceeding your pay grade. "Whatever you feel like." Well, hopefully not the latter.

"Let's go there." Isa points to the stationary shop and drags you there.

You browse the aisles, letting go of her hand to flip through the pages of a journal. Isa decides to get herself some notebooks—one covered in red roses and a kitten in shades of pink. You scan the shelves and notice a book on calligraphy and pull it out. After shuffling some items around, you find some pencil grips and grab them for yourself, then find Isa in the pen and pencils section.

"Cute." Though looking at the things she's holding, you're not talking about them.

"Oh, thanks." She shifts the books in her arms and pokes you on the side. "There are some markers and pencils with kittens on them, maybe you can give it as a gift to a friend."

"You can just say you want them. It seems you've got a whole theme going on there. You don't even have a cat," you tease.

She sighs loudly. "No, don't remind me. I wish I could have one so bad."

"I'm more of a dog person," you say, "but kittens aren't half bad."

"Hmph. Kittens are so cute though." Her pout is even more adorable. "Kittens are small, furry, warm."

"And lazy. Mean. Cranky," you counter.

Isa swats your arm. "Noo, they aren't."

With the kitten pencils and markers now secured in your shopping bag, you exit the stationary store and head to the convenience store nearby. After a few minutes of browsing and chatting, you leave with two bags of snacks and drinks. You offer to help carry her bags home, and the two of you are on a bus.

Isa leans her head on your shoulder as she places a hand on your thigh. "Thanks again for tonight."

"Any time," you say, grabbing her hand. "So, uh, are you free next week?"

She shakes her head, looking apologetic. "No, I'm leaving on a camping trip with some friends."

"Ah, that sounds like fun." Your heart sinks. "Well, how about when you get back?"

"Of course! I'll text you as soon as I'm home."

"Okay, great." You don't know what else to say because all you're thinking about is how much you'll miss her. And the ride seems too short for your liking. The two of you are still holding hands, and it feels as if your hands are made for each other: her fingers are warm and delicate as they intertwine with yours, her touch gentle and tender, and everything you never knew you wanted.

"My stop's coming up," Isa says reluctantly.

"I'll walk you home." You pat the bags in your other hand. "These snacks will be useful later."

"Yeah? Okay."

Isa leads the way to her apartment. Her neighborhood is cozy; the streets are lined with small houses, bakeries and cafes, and a playground.

When you reach the entrance of the building, you hand Isa her bags of stuff, not wanting to let go of her hand.

"Thanks for going out with me today," you say. "I hope we can do this again soon."

Isa doesn't let go of your hand either. "I hope so too."

The moment stretches on, neither of you wanting to be the first to leave, but your heart won't stop beating out of your chest. You finally let go of her hand to place them in your pockets, looking elsewhere, anywhere but her eyes. Her red lips call to you.

Isa looks around—there's no one outside at this hour, the sky darkening and stars beginning to dot the sky. She bites her lip—god, how you'd love to bite down on her plump lips, kiss those curves on her face and body until she was left squirming and moaning on her bed. She takes your face in her hands, stands on tiptoes, leans in close to you, and kisses your cheek. Your heart stops. You turn to look at her, stunned by how forward she was, by how good that felt, and oh—now, her lips are on yours. Your head is spinning: her mouth tastes like honey and mint and every flower in the world; she's pulling you down and closer to her while her other hand wraps around your waist; she's whimpering as you pull her body flush against yours by her hip and ass, kissing her back fiercely, deeper and deeper—

You're left wanting more as she pulls away, swaying from side to side. Her hand reaches to stroke your face. You're dazed and speechless.

Isa giggles. "We should do this again. I really enjoyed myself. I hope you did too."

"Yeah," you say, your voice cracking slightly. "I definitely did."

"Okay. Bye bye!" She waves with a warm smile and then runs into the building before you can say anything else.

You've only just met her, but somehow the world is darker again, like you're reminded that it's nighttime.

A text.

> "you could've kissed me sooner :p"

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The weekend zooms by, and the week lurches forward like a train coming out of the station, slow and dragging until it gradually builds up momentum as the minutes fly by. You wonder where Isa is right now as you sit at your desk at work. You wonder if she's thinking about you the way you're thinking about her. Your coworkers pry about what's making you smile, and you can only be honest—that there's a woman who's made you feel alive for the first time in a long time. Meanwhile, you're forced to endure smug, self-congratulatory remarks from Sullyoon about getting you and Isa together. But you don't mind the jests and good-natured ribbing if it means you get to daydream about Isa for hours on end.

Only when you get home after a long day of work that you realize how far along she's gotten under your skin because you haven't been this distracted in years. She's a very well-formed fantasy: you picture making dinner for her, so you're learning vegan recipes, and cutting out everything from soy to eggs—it's no sacrifice when it's all for her. But your imagination ends up taking other shapes too, her sex appeal oozing out of every pore and action between the cuteness. You'd take her apart with your tongue—and fingers, too—before putting her back together again with your dick. When it feels as though you've lost your focus forever, your mind has never been clearer. Every night, you're thinking of Isa before you fall asleep, dreaming of her in bed with you—holding her tight until the sun peeks through the curtains—

> "hi, hi, i'm back. you free right now?"

You answer the text immediately, despite it coming after midnight.

> "heyy, i'm free"

> "cool! i'm at home right now, wanna come over?"

> "sure, omw"

> "great! see you soon!"

Riding the subway, the hum of electricity and chatter fills your ears, and you wish this were a bullet train instead. When you knock, your hands are clammy and your stomach is twisting itself into knots.

The door swings open. There she is. Your eyes drink her in, radiant Isa clad in snug black yoga pants and a loose tank top, crimson hair falling down her shoulders like lava from a volcano. There's your fantasy, your plaguing distraction, your obsession. Whatever you were feeling hasn't gone anyway: everything that was there was real, made more concrete at the sight of her.

You don't really know her, but it feels as though you've missed her so much already.

Isa doesn't say anything. Simply steps closer, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes full of want, and wraps her arms around your shoulders. Your hands roam over her ass and cup it gently while her mouth presses into you. You both sigh into the kiss, and she tugs on your lower lip, sucking and nipping on it. The door clicks shut behind you.

"Hey," you breathe out after finally breaking the kiss. "That was—"

Isa's tongue flicks your lips. "Is it okay if we keep doing that?" Her voice is like silk on your ears. "Please?"

Because the silk forms a web made to ensnare you, you oblige, pulling her close again to recapture her mouth. She's intoxicating, her taste—like strawberries dipped in dark chocolate—her body—soft skin and sweet perfume—and most of all, her sighs—the cutest little creature in need as your tongues glide over each other. Then you move down to give her neck a peck, and she arches up against you.

"I missed you," Isa sighs out.

You groan softly at that. You're in her home, cozy, warm, and familiar, with the soft light of a candle casting gentle shadows on the walls and scenting the air with a floral aroma.

"I literally texted you the moment I got home," she adds. "Sorry if I had to make you rush here."

"Don't worry about it," you reply, placing a kiss on her collarbone. "I couldn't wait to see you."

"Really?" She beams.

"Of course."

She lets go of your shoulders and leads you to the couch. "I'm sure you wanted to plan a real date, and I want that too, but... I really wanted to kiss you again."

"Well, I can't say no to that," you say.

"We'll have plenty of time for dates later. Let's just watch something on TV," she says, eyes crinkled, and you decide that you are honestly fine with whatever Isa wants.

The two of you curl up on one side of the couch, your arm wrapped around her shoulders and hers around your waist, and she turns on some show about a guy who owns a farm or something. Naturally, your distraction returns, made tangible and real as she sits by your side. You can't stop thinking about what's underneath her clothes, what she'll look like after you make her come over and over again.

Isa glances at you, then back at the TV, then back to you. "What?" she asks.

"Just looking at you," you confess as you cup her cheek. "You're so beautiful that I can’t stop."

"You, you're so, ugh, I can't..."

"But I mean it, sincerely." You point at the cat notebook on the table. "You're like that cute kitten, curled up in me."

She scoffs, pushing the notebook aside and swatting your shoulder. "Yah, you're so cheesy." But there's still a smile on her face, so you'll take that as a victory.

As the two of you watch the show, or at least attempt to, neither of you is truly there in spirit. Isa is playing with your fingers, eyeing you like she wants to devour you; your hands stroke her shoulder as if to silently communicate your desire for something more than talking or watching TV; your faces are angled toward each other rather than the television. Your touch ventures lower, toward her sides, then her thighs, and you massage them through the fabric of her pants.

"Your hands. So warm," she says as she takes one of your hands into her own and kisses the center of your palm. "So firm, and strong. It's nice."

There are photos on the walls of Isa with whom you assume are family and friends, as well as some art from artists you don't recognize. As you suspected, there are plenty of cat-related objects scattered about, an entire corner of the bookshelf filled with picture books, figurines of cats and dogs and other cute animals on every shelf. In addition to that notebook you bought her, you also spot the pencils on a table next to her laptop. There's a mug next to that one, with a cat printed on its side.

Isa nuzzles into your neck, staring at you. There's something about her demeanor that makes her seem more shy and unsure of herself than before. Her fingers play with the hem of your shirt, trying to sneak their way underneath while she strokes your cheek with the other hand.

It's not just her home. She is a cat.

Isa is a cat in how she purrs when you scratch behind her ears just right. In how she arches against your body with every brush of your fingertips against her neck. In how she paws at your shoulders, begging for more and more attention, leaning in for gentle, affectionate kisses to her nose. In how she rubs herself against you like she knows what it does to you. In how she mewls when your palms come down to caress her lower back, then squeezes her ass. Isa, in your arms, is the sort of pet that makes you want to spoil her all the time. You're not sure what you did in a past life to deserve a creature so magnificent and adorable and sexy and sweet and lovable.

You call her as she is. "Kitten." It comes out your mouth like a reflex, like a message to yourself more than anything.

A small gasp escapes her lips, and she looks up at you with wide eyes.

Your thumb brushes along her jawline. "It really suits you."

"Again," she pleads.

You whisper "Kitten" again, this time deeper.

Isa shivers and exhales weakly, her hand reaching for yours in a desperate grip. "One more."

"Kitten." You chuckle to yourself, in disbelief, in awe; how could a woman be… "So cute. Kitten. Kitten." Your lips follow your thumb on her jaw. "You like when I say that?"

"Oh, oh, fuck. Yeah. How... how do you know just what to say to me? How to touch me? No one's ever treated me like this before. I've been thinking about you. Especially when I was out in the woods. I was with my friends and it was fun, but..." She pauses, trying to find the right words.

You squeeze her waist. "It's okay, I'm listening."

Isa nods, biting her lip. "I just felt like I needed to see you again. Like something was missing. And when I got home, I just wanted to meet you again. I know it sounds stupid, we just met."

"No, it's not stupid," you say. "I feel the same way. I swear. More, to be honest."

"Okay, good—hngh." Isa gasps as your lips find their way to her neck, and the taste of her soft skin leaves you hungry for more. "Oh, fuh... you see? You make me feel so, so good, oh my god. I wasn't sure if it was just the mood of that date, but no, it's you, it's definitely you."

Her hand sneaks back under your shirt and caresses your bare torso. But then she stops herself, pushing you back.

"You okay?" you ask and then wait patiently for her to calm down.

"This isn't like me," she says. "Or at least, it hasn't been in a long time, or maybe ever. I don't know why I'm acting like this with you, someone I just met."

As she moves her hands restlessly, you reach for them and hold them tightly in yours. "I understand. And I don't mind at all," you say.

Isa looks down at her lap. "It's just… I feel like I can trust you completely. Even though we just met, it feels like we've known each other forever."

"I'll admit, I'm also a little confused," you confess.

"Yeah," she whispers.

"But… I'm all in. I don't care."

A silent peace of acceptance falls between the two of you.

Isa breaks the silence with a shattering statement even if so quiet as to let the world's hum speak over her. "This, this is going to lead to us having sex, right?" Quieter: "I want this. Do you?"

You do. You want it. You want it more than you want any other woman in this city, hell, maybe in the world. You want to know what it feels like to hold Isa tight while you slide into her, what her cries sound like when you fill her, what it would be like to hold her in your arms after fucking her. You want this gorgeous face right next to yours, her hair tickling your face while you're trying to sleep, waking up to a sweet smile. morning kisses. You want her on top of you, taking your cock, her perfect breasts bouncing as she rides you; to be under her with your mouth between her thighs. You want her body against yours, for you to make her dinner, to go shopping with, to sleep next to on the sofa every night.

If there were one last thing you wanted in your life, then it's Isa. You can only nod, dumbfoundedly.

She smiles, then giggles, and you can't help but join in on her giddiness. "Good. Okay. Yeah. Obviously." Isa turns to look you in the eyes. "I've been doing some thinking. And, um, I want to do this, but, I have one rule."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"When you cum, I want you to cum inside me."

Your mouth falls open.

She stammers, her face turning an even deeper shade of crimson, "I'm on the pill, and I don't like condoms, and I just... I've always wanted to feel a guy cum inside of me. And you're so fucking hot and sexy, and I just want it so bad."

Your heart pounds faster and faster, the same way Isa speaks faster and faster.

"I want you to fuck me. Like an animal. And I want you to breed me. I want you to fill me up with your seed while you call me kitten and good girl and..." After she trails off, she buries her face in her hands. "I can't believe I just said all that."

Cup her cheek and stroke it with your thumb. "It's okay." You nod, and you nod harder as if your acceptance is growing immediately. "Yeah, I can do that for you. You've been thinking a lot about this, haven't you?"

"That's an understatement," she admits. "It's crazy. I shared a tent with three friends, and while they were sleeping, I was touching myself. Rubbing my thighs, my hand down my pants. Thinking about you. You're so... I don't know." She shakes her head, unable to find the words to capture the intensity. "And I've been just going crazy trying to figure out why."

"You figure it out?" she asks.

"Yeah, kinda," she says "I guess it's nothing so complicated, and it's nothing I haven't already said... it's how you look at me, how you talk to me like there's nothing else that matters, how you make me feel safe and wanted. And yeah, all that on top of you being really handsome too. It feels nice."

You choke back your response. It feels like you should have something more meaningful to say in response to all of this, but no matter how hard you try, only banalities come to mind.

"I probably need help or something—"

You put your fingers over her mouth. "Stop. Listen, please." You lift her chin to meet her gaze again. "I love how open you are about all this. I don't know if I could even be this honest with myself. Not without you."

Isa exhales in relief, while her body relaxes against yours. "Thank you. I was so worried you’d think I was a freak or something."

"No way. I think it's incredibly sexy." And now that you're talking honesty. "I think I get what happened. It happened to me too."

"What's that?"

"Love at first sight."

Isa blinks, then bursts into laughter and hits your shoulder. "You're such a dork!" She shakes her head but continues to laugh heartily, eyes crinkled and flashing beautifully.

"But doesn't that describe this?"

Isa smirks and leans her head on your shoulder. "Maybe." She pokes your chest with a finger. "Honestly? Yeah. It does. I felt that, too. God, it's so stupid, right?" She laughs again, this time pressing her face into your chest. "We're seriously screwed, huh?"

"Yeah," you say gently. "We are."

Isa grabs your shirt and tilts her head upwards so that she can look at you again. "Like, who even does this?"

She leans towards you, closes her eyes, and kisses you with a gentle passion and small noises.

You run a hand down her back as the other cradles the back of her head. She groans softly into your lips, then parts them with her tongue as she sits up straighter.

"You and me," you say. "This is the kind of shit that happens when you meet your soulmate."

Her eyes fly open, and you chuckle. "Shut up! Stop!"

"If we're gonna be screwed, let's be screwed together."

"What even are you saying right now? You're so... mmm!" Isa lets out a strangled cry as your lips travel downward, planting light kisses on her jawline, her neck, and the crease between her neck and shoulder, before clamping onto the sweet flesh of her shoulder and sucking.

"I'll take care of you, I promise." Your kisses pause a moment, which earns a whimper from Isa as you look up at her.

Once more the silence falls over the two of you like a thick veil. This moment feels like forever, but in the whole history of forever, it has only just begun, too fast for you to comprehend.

"Please tell me to stop, or slow down if you need to," you say. "Whenever you feel uncomfortable, or don't like something I do, just tell me, okay?"

Isa nods. "Of course. Just…"

You don't remember when the two of you started slouching on the couch, or when you put your hand down your pants, or when she started rubbing her palm over her crotch. Your cock has been stiff this whole time, or that a wet spot has formed on her yoga pants. Her juices stain the fabric enough that you can see the outline of her pussy. You and Isa's hands move in unison, eye contact steadfast.

"So you like when I call you Kitten?" you ask.

She whines as she continues to rub her cunt. "Mhm!"

"I'll make sure to do it a lot. Call you good girl too."

"Ohmygod, fuck." Her other hand clutches her chest, pinching the nipple hardening through her tank top.

By now, you're so hard it's painful like it needs to escape or you'll die in the prison of your pants. "You're such a good girl. I love seeing you like this, kitten."

Her whimpers increase in pitch; the shape of her pussy is more pronounced; her pants are soaked to the touch. She's so wet you can smell it, the scent only furthering your lust. "I need it." Isa shuffles into your lap, ready to straddle and kiss you.

You pull back and grab her by the shoulders, turning her around to face the TV like you're a mere extension of the couch.

Isa whimpers. "What?"

Already, you find yourself slipping into your role, guided by your instincts. "You can be patient, can't you? You've been gone for a whole week. What's another ten minutes or however long is left in this show? Trust me."

"Fine." Isa pouts and crosses her arms and leans back against your chest. "I'll wait."

The two of you resume watching the show, and you have certainly missed what was going on because now they're in space or something. Isa wiggles her ass, and you squeeze her hips to still her movements. You're not sure who's being teased more here: your erection might break through your pants, and Isa seems to be on the brink of something with her sighs, with her thighs pressing together.

You whisper her new pet name Kitten in her ear; in response, she mouths out all sorts of names, Daddy, Sir, Owner, or Master. Each one sounds lovely falling off her tongue. With your chin on her shoulder, you intersperse lazy pecks on her cheek or neck.

As the current show about animal husbandry or astronomy or the world ending or whatever comes to a close, Isa leans back, and her earlobe grazes your lips. When you give a gentle nip, she sucks in her breath, and her hand goes to her mouth to contain a tiny yelp.

"Not too loud," you say, gentle but stern.

"Please, please"—her voice cracking—"I can't wait."

"You've done so well." You kiss her jaw. "What a good girl. What do you want?"

"I want to taste you. Please?"

"Yeah? Alright, you've been patient enough. You can have your treat, kitten."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." Isa clambers off your lap, and then kneels between your legs, grabs your waistband; your cock springs up in front of her face. Her eyes go wide enough that the whites of her eyes are visible around her irises, and her mouth hangs open. Her fingers curl around you. "You're bigger than I imagined."

You must have an insufferable smirk on your face because she's already frowning and playfully swatting you. But just as quickly, lust washes over her features, her eyes narrowing. Isa's gaze is rapt as she strokes you with a feather-light touch, exploring your length with her palms, savoring the skin stretched over hardened steel. "What did you imagine?" you ask.

"About how you'd feel in my hand, in my mouth... in my pussy." She strokes you slowly, almost like petting a small animal.

"Did you think about me filling you up when you were on your camping trip?" You caress her cheek with your hand and run your thumb along her plump lower lip. "Did you picture me breeding you while you rubbed your clit?"

"Yeah. And I imagined you'd be big too. But this..." Isa becomes motionless, and she doesn't break eye contact with your dick.

"Enjoying the view?"

She nods.

"Show me how much then."

Isa closes her eyes and rubs her cheek against your length. She licks your cockhead, swirls over the crown, and dips into the slit. A kiss at the base of your cock, then another halfway down, and another at the very tip, all in that order and the reverse order and every other possible combination—she plants them all in the span of a few dizzying moments. With half-closed eyes somehow still focused on the task at hand, Isa mouths in the general region of your cock without actually sucking it. Not enough. Nowhere close to where you need to be. Just like the first date, Isa is so deeply aware of the effect she has on you, and yet playing at oblivious innocence and naivety. She's a cat playing with its food, but that makes sense because she is a cat.

You take a fistful of her hair, tug firmly, and let out a soft growl.

With a dribble of spit and precum on her chin, her gaze turns up, eyes wide with wonder. "S-sorry. I wanted to kiss it because it's so pretty."

"And I thought I was being a tease. Come on." You grab her by the chin and press your thumb into her bottom lip. "I thought you wanted to taste me."

"Yeah! Of course, I do." Isa nods. She wipes her chin with her arm, and with your other hand, you point your cock at her face.

"Open wide."

Her tongue lolls out. "Aahhh."

Rub the head of your dick along her lips, and Isa captures it with her mouth to suck. She hums contentedly, slurps on the crown while stroking with her palm. She drags her pursed lips down your shaft like she's worshiping vegan ice cream on a spoon. Isa bobs back and forth, careful at first but quickly gaining momentum and depth. Never once does she break eye contact, so eager to please you, to do good for her new owner. She's the perfect kitten.

You pet your kitten. "That's a good girl."

Simple words, simple touches, but they make Isa whimper into your cock. Her fingers work frantically beneath her waistband while she services you. The sound of her pussy's wetness is almost as loud as the sloppy noises of her blowjob.

"Thih, cock, sgooh," she mumbles on your dick. She spits you out, a long string of saliva trailing from her tongue to your dick, and then she smiles up at you like the happy little cat she is. "So good. I shouldn't have waited this long. I wish I'd done this on our first date."

You groan. "You would've done that? On our first date?"

"Mhmm!" Her tongue pokes out between her lips. "You didn't notice me teasing you the whole time? I swear I was being really obvious. And I was so turned on because of you."

"Yeah? Well, you made me feel like I could barely breathe around you, I was so fucking hot for you."

"I know it makes me a slut—"

"No, it doesn't. If it's because of me... you know... soulmates..."

"Yeah, I get what you mean. Even if you're being silly." She smirks. "You don't have a problem with a slutty kitten though, do you?"

"Of course not."

Isa lets out a satisfied sigh and begins pumping your cock again. "Good. Because I would've gone under the table and blown you then and there if you asked."

"You're wild."

"You make me wild," she counters. She plants kisses along your shaft as she fondles your balls, her other hand still busy in her pants. "Or even when we walked through that alleyway. Do you remember? You were following me to my apartment and I swear I could feel your eyes on my ass."

You chuckle. "You weren't wrong. It's such a nice ass."

"Thank you!" In between words, she licks your sack with broad tongue swathes. "But when we got to the alley, I wanted you to bend me over and fuck me from behind. Or push me against the wall and fuck me. Or just shove me to my knees and fuck my mouth until you filled my belly with cum."

You grab her hair again and pull her away. "Hah. It'll be my pleasure to keep you well fed. But, as hot as that sounds, I think we should save that for another day."

As much as you want to continue this conversation, and as much as you want to hear Isa tell you all of her filthy little fantasies while she strokes you and pleases you and praises you, there's something more that's been occupying your mind: the pussy that's been drenching her clothes and making her moan into your cock with every stroke of her fingers.

"You said you had a rule for me. What was it again?" you ask.

Isa takes her hand out of her pants, leaving behind a damp stain on her pants, and licks them clean, like cleaning a mess of vegan ice cream—the image stuck with you quite profoundly—two fingers in her mouth, in and out, in and out, over and over until she finally pulls them out with a wet pop. "Oh yeah, that. I was having such a good time I forgot. But I… I just need it inside me so bad. I've been craving it forever. I can't believe how horny I am."

"That's not all you said though. You wanted me to do something for you, right?"

"Yeah. Right. I want to..." She falters as if the words have become foreign to her at this moment. Isa opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, and closes it again before finally spitting them out: "I want to feel you cum inside me."

"That's it." You grab her hand. "I'm not just going to cum inside you though. I'm going to breed you. I'm going to make sure your womb is nice and full of my cum. How does that sound?"

"Yeah." Isa nods, nods harder, and ramps up until you see her happier than she's ever been before; she practically melts into your arms as she gets up and plants a kiss on your lips. "Bedroom?"

"Bedroom."

It is much like you imagined: like the rest of her house, thoroughly decorated, a safe space with all sorts of cute trinkets and animal memorabilia, a plush rug on the floor, and a huge bed covered with a soft blanket, all in soft pastels. But a home is not a home without its pet: Isa lays down on her back and rubs her legs together, your dick still at attention for her.

You unbutton your shirt; she likewise divests herself of her clothing—her tank top rises to expose a bit of her flat stomach, she twists when taking off her bra, her breasts fall free, and she peels off her pants with such a slow deliberation that you can't tell if it's for show or if she's simply so aroused that it's painful to move. Her body is slim in the right places but with plenty to squeeze, her thighs and tits soft like marshmallows.

"Daddy," she purrs in response, patting the sheets.

"My turn to taste you."

You climb onto the bed and kneel between Isa's legs. You trace the contours of her thighs, loving how her nipples stiffen at your touch, how she squirms when your hands come too close to her dripping slit. Your fingers graze against the slick skin of her inner thigh, then brush lightly over her outer lips and clit and inner folds, then find their way back to your own lips, where you can't resist licking them clean, tasting your kitten—bitter yet sweet, salty yet fragrant—and Isa writhes in wanton display before you.

"Please. I want you inside me." Isa whines like a kitten in distress, and you plan on taking care of her distress now and always.

You lift her by the hips and shimmy under her body so that she straddles your face. "This first."

Once you steady Isa above you, your tongue flicks against the swollen bud of nerve endings; Isa cries out your name at the first touch. Then, you're licking away, lapping at her wetness that trickles down your throat. Her pussy lips are plump like the ones on her mouth; her clit is just as red as her lips as you pull the hood back with a finger and flick your tongue faster. Her body is still, frozen in rapture. Grab her ass. Push her closer. As you nuzzle into her folds, she leans forward, pressing her face to your hip, while hands grip your thighs and nails dig into your skin.

"Fuck! Daddy! So good," she squeals. "Ahh! Right there. Ohmygod, you're amazing at this. I can't even think... oh fuck!" Isa squeezes tighter around your head, which can't bother you one bit. You feel her warm and heavy weight on you, her body taut above you, and her breaths on your crotch are equally hot as the air around you. You can hear her muffled voice, though it's impossible to tell what she's saying from how much she's slurring her words and drooling onto your legs.

So you stop, wipe her juices from your face, and say, "What was that?"

"C-can I taste you too?" She looks back at you with wide, innocent eyes. "While you eat me out, can I suck your cock? Please? It looks so yummy."

"Hmm." You pretend to consider her offer for a moment and stroke the small of her back with your hands. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

Isa kisses your leg, lapping up the mess she made, before pecking her way toward your cock. Just when you take another lick, her lips wrap around your shaft.

"Fuck," you curse when Isa starts bobbing her head on your cock again. You push your middle finger into her entrance to feel her walls squeeze around it and then press your mouth against her clit with renewed vigor. You start to hear and feel the gags she's making as she chokes on your cock—you wonder how far she'll go if she can take it down her throat.

Nothing distracts you from your delicious treat—you run the flat of your tongue across Isa's outer folds before switching to short licks inside of her, all while savoring the juices that dribble down your face. Her pussy tastes wonderful, a musty sweetness that is as addictive as a drug and just as hard to ignore. The moans that rumble in her throat and echo around your shaft—she is everything. You want to eat Isa's pussy every day, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. (Does this count as vegan?) As your fingers work feverishly in tandem with your tongue, your hips thrust reflexively into her mouth. She pushes down as if she's trying to impale herself on your dick—until finally, finally, the tip hits the back of her throat. You've never been with a woman who took you so deep so quickly. Here she is managing it without an issue. She was made for this. Your kitten.

Isa pulls back and cries out: "Oh fuck, Daddy, please!" And it's not just that she's gasping for air because of your length: her body goes rigid while her legs squeeze you tight. With a shuddering cry, her juices gush out onto your face while you continue licking and drinking, all the way through the tail end of her climax.

When the trembling dies down, she collapses, body limp atop yours. While aftershocks rock her, two of your fingers slip into her entrance to tease out every bit of her pleasure, curling to find and push that spot deep inside. A third finger eases in, her pussy tender and pliable with arousal, and you can tell that Isa can barely move from how overstimulated she is; yet, when you pull your digits out, Isa whimpers at the emptiness. She nuzzles against your hip, eyes shut tight, and a grin like she's in a dream.

"That's it, kitten," you say. "That's what you deserve."

Isa lets out a cute, pleased noise. "I've never... not like that... I've never felt like that before." Biting her lip, she gazes at your still-erect member, close enough for her warm breath to tickle it. "D-Did you cum? I didn't feel you in my mouth."

"Not yet, kitten. Don't worry." You pat your cockhead against her cheek and nose. "You did such a good job. But I still want to fill you up like I promised."

"Good." She rolls off of you, then curls up on her side and bats her lashes at you. "I'm, um, I'm really, really sensitive now... But, also, I also need your dick inside me. Please."

"Okay, kitten." You sit up on the bed and whisper in her ear, "But only because you said please so nicely."

Isa's legs wrap around you like she's done this a hundred times before. Her eyes are so tender and sweet; it's almost enough to make you want to give up and hold her to your chest forever and forget about sex and cuddles. Almost.

You lay her down in the middle of the bed, a princess, a beloved pet, an object of your desire and adoration. She spreads herself for you, displaying her raw pussy lips and erect clit—she must be desperate for your cock to still be this swollen and needy after such a thorough orgasm. Like a test, you slap your shaft against Isa's pussy, earning a gasp as her body jerks upward in response. "I'm going to breed you, just like you asked."

"Yes," she says, with the widest, most joyful smile on her face while crossing her heels behind your back. "Fill me up with your cock, Daddy. I'm waiting."

"It'll hurt a little though." You thrust slowly along her cunt—her wetness coats the head of your cock as it pushes inside the tiny gap between her clit and the rest of her pussy—snug, snug, too snug for entry without some force.

"I don't care—ah!" She winces when you pull back and rub circles with the tip of your cock. "I've waited so long. And I know I'm safe with you."

You test the waters, dipping your cockhead once again, then a few dozen more times. Despite her discomfort, or because of it, she's trying to push back against you with every movement. She's so sensitive it looks painful—you're barely touching her with your cock and already she's squirming and whimpering.

"Give. Give it. Give it to me," she pleads.

One deep breath, two deep breaths, and then you capitulate, push inside—the hardest thing in the world meets and splits open the easiest/softest. A perfect match. The walls of her cunt stretch around your thickness, clinging on like they're never going to let go. Though you sink deeper and deeper with ease, the friction makes her squeal. Her back arches off the bed, she claws at the sheets, and her mouth falls open with a gasp that becomes a mewl that becomes a squeal that becomes a litany of garbled noises. It's a slow process, taking your time to ensure she can feel every vein, every contour of your cock. When your length carves out space in her pussy and hits that sweet spot inside her, she lets out a sigh and a whimper—she feels fuller than she has in her entire life.

"You good?" you ask.

She nods rapidly and flaps her arms at you; when you're within reach, she yanks you down for a sloppy kiss that mostly consists of sucking on your bottom lip while her tongue explores.

"You're such a good kitten," you whisper between kisses. "So good at taking my cock."

She mewls into your mouth and bucks her hips upwards. "But it's not enough. Need more."

You give a few shallow thrusts of your dick, your forehead against hers as you examine her reaction. "More? Is this better?"

"More." Whatever discomfort or pain is left on Isa's face melts away. She grinds as though to get closer, though she already has your whole length inside her. "Please."

You slam the length of your cock into Isa with a grunt—whatever thoughts are left in Isa's brain evaporate. Your pace is slow and deliberate, so she tries to fuck herself on you faster than you're fucking her; whenever you pull out, her hips follow after you, like she can't stand for your cock to leave her empty for so long.

You give one of her breasts a firm squeeze while your thumb rubs over her firm nipple. With your free hand, you slip two fingers into Isa's mouth; she accepts them readily, her tongue swirling around your digits. She sucks on your fingers till they're dripping with her spit—your other hand alternates between both breasts now. They deserve all the attention they get, and then ten times over. Isa's breasts aren't the biggest, but they're the prettiest: perky with small pink nipples; they bounce enticingly with your movements. When you squeeze them, she starts grazing your back with her nails while her heels dig into you. Her walls spasm and clench around your girth—her orgasm is imminent.

"Daddy, please," she whines. "Need to cum!"

"Kitten, we just got started." You pull your cock out of her pussy and slide it between her labia, between the plushness of her folds. You lean down to plant soft pecks on her forehead, on her eyelids, and then down to her lips again as you continue to rut against her pussy. "Aren't you sensitive?"

Isa lets out the cutest growl and shakes her head. "N-noouh... It, it doesn't matter. You stretch me open so good."

You slide your hands under Isa's ass; she sits up, making it easier for you to carry her off the bed. With her ankles still hooked around each other like a seatbelt, you stand upright, bringing Isa up with you—she's light as a feather as buries her face in the crook of your neck. Even as you take a step back, away from the bed, Isa continues to rub her sensitive core against your throbbing shaft. Maybe here, she's not so much a kitten, but a puppy whose tail wags when happy or excited.

Next to her nightstand, you press Isa against the wall with your body while you adjust your grip on her ass—in this position, your fingers sink deep into the supple flesh. You lower your hips to angle your cock towards the entrance of Isa's cunt and let gravity do its work: she sinks onto your dick with a squeal. Isa gasps sharply as your cock hits a new part of her insides, and she claws at your back harder than ever. You can almost see the outline of your shaft through her taut midriff with how deeply you're penetrating her.

Isa mutters, "So much of Daddy's cock is inside me. It feels so good. Harder. Fuck me harder."

"Alright, don't say I didn't warn you."

You start bouncing her like a cheap toy, pulling her up until only the tip is inside of her, then slamming her back down to the hilt again with enough force to make the pictures on her wall rattle. Isa can do little more than hold onto you for dear life, your cock her only tether to this world—her eyes have gone blank again, and you can feel her going rigid in the same way she did earlier when you made her cum. You continue fucking into her with no pause in your rhythm, no rest for Isa's aching cunt.

"Cum with me, please! Please!"

"Gonna breed you so hard, kitten, fuck, fuck, I'm cumming," you manage to say, and that's all you can muster before the tidal wave of orgasm overtakes you and washes all other thoughts and feelings away. You pump her with everything you have, and it's a struggle to keep your balance, as you're responsible for the weight of both of you.

A strangled sound escapes Isa's lips, head thrown back, a rosy tint on her chest and face, nipples rock hard, breasts squished against your chest, eyes closed, brow furrowed, teeth gritted, thighs squeezing your hips with unbelievable force—it's an allergy-long list.

You know that she's feeling everything you're feeling. With every spasm of her walls around you milking you, your seed erupts inside of her and floods her womb. Your hips are a blur as they pump into Isa's warmth again and again. Her cunt is a hot and sticky mess with juices leaking down her inner thighs—you feel it all around your cock, dripping onto the carpet below—and you're adding thick rope after rope of your cum into the mix. Your knees are weak; they wobble like jello, but you fight to stay upright. Isa is still conscious—somewhat—and she clings to you for support and safety as if she wants to stay connected with you forever. You fuck her until neither of you can take it anymore, her silken heat pulsating with sensitivity. And then, she sighs, and you feel her body go slack, and you're ready to do the same.

The two of you collapse onto the bed, sweaty, tired, satisfied. There's an instant where you consider pulling out, but you don't. You can't; there's nowhere else to go and no one else to be. Isa asked you to cum inside, and you have, so you'll stay inside until your dick softens enough to slide out naturally. You enjoy the hot, slick feel of her insides too much anyway to want to pull out so quickly, the cream leaking out from around your cockhead. You also just want to bask in this afterglow with your precious kitten.

Isa curls up against you as she wraps her limbs around your body and pulls you close, and you feel a strange surge of emotion well up inside of you as you hold her in return. It's not the same euphoria from climaxing or even the physical warmth of sex. It's something deeper, something you've never felt before.

"How was your first time feeling cum inside?" you ask after a moment of silence.

"G-good." She grips your wrist tightly as her face flushes red again. "Even better than I imagined. And the fact it's yours... it makes me feel all fuzzy inside," she finishes softly.

You kiss her cheek. "I know what you mean."

"I can't believe it." Isa purrs as she rubs her ass against your limp cock. "You're really good at that," she murmurs while nuzzling into your neck. "What the hell. And you're telling me you had bad luck with girls before?"

You shrug. "I don't know. They couldn't handle my dick. And maybe I'd get too rough and... ah, never mind." You feel ashamed admitting these things, but Isa is so understanding. She rubs your cheek and smiles back at you.

"Hey, if they can't take it, that's their loss." Isa kisses you sweetly, then giggles.

There's something about the way Isa acts and talks and is, in general, that puts you at ease—as if she can accept you no matter who you are or what you do, which is funny because she barely knows anything about you."Kitten," you say to yourself, like a habit that's formed whenever you see her now. "Seriously, it's perfect for you."

"I love it." Isa responds. "And I love hearing it come out of your mouth."

"Actually. I can think of something better."

She stares up at you, her eyes half-lidded, her smile lazy and contented. "What is it?" she asks.

"Mine. My kitten."

Isa looks away, embarrassed. "Oh, well, okay then, I'm yours."

***

The more Lee Chaeyoung, your lover, opens up to you, the more she reveals how compatible the two of you are. You watch horror movies together, enjoy the same drinks, have similar tastes in food. She confesses a bit too eagerly that she loves to cook, finding it more of a challenge for her than anyone else. Best of all, her sense of humor clicks with yours. You feel like you could just talk for hours, whether it's idle chatter, playing games together, or simply relaxing and enjoying her company. Most importantly, the connection you two feel is immediate; your bodies, your minds, every part of you so in tune.

And then there are those wild fantasies that dance within her mind. It drives you to embark on late-night research sessions, delving into the depths of the internet to discover how best to fulfill her desires. While you cherish these wholesome moments with Isa, the temptation to give in becomes increasingly difficult to resist. With someone as naturally sensual as her, it's only a matter of time before you succumb. You get the funny feeling that Isa might find a way to substitute sleep with sex if given the chance.

After an exhausting day of work, you're at your usual rendezvous point with Isa, but with a few of her friends for dinner. Isa's eyes lock onto yours—you would travel to hell and back if it meant getting to see her smile like that; fortunately, the meeting spot is only a block away from the mundane inferno of your job. She runs up to you and jumps into your arms, her legs wrapped around your waist as she kisses you deeply. Her friends respond with various levels of disgust, amusement, and jealousy.

"How was your day?" she asks as she climbs down.

"It was okay, I guess. A lot better now that I got to see you." You stroke her cheek and kiss her forehead. "Sorry for being late. I had something important I needed to pick up."

"Oh?" A raise of her brow.

You reach into your pocket and pull out a small bag with a collection of hair ties. "Because you lost your favorite one a few days ago," you say.

Her eyes light up when she sees what's inside. "Thank you!" She wraps her arms around your neck and showers your face in kisses.

"Of course," you respond through stifled laughter. "You wouldn't stop whining about it."

She pulls back, mock offense written on her face before she eyes the small gift again with delight twinkling in her eyes. You share an affectionate bump as you return towards where her friends are waiting, the streets alive with the hum of nightlife and the liveliness of the city's residents.

As you all arrive at Sumin's apartment, you feel nervous, excited, and jittery all at the same time. You've only heard about these friends, and now there's all this pressure. Isa keeps staring at you and flashing you little knowing grins, and you can't stop smiling back at her. As you both sit down on the sofa and watch her friends cook in the kitchen, she throws herself into your lap, sitting with her legs draped over yours.

Woah," you say, surprised. "Are you trying to show off in front of your friends? Everyone's watching, you know."

Isa chuckles, leaning back against your chest and looking up at you. "Maybe. Do you want me to stop?"

You smile back at her, squeezing her thigh. "Uhh, a little, to be honest. I don't want your other friends to think of me as some douche."

She rubs her thumb across your palm, nodding in agreement. "I think I've made it obvious how much I like you, but you're right, you're right." Isa pouts, getting off your lap, though it's too late; you feel a stirring in your groin as you look at her slender body.

Just then, her friends finish up the meal, and everyone sits down to eat. Isa insists on sitting next to you, and she keeps smiling and looking over at you as you eat together. "Did you like the beef?" she asks. "I can cook it better than any you've ever had."

"Yeah, it was really good," you reply. You're still hungry. Not food.

"How did you two end up together?" Chaehyun asks before she drinks some more beer.

Sullyoon raises her hand, a grin on her as always when talking about you too. "Oh, it was me." She gives Isa a wink. "I actually set them up because Isa didn't have the balls."

Isa pouts. "Hey, that's not true."

You chuckle, enjoying the way her cheeks are flushed as her friends tease her.

"Besides, that was just the first step. What really sealed the deal was all the snacks he bought for me at the store," she says, grinning proudly.

"Really?" Sumin asks?

"Actually," you interject, "it was love at first sight when we saw each other."

"Eww," she says, rolling her eyes.

You grin sheepishly, putting your hands up defensively. "Well, it's true! We just... I don't know, there's just something about her that feels right."

Isa smiles and bites her lip, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks as she stares at you with dreamy eyes. "Yeah," she agrees softly.

There's a short lull in the conversation as everyone processes what you both have just said. You try to break the mood: "But really, it was the snacks. I'm serious!"

That earns a few laughs from everyone. Isa's hand rests on your shoulder, and you feel her fingers brushing against the back of your neck, brushing the goosebumps she just made. She bites her lip, looks over at you, and you can tell she's dying to get her hands on you, too.

The rest of the night goes along without a hitch as you play some games with everyone, eat more food. Afterwards, you walk with Isa, and she reaches out to grab your hand as you walk. The street lamps act as loyal guides, casting their gentle glow upon the silent, deserted roads, illuminating your path as you journey towards the car.

When you finally arrive at your destination, an electric charge lingers in the air, and if you look up there should be thunder clouds and static electricity where there's an inky black night sky, and kablam—Isa's lips meet yours, and there comes the strike.

As you reluctantly part, gasping for air, Isa leans her head against yours, her finger tracing a delicate path along your cheek. "I had so much fun tonight," she murmurs.

You run a hand through Isa’s red hair, a darker and more faded color. "Yeah. I did too."

"So… my place again?" she asks. It feels like the sort of question she'll be asking a lot.

You meet her gaze, giving her a nod and a renewed kiss. Opening the car door, you allow Isa to slip into the passenger seat.

"Did you like hanging out with my friends?" Isa asks.

"Yeah, a lot." When you step into the vehicle, you take in the new car smell; it's only a few days old. But more overpowering is Isa's hand cream as you take her hand and kiss it again, and again, and again.

She laughs as you tickle her with pecks. "They liked you too! I didn't think you would click so well with them." She pauses. "They also thought we were really cute together."

You start up the car and pull off, eager to get the two of you back to her place. "I'm glad. That means I get to keep being around your friends, which means I get to spend more time with you."

Her cheeks flush and her mouth quirks upward. "Okay, I have a question for you, what do you want to do when we get to my place?" Her tone is teasing and seductive.

"Hmm, I don't know. What do you want me to do to you?"

She grins and giggles, but doesn't answer right away. Her legs cross over each other as she ponders her response. You look at her and smile. You love how cute she looks when she's thinking, and you especially love when she's thinking of you. "We could… cook something. Together. Or, you know, you could read me a book to sleep and—no. Th-the only thing I can think of is last time... God, I don't want you to think of me as some kind of pervert."

"Hey," you say softly. "I like your perversion." Your fingers run along her thigh, brushing against her inner leg. "I've got some things in mind that I'd like to try myself, so it's fine."

"I can't even sleep in my own couch or bed properly without thinking about you fucking me," she mumbles, before biting her lip and staring out the window with a frown.

"I'm sorry."

She waves your apology away dismissively. "No! It's not that bad, I'm definitely exaggerating. But sometimes, before I sleep, I get into the same position and..." Her voice trails off as her eyes close and her eyebrows furrow together. Her hands move on their own, miming the same actions as they had before, fingers running down her torso, over her breasts, her hips. As quick as her hand makes it there, she stops, and the blush deepens on her face. Her eyes flutter open and meet yours, then flick to the road ahead of you. "Yeah," she says, trying to shake off the thoughts plaguing her mind.

"Woah," you say. You reach out and touch her thigh, running your fingertips along the smooth, cool material. "You okay?"

"Yes." Her gaze fixes on the passing scenery beyond the window. "Just... really turned on. And we still have a drive ahead."

You chuckle. "Well, I'll try my best to distract you."

Isa groans as you run a hand up her thigh and squeeze gently. She grabs your wrist. "Ah, ahhh, that feels nice. But don’t get carried away. Crashing isn’t sexy."

You laugh, nodding. "Right, right." You pull your hand back, focusing on the road.

The two of you have more mundane conversations, but somehow the topic comes up: "So you know how you... um, call me kitten?"

A knowing smile tugs at your lips as you lean into her words. "Yep."

Her cheeks flush, and she playfully averts her gaze, her voice tinged with a bashful giggle. "What if, uh, we played more with that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, since I love cats so much and we can't even have one." She holds up the cat plushie you keep in the car for good measure.

You also note the word "we" and smile to yourself. "Are you sure that's the reason? Not just you being horny."

"Yah!"

"Alright, alright," you concede, the playful tone of your voice mirroring hers. "So, what kind of things were you thinking of? Other than a collar, obviously."

"And a leash."

"Well…" Never mind, you don't mind eschewing some realism here.

"But, yeah, that was the start. That I kinda, you know, wanted to try. But also, you were really good at taking charge. How you teased me and made me wait and rewarded me when I'm good. More of that. I want you to claim me and own me and…" She trails off, too embarrassed and blushing to say anymore. It's incredibly cute to watch her squirm as she tries to bring up the rest of her ideas. With your research, you already have an idea of what sorts of things she might be into, but it’s best to hear from her.

"Go on, kitten, talk," you command, putting a heavy weight in your tone, and she almost immediately lets out a sigh of relief.

"Please, be patient," she whines, laughing. Her voice drops to a whisper, the lust in her eyes undeniable. "You could be the, uhm, dominant one and, uh, I would, do whatever you want me to."

"That’s what I figured."

"Right." She can't even look at you. "I meant, you know, really getting into it, the whole roleplay thing."

The mere idea makes you want to put the pedal to the floor and reach Isa's place as quickly as possible, but you calm yourself.

She continues: "So, you could, maybe pet me, and I would purr."

You pat the head of the cat plushie next to Isa, who places a hand on it, giggling. "Yeah, and you have such a cute little kitty mouth and even your tongue is like a little lappy tongue."

Isa turns even more red and stops talking, covering her face with her hands and laughing. You chuckle, and after a moment she gathers her wits and puts her hands down.

"Yeah," she confirms, her voice filled with both excitement and shyness. "And maybe... you can give me commands to learn some tricks. Like waving my paws at you or shaking my head no." Her words spill forth in a rush of anticipation.

And again, you want to note that’s less of a kitten thing and more of a puppy thing, but you don’t mind making an exception for her. A playful glint dances in your eyes. "And you're meant to be my plaything, a slutty... pet kitten for your owner?" you suggest, your voice heavy with desire and dominance.

She nods, her brain slipping like a broken record. "Yes," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everything you said... and maybe you could really punish me if I'm naughty."

Isa's breath hitches, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she considers the question. "However you see fit. But maybe... you could take your belt and use it to smack my butt when I'm being naughty." She pauses, her voice growing softer. "Actually, I kinda like it when you're really rough with me. Like... how I get all dizzy when you tire me out. And it's hot when you treat me like a toy, like when you carried me… fuck. You could even tie me up or choke me, if that's what you want."

"Or I could just use a gag if I felt lazy," you say playfully, the possibilities swirling in your mind.

Isa laughs, a sound that holds both excitement and a hint of anticipation. Yet, beneath the laughter, a whimper escapes her lips. "Speaking of which," she murmurs, "I wanted to buy some things for this." Her eyes meet yours briefly before darting away. Isa squirms in her seat, her cheeks flushed as she busies herself with searching for the necessary items online. The soft glow of the screen illuminates her face, casting a warm and inviting light upon her features.

A smile graces your lips as you pat her head. "Good girl," you praise, your voice filled with affection. "I like it when you're helpful."

Eventually, she gives you directions to some store, and you continue driving in comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts.

The two of you arrive, and you realize quickly that it's a sex shop, the neon sign flickering in the night, windows blackened by curtains. The car engine purrs to a halt.

"I was surprised it's still open," Isa says.

You glance at the shop's entrance, its door ajar, beckoning you inside, even if the rest of the exterior looks quite sketchy. "There are probably customers who can only shop for this kind of thing at night," you reply with a shrug.

Stepping out of the car, Isa leads the way, her stride filled with confidence. The store's interior greets you with emptiness, save for a bored employee who looks as if he'd rather be anywhere else. Undeterred, you grab a shopping basket, its metal handle cool against your palm, and begin to venture down the aisles, searching for the items you need. "I think we could get the collar and leash here," you suggest.

Your eyes scan the shelves until they land upon a display of collars and harnesses. Among them, one catches your attention—a delicate collar adorned with a tiny bell that tinkles with every movement, along with matching cat ears. You pluck it from its hook and hold it up for Isa to see. "This one is cute," you say, excitement lacing your voice.

Isa's eyes light up as she nods in agreement, her fingers reaching out to caress another collar with a keyhole cutout in the front. "This would work too.”

Together, you gather the collars and leashes, placing them gently into the basket. Your exploration continues, which leads you to a section dedicated to all things furry. A playful smirk tugs at your lips as you remark, "I guess we're furries now?"

Isa chuckles "I don't think just wearing cat ears makes me a furry."

Your search within the furry section yields a couple of tail plugs, their soft fur tickling your fingertips. You also grab a simpler metal butt plug, its smooth surface gleaming under the store's fluorescent lights. "But this part of the store has a lot of relevant things for us," you remark.

Isa's laughter echoes through the aisles as she plucks a box from the shelf and holds it up to her head. "Do you think this will look cute on me?" she asks, her eyes sparkling.

Taking the box from her hands, you read the label—a kit to transform Isa into a feline goddess, complete with cat ears, a bushy tail, and mitts made of faux fur for your hands to poke out from. She didn't have to ask—you can already picture it. "Hmm, I think so."

You grab a different set, one without the mitts instead. Your exploration of the shop continues until you find yourselves in the fetish and roleplay section, a realm filled with endless possibilities. Bondage ropes, gags, cuffs, tape, and a blindfold join the basket.

Isa's voice breaks through the silence, her tone filled with awe and amusement. "Wow, we are really going all in."

"Well, I mean, I guess we could gift these if we're not using any of them?"

"That's true. Although, you know," she pauses, her voice lowering to a whisper, "I think I'd prefer to keep them, just in case."

You nod, and continue browsing through the selections, adding more and more to the shopping basket. You eventually end up with a pile of toys and accessories, and you head to the counter to check out. The transaction complete, you grab the bags from the car and begin the journey back home.

The weight of your purchases fills the car. "Don’t think I’ve ever spent that much," you jest, bags as passengers of the back seats. "I could've bought a refrigerator with what we got today. You looked pretty excited."

Isa nudges your elbow gently as you resume driving. "Aww, c'mon. It wasn't that much."

"It's a lot. But nothing says we have to use all of these tonight."

"I had fun anyway," she says, her eyes lighting up with a spark of mischief. "Like, I didn't even know they could sell a dildo in that size."

You shake your head in disbelief. "I definitely did not know that either."

The drive home is quieter now; perhaps both of you need some time to digest everything or maybe exhaustion has settled upon your shoulders, remarkably late to be shopping. Regardless, the silence wraps around you like a cozy blanket, comforting and familiar. You steal glances at Isa, her head nodding as she struggles to keep her eyes open, tiredness finally catching up with her.

As you approach the parking lot of her place, she turns to you, a yawn escaping her lips as she stretches. "So, are we really doing this tonight?"

You study her tired expression, a gentle smile curving your lips. "Looks like you don't have the energy for it."

"Mmm," she hums in agreement, her eyelids heavy. "But we can at least try on the collar, right? And maybe a leash too."

You park the car and enter her apartment hand in hand. Both of you are too weary to engage in anything too active. Sitting on her bed, you gaze into each other's eyes, a silent understanding passing between you. With gentle hands and loving intent, you help Isa put on the collar and leash. In this quiet moment, the weight of your purchases fades into insignificance.

She leans against you and nuzzles her head into the crook of your neck, finding solace in the warmth of your embrace. "Mmm, this feels nice," she whispers with a soft smile.

You wrap your arm around her, your touch grazing her back with tenderness. "Yes, it does," you respond, your voice laced with warmth as you press a gentle kiss upon the crown of her head.

Moments pass as you revel in the closeness and intimacy shared between you two. The weariness of the day slowly takes its toll on Isa, her eyes heavy with sleep as she falls into a peaceful slumber. You gently remove the collar from her delicate neck before joining her in a state of restfulness.

As dawn breaks, the darkness still cloaks the world beyond the windowsill, casting a serene atmosphere within the room. Isa lies beside you, her vivid red hair splayed gracefully across the pillow. Shifting slightly against the headboard, you sit up, observing her serene form.

Isa stirs beside you, murmuring softly in her sleep. Your hand instinctively glides through her hair, caressing her strands in an attempt to lull her back into peaceful dreams. Gradually, her restlessness subsides, and she curls up on the bed, her head resting gently in your lap. You continue to pet her, savoring the sensation of her soft hair cascading through your fingers, feeling the tension in her body gradually dissipate under your gentle touch.

Reaching over to the nightstand, you retrieve the collar and leash. With utmost care, you secure the collar around her neck, clasping it tenderly. Tugging gently on the leash, she shifts, turning onto her side as she gazes up at you with sleepy eyes.

"Hello," she murmurs softly, her voice raspy with sleep.

A playful twinkle dances in your eyes as she playfully paws at your pants, her actions betraying her half-awake state. "Hi, kitten," you respond, your words infused with affection.

Her lips curl into a contented smile, her eyes still closed. "Mmm, that feels lovely," she purrs, the warmth of her breath against your groin causing you to grow. She nuzzles her face closer, her cheek rubbing gently against your clothed erection, eliciting a small moan of pleasure from her lips.

"You like that, don't you?" you whisper, pulling on her leash gently. "You like feeling your owner's cock on your face."

"Mmhmm," she mumbles in response, nodding with sleepy acquiescence. Her tongue slips out to moisten your clothed shaft, tracing teasing patterns that leave droplets of saliva upon the fabric.

You allow her to continue. Your hand continues to caress her hair while pulling lightly on the leash. She is fully awake now, but she maintains the guise of half-consciousness, her hands exploring your thighs, your hardened length, and eventually slipping beneath your waistband to cup your testicles. A quiet groan escapes your lips as her fingers tease and stroke your sac, intensifying the pleasure that courses through you.

Driven by desire and the intoxicating sensation of her touch, you slowly lower your pants and boxers. With closed eyes, Isa remains blissfully unaware of the freedom you have granted your erection. A mischievous giggle escapes her lips as your engorged shaft brushes against her nose.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"It's okay," she says, her voice heavy with sleep. "I love how big and heavy your cock is."

You drink in the sight before you, captivated by the image of her mouth agape, her tongue peeking out in anticipation. She searches for your shaft without needing to see it, her breath hot upon your skin. Finally finding your tip, she lavishes it with lazy kitten-like licks that send waves of pleasure cascading through your body.

Isa begins to take your cockhead into her mouth, her movements unhurried as she places it delicately between her lips, producing a gentle hum of satisfaction. A quiet moan escapes your throat as you feel her warm and wet mouth enveloping your tip, her tongue swirling sensually along your shaft. Her fingers find their way to the base of your cock, stroking it with a gentle rhythm.

The leash tightens around your hand as a surge of heat courses through your veins. Isa continues to suckle on your tip with an air of carefree abandon, contentedly humming and purring against the sensitive flesh. Her other hand tenderly caresses your testicles, eliciting a louder moan of pleasure from your lips.

If not for the telltale signs of her increasing arousal, you might still believe the façade of her half-asleep state. Yet, her hips writhe and rise in the air, her thighs rubbing together in a desperate bid for more. Entranced by this view of her unbridled desire, your hand descends to grab and squeeze her ass through her sweatpants. She gasps in response, her hand quickening its pace along your length. The passion between you intensifies as she strives to maintain her lips around your cockhead while her fingers twist around your engorged shaft. The pleasure becomes nearly overwhelming, the warmth and wetness of her mouth coupled with the tantalizing flicks of her tongue sending you hurtling towards the precipice of climax. It is then that you pull on her leash, your voice laden with a mixture of restraint and longing.

You reluctantly withdraw the pulsating erection from her entrancing mouth, causing Isa to emit a soft whimper as you gently lift her to meet your gaze. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen from your earlier intimacy. The sight of her arousal is almost too much to bear.

"How about we pick up where we left off last night?" you suggest, your voice barely above a whisper.

Isa nods eagerly, her eyes lustful and full of desire. "Yes, Daddy," she whispers back, her voice trembling with anticipation.

You tenderly stroke her hair, the gesture eliciting shivers from her delicate frame. "Good girl," you murmur, your voice filled with affection. "Now, take off your clothes for me and get on all fours on the bed."

She obeys your command, her movements graceful as she removes her shirt and sweatpants. Her breath catches in her throat as her breasts bounce freely, their curves captivating your gaze. With each article of clothing discarded, her thick hips are bared to you, an invitation that sets your pulse racing. The sight of her thighs, smooth and inviting, arouses a primal desire within you. Your palm glides across their soft, pillowy skin, reveling in the exquisite sensation.

You reach down and retrieve the bags you left on the floor, your fingers grazing over the array of items until they land on the cat tail plug nestled among the contents. The plug end gleams in the soft light, its sleek surface inviting to the touch. With a gentle caress, you turn it over in your hand, feeling the plushness of the fluffy tail against your skin. Running the tail plug over Isa's body, you revel in the power it holds. The toy traces a path along her bare chest and down her bare legs, the contrast of the cold metal and the soft fur eliciting a delicious squirm from her. Your voice laced with a hint of mischief as you ask, "Have you ever tried anything anal before? Or this type of toy?"

Isa shakes her head bashfully, yet there's a palpable eagerness in her eyes as she holds her hands behind her back, offering herself to you completely.

"I'm going to have to prepare you then," you say, taking out a bottle of lube and applying it generously to the plug. You take the bottle with you as you settle on your knees and crouch down behind her ass, holding the toy in one hand. Your index prods the underside of her tailbone, and she gasps as you reach down, kissing her plump asscheeks. "Is this okay?" you ask, wanting to make sure.

"Y-yes, Daddy," Isa stammers. You drag the pad of your finger against her skin, eliciting a tremor from her and a new gasp that drops into a long moan, and then you take that as a cue to rub it down her crack, tickling her pussy along the way. "O-oh, Daddy!" she whines, humping your hand in need.

"Kitten, remember." As you speak, you press two of your fingers between her plump folds, your thumb and forefinger gently squeezing her clit. She wiggles her ass, squeaking. "If you want to be a good girl, you have to be patient."

"Daddy," she begs, "please, please, more..." She bucks again, her wet folds clamping around your fingers and your knuckles squeezing her entrance. You rub them up and down, spreading her juices. She's a sticky mess, her arousal dripping down your hand, and you grin, pleased.

"No, not yet. We have to get your ass ready first." Your pointer digit now slick, you squeeze a dollop of lube in your other hand, and you smear it along her asshole.

"Ah!" Isa cries, tensing up at the sudden cold. You shush her, rubbing her pucker with your fingertip, then gradually pressing your lubed finger into her, past the tight ring of muscle, feeling the walls of her ass tense around your digit. You move slowly, pushing your finger further into Isa, letting her get used to the sensation. You reach the second knuckle, and you can feel her starting to relax, her walls loosening up around you. "Ohhh," she moans, her hands balled into fists on the bedsheets.

You curl your finger, pushing against her walls, trying to get her accustomed to the sensation. She moans louder, her hips bucking back against your hand. She seems to be enjoying herself, so you continue, slipping another finger into her ass, this time your middle finger.

"Ah! Daddy!" She cries out, her back arching and her ass pushing against your fingers, taking them deeper into her. You continue, working your fingers in and out of her ass, stretching her out. "It feels so good, Daddy," she moans, her voice trembling.

You pull your fingers out of her ass, and you place the tip of the plug against her, gently pushing it in. "Here’s the plug now," you explain, as you press it against her entrance. "You need to relax, kitten, and let it in."

With a whimper, Isa goes pliant, and you exert steady pressure. Her brow furrows as the plug breaches her entrance, slowly sinking into her clutching heat. She winces as the girth spreads her wide, and you pause, giving her time to adjust to the intrusion.

When her expression smooths, you resume pushing, watching inch after inch disappear until only the flared base remains nestled between her cheeks. The furry tail sways with each squirm of her hips.

You caress the warm skin of her backside. "How does that feel, kitten?"

"So good, Daddy," she breathes, gazing at you through heavy lids. "I didn't know my ass could stretch like that."

A surge of pride washes over you as you reward her obedience with words of affirmation. "Good girl," you murmur, pressing a kiss against her ass before redirecting your attention to her dripping-wet pussy. With a teasing motion, you spread her folds apart, running your fingers up and down her slick slit, teasing her entrance. Her thighs fall open with a needy whine. "I think we should have some breakfast first," you say, unable to keep the grin from your voice.

She whines. "Nooo, but I, I need your cock, in me, or your fingers, or anything—"

"Not yet," you say sternly. "You have to be patient. And if I tell you to wait, then you'll wait."

Isa pouts in response, her bottom lip jutting out in a sulky pout, but ultimately nods her agreement. You remove the leash from her collar, and the two of you make your way towards the kitchen. As she walks, there’s a slight awkwardness to her gait, a subtle gracelessness that somehow only adds to her allure. Her posterior sways enticingly with each step, captivating your attention as you trail behind in a purposeful slowness. She knows what she’s doing too: the seductive undulation of her hips from side to side makes her tail bounce playfully, and she casts a mischievous smile over her shoulder.

You follow her lead, entering the kitchen where you open the fridge and begin gathering ingredients. Your eyes flick towards Isa, who’s settled herself onto a barstool. Her legs are spread wide, and her fingers tease and rub at her own clit. The tail plug nestled between her legs seems like the most natural extension of her body. A mixture of surprise and intrigue crosses your face. "What are you doing?" you ask, walking over to her.

She blinks up at you with feigned innocence, but a glint of mischief dances in her eyes. "Just getting used to my new tail, Daddy," she purrs playfully. "Aren't I such a good kitten?"

You shake your head. "Looks like you're trying to make me fuck you." You reach over, taking hold of the base of the tail plug and pulling it out slightly, before shoving it back in. Isa cries out, her body tensing up as you repeat the action, fucking her ass with the plug. "If you can't control yourself, then maybe I'll just have to punish you."

A chorus of moans escapes Isa's lips, her defiant fingers moving faster against her clit in a desperate plea for more. "Yes, Daddy, please," she begs, her voice a symphony of need and longing.

Your grin widens, a surge of dominance coursing through your veins as you grab her arm, pulling it away from her throbbing core. "No, kitten," you assert firmly, your voice commanding. "You're not allowed to touch yourself."

Isa whimpers in protest, her desire palpable, but she obediently complies with your command, her hands remaining bound behind her back. You release her arm, your eyes locked on the sight of her restrained beauty, her need radiating from every pore.

"Since you insist on misbehaving like that," you declare, your voice laced with a hint of playful authority, "I'll have to tie you properly." With purposeful determination, you retrieve the rope you had acquired for this very purpose, expertly maneuvering it around her delicate wrists, binding them securely together. Isa's whimper of surrender echoes through the room as the rope bites into her skin, marking her as yours.

With the task completed, you turn your attention back to the kitchen, resuming your culinary endeavors. The rhythmic sound of knife meeting cutting board fills the air as you deftly chop vegetables and toss them into a waiting bowl. Isa's eyes never leave you, her body wriggling with anticipation and desire, the tail plug nestled between her legs a constant reminder of her submissive state.

"Daddy, please," she pleads, her voice filled with a desperate longing. "I want your cock so bad. I need you to fuck me."

You shake your head, ignoring her, and continue working. You add the dressing to the salad, and you bring it over to her. She glances toward the cutlery in front of her, and you nod—if she wants to be a naughty animal, then she deserves to be treated like one. You also give her water in a bowl for added measure. You smile as you watch her try to pick up the salad with her mouth, struggling to use her lips and tongue to get the lettuce into her mouth. She eventually manages it, and she starts chewing, swallowing the vegetables. Isa also laps up from the bowl with a blush on her face.

You watch her eat, pleased, and you stroke your cock through your pants, teasing yourself. After she finishes the salad and as much of the water as she can, you get up from your seat, and you grab a hold of the rope binding her wrists together, pulling on it and leading her to the bedroom.

You help carefully pull the tail plug out of her ass, and you slip in a new butt plug, smaller and more discreet. "I think you can handle this one," you say, squeezing her ass and rubbing her back. She mewls, her legs quivering.

You grab a pair of panties and slip them onto her, helping her into them and pulling them up her thick thighs. She wiggles her hips, struggling to keep herself balanced as you adjust them for her, before you take out a skirt and help her step into it.

"We're going out today, kitten," you say. "You're going to wear your collar and cat ears in public, and no one will know that your slutty kitten asshole is going to be filled up. And if you’re good, then maybe you’ll get what you really want."

"Really?" she asks, her eyes widening with excitement.

You nod. "Yes, really."

"O-Okay." You quickly dress and head outside, the two of you enjoying the morning and the quiet streets. You don't have any concrete plans today, but there's a list of things in your mind that you would enjoy getting Isa to do: pet her in public, talk her into cumming just from sitting in your lap, even a spank here or there. While you don't bring the leash this time, you might try it some time in the future, and you want her to be comfortable. Right now, she just looks like a fashionable girl wearing animal ears.

As the two of you go on with your day, you try to spot signs of the fact she's aroused: the way she walks, the way she moves her arms, her eyes constantly wandering down and scanning the bulge in your pants. You catch her trying to squeeze her legs together or rub her thighs to get friction. At one point, when you sit in an isolated corner of a coffee shop, she rests her head in your lap and purrs contentedly. You gently rub her hair and scratch behind her ears, whispering for her to "think about Master's cock filling you up while your other hole's all plugged up" but also "not to cum without Master's permission." There's a soft moan against your crotch, then a warm sigh as her cheek rubs into your leg.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

After spending the whole day taking her around and making her go do mundane tasks with the plug, and most importantly having her beg and beg for you to fuck her—"in the park, on a bench, or the bushes in a hiking trail, anywhere please" she said—you're excited, eager for this evening. Isa looks back at you with tears brimming in her eyes, and her knees wobbling, as she's panting and trying to hold back from cumming. "Please," she begs. "I need it. Please, anything."

You think you have her just about at her limit when you both return to the car to drive back to Isa's place. Even the walk from the parking lot to Isa's apartment door has her clinging to you for support as she stumbles.

"Hey, kitten," you say, touching the small of her back under her shirt. "Are you okay?"

"It's fine. I'm just, so, so, worked up, fuck. I want your cock," she pouts, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. She hunches forward, unable to look at you.

"I bet," you tease, kissing the top of her head. "I'll give you what you want soon, kitten. Just a little longer."

She whimpers. "Please."

"Okay, c'mon, baby," you say, letting go and opening the door for her. She staggers in on her jelly-like legs, her cheeks flushed and her breath hitching. You get behind her and hug her; holding her as tightly as you are, Isa relaxes into you. Her heart is pounding wildly against your palm. You set her down onto the couch, and she gives you a grateful smile, which you kiss in turn. Your hands roam all over her, down her waist and settling between her legs. You slip under her panties and tease the metal plug in her butt, twisting it until you hear a deep sigh from her. "You're so wet," you tell her. "Look at you. So sweet."

She makes a keening noise when you tug on the plug, just so, just enough to remind her of what you both want. Your finger teases along her folds, gently brushing up and down against the seam, up towards the hood of her clit. Isa shivers.

"Do you want me to make you cum?" you ask as you rub her clit.

"Mmhm," Isa nods furiously, her hands coming up to grasp at your shoulders, looking for purchase. "P-please. Make me cum."

At this point, a single digit thrust would probably be enough to push her over the edge. Instead, you remove your hands from her panties, place them on her breasts, squeeze them, and gently tug on her nipples. You love the way the skin of her neck and breasts blush with arousal. "You've been a good kitten," you say, cupping her ass and pulling her closer. "I'm so proud of you."

“Can, can I get a reward?” she asks, almost in tears.

You brush her tousled hair. “Shh, shh, of course. Do you want to cum on Daddy’s face?”

She nods emphatically while her pussy soaks her panties and leaks onto the couch. “Y-yes, Daddy, anything.”

In response, you pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, and she clings to you like a lifeline, as if afraid that if she lets you go, you won’t touch her and she might break into pieces from frustration. You lie down on the bed, and Isa climbs on top of you.

She quickly aligns her pussy with your face, and your mouth waters in anticipation at the sight of her darkened panties. You hook one finger around the thin and wet fabric and pull them down to reveal her swollen pussy, her asshole plugged tightly. “You smell so good,” you say, licking your lips as she mewls. “Sit.”

Isa does as told, and the warmth of her mound rests on your chin. She braces her hands on the headboard as you raise your head a bit to reach her core. You kiss her lower lips with reverence and delicacy, like you would kiss her lips. They're warm, warm and soaked with her honey, and they part easily to reveal the pink insides. Her clit is standing erect, almost painfully so, and the hood has pulled away.

You begin by flicking the tip of your tongue against it. She jumps. Then, you take the sensitive pearl into your mouth. Isa groans at this, but you don't stay for too long. You place wet, loud kisses against her mound and inner thighs, before going back to her clit. This time, you suck on it. A little nip sends her jumping on you again, and she yelps. The next kiss is quick and soft.

As she grows accustomed to the new stimulation, you suck and lick and nibble her clit, all while keeping an eye on her face. You see it scrunch up, her nose crinkling in pleasure, her eyes shut. Her moans are accompanied by whines, little pathetic sounds that let you know she's getting close to her breaking point.

There is nothing quite like eating out Isa while she has a toy in her ass and she's wearing cat ears and a cute collar, but more delicious than any picture is the taste of her cream, musky and tangy and addictive. It drips from the swollen labia that your tongue slides through, coating your tongue and making you dizzy with lust. It's strong and you can't help but groan as you dig your face deeper against her sex, lips meeting lips as your tongue.

Isa grinds down on your mouth, and her hips tremble when you begin to circle your tongue around her clit, giving the firm bundle of nerves light but frequent attention. She's a mess on you, and you're happy to be cleanup duty, your chin and shirt a mop. As she rocks back and forth, you reach up at her nipples through her shirt and twist and pinch and roll the stiff buds.

With that, Isa's hips rock one last time as her thighs close and press against the sides of your head. You hear the distant, muffled, muted sounds of her whining, crying, moaning. By now, you can even feel how hard her heart is beating. Her breaths become erratic, and the trembling of her hips turns into shaking. She leans backwards, balancing her weight on your midsection, and the tension in her body snaps.

For a moment, she's floating, mind empty, then everything rushes into her brain like a dam has broken. For the first time that day, she cums, and she cums hard. She's always thought of it as "seeing stars" but now it feels more like being tossed into space and feeling all the gravity around her all at once. All the weight on her body disappears, but the pressure of you increases. She doesn't hear, she doesn't feel. Isa is the color white.

All of a sudden, Isa feels weak. It feels like the universe is a heavy blanket on her. She can barely hold her weight on her body. You're the only thing that feels real at the moment. That, and her pussy, which still tingles with her orgasm, and you can only imagine how the plug in her ass is magnifying everything.

Isa collapses against you, the softness of her flesh warming your chest. She's still convulsing with little aftershocks, her entire body covered in goosebumps. She hears herself saying things like "I love you so much" and "thank you Daddy thank you". The words leave her mouth on their own as she begins to come down from her high.

For as much as you love being her seat, you pull her down into a spoon. You wrap your arms around her. Her heart pounds against your forearm and hand. The scent of her shampoo and sweat fill your nostrils. Everything is still hot from her body heat, and you take a deep breath and exhale through your mouth. "Was that worth the wait, kitten?" you ask her.

"Yeah," she says weakly, the only word she can manage at the moment. Her legs are still shaking, and she takes a few moments to focus on slowing down her breathing and her heartbeat. "Well..."

"Well? You need more, huh?" you chuckle. You should've learned to never be surprised at Isa's appetite by now, and the plug in her ass isn't making her any less horny.

"Mmm, mhm. I need your cock so badly. Fuck my ass. I need Daddy to claim me."

You kiss her cheek and tell her to flip over so that she's laying on her stomach, her round ass staring up at you. "You did such a good job," you whisper as you rub your palms across her lower back before lifting her skirt to get a good view.

The plug sits in Isa's asshole, glistening with her fluids. A bottle of lube waits on the nightstand, and you pour it generously over her crack. With as much care as you can muster, you begin to slowly draw it out, savoring the sight of her clenched hole stretching to accommodate the thickest part of the toy. There is an audible pop when the tapered plug slips free, causing Isa to hiss in pleasure as her rectum reflexively tightens to fill the emptiness left inside.

Her delicate fingers reach behind to part her plump cheeks and expose herself further to your gaze. You bite your lip, taken by the lewdness of the image in front of you. You add more lube to the area, another spurt on your index, and circle around the ring of her anus to coat it before pushing a finger in, massaging her inner walls. "How does that feel, baby?" you ask, watching the way her head jerks back and she squirms beneath you.

"Amazing," she mutters, her voice sounding far away. Prone on the bed, Isa is powerless to resist as you slowly remove your finger, adding a second digit. Her ass grips you so snugly, sucking you deeper with each pump, like it's a sleeve for your fingers. She trembles at the feeling of fullness inside, at the raw vulnerability of being splayed before you like this, your gaze unabashedly on her naked ass as you work her open. "C-can you bring me a pillow, please?"

You kiss the nape of her neck as you reach down and slide the pillow under her pelvis. Her ass raised, her back arched, Isa is the picture of supplication. "So beautiful," you whisper against her skin, and she shudders with arousal.

"Da... daddy, do you need to stretch me more?" Isa stammers. You place your palm at the small of her back, caressing the dip of her spine with gentle circles.

"No, kitten," you soothe. "You're ready."

"Yes. God, yes."

With one hand squeezing the supple curve of her butt, you pour lube liberally across the tip of your erection. You position the head of your cock at the rim of her ass and begin to apply pressure, using your thumbs to massage her soft cheeks. Even your tip struggles to breach her, her entrance reluctant to admit anything more girthy than a couple of fingers. With more lube, and two hands spreading her ass open, you finally push through her anal muscles' resistance, gasping as the tightness and warmth of her insides engulfs the head of your shaft.

Isa tenses in response, her hands clawing at the bed sheets. The sound she lets out is almost like a pained meow as your cock plunges further into her depths. "Relax," you murmur, using a tender yet reassuring voice to soothe her.

She responds by shifting her hips, attempting to adjust the angle to your thrust, her movements awkward and fumbling due to her precarious position. Her efforts cause her to clench down on your shaft, a wave of pleasure washing over you, before relaxing once again.

A shaky breath escapes your throat as you feel yourself slipping past the ring of her sphincter. "Good, good girl," you praise once you've sunk halfway into her, taking a moment to drink in the erotic view in front of you. "Fuck, you're tight. Almost there."

Her body shudders as she fights to hold still, to restrain her hips from moving on their own accord, a low cry emanating from her lips.

Your hand roams over her waist and upper thigh, seeking out the delicate bud hidden in the cleft of her pussy. You rub a couple of fingers over the tender flesh, delighting in the way her back arches as you stimulate the swollen organ. Savoring her broken sobs, you ease forward, burying the rest of your length in her ass. You gently slap her butt, marveling at the way it bounces with each contact.

Isa moans as you pull your dick out slightly before plunging it back into her ass, beginning with slow, shallow pumps. The motion is easy and fluid, despite her virgin-tightness.

You press your palms flat against the mattress and use your forearms for leverage to piston into her. As you drive your shaft deeper into her ass, the combination of her intoxicating aroma and your lust for her spurs you to move faster and harder, until you find yourself rutting her, your balls slapping against her puffy cunt with each frantic thrust.

"Yes! More," she begs, and you groan in reply. Your eyes are fixed on your cock, sliding in and out of her stretched hole, the ridges of your shaft disappearing and reappearing as you pump. Your mouth goes dry as you watch the way her body clings to your cock, how she's utterly and completely full of you.

"Fuck, look at you, so greedy," you growl as she pushes back against your cock. You pause for a brief moment and she whines in protest, then you unsheathe your dick and slap it against her gaping asshole. She jolts at the impact, her body shivering at the feeling. Your hips pull back, and with a powerful snap, you ram your cock into her asshole. She cries out in pain and pleasure, the sound echoing throughout the room.

"D-daddy, don't tease me!" she exclaims, her voice pleading, yet laced with desperation. You smirk at the familiarity of her tone.

You bend down, wrapping your arm around her torso and pulling her up and flush against your chest, the weight of her breasts pressing against your bicep and forearm. In this position, both of you are sitting up, her in your lap like you're her throne—her master, her god, her owner. She leans into you, tilting her head back to look up into your eyes, the adoration and reverence shining within her gaze unmistakable. Your shaft presses against her lower back, and she wiggles her ass desperately to urge you to keep fucking her.

You kiss her neck, inhaling her scent, her arousal. With such an incredible woman in your arms, you are overcome by the desire to mark her, to stake your claim on her, to brand her as your possession. In one swift movement, you sink your teeth into her neck, biting into the delicate skin. Isa whines, her head thrown back, eyes half-lidded and glazed over "Mine," you utter in a low, possessive voice.

"Yours," she answers breathlessly, her lips curled in a delirious smile.

You wrap two large hands around her waist, angling your hips just so as you lift her up, and then, she's sliding down your cock, enveloping you in her warmth as you fill her to the brim. As she takes you into her, she stretches open and lets out an obscene moan, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

"D-daddy!" Isa whimpers, her body trembling at the intensity of the sensations flooding her. "You're so big."

Sitting on you like this, your cock feels impossibly thick inside of her. She can't help the way her thighs twitch involuntarily, nor can she ignore the way her pussy clenches at nothing. With both of her hands, she grabs onto your arm and guides your hand down between her legs, right over her pussy.

"Touch me," she breathes.

You grin at her request, and you oblige, bringing your fingers to her clit. At that moment, you roll your hips upward, meeting her downward motions with a rough, deep thrust, the force of which knocks the breath out of her lungs. Any amount of control she has above you evaporates at this point, leaving her helpless as you bounce her in your lap while your digits play at her raw and pink nub, or probe her slick, wet entrance.

The room is filled with the lewd sounds of her whimpers, of the wet slaps of her ass against your hips, of her needy begging, and of your guttural grunts of effort. Despite the intense climax that shook her only minutes ago, Isa finds herself teetering on the edge of another, and she yearns for release. She's not the only one: her walls cling tightly to your shaft, refusing to yield its grip, and your length pulses with the desperate desire to burst.

"God, I want to feel you cum in my ass, Daddy," she sighs, her head rolling back to lean on your shoulder. Her eyes are closed in concentration, and her mouth hangs open as she gasps and pants and cries with each penetration. You grunt, your gaze hungrily drinking in the sight of her: her reddened, sweaty face, the droplets of perspiration that cling to her collarbone, the rapid rise and fall of her heaving chest, the swaying of her heavy, unrestrained tits.

You suckle at the skin behind her ear, grazing her lobe with your teeth. "Then cum, kitten."

In an instant, a tremor shoots up her spine. With a scream of pure pleasure, her body becomes rigid and then goes limp, her senses overloading as her cunt clamps around your fingers—which doesn't compare at all to her ass clenching and tightening around your cock.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum too—"

But Isa's mind is hazy with ecstasy, her body taut with her own release, that she barely registers the hot and sticky substance suddenly gushing into her anal entrance. Yours on the other hand is sharp and clear as day, and you allow yourself to drown in the euphoria that comes with each spurt. She's a perfect fit for you, made to be yours, and you've marked her as such. Every time she clenches in her pleasure, your cock responds with its own throb, its own gush, its own pulse.

When you collapse, she collapses with you, her thighs sticky and wet as she pants on the bed, lying beside you. You grab a bunch of tissue paper, clean the leaky, creamy mess you've made of her ass.

Her eyes flutter shut and you whisper words of affection and praise. You cradle her in your arms, stroking her hair and tracing patterns across the flushed skin of her back and belly, enjoying the warmth of her body. Her head rests on your shoulder, your neck. Your legs are entwined, and the softness of her chest molds to the planes of your own. Her breathing eventually steadies, and her pulse calms.

Isa lifts her head up, placing her hands on your chest to prop herself up. With lidded eyes and a mischievous smile, she whispers, "I hope you know what you started, Daddy."

A wicked grin creeps upon your lips at her implication, and your hands find their way to her waist, squeezing her hipbones. "And what's that?"

Her gaze softens, and she gazes lovingly into your eyes, a shy smile on her lips. "I hope you don't plan on going anywhere. I don't think I can ever let you go, especially now," she says softly, a blush rising to her cheeks.

"I wouldn't dream of it." You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "You're mine. So I'm yours, kitten."

"Good."

Isa smiles, and you'll never fail to fall in love with the sight of her radiance; that smile makes you believe you may never fail again.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Not really in the Christmas/holiday spirit but I figured might as well pull it out of the draft archives before the year end.

#stayc smut #kpop smut #male reader #reader insert

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ahqkas · 3 days ago

Note

Could you do the bamboos doing the tiktok trend a boy who jacket and kind please

♯JACKED AND KIND ( the batboys doing the ‘jacked and kind’ tiktok trend with you ! )

— gn!reader, dick & jason & tim ( separated ), cursing, not edited

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

this man would literally be so hyped about doing the trend with you!!

your boyfriend stood behind you as you positioned your phone just right, angling it to catch the best angles. he doing some simple stretches, probably the same ones he did whenever he got ready for one of his patrols. you watched in the reflection your phone provided how his navy blue shirt fit his torso, wrapping and stretching around the muscles without any real effort to show off his broad shoulders and muscular arms. you could also point out the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. he knew exactly how good he looked.

“okay,” you took a step backwards toward him once you were satisfied with the preparation. “don’t let me down.”

a chuckle left his throat at your words while he met you halfway in the steps, taking a few steps forward so he could be standing behind you in order to record the trend. “baby, letting you down isn’t part of my vocabulary. lifting you up, on the other hand . . .” he trailed off with a wink and you managed to lightly slap his bicep before the countdown went off and the video started recording.

the song started playing from the phone — “slim pickins” by sabrina carpenter — and you tensed into position, facing the camera. you felt the warmth of his large hands on your hips before he touched you ( his touch was steady, as if he had done this a million times before ).

with an almost effortless motion, dick lifted you up in the air for a second before you made contact with his shoulder. you squealed in surprise from how quickly the whole thing happened and tried to balance yourself on top of him. he adjusted his grip on your knees while flexing his biceps for the camera, showing off the pure muscle with a large grin etched on his pretty face.

he looked confident, like he was the first man to ever grace the earth, even swaying a bit on his feet. show-off. the song continued playing, and just as the lyrics — “a boy who’s jacked and kind” — faded, dick followed it by lowering your body down in a quick move, catching you in a bridal style before you could even process what was happening.

“dick!” you couldn’t help but gasp this time. you haven’t seen this feature in the trending videos yet, and you were pretty sure you two would end up viral with just this move alone. you could picture the comments already.

“get a room”

“i miss my future bf”

“ON MY PHONE? ON MY WIFI? ON MY ACCOUNT??”

he really was jacked and kind.

. . . JASON TODD !

jason would kill this trend without even trying.

you had been begging him for the last hour about doing one of those new trending tiktok videos. the ones where couples did something ridiculously romantic which caused the whole comment section to show what’s it like to be born a hater (“so cute!! BLOCKED” “reacted "👍🏻" to your message” “i’m sleeping on a highway tonight guys” ). jason had been through countless trends already, but you were extra set on doing this trend with him.

“jason, come on! it’ll be fun, i promise.”

he dropped the book he was reading on the coffee table with a dramatic sigh, turning to look you in the eye. “i swear, every time i turn around, there’s another damn trend going viral.”

but there was no real annoyance in the tone of his voice. he could act all rough and nonchalant, but deep down, he adored you with all his heart and soul. he’d never admit it aloud, but you got him feeling things he didn’t quite know how to process.

you looked over at him with those pleasing eyes he could never resist. “please, jay?”

letting out the biggest sigh you’ve ever heard, your boyfriend stood up from the couch and walked over to where you were standing in front of your phone. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered under his breath lowly with those beefy arms crossed at his chest.

“i promise this will be the last one.”

“uh-huh.” jason didn’t want it to be the last one.

you turned your head over your shoulder to look at him while you set your phone up. “you know how this works, right? just pick me up and place me on your shoulder.”

you didn’t have a single doubt about him not being able to pick you up. jason was a big guy, he could manhandle you all you he wanted without breaking a sweat, you knew that. he was going to pick you up.

“alright, sweetheart. get over here.”

the song started playing as soon as the timer was up and you felt his hands sliding up your thighs as he bend over a bit before he wrapped his forearms around the meat of your legs. he picked you up effortlessly like you weighed nothing, not a single sound of protest leaving his lips from the motion. your laugh filled the room when you made contact with his broad shoulder and you wrapped your arm around his neck, leaning slightly closer to him for the video to capture.

jason didn’t flex his arms, didn’t need to show his strength off. he simply wrapped his hands around your thighs, fingers kneading the soft muscles as he helped you balance yourself so you wouldn’t fall and make a blooper instead.

“see? no big deal.”

. . . TIM DRAKE !

tim was never one to enjoy attention, especially not the one that came with being on camera.

but when you, with your sweet smile and convincing voice, had asked him to do yet another one of your tiktok trends, he couldn’t really say no.

“tim, please? you’ll love it, i promise,” you pleaded with him, already setting up your phone with the timer set straight on because you knew he wouldn’t resist you. he never did.

and he didn’t this time, either. “what’s this trend about again?”

you practically bounced over to where he was standing with pure excitement written all over your face. “it’s a lifting one. i just need you to pick me up exactly when the songs say ‘a boy who’s jacked and kind’. simple, right?”

“i really don’t think–“

“oh, come on! you’re strong, and you’re always complaining i never let you have fun. this is fun, tim.”

at that, he let out a long sigh while his hand rubbed the back of his neck. he was thinking, deep in thoughts. but you were really really really hard to resist when you got like this — all pleading and loving with him. you had this look in your eye, he had realized, one that said you would never stop bugging him until you got your way. and he realized he was down bad for that look.

“fine. but if i drop you, don’t blame me.”

tim stepped into position behind you, his eyes narrowing as he mentally braced for the lift before the video could ever start. he wasn’t sure how exactly this was supposed to go, but it didn’t look that complicated, right? it was just about picking you up and holding you there for a few seconds. simple. yet, he couldn’t help but overthink the whole thing.

his stance was little awkward, with his hands hovering near your waist as if he wasn’t entirely sure of his footing, trying to maintain that balance between not looking too stiff and not being too casual either.

for a split second, everything was going perfectly. your boyfriend had you in his arms, effortlessly supporting you on his shoulder while your laughter erupted from your throat. you knew tim would be perfect for this trend. but that’s when things went sideways.

his feet shuffled under him and he lost his footing on the carpet beneath him. his balance wavered which caused yours to do just as same, and before he could adjust and save the situation, your body slipped a little too far to one side. tim’s eyes widened, and he made a split-second decision to shift his hands, trying to catch you before you fell completely.

everything happened so fast.

you were halfway to the floor when his arm shot out, catching you by the waist just in time. for a second, it looked like he might’ve actually saved the moment — then his grip faltered, and you were both tumbling to the ground in a tangled mess of limbs.

“ah!”

the two of you collapsed together, but your boyfriend managed to twist in the last moment, taking most of the fall with his own body before you could hit the floor completely. he groaned softly under you with his chest rising and falling rapidly as you lay on top of him, your face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and laughter.

“you almost dropped me.”

“i did drop you,” he replied dryly, but his voice held no real frustration — just the tiniest hint of amusement as he looked up at you.

it might’ve not been a video that would kill the whole trend, but it was a video that would never fail to make you smile. and that was enough for you.

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skaruresonic · 2 days ago

Text

...For Romance languages, sure. But our language has always assumed she/her is the default gender unless specified.

In Skaruręʔkyéha·ʔ, the gender-neutral form is the feminine singular, reflecting our matrilineal society.

For example, if you asked, "Who knows?" you’d say it as "[Who] [she knows]?" because "she/her" isn't strictly "she/her." It also means someone.

We have stories of colonists mistakenly recording "ę̀·ruh" (she, someone) as "man" (raʔníha·) because the answer they received to "Who is that man over there?" was ę̀·ruh, in the sense of "that person." They didn't realize ę̀·ruh is the default gender pronoun.

In fact, the man who compiled our dictionary, Dr. Blair Rudes, later regretted using "he/him" as the gender-neutral example to conjugate our verbs because it contradicts how our language operates and imposes an Anglicized perspective on it.

It also makes conjugating based on the dictionary difficult because, unlike "she/her/someone," the male prefix won't always tell you whether a verb is an A-stem or a C-stem.

Every verb example the dictionary provides uses "he/him" as the gender neutral because Rudes spoke English as a first language and naively assumed this would transfer to our language. This is a mistake he later expressed contrition for in a note he added to the dictionary.

If Rudes had stuck to "she/her/someone" prefixes, we'd be able to tell whether a verb is C-stem or A-stem more easily:

raʔnęríhshęh = he rests (A-stem); we can't tell if this verb is an A-stem off the bat because ra- is the male prefix for both C-stem and A-stem verbs yęʔnęríhshęh = she rests (A-stem); we know this is A-stem because of the use of nasal Ę rakwáhsθeh = he likes it (C-stem); again, can't tell at a glance whether this verb is A- or C-stem if we were just looking at he/him conjugations yekwáhsθeh = she likes it (C-stem); we can tell this verb is C-stem because of the regular E

---

I mean... Our culture has always extended personhood to women, to the point where "she/her" is considered the default unless otherwise specified.

Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

We even have a special form of conjugation reserved just for women. We don't really need to grant women their personhood again if we never stopped doing that to begin with.

Linguistic imperialism is more of a problem than our language's approach to gender. The colonists mistranslated "man" based on their understanding of our language, not ours. Rudes assumed an English-speaking perspective would transfer to Skaruręʔkyéha·ʔ without problems when it really doesn't. Like, at all.

...We're not hardasses about pronouns, either. If someone wants to be referred to with certain pronouns, we roll with it. It's just basic decency.

So.

It's not exactly the same thing as "French referring to every 100-women-1-man group as masculine," but every Haudenosaunee language handles group gender a little differently.

For instance, Kanyęʔkyéha·ʔ (Mohawk) is concerned with the gender makeup of groups, which IIRC does take a ratio of men and women into account.

We, on the other hand, don't really care about gender configuration so much as the number of people involved. "Someone to someone," "them to them," "someone to you," and "us to them" take the same pronouns regardless of gender.

The only real time gender becomes a factor is when you're specifying "he to me" or "she to me." But even then, based on the way our language works, if you're saying something like "someone asked me a question," you'd still use the feminine singular.

No, for us the real hairsplitty stuff comes from accounting for the number of people on all three sides of the conversation (agent, subject, audience). You have to figure out who you're addressing, the number of people you're addressing, and your relation to the audience and/or the people you're talking about.

---

Another linguistic concept we might have difficulty explaining to non-indigenous people is the femininezoic form, since:

A.) It sounds dehumanizing, even though it's just an alternate way of expressing "she."

B.) We don't fully understand what it's used for ourselves, what the nuances are.

The following screenshot shows us the Thwahrù·nęʔ (Oneida) perspective on what the femininezoic is and what it might be used for; due to paucity of information, I have to assume Skarù·ręʔ (Tuscarora) usage is similar.

Basically, the femininezoic replaces "she" pronouns with "it" pronouns in "state-of-being" verbs (emotions, health, etc.):

yakuʔčhęnę́·tih = she is happy (feminine-indefinite) kaʔčhęnę́·tih = "it is happy" (she is happy, femininezoic)

The way this was explained to me is that the femininezoic is done this way because women are closer to the Earth, which is also an "it" but which can be personified as a woman.

My personal understanding, then, is that the femininezoic carries connotations of respect. We see this form used more often in older stories as well.

well you see this masculine term is "gender neutral" because for the longest time, men were the only people considered human beings, hope this helps!

#skaru:re #indigenous languages #femininezoic #save #haudenosaunee

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tojbnuy · 23 hours ago

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cupcake (1)

mechanic!toji x baker!reader

art by @_jtvll

there was a child grabbing your pant leg. your hands were full to the brim with trays of cupcakes, all freshly iced and ready to be placed into neat rows to serve. you usually hate this part of your job and the small hand stopping you from walking was not helping.

‘hey uhm could you maybe let go?’

you still were unable to look down at the person/thing(?) grabbing a hold of you as the trays in your arms were stacked far too high.

‘right well okay’ and you had to resort to placing the cupcakes on a nearby shelf. upon looking down you saw.. a baby? well a toddler? you didn’t know many kids, with only one niece you would assume this kid was around about her age. 3 maybe 4? he still had a firm grip on the leg of your trouser and was smearing left over icing onto your pants from his sticky fingers.

‘cake.’ he said with pink icing stuck to his lips and chin. the boy was adorable. big sparkly eyes and black hair sticking out in every direction. he was wearing a shirt that said ‘dad’s best friend’ and tiny blue sneakers.

‘you want more cake?’ you replied and he was quick to nod his head vigorously, his hand Still gripped tightly onto you.

‘alright buddy i can give you a cake. but you really shouldn’t be behind here this is staff only. where’s your mum?’

you bent down to his eye level after retrieving a cupcake from your fresh batch and waited for any sort of answer. either he had no clue what anything you said meant or he was too entranced by the cupcake you were wielding in his direction but the boy said nothing, just stared at you with his massive eyes.

‘god now what do i do?’

you were fairly new to this bakery, it was a busy branch with a computer cafe joint on so there was always a large amount of people in store. and now you had to match one of them to this baby.

‘well you eat while i think.’

and the kid watched with a great level of focus as you peeled the wrapper of the cake off and handed him the little treat.

‘what’s your name baby?’

‘megumi’

‘wow that’s a cute name’

he clearly didn’t speak much and resorted to simply staring at you with his cheeks full of cake and even more icing decorating his lips.

you opened your hands to him in a way of saying ‘i’m going to pick you up now’ and when he didn’t seem to object you picked up the tiny boy and placed him on your hip.

‘don’t worry i’ll make sure you get back to your parents.’ again met with radio silence.

‘dada’

‘oh you came with your dada?’

‘dada.’

and only then did you realise the boy was staring out the window at a black haired, clearly frazzled man.

‘megumi? megs buddy please come back now, fucks sake.’ the back door was shoved open and by instinct you clutched the small boy to your chest.

‘megumi oh my fucking- thank god’ and as the man reached for the boy you gently tucked him into your neck. the man immediately frowned and looked you up and down as you did the same. well clearly the boy must be his judging off megumi recognizing him and there was also the fact that they looked exactly the same. except this man was tall and handsome and built like a marble statue. but you still wanted to make sure.

you watched as said man eyed you up and down and for some unknown reason you were incredibly thankful you had worn makeup and washed your hair this morning. your work uniform was bland, a pink half apron and the same baggy jeans and white top you usually wore when you knew you’d be icing cakes instead of serving customers.

‘listen kid, thanks for finding him but i am his dad, look i’ve even got pictures.’

and sure enough he was whipping out his phone and showing you his lockscreen of the boy you were holding in the same shirt with a black puppy in his lap. he then proceeded to open his photos app and show you a few more, some dating a few years back to when megumi was only a newborn.

‘dada’

‘yeah look see i’m his dad’

you believed the man the second you saw his face.

‘right okay i believe you, i don’t even know how he got back here i just turned around and he was grabbing me asking for cake. oh and also im not a kid im 22.’ you felt the need to clarify.

he smiled at that and took his child out of your hands.

‘sorry about that, but i’m glad it was you he bumped into not some creep. i was holding his hand and then i look down and he wasn’t there. the things this boy does when he sees cake’

you laughed and went to pick up your trays again when a large hand grabbed your arm and turned you back.

‘ah wait doll i’ve got to you pay you for the damage this little brats done, and to say thank you.’ he stuffed a few notes into the pocket of your apron.

‘it was just a cupcake it’s no big deal’ you said as you tried to hand them back to him without looking incredibly flustered at the use of a nickname.

‘no i insist, you really saved my ass. you work here often?’

‘yeah i’m usually at the counter but sometimes i just bake and ice the cakes.’

‘well clearly this brat thinks you do a good job’

‘so that means you’ll be back again i’m assuming?’

he smirked at that and your eyes were immediately drawn to the scar decorating his lip. his presence was intimidating, you could feel your cheeks flushing at his intense gaze.

‘yes definitely, i actually own the mechanics down the road so if you ever have any trouble make sure you let me know i’ll do you a nice deal’

‘i’ll keep that in mind uh?’

‘toji’

‘i’ll keep that in mind toji. i’m y/n’

he swapped his son to his other hand and stuck his right hand out for you to shake. you palm felt small in his large veiny one, his skin warm to the touch.

‘pretty name.’ he was checking you out again and you felt so small under his gaze. this was wrong, he was older than you and most likely had a wife or a girlfriend or a long term ex. this was definitely not going to become anything. but that didn’t stop you from giving him a few cupcakes for the road.

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sp0o0kylights · 2 days ago

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Part One

A large part of the Steve Harrington lore was that he left his throne, his popularity, childhood best friends behind--for Nancy Wheeler.

This was a lie.

It wasn’t even one he encouraged--and Steve had done some damage control in the aftermath of that whole thing with the tunnels.

He volunteered, dropped hints to the right crowd.

It took time, but eventually, his insistence that he’d changed, left his old crew behind to become a better version of himself, began to stick.

Or at least it did with the people who mattered.

It took Starcourt for him to realize that wasn’t really the truth either.

Steve did want to be a better person. He was working actively on being a better person.

But…

(But he still heard screams from a bus in the junkyard when he slept. Felt fear lick down his spine as he charged in, knowing he was the only thing standing between three dumb kids and a painful, shitty death.

But he still heard Dustin, full of conviction, tell his friends that Steve was the only person he could find.

But now he had a “bad” shoulder, a “twinge” in his ribs, and a head that was plagued by migraines, all of which made him look in the mirror and ask himself “What if I hadn’t gone with them?)

…you couldn’t be there for someone, couldn’t protect someone, if you were too busy playing high school bullies with your friends.

Robin would likely argue these were simply the reasons he wanted to be a better person, but Robin now ranked as one of Steve’s top 10 personal regrets--even if he was pretty sure they’d become best friends.

Because Steve was the oldest. He’d graduated high school for fucks sake, he should have shut Dustin down the second he realized what was happening was legitimate.

He absolutely should not have let Robin get involved and Erica--

He can’t even really think about Erica, no matter how much Erica herself argues elsewise.

At the very least, Steve can admit to himself he protected them in the end.

Got beat to shit and had to fake his death alongside Hopper to do it, but they all got out.

Alive.

Unscathed.

Hopefully to put this whole fucking thing past them once Owens finished cleaning house in the government.

Unfortunately life--and Eddie fucking Munson--was not ready to put anything to rest.

Munson in fact, seemed hellbent on disturbing what he could--and Steve, wholly haunted by the fact the kids always came to him, couldn’t let him do it alone.

At least, he thought with grim distaste, as he followed Munson’s weaving path to the ruins of Starcout, he was getting his car out of it.

xXx

Uncanny valley doesn’t do Steve’s feelings justice.

Starcourt was laid out in a giant L, and coming at it from the outer edges like he and Munson did means everything looks disturbingly normal.

Off putting, if only because it’s 10 in the morning and not a soul is in the mall, but otherwise?

Like nothing ever went wrong.

As they move closer to the center, things begin to unravel.

It’s not noticeable at first. Not unless you’re looking. The litter on the floor, the little piles of weird looking debris.

The stains.

Nothing that outwardly screams “something horrible happened here” but it's coming--and though Munson is creeping along just as quietly as Steve is, he knows the guy isn’t on edge in the same way.

Why would he be? Nothing Steve said had managed to deter him, and given Steve can’t exactly explain what happened or why he’s playing possum, Munson was plenty confident about going forward with his little B&E.

At least not until they finally turn the corner, and the destruction hits them full force.

Glass and chunks of plaster cover the ground like confetti. Lights hang sideways or lay smashed on the floor, as do pieces of doors (and railings and half of the entire upper floor.)

The place looks like something out of a disaster film--which Steve supposes, is exactly what it is.

If the disaster was supernatural in nature, and also caused by a giant monster made out of the melted flesh.

(God, his life was weird.)

“What the hell happened here?” Eddie said, eyes wide as he took in the damage.

Steve tried to imagine what it must look like for him. Looked at the scene and tried to pretend he was someone who wasn’t in the know, who thought the mall had been destroyed by a fire and subsequent structural collapse.

Could almost convince himself one could buy it--if it weren’t for the smears of blood that still stained the floor.

He stared at said smears, trying to match up which puddle was the one Billy died in, in comparison to all the other stains that the feds hadn’t bothered to remove.

Recalled the way Max screamed, fighting her way towards her step-brother when he finally fell.

The yell Billy himself had let out, when he’d managed to shake off the Mindflayer, long enough to give El the time she needed.

Steve hadn’t really thought about it until now.

Billy’s death.

Hadn’t really had time too, given Owens had pulled him and a handful of others out of the ambulance and forced them into hiding.

(From the fucking Russians still hanging around, apparently, though that had been Owens flimsy excuse. Murray and Hopper and long guessed it was something far closer to home.

“You ever think about how weird that was? That Russians made it to Hawkins and no one ever noticed?” Hopper had asked, a beer in the same hand that had an IV sticking out of the back of it. “Given the lab was right across town you think they’d be watching for that kinda thing.”

“Please Jim, I am begging you, for once, to use your head. They didn’t get here without assistance and they certainly didn’t do it without help from our own government.” Murray had scoffed in return.

He held two lit cigarettes in his hand, and was reaching for a third.

“Why the hell would the US military let in Russians?"

“An excellent question, and I’ll return it with one of my own. If we assume we are being lied too, and all the Russians are actually gone, why would Owens still need to hide us?"

“...Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”)

Now, Steve found he had all the time in the world to contemplate Billy Hargrove and his mostly unnoticed possession. His supposed sacrifice.

Had it redeemed him, the way movies and TV shows always said that kind of death, did?

Steve imagined the sneered grin on Billy’s face that night at the Byers. Felt phantom knuckles brush across his face, the fury that had ignited within him when Billy hadn’t gone for him, but for Lucas.

Compared it to his own fight with Jonathan in ‘82.

The words he’d allowed Tommy to spray upon the theater sign regarding his own girlfriend. The camera he’d destroyed.

The demogorgon in the Byers house, lights flashing as it tore through the wall.

If things had been different, if Steve hadn’t survived back then--would people wonder the same things about him? Would they ask themselves if his sacrifice was worth it--if it proved he was a good person, under it all?

“Harrington?”

Steve jumped, startling when Munson nudged him.

“You good, man?” He asked, and Steve almost laughed at him because no, he definitely was not good.

He can’t say that though, and so he does what he always does. Shoves the thoughts down, puts the feelings back inside a box in his mind.

Lies.

“Yeah--fine.” He said, brushing off his staring. “Come on, Scoops is that way.”

He gestures, ignoring the concerned look that’s overtaken Munson’s face.

Panicking he knows, will not get his keys back, and neither will it help him learn what idiot is poking around the Upside Down this time.

Because for all of Murray's conspiracies, he doesn’t actually think the feds are Munson’s benefactor. Owens had been inclined to agree, when Steve first reported this entire situation back.

It’s definitely not his parents, who are conveniently overseas in London.

That leaves very little options, including a disturbing possibility of a new player to the game, and given all the green goo Steve had seen, the way they all know it does--something, to help power the gate...

It’d be nice to get ahead of things for once, instead of scrambling to catch up.

(Screw Hopper and Owens and everyone who told Steve to stay out of it.

He knew damn well Munson wouldn’t listen to his warnings.

Wouldn’t back off and definitely wouldn’t leave it alone.

Hopper’s half-delirious (and morphine fueled) rants about this finally being a wakeup call for Munson if he didn’t listen wasn’t going to make up for the blood on Steve's hands if the guy went in there without him and died. )

Walking through Scoop's is almost more unnerving than walking through the mall itself. Likely because Steve spent time here, and seeing it in it's destroyed state--lights off, ice cream melted and fouling the air with the a rancid stench do him no favors.

The You Suck board is laying haphazardly on the floor.

Steve forces himself to walk by it, and breathes only through his mouth.

“Your locker, my liege!” Munson crows as they enter the back part of Scoop’s, throwing out an arm at it like he’s presenting a game show prize. “Shall we see if the treasure we seek is behind door number one?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but remains quiet as he steps up and enters his combination.

It swings open as easily as it ever had, and there, hanging from the crooked hook, is the car keys Steve is so desperately after.

Munson throws his hands in the air, like Steve’s just shot the winning basket of a game.

“Score!” He yells, and Steve grins reflexively even as he shushes him.

“Now," Munson says dramatically, "the hunt begins for our second prize.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“I told you I don’t have a class ring.”

“And yet they have me searching for one anyway.” Like a hound zeroing in on a trail, he immediately orients to the back of Scoop’s, waltzing through to the backrooms like this was everyday for him.

Given his confusing and handwaved excuse of how he got involved in this, Steve suppose it could be.

(He had decided, sometime between the first and fifth time he’d tried to get Eddie to explain how, exactly he’d been roped into this little mission, that the man could never meet Dustin.

Henderson was already too good at steamrolling over Steve, explaining nothing other than the facts that would force them all to do what the little shit wanted, all the while leading them further into trouble.

He didn’t need to befriend someone like Munson, whose mastery of the same bullshit had him doing, well.

This.)

To the end of the hall Eddie skipped, and Steve kept his eyes on his jacket. Some sort of demon thing was posed on the back, a shirt that had been ripped up and resewn to be a backpatch.

It was better than looking at anything else back here.

It took them no time at all to reach their destination.

The door down had a shiny new lock on it. A big thing, with chains so thick Steve briefly wondered if they were worried about containment.

Had they pulled something through the gate, before it had exploded?

The base was large--larger than Steve had seen, and he'd passed room after room when running around down there.

No one had the time to explore, and one would assume any and all monsters had been removed from the premise but there was always that little tickling feeling.

The one that chanted 'What if...'

Unfortunately, the lock did nothing to detour this little jaunt.

Munson dropped to his knees in front of a door, hair pin in hand. He fiddled with the lock for a moment and Steve took it to visualize how different things might have been if the older teen had been there with them.

How much easier some of it would have been.

(Not that Steve wanted to involve anyone else in this mess.

He'd carry the guilt of dragging Erica and Robin both into it for the rest of his life, not matter what either had to say about the matter. Dustin he knew he couldn't stop, but then, Steve doubted they'd have even made it that far without the girls.)

A click sounded, and Eddie looked up, eyes bright with a wild grin on his face.

“Open sesame.” He purred as he stood, the door opening under his hands. He pushed on it, revealing the dark gaping maw of a stairwell.

Dread hit Steve like a wave.

“We shouldn’t go down there.” He said.

They had already had this conversation, but Steve felt the overwhelming urge to revisit it on grounds that he still isn’t sure how exactly, Munson got him to agree to come in the first place, and also, now that he was thinking of it, because the guy reminded him of Dustin.

“We shouldn’t be here at all.” Munson countered, springing back to his feet. “But some of us need this little thing called money.”

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, as if Steve needed the extra visual.

“If you’re giving me the car--and the car keys--what's the point of going after the ring?” Steve tried, staring down the stairwell before him. “Aren’t they gonna like, not pay you for not finding anything?”

Munson made a dismissive noise, waving his hands in the air like he was dispersing smoke.

“Eddie.” Steve said, and knew by the way Munson looked at him that the use of his first name hit as intended. “I mean it, man.”

There was no point in going through with the rest of it. No point at all.

“And I told you I was given a side mission to my main mission, and a little industry secret for ya here Harrington,"

Steve watched as cheshire-cat like grin lit up Munson’s face, in a way eerie similar to Dustin’s gummy smile. "the side missions always pay more.”

“What's under there isn’t--this isn’t--it’s not safe.” Steve fired back, hating how he fumbled the words, like a ball slipping through his hands.

Munson scoffed.

“Life ain’t safe.”

“This is different.” He tried to argue and hated how stubborn Munson was being about this.

It almost made him feel bad about all the time’s Robin had protested.

(Idly Steve wondered if this was how she felt. Like she was getting dragged along--like she had to go.

Did her insides feel scooped out? Stomach hollow and head hurting?

Or had the excitement blinded her too much to feel the way the walls seemed to press in?)

Steve’s gut clenched with worry, and he shook his head to clear the anxiety.

Met Munson's gaze and desperately thought of something to say to convince him to walk away.

Some of that must have bled onto his face, because Munson was giving him an odd, searching look.

“I’ll make you a deal, Steve-O." He said. "You give me two good reasons why we shouldn’t go down there, and if they’re really convincing, I might agree to skip it.”

“I signed NDAs.” Steve sighed, because this was an argument they’d also already had.

Twice in fact--once, when Eddie first found him, alive and very much not dead as reported, and the second time when he approached Steve with his “retrieval project.”

(Both times at the goddamn gas station, which Steve would now be avoiding for life.)

On eyebrow raised. “Over a mallfire?”

“I think,” Steve said dryly, gesturing around to the destruction that surrounded them, “that you’ve figured out it wasn’t a mallfire.”

Technically he wasn't even supposed to say that, but then, Steve had long stopped caring if he actually broke the stupid thing.

The real issue was that the story sounded like something out of a bad horror film--fake and ridiculous. If he tried to explain it, Munson would assume Steve had finally cracked.

Or, more likely, decide he was being made fun of, and react accordingly.

(They couldn't afford to fight here, and neither did Steve want Munson storming off.)

“Well duh. But then, you’re the one who won’t say what really happened here.” Munson waggled his eyebrows in a way that was so cartoony Steve was mildly impressed a person could pull it off.

He sighed a second time.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“You keep saying that and you keep not trying me.” Eddie leaned against the door frame. “Come on Harrington. Two reasons.”

Steve tried.

Ran through what might convince Munson to leave it all alone.

Figured the guy was kind of like Dustin, in that he couldn’t be too vague (because it would just intrigue him) and he couldn’t be too honest (because any idiot could see Munson would be all over some kind of government conspiracy.)

“The fact the building might pancake on us at any moment isn't enough?" He asked, unsure if sounding desperate was the right move here (an equally unsure if he could hide it if it was.)

He’d hadn’t tried this route before--hadn’t thought Munson would go for it.

Not when he'd waived off every other attempt Steve could think of, to stop this.

“Nah, I trust my source, this place will hold.” Munson leaned forward, deep into Steve’s space and though Steve waivered back, he let the older teen get close. “You’ve been off ever since we came in here, Harrington. I want to know why.”

“I was in the fire. Munson. I did almost die."

He still had a bruise left to prove it.

"That ain't it and you know it."

"I don't know what else to tell you then." Steve said, angry. why was the guy making this so hard? Why couldn't he just fucking listen!?

“Not even two reasons?”

“There’s not--” Steve closed his eyes, frustrated. “I’ve given you far more than two reasons!”

“Not any good ones.”

“I don’t know what you want from me. "Steve admitted finally. "because I told you, you wouldn’t believe the rest of it--”

Munson didn't let his rant pick up steam. instead he pulled himself back, interrupting Steve.

“Then down the rabbit hole we go, Alice!”

Quick as a flash he was down the stairs and Steve bit back a curse as he rushed to follow.

“Munson--come on, wait!” He yelled back.

Eddie, of course, did no such thing.

It took everything he had in him to rush after, but Steve did it anyway.

What else was he good for?

#uncanny valley #steddie #lmao why did I ever think this was a two parter #starcourt #s4 au #Steve harrington has PTSD #and needs a hug #bad #0o0 fanfics #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #no one ever writes about them going back #time to fix that

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artstaeus3600 · 2 days ago

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I've seen the concept of Kon either having a third parent in his DNA or instead of Lex Luthor it was someone else, so what if we replaced Lex's DNA with Danny's?

Danny's been the Ghost King for hundreds of years now his family has long since passed, Dan isn't around anymore since he's been helping Clockwork with Timeline screwups (something to do with flashes? He wasn't really paying attention) and well Dani's off exploring and discovering places, I mean she comes back occasionally but not as often as Danny would like, so Danny decided why not visit a human realm, and so he does, he explores the cities and stars, he doesn't really hide he's not human looking with his pointed ears, long fangs, and glowing eyes, and while he was there some lucky bastard got some of his DNA. This person also just so happens to be the person to switch Lex's DNA with a much stronger candidate (aka Danny)

Danny hadn't noticed at the moment cause it was a busy train ride, but he did immediately notice when a new life came to be, immediately claiming him as one of the parents, so of course he immediately went to go look and see what that was about cause he doesn't remember sleeping with someone? And he hasn't even been here that long for a baby to be born? And after some searcing he finds a lab and a baby in the tube and we'll, he went completely feral at the sight and destroyed the building, which caught some of the Justice League's attention and all they find is a destroyed building owned by Cadmus.

Danny is now back in the apartment he was renting while he was taking a vacation from being the Ghost King (he was lonely), with his brand new baby he'd guess around 3 months old but he's not an expert, and he just falls in love with him the same way he did with Dani but the thing is the baby isn't a Halfa like him even with his DNA he's more like Jazz with being extremely liminal (so mostly all the instincts of a ghost but none of the powers), and we'll Jazz couldn't ever really stay long in the zone before she'd end up a permanent resident, so taking this baby with him back to the zone was a no go, at least not for long periods of time.

So that's where he's been for the last two months with his baby who he named Conner Nightingale, Nightingale after his fake ID for this human life, and he's just adoring being a father and sure he wonders sometimes who the other parent is but he can't exactly take Conner to a normal hospital, cause of the ghost biology, except the few checkups with Frostbite telling him the other parent isn't human, Dani was also told about her new nephew and loves bringing him new toys to see if he'll like it whenever she comes around.

While Danny has been taking care of Conner the Justice League has been trying to figure out what happened with that Cadmus building was doing before it got destroyed, and found out it was a cloning lab, who they were trying to clone they haven't found yet cause of the scattered/destroyed files...

Edit: Part 2

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assignedgod · 20 hours ago

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Come the fuck on, literally upon being granted an example of what about that being said was reactionary and explained exactly why, this person turns around and does the exact same thing! The 'solution'being posited by both the person who pit forth gwyndolin as trasmasc and chihiro as transmasc is that one can avoid a reactionary statement in a transmasc interpretation by reading into a character that is in and of itself a reactionary statement on trans women! "Look at how this MAN is FORCED to dress as a WOMAN! Look how this *Tranny* tricks you with his illusion!" Or "Look how this TRANNY dresses like a WOMAN! He deserves to be killed for this!" Like. How is not either of those painfully obviously reactionary. These tags said it really well:

In many cases, 'headcannoning' a character that has transfeminine subtext as transmasc leads to a weaker or in some cases, hateful, transgender narrative overall. For example, Miquella from elden ring. In the case of transfeminine miquella, you have a narrative in which miquella seeked to give up her heart, burying and hiding her heart, her love, everything that was feminine so far down that nothing could ever reach it, hoping it would either and die, and this ultimately leading to her downfall because she could not ever hope to succeed without her heart, her love. She throws it away, and it destroys her. The story is obvious in a transfeminine reading of the story: By not embracing herself as a woman, miquella threw away her heart and her love and all joy she could have felt. It's a beautiful, tragic, heartwrenching tale about how the choice to never transition will slowly eat away at you, leaving you a loveless, joyless shell of a person. On the flipside, we have the case of a transmasculine reading of the character, and the exact *opposite* narrative: By transitioning, miquella loses any chance of joy and happiness, becomes an incomplete being, and is doomed to fail because he could never hope to be a god since he threw away saint Trina. By choosing to interpret the story this way, you make an implicit reactionary statement that being transgender is a curse, something that holds you back. It's a cruel and hateful reading, so that begs the question, why would anyone interpret the text that way? Or did they perhaps not engage with the text to see the implicit meaning, choosing a shallow desire for 'representation' over proper literary analysis?

#thabk you tumblr user 'sonicismyboyfriend' for knowing anything st all abour DR #so that A) i dont have to #and B) we cant point and laigh at this reactionary dumbass

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grimmsbride · 3 days ago

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ᬊ ᭣֤ࣨ🩸𖥔 ݁ ˖ TAKING OVER ME ཐི♡̵̼͓̥͒̾͘ཋྀ° LOSER! CHOSO KAMO

( you called for me and woke me up … )

video games are addictive, especially when said video game comes to life in the shape of something choso kamo has been craving for ages; a woman.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ NOTES ╲ i got this idea after listening to whatsaheart & remembering that one giffany episode. i also have been seeing “loser!” fanfics and have been intrigued. as always please excuse any typos or grammar mistakes

Hours spent within that chair, sinking into the leather whilst his eyes burned into the screen. One would be surprised how well the bedroom smelled given its’ inhabitants terrible habits. But it was simply a routine for the man; wake up, shower, go to work, come home, shower, and sit down for hours playing that same stupid game.

Choso Kamo doesn’t remember how he got so entranced by it in the first place. Before this, he was a gamer, but not to this extent. He didn’t get so lost in most first person shooters or story based novellas. But this one, this particular game seemed to plague his mind the moment it was downloaded to his pc.

It was an bishoujo game, the storyline entirely dependent on his choices and actions. The main objective was capturing the heart of this beauty known as [Full Name]; someone that stole Choso’s eye far too quickly. He wondered who exactly was the artist behind designing her character; given it was completely flawless. Her sun-kissed skin shined in about every scene, body plump and always dressed in the prettiest outfits.

Plus her hair— always kept in curly braids, cascading down her back in such a delightful fashion the man wondered how it would feel between his fingers.

These thoughts continued to tug at his mind the longer he played, days turning into weeks, and soon months. Choso did feel shame at first. He’s only human after all, and any human is bound to be embarrassed by their own peculiarities. But soon enough that shame was washed away, the longer his eyes settled onto the screen. Choso doesn’t remember the last time he’s even looked at another game— nor did the man care. This beloved Bishoujo.. his beloved [Name] deserved all of his attention after all.

The day was long, filled with endless tasks that slowly began to overload Choso’s brain. He found himself sitting down at times, eyes pinched closed to hopefully find just a bit of solace. Work was always laced with constant stress, his attention regularly needed for assignments that coworkers could easily do. But alas, Choso never said a thing; simply nodding and walking off to complete it. Human interaction was its own struggle amongst the workplace.

But it’s not like it mattered to him, he got enough of it at home; infront of his beloved pc.

That seemed to be the only thing that pushed Choso forward these days. Being able to see [Name]’s face each time his pc started, how her smile lit up the moment he greeted her; features perfectly animated to the point Choso could practically feel her excitement radiating through the screen. She was all he needed now, a simple light in his life to get through even the toughest of days.

So it was only natural that the moment Choso was finished with work he was rushing home, practically tripping over himself to get through the door. With a quick shut and lock the man was tossing his bag to the side, hands reaching for his work uniform to began tugging it off. Routinely he walked towards his bathroom, bare by the time he reached to quickly hop in the shower.

Choso always made it a habit to bathe before seeing her. Delusional? Maybe.. as the ai couldn’t exactly smell him, but it always seemed to freshen Choso’s mind.

After showering the man quickly moved to his bedroom in his towel, drying himself completely before throwing on a simple pair of boxers, sweats, and a tshirt. He couldn’t contain his excitement as he made his way to his gaming chair, pressing the power button of his pc even before sitting down.

Once he did though, Choso’s eyes shined at the bright light of the screen the moment it booted up, fingers resting rather impatiently amongst his keyboard. Shortly after he typed his password in, hand swiftly finding his mouse and dragging the cursor over to that pretty little icon occupying a space on his hot bar.

It only took a couple of seconds for the game to start up, Choso’s heart pounding the moment [Name] came on screen. She was dressed in a simple white button, emulating a sleep scene where Choso accidentally woke her.

Despite this she only smiled, pressing her face into the pillow beneath her.

“Hi Choso..” [Name] sung in that dreamy tone, reaching out towards the screen. Choso was quick to respond, allowing the rest of the world to disappear in that instant. His only focus was her, his perfect [Name], his only objective making her fall more and more in love with her.

He didn’t care about anything else, nothing at all— not even the slight ache in his stomach from hunger. Obsession and addiction all mixed into one terrible, yet exhilarating combination.

Choso rode that high for about two hours before something.. happened.

“What the hell..” His breathing was bated, eerie as darkness invaded his bedroom. So in tune with his game, Choso hadn’t even realized it was thundering outside. Rain pelted down against his home, smoothed out with a sudden crackle every so often. The man quickly deduced his issue to the power going out, a heavy sigh escaping him. He tried not to be annoyed, especially when the game was getting so, so good. He simply hoped auto save was still in effect.

Choso debated on what to do in the meantime. He could sleep, this was the perfect time to after all. Though the fear of his power not coming back racked his mind; what if when he woke up it was still gone? Aside from the game, he needed his computer for emails and other necessities— plus having to move around in the dark just wasn’t as fun as it seemed.

The man lifted his phone, thumbing the case and debating whether to inform the owners of his building. Maybe a quick message will at least give him a time frame or in better scenarios; speed up the process. Choso was hoping for the latter, of course.

Opening up his phone, the gamer made quick work of moving over to his mail app. There, he began to construct an email; being as polite as ever whilst asking how long the power would be out. The subject read for about a single, simple paragraph; his eyes casing his screen every so often to assure his words were concise and civil.

With his attention completely gifted to his phone, it was no surprise the sudden illumination of his room completely startled him— Choso nearly leaping out of his chair, as his heart squeezed. However that fear wasn’t short-lived, instead it increased the moment his eyes settled upon his pc.

The device was still shut off, surely needing to be manually pressed. With the screen black, Choso could see his tired features staring right back at him.. along with, someone else standing right behind him.

The man quickly spun around in his chair, chest tight and breathing hard as what he saw seemed to disappear in thin air.

Choso’s mind was playing tricks, wasn’t it? It had to be! That or spending hours infront of a screen straight was catching up to him at the absolute worst time. It was probably time to go to sleep..

With a heavy breath the man slowly turned back, eyes fluttering and gaze landing on the woman currently sitting right on his desk.

The noise he let out was far from attractive let alone the way he practically flew back out of his chair was even less graceful. With a harsh thud to the ground, Choso groaned heavily, eyes closed and trying to self-soothe.

“Choso! Are you okay?!” A feminine voice practically yelled, the gamer hearing movement coming towards him amidst his pain. A shiver ran down his spine as cold hands made contact with his skin, his eyes spanning open to land on the person before him.

The person being.. you, [Name]. That beloved video game romance thats been on his mind for months.

Choso couldn’t help the pure shock invading his features, struggling to find words as his eyes ran down your form. This had to be a joke, some type of prank a person was playing on him. As, there was no way in hell you, were sitting right before him; touching him so delicately with concern and worry.

“Ho..” The words came slow, a quick nervous swipe of his tongue treading along his bottom lip. “How.. did you get in my house?” Choso finally managed, watching your eyes flick from his body to his face.

With an adorable grin your head tilted a bit, arm outstretched and pointing a manicured finger right to his pc.

“You suddenly left, so I got worried something happened. I came to check on you!”

The words came out so sweetly, and simple; Choso nearly forgetting how worrisome this truly was— and it certainly didn’t help you were suddenly breaching his personal space, slithering your arms around him to cuddle your cheek right against his.

“What..”

“I missed you Choso.” You mumbled softly, sliding a bit to rest your head against his chest. The frantic beating of his heart caused you to smile, head tipping to press your chin against him. You looked at him through your curly lashes, glossed lips parting slowly;

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting? Trying to find the perfect time to come out and.. properly see you.” The words were laced with the sweetest honey, causing a shiver to trickle right down Choso’s spine. Here you were, the woman that’s been on his mind for ages and all he could do was sit back and watch; utterly helpless to your existence.

You tried to not let on how much this excited you. How each twitch, sharp breath, and shaky glance of his caused your heart to swell. But you weren’t so discreet, you never were; not with your beloved Choso.

You moved carefully, sliding to sit right in his lap whilst your hands dragged up his chest. His smell was addicting, freshly showered with a hint of mint and pine. You breathed him in deeply, coming closer the moment your arms wrapped around his neck so tenderly.

“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.. Always wondering how you felt beneath my palms.” You spoke, lips fixated into a little pout as you leaned forward, allowing them to graze the shell of his ear.

“You’ve ruined me Choso.. take responsibility.”

The sharp hiss of your words was the last thing Choso heard, while the next thing he felt was your lips on his. His heart was practically thundering at this point, eyes wide whilst a dark scarlet was painted across his cheeks. Choso’s hands danced about, unaware of what to do. He was clearly inexperienced in this department, stuttering thoughts debating on the proper course of action.

He didn’t want to ruin this, whatever this was. Shouldn’t he be more worried about your entire existence rather than this silly kiss? What were you anyway!?

All his thoughts seemed to dissipate the moment you kissed harder, your own pretty eyes peering open staring right at him. Fuck, you were dreamy; perfect just like on the screen. Why on earth was he thinking so hard? Here you were, right infront of him, giving him what he’s been craving for years at this point.

It was time for Choso to be a little selfish.

With shaky hands, Choso found your waist, fingers sinking into your flesh and tugging you just a bit closer. He couldn’t help the sense of pride he felt from the happy hum you released right into his mouth, the kiss getting just a bit deeper. Your lips moved with clear experience, taking the reins and dominating his mouth the moment his lips parted.

Choso couldn’t help the downright pathetic whimper that escaped him the moment your wet muscle met his own. He’s imagined what kissing felt like, but never expected for it to feel this good. You marked the dark cavern as your own, licking in spaces that caused the tingles to rush right between his legs.

The man couldn’t help his hips rising, bucking up into you and groaning heavily the moment he made contact with your perfect form. Within moments you were pulling back, a clear string connecting the two of you as heavy breaths fanned between the two of you. Choso shook as your hands found his hot cheeks, spotting the pretty grin pulling your bruised lips.

“Just from a kiss?.. Such a pervert, Choso.”

His eyes went wide at your words, struggling to find his own in defense. But unfortunately he couldn’t, as the moment those pretty hips rolled; he was lost— a complete stuttering mess.

“I..I’m— no..”

“Yo—you’re not?” You mocked sweetly, continuing to roll your hips, gliding your barely covered cunt right against his thick bulge. You leaned over, trailing your lips over his neck; stamping wet kisses and suck against his pale skin.

Focusing on your lips and grinds, Choso barely noticed your fingers sliding under his tshirt until they made contact with his nipple. His eyes shot open, fingers digging into your sides as he felt your two fingers twisting and rubbing against the little bud.

“[Name].. fuck—.. I—!”

You smile right into his neck, continuing the rubbing while increasing your rough grinds. Choso was shaking like a damn leaf at this point, unable to contain the moans escaping his throat. You were barely touching where he needed you most, yet he felt as if he could burst at any time. Normally his inexperience would be a complete embarrassment, but the man was far too focused on the pleasure instead.

You lead your kisses up to his chin, kissing his cheek affectionately and innocently as if you weren’t completely ruining him. “My handsome Choso.. You like this?” Your thumb swept against his hard, abused nipple, a breathy sigh escaping you as you continued your delicious grinds.

Unable to speak affectively the man could only nod, head leaning back against his wall whilst he bucked up into you. Moments of this intensity passed before a sharp groan thundered from his throat, Choso coming undone right there in his pants.

His breathing was hard, gaze hazy as he attempted to relax from his high. Choso felt you lay a kiss right to his nose, the sweetest encouragements falling from your lips shortly after.

“Did so well for me, Choso. Think you can do it again?..” You mumbled softly, hand falling from under his shirt to instead thumb against the waistband of his bottoms. Through a bleary gaze the man took in your features; how your previously sweet smile now resembled a more impish grin. You clearly enjoyed toying with his body, pulling out reactions he didn’t think were even possible.

Yet, Choso didn’t hate this; in fact, it only turned him on even more. Call him a masochist, maybe some freak— it didn’t matter. For, only for you, he would be anything; including putty that you could morph into just about anything you wanted.

With far too much enthusiasm he was nodding his head, your sweet laughter muting all negative thoughts instantly.

You slowly stood over him, smiling down at him as a perfectly manicured finger traced the air right about at his pants.

“Off.”

You spoke simply, fingers then hooking onto your panties. You watched as Choso — not so gracefully — practically rushed to push his bottoms down, revealing sculpted thighs and his hard length. Residue of his previous orgasm was present, coating his angry red tip and dripping down his entire shaft.

What a mess. You thought to yourself, a sense of pride escaping you that only seemed to worsen the moment you noticed Choso’s gaze completely fixated between your legs. He was practically salivating, fingers twitching right in his lap— probably desperate to touch.

You would gift him that right later, for now..

You descended back down, sitting onto his thighs with his length brushing up against you. With a gentle hand you were grasping him, eyes flicking to his face the moment a sharp hiss escaped him.

“So excited.. you want to be inside me so bad, don’t you— Choso?” Your head tilted to the side, lazy strokes being delivered to his weeping cock. He couldn’t help the pitiful thrusts up into your hand, fingers practically scratching as his thighs, as desperation resided right on his features.

“Ye..yes please.. I wan— fuck I want yo—you so bad—!”

You felt your own arousal trickle, deciding to end both of your sufferings right then and there. You grasped his length more firmly, scooting closer and lifting yourself. Lining him up with your entrance you slowly slid down, moaning out as your walls swallowed him carefully.

Choso would have burst right then and there if he wasn’t practically screaming at himself to hold it in. The last thing he wanted was to interrupt your fun. So with a tight lipped groan he felt all of you, struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back at the feeling.

His imagination didn’t compare, not one bit.

Soon enough he was fully inside, your arms finding his neck to tug him even closer. You smiled the moment his hands gripped your hips, leaning forward as the sweetest words were pushed right against his lips;

“I love you, Choso.”

Yeah, he was practically begging his body to keep it in at this point.

Through a shaky breath he uttered the same words, fingers digging right into you the moment he felt your hips move. If Choso thought dry humping felt good, the man could only describe this as downright euphoric. With each lift, his length only seemed to leave your cunt for a moment before you quickly dropped back down; enveloping him once again.

Soon enough that pattern, hard and fast; took over his entire body, his lips pulling away from your own to release the loudest moan. His head was lolling to the side, hushed swears escaping his throat. The man couldn’t focus on anything but you; your pretty moans, how you moved those hips so well, your slick walls squeezing him in deeper and deeper— shit you were driving him crazy in the perfect way.

You leaned forward, face digging right into his neck as you struggled to breathe. “Ha..h you feel so good, Choso— fuck!” You whined out, thighs slapping against his own in the most noisy melody. Your nails turned to dig right into his shoulders, holding on desperately like a much needed anchor.

Every so often you felt him meet your drop with his own thrusts, causing your mind to spiral and the sweet moans to release without a second thought. You couldn’t help the way your head was tilting back, thighs squeezing his body so desperately as the pleasure consumed you. You could feel your brain turning into utter mush, center pulsing desperately with an itch for release.

In the midst of the haze Choso could somehow focus, awestruck with the sight before him. He never thought he would reach the day where he laid with a woman, let alone someone as perfect as you. Your golden skin glistened with sweat amongst the illumination of his bedroom, your lips pursed as moans escaped you. It took a full moment for the man to realize it was all because of him; he was the one gifting you such pleasure. No one else, just Choso.

He couldn’t exactly help the joy thrumming throughout his entire body. So much so that the man wanted to give you even more.

Your eyes widened the moment you felt his hands fall from your hips and instead grip your thighs. You went to speak, only for a surprised yelp to escape you instead the moment Choso stood with you his arms. Still snug inside you, the man found the closest surface to lay you upon — his bed — all while sinking deeper into your wet snatch.

“Ch—choso..!” You gasped the moment he went deeper, feeling the bed sink on either side of you from his hands. With your legs hanging on his hips, Choso began to buck; pulling his hips back and forth experimentally for a moment— only for the uncertainty to wash away the moment you began to cry out.

“Sh..shit you feel.. so good!” Little tears began to build up in your eyes, hand turning and scratching at his bedsheets; curling them into your fists so tightly you would surely rip a hole.

Choso panted above you, black strands hanging in his face. Though the moment they invaded his vision the man was lifting his hand, running his fingers through them to push to the back. Finally your pretty features came back into view, causing his dick to swell even more if possible.

“Does that feel good, [Name]? So fucking wet.. you’re making a mess.”

You whined at his words, lips fixated into a pout as you couldn’t even think to respond. You could only wrap your legs tight around his waist, chasing that itch deep inside.

And as that bubble deep in your lower stomach seemed to swell, moans, expletives, and his name came out in a drawn out fashion; tongue wicked and loose from the pleasure. You wondered if people next door could hear, probably annoyed by all the sound.

Even so, you didn’t care at the moment to apologize.

Choso brought himself to lay on his forearms, driving his cock deeper and stirring you up; tip brushing right against your g-spot— stars dancing in your vision. His heavy breaths fanned against your already hot skin, your hands rising to claw at his covered back.

“G—gonna cum, gonna cum— hm!”

With furrowed eyebrows Choso seemed to slam himself even deeper, chasing your voice and ever so desperate to make you finish.

“All over me.. please, make a mess all over me [Name].. fuck— you feel so good, I can’t think!”

Whimpers etched into his speech, his eyes rolled back the moment your cunt clenched, obeying his wish and making a complete mess of his cock. Shortly after Choso was driving himself forward, flooding you with his own orgasm— a deep groan escaping his abused throat.

Heavy pants were passed between the two of you, Choso coming to lay his face between your breasts, trying to relax from his high.

You breathed deeply through your nose, hands sliding to his hair and raking your fingers between the pretty, slick strands.

“I don’t wanna go back.” You mumbled softly, eyes flicking down to Choso who was already staring at you.

“Then don’t.. stay here, with me. Please.”

Your lips curled into a smile, sliding your fingers against his scalp.

“Of course, Choso. You’re mine and I’m yours— forever and always.”

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tldrthor · 2 days ago

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things we shouldn't have said | steve rogers

Summary: The Captain has a scathing outburst that puts their already rocky relationship six feet under for good. He reaps the consequences when she gets hurt while looking out for him.

Part one // She was watching my back, and I wasn't watching hers. // word count: 3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I am sick and tired of you endangering yourself and others, (y/l/n)!” The shouting started from behind the frosted panes of the meeting room. Tony, sitting on one of the benches outside, wondered if he had considered that the meeting room wouldn’t be soundproofed enough to stop people hearing sensitive information, or, if you were Steve and (y/n), insanely loud arguments nearly every day. It seemed like a design flaw.

“You were the one who made the wrong call! They weren’t on the left wing, they were on the right, who knows what could’ve happened if I hadn’t followed my instincts?!”

“It doesn’t matter, you flung yourself headfirst into danger, and disobeyed a direct order.”

“I’m not your soldier, Rogers. And I told you exactly what was happening, you just didn’t listen!”

Natasha banged the back of her head repeatedly on the wall she leant on. “How long do we reckon this ones going to take? I need a shower.” She sighed, sniffing at her armpits and wincing a little at the result.

Tony looked at his watch, responding: “If I am correct in my estimation (y/n) will storm out right around …” The door to the meeting room burst open, and out barrelled a seething Agent (y/l/n). “Now.” Tony concluded, as the others laughed at his uncanny ability to predict how a Rogers-(y/l/n) fight went. He waved his hand and lowered his head in a fake bow.

“Do you think they’ll ever get along?” Young, innocent, naïve Peter asked. He had previously been fast asleep sitting upright in the uncomfortable waiting chairs. The sound of the door hitting the plasterboard on the wall had startled him awake.

Sam chuckled. “Kid, those two have been at each other’s throats since you were in middle school. It’s just what they do.”

Peter seemed to accept that answer, nodding slowly before covering a yawn with his hand. “That's classic enemies to lovers stuff.” He was nearly asleep again by the time the others had processed his statement enough to question what it meant.

The door opened again. “Come on, let’s debrief.” Cap pulled an anxious hand through his hair, clearly in turmoil. The Captain looked exhausted, his eyes nearly bloodshot. The bags under his eyes were some of the worst Tony had ever seen, and that was saying something. When his eyes landed on Peter, he shook his head, “Pete, head to bed. You’re beat.”

Peter nodded again, but fell asleep in the exact same position, approximately 0.3 seconds after the door closed behind the other Avengers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning." (Y/n) muttered, walking into the briefing room with a coffee in hand. It wasn’t like her to be late, especially not with coffee. Tony realised that lately, she had been more and more demoralised after every mission. Especially after every argument with Cap. He was worried there was more going on with her than they knew.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist a dig.

"Don't you hate it when someone turns up late to a meeting with Starbucks in hand?" Tony tilted his head and spoke with sarcasm coating nearly every word.

"Bite me, tin man." She joked with her mentor. It wasn’t her usual chipper humour, but rather much more subdued, more pointed. She looked more tired than usual as well, Tony noted. But he had a meeting to present, and an interview in an hour, so there wasn’t much time to mull it over.

Steve didn’t pick up on anything strange, blinded by his annoyance. He shook his head silently in the corner, jaw tensed, eyes sending daggers into her with every step she took.

"Young lady, you are in a terrible mood this morning. And, I'm about to make it worse." Tony flashed her a charming but sarcastic smile. "We've got a code red recon mission over in Europe, and only you and our dear fearless leader are available to man it."

Her face immediately fell, but she wasn't the first to find her voice.

"Nope. There's no way." Steve responded to the news. She sent him a foul look at his rude outburst, before chiming in with her own.

"Rude, Rogers. But agreed, you send us on that mission, one of us is coming back in a body bag." And it won't be me. She thought.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, his tense posture maintaining an intense gaze on Tony. His arms, crossed, shoulders raised nearly to his ears.

Tony rolled his eyes at their reactions. "You guys need to stop your middle school bullshit. We're the Avengers, and at the end of the day, we've got each other's backs."

She decided to bite her tongue, opting for a vicious look towards Tony instead. Sure, it would be awful, but she wouldn’t mind a chance to prove to Steve that she was a valuable member of the team, and shove it in his face that he was wrong about her.

She looked towards him, expecting him to have a similar disposition. Mr. Upstanding, the moral preacher. To her shock, he didn’t. And god, was he vocal about it.

“No, she’s a goddamn liability.” He turned to her with a withering, disdainful look. “She messes up every mission, and I’ve had enough. I’m not putting a code red in her hands, she doesn’t have the skills for it.” He immediately turned to face her, expecting her to fire back with the same passion.

He didn’t expect her neutral, almost – almost – hurt expression. She pressed her lips into a straight line, and his heart dropped when he thought maybe there were tears in her eyes. For just a second.

He might have gone too far. He didn’t think he would ever miss her rebuttals, her constant nitpicking, her endless talking back. But at this moment, he knew he would have preferred it.

She looked away from him, and back to Tony, who watched the outburst with an open mouth. It wasn’t very often he was rendered speechless, but it took a solid ten seconds for him to clear his throat, pick his jaw up off the floor and continue.

“Unfortunately, there is no other choice, um, so hopefully that will go smoothly. You will leave at 8am sharp tomorrow. Uh … onto other business…”

(Y/n) drowned the rest of Tony’s briefing out as she replayed the Captain’s outburst over and over again. Liability. Messes up every mission. Doesn’t have the skills. It was all of her worst fears come true, packaged up neatly coming from the mouth of someone she had always secretly admired. Not that she would ever tell him that.

She wasn't sure why, but his words had cut her to the core.

An excruciating thirty minutes later, Tony concluded his meeting. “Okay, everyone out. Except Cap, we have to talk about logistics for tomorrow.” He watched with eagle eyes as (y/n) ran out of the room, lowering her face and ignoring anyone who sent pitying looks her way.

He turned to the Captain, who covered a bright red face with his hands.

“Now what the hell was that?” He asked.

Cap groaned, “I messed up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8am. Sharp. She took a deep breath as she left her room, locking the door behind her. Her pack wasn’t too heavy, considering they were only supposed to be gone for a couple of nights max. Her chest felt tight, walking to the aircraft hangar, a pit of dread growing and growing with every step.

Before she met the hangar, she passed by Tony’s office. It was one of Tony’s off days, so she knew he wouldn’t be in. She slipped an envelope under the door, hoping he would only see it once she was long gone.

“See ya later.” She whispered to no-one.

Trudging to what felt like the executioner’s block, she was dismayed to see Steve already fully ready and waiting for her. She braced herself for the lecture, for the ‘we said leave at 8am, not arrive.’ But it didn’t come.

“Good morning.” He spoke cordially, almost upbeat. Making up for something.

She could only manage a polite smile in return. He frowned at the lack of response, but she didn’t see it.

“All systems ready to go.” She said, once she had got a seat and checked all her listed items. Steve nodded, and made a call through the radio to air control. “Alpha base control, this is Eagle and Wunderkind, ready to take off.” She hated hearing him say her nickname from Tony, which had become her official callsign for all base activities.

Through the headset, she heard the confirmation from ATC, and watched as the Captain piloted the quinjet up and away from the base. God, it was going to be a long trip.

As soon as she could, she took off her harness and retreated back to the seats further away from him. She heard the gentle click and mechanical thrum of the auto-pilot being put on, and the movement of the leather seats as Steve moved away from the cockpit.

She felt his presence over her as she tried to focus on her kindle. She had been reading and re-reading the same page, over and over, desperately trying to take in the words. But it was futile.

“(y/n).” He sighed, knowing that she was purposefully ignoring him. “I want to apologise for my outburst at the meeting yesterday.”

She shrugged. He desperately searched for some kind of anger, some kind of white-hot hurt that she would respond with. It was what he deserved, after he had embarrassed her and doubted her in front of the whole team.

“You told me how you really feel. It’s okay.” She still didn’t look at him.

“That’s not –�� He huffed. “That’s not what I think. I was out of line.” It seemed that the words he wanted eluded him. What do you say to someone after you’ve put out their spark? How do you ‘fix’ a quenched fire?

“It’s fine, Captain. Honestly.”

Rogers sighed and understood that he was being subtly asked to leave. He understood, really. But there was something about her dejected manner, her slumping posture and her big, sad eyes that made him feel like more of a villain than he already did. Like he had kicked a puppy, or stolen candy from a baby or…

Completely humiliated one of the newest Avengers in front of the whole team.

“I’m sorry.” He managed to stutter out, before turning and leaving to fiddle with some of the controls on the quinjet’s interface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the six hours were long. Painfully, achingly long. The tension in the atmosphere was only marginally cut by the quiet hum of the engine and the tap, tap, tap of the Captain getting some work done. The captain spent a longer time staring at his comrade than he would ever admit, watching as she frowned at her book. She turned one page approximately every five minutes, her eyes continually moving from the top to the bottom of the same page, over and over again. Her frustrated sighing the only sign of emotion coming from her.

He took a deep breath, trying to remove the suffocating guilt from his chest.

Standing, he waved a hand in her line of sight, interrupting her ‘reading’ session. She slid her headphones off, looking up at him expectantly. “We’re going down.” He spoke. “Thought you would like to get ready.”

The problem with recon missions was that a quinjet was a dead giveaway. So, they had to take their large, heavy packs, and camp out in the forest surrounding the castle. Why was it always a castle?

The hike was hard. The frost on the path made it difficult to get a proper grip on the near-vertical slope, and she realised quickly she had forgotten her gloves. The frost nipped at her hands, growing more painful with her step. She cursed Tony for sending them here in the dead of winter.

She threw her pack up a ledge, scrambling up behind it. While scrambling up the side, she made the mistake of grabbing on to a bundle of brambles. She hissed and retracted her hand, a line of crimson appearing straight across her palm, a precious droplet splashing down onto the snow.

“You good?” Steve turned to watch her as she folded and unfolded her palm. He reached a hand out to help her up, his eyes focusing on the blood drip, drip, dripping.

She wiped the wound on her trousers, and took his offered hand with her opposite one. “I’m good.” She seemed agitated, nervous. “Do you feel like something’s not right?”

When she said it out loud, just for a second, his heart rate raised. He had convinced himself through his inner dialogue that he was just being overly cautious, but as she said it, he realised that she was right. If there was one thing Steve had learned, a true philosophy of his, it was that one Avenger’s intuition can be wrong. But two Avenger’s instincts are always correct. The unique blend of pattern recognition and situational awareness made the Avengers the closest thing on earth to fortune tellers. Or, so he believed.

“I agree. Let’s hunker down for a minute.” They settled in some of the brush, making themselves as invisible as possible. She was thankful to have a rest, she couldn’t lie. The tossing and turning all night, and every night for weeks, had truly taken its toll.

“Do you think it's bad intel, or a set-up?” She asked, her heart beginning to race at the sight of Steve becoming more and more stressed. She realised that the forest was absolutely silent. No wind, no birds, nothing. She hated it.

He took a second to respond, “I’m not sure. I don’t think we should keep going.”

“What? Then we’ve come all this way for nothing?”

“I would rather us have come for nothing than die for nothing.” He spoke, trying desperately to manage his tone. How did this girl have such a way of getting under his skin?

She scowled. “Aye, aye, Captain.” A sarcastic salute followed.

With a futile deep breath, he snapped. He rolled his head in disbelief, incredulous that she would choose now to be obstinate. “Are you serious, (y/l/n)? You want to walk straight into something we have no idea about?” He gesticulated, hands flying wildly through the air.

Both of them were too annoyed to realise that they were on a recon mission while quite loudly arguing in a forest. The Captain, blood boiling, didn’t hear the snap of a distant twig.

“I didn’t even say anything, Rogers! Don’t pretend like you care about my opinion anyway.” She scoffed. “Let’s just fucking go back.” She grabbed her pack, hauling it onto her back, standing from their spot in the brush.

“Shit!” She exclaimed as a bullet past her ear by less than an inch, the sound startling her down. The Captain instantaneously jumped over her, pulling her into him and covering them both with the shield.

For the record, he smelt like cedarwood and rosemary.

“Came from the East.” He smouldered into the distance. If she hadn’t been so focused, she would have scoffed. He turned to her, his mouth mere centimetres from her ear, his warm whispers tickling her neck. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, no. Aside from the goosebumps, she had luckily been missed. The eye contact he made had something behind it… something she didn’t recognise. Something she had never noticed before.

The moment was shattered by more gunfire.

So, they did the avenging thing. He covered her, she shot as much as she could. Bullets sprayed in every direction, missing them both by the narrowest margins possible. They battled on and on, seemingly endless waves of agents appearing as soon as they thought they were almost through with it.

That’s when she saw it. The bullet heading straight for him.

“Steve!” She screamed. She didn’t know why she called him by his first name. They weren’t friends. Hell, soon, they wouldn’t even be colleagues.

He snapped to attention, spinning quickly to ricochet the bullet off of his shield. The bullet was so close to hitting him, he realised she had potentially just saved him from dying in the snow, 5,000 miles from home.

He looked to her to thank her and it all happened in slow motion. She screamed, a shrill, ear-splitting scream that turned his stomach. “No!” He shouted, still fighting through the hordes, sprinting to where the snow turned maroon.

His thrown shield thudded through the undergrowth, distant shouts of soldiers nearly split in half by the metallic disc. He grabbed the gun that had fallen from her hands, unleashing the last of its bullets on those who still dared to try him.

And the forest fell silent.

“(Y/n)!” He looked at her, her usually rosy face growing greater pallor by the second, her chest moving ever-so-slightly, and with growing effort. The black stain on her suit grew larger, and larger, and larger. Any and all medical training he had escaped him, as he realised that now, this moment, was where his regrets were fated to culminate. This was his punishment, his comeuppance.

He didn’t hate her. As he watched this hollow form of her, he realised he would give his own life to bring her back. He would bargain with anything and everything he could for this to be a nightmare that he would wake up from. He would fight with everything he had left to give to her.

Grabbing his pack from behind him, he tipped out its entire contents.

God, what had he learned on those courses? What was going to kill her first?

“(Y/n), if you can hear me, this is going to hurt. I don’t… I don’t have anything to stop the pain. You’re bleeding out.” He spoke into the void, using scissors to remove her outer layer, exposing the wound. He noticed the blood slowly trickle from her mouth and nose, only worsening his anxiety.

It was worse than he thought, in fact, too deep for him to even suture… He used an antiseptic wipe to clean the area, before packing it with cotton swabs. He swore to himself. They had left the quinjet so far away, and he didn’t know if she would make it all the way back to the compound.

He had to get her out of here. It was cold, and wet, and there could be even more enemy agents on their way there, right now.

“God, you’re going to have to hold on for just a little while longer, (y/l/n).” He whispered to her, picking her up bridal-style and running for the jet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other avengers weren’t expecting them to be back for a couple of days, so when Sam ran into the room with news that the quinjet was on the way back, they were pleasantly surprised. Each had finished their missions or meetings early it seemed. Which meant that just maybe they would be able to have some time as a team. Something they were in dire need of.

Tony smiled at his friends, but for a change wasn’t chatting. He sipped his coffee, and smoothed his hand over the handwritten note in his pocket. The note that he thought would never come.

Steve's voice over the intercom. “Mayday, mayday. Eagle to Alpha Base Control, we have a critical medical incident on board. Ready the medbay for severe blood loss and potential hypothermia. Wunderkind is compromised. Wheels down in 10.”

A panicked hush fell over the group.

“Okay, code red.” Sam jumped into the procedures they had all been trained on. “Bruce and I will go down to the hangar and help out. The rest of you stay here and we’ll keep you updated.” The four named avengers immediately ran to their stations, as the others tried to busy themselves doing other tasks that could be useful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quinjet came into land at a near-dangerous speed. Bruce and Sam burst open the door as the back door of the jet opened and Cap ran out with a limp (y/n) in his arms, jumping over the ramp before it had even reached the ground.

“What happened?” Sam shouted, running in front of the Captain up the stairs to the nearest Medbay, making sure the way was clear. FRIDAY has thankfully opened all doors in advance.

“Gunshot wound to the chest, severe haemorrhage. I’ve managed to pack it but not stalled the bleeding nearly enough, she needs help now.”

“Have you got vitals?” Bruce ran along, slightly behind them, not quite as fit.

“She’s still breathing on her own, weakly. Low pulse. Unconscious since the event.”

As they reached the medical room and Steve laid her down on the surgical table, it hit all of them how severe the situation was.

“Oh my god.” Whispered Sam, as he saw not only the extent of her wounds, but the volume of blood that covered every inch of the Captain. The colour of skin on his hands could not be seen from the crimson staining covering every inch of them, and his once-blue suit looked more like an inky black, even under the fluorescent lighting of the medical ward.

More than that, the expression on Steve’s face was something he could only recall seeing on him once. When they discovered that Bucky was alive. He was shell-shocked.

“You guys need to clear the room.” Commanded Dr. Cho, scrubbed in and ready to operate. “We’ll keep you updated.”

“We trust you, Doctor.” Bruce spoke, as he realised the others weren’t going to. Both men grabbed Steve’s shoulder, gently directing him back through the double doors. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away, as Dr. Cho made demands to the other members of her team, beginning surgery immediately.

“Come on, bud. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sam was trying not to treat him like a ticking time bomb. But he knew that the Captain was going to snap out of his stupor eventually, and the consequences could be disastrous.

Steve’s eyes didn’t move from her lifeless body on that cold, steel table until they were well past the doors. When Sam tried to lead him out of the medical wing in general, his feet stopped just short of the door.

“I can’t, I - I have to wait.” He turned back around. He looked to Sam, almost asking permission. “I can’t leave her.”

It wasn’t lost on Sam that Steve had to have been keeping her alive by himself for at least six hours, over the Atlantic. That’s not only an impressive feat, but a damn near miracle. It was beyond dedication, it was lunacy. And something like that will make a pretty strong bond between people.

There was something deeper at play here. And as the pieces started to click into place, he wondered how he had never seen it before. The reason Cap was so hard on (y/n), and had been since the beginning.

“Okay, okay.” He guided him to a seat, as an unspoken compromise. “Bruce, could you grab a wet towel?” He spoke softly.

Banner nodded, and wandered off to find ways to help Steve be a little more comfortable. When Bruce returned, Sam gently took his bloody friend’s hands and wiped away the crusted blood that stained them.

Cap watched the red as it left his hands. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling that with every smear of dark brown on the towel, she was slipping away.

Sam’s adrenaline could only abide the silence for so long. “Cap, you gotta talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“She saved me, that’s how she got shot.” He didn’t make eye contact, instead staring towards the doors, behind which she lay on death’s door.

“It’s not your fault.” Steve didn’t have to say anything for Sam to know that’s what’s running through his mind. A hazard of being an Avenger – the unending and relentless guilt.

“It is my fault. She was watching my back, but I wasn’t watching hers. And I had the damn audacity to call her a liability.” He scoffed, bitterly.

“It’s nobody’s fault, Steve. These things happen, it’s part of the job. She’s going to pull through.” Sam hadn’t even considered the fact that the last proper interaction they had had, was rather… vitriolic in nature. He didn’t dare ask if anything else had happened on the mission. Not for now, at least.

Steve felt like he was being crushed by his own ribs, like his own body was depriving him of oxygen he didn’t deserve. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare think, except to chastise and punish himself for what he had done.

And not once did he take his eyes off those doors.

================================================

part two: promises we intend to keep

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hyukascampfire · 2 days ago

Text

𝓖INGER & 𝓢NAP ` ꕀ. k.th

you were the last person taehyun expected to appear on his doorstep. sweet and fluffy and oh-so-proper; he never thought he’d see you again. but... there you stand. and, much to his own chagrin, he fears that nobody else could get him more bothered. ׄ ⋆ ִ

་༘ ՚՚ ꒰ 🪵 ꒱ ･ 7.9k

ρairings gingerbread!taehyun x frosty puff!reader

𝒢 ‧̥ smut, fantasy, strawberry shortcake au

⍵arnings brat taming, brat tamer!taehyun & brat!reader, his cum is frosting, creampie, ofc no sex ed in strawberryland, thigh riding, oral m!receiving, cumming into mouth, cum eating, corruption of innocence & innocent!reader, banter, chubby!reader and buff!taehyun, manhandling, he throws her around a bit and she's so into it, they don't like each other but also def do, he likes to teach her manners, reader is also spoiled & rich and taehyun is not, hair pulling, he gets mean, no protectiom, let me know if i missed some!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this collab has been seriously so fun. writing fics is fun, but there's something about talking your friends and scheming all the yummy ways you can incorporate certain things into your fic. @thetxtdevil mae baby, thank you so much for being the best and even coming up with this idea. your mind amazes me... like actually. everybody did so unbelievably good, and i'm blessed to have been a part of it. now... let's get foody and smutty lol. some of this was written in a benadryl haze, but that's the fun part. i'm sorry mine came out a lil later than everybody else's, but hopefully it's still fun!

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

Raising your fist to the door, your knuckles rap against it with a few thick knocks. The door is frosted around the edges in little swirling white puffs of icing, framing the gingerbread door. It’s the same all around his house: gumdrops and candy canes and the like, all twinkling with sugar crystals.

It’s all so sweet—unbelievably so. The man that calls it home is the very antithesis of sweet. He does not take after the gumdrop, nor the sweetness of the icing, and most definitely not the brown sugar and molasses of the gingerbread. Taehyun is the quick snapping of a leg, or the sharpness on your tongue when you get to the cinnamon and nutmeg.

You loathe it. Even being stood here, knocking at his door, you hate. He is everything uncouth and abrasive—he is everything you should not entertain.

Here you are, entertaining it. The door swings open. Your fingers and toes have begun to slow with the cold, like frosty-whip in the fridge. Through the forest, stepping over sugar bushes and cocoa streams, you had fought the bite. Why did he have to live all the way out here? Secluded, as though the rest of Strawberryland were beneath his meddling. You know why: it’s that he believes it. He is exactly as your parents told you he’d be, all those years ago. Of course, they were right. They always are.

When he catches sight of you at his door, his distant eyes morph, and his lip tugs into a scowl. The rise of his brows ruffles your feathers with an infuriating ease. “Is there something you want?” he asks. His tone is infuriating, too. It’s the kind of question that means much more beyond the words said. You catch exactly what he means—how he intends to get under your skin.

Hidden behind the door, he has one hand on the handle. It's an unspoken thing, too. He wants you to remember that he could close it. You can’t let him, or else you’ll have drug your pretty new furry winter boots through the powdered snow for him to slam a door in your face. “Yeah, actually. There is.” You run preening fingers through the ends of your hair. “We’re partners for the bake-off.”

“I don’t do the bake-off,” he says. His eyes would be chocolate and smooth if it weren’t for the way he wields them sharp. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to find somebody more your speed for that.”

Barking an incredulous, perhaps even snobby, laugh, you look around. Snow comes down on the ground, sweet and creamy. It’d been enough of a battle to come here. If you were going to give up so easily, you would’ve turned your little bottom around perhaps two hours ago. Does he think you hadn’t considered that? It was a long walk; you had plenty of time to mull over the many things he might do. Sometimes, you imagined him diplomatic and affable. You stomped those wispy thoughts out. Perhaps it’s been years since you’ve spoken with him, and perhaps what happened between the two of you is dusted over, but you know better. Here he stands in front of you: bitter as ever.

“You’re just gonna leave me without a partner?” you say. Your jaw trembles, seized finally by the cold. “Everybody is already paired up. Literally everybody.”

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t see how that’s my problem. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Your brows knit. That means somebody else had signed him up. You have a sneaking suspicion who might’ve—Blueberry Kai always tells you that he just feels excluded. It’s hard not to laugh when he does. Taehyun? Excluded? He is exactly where he wants to be. Where most are sweet in Strawberryland, the snappy gingerbread finds it easier to justify his bitterness when he lives off in his little gingerbread home, out and away in his own neck of the forest only to be found by a winding gumdrop road, where he can pretend he’s above it all.

It’s entirely ironic. Him, better than you? Gingerbread, and all his ruggedness? His unpolished edges? Once, you’d believed that the two of you weren’t so different. That you could be friends, even. Seeing what he’s grown to be, you think you understand why your parents stepped in. Back then, though, as just that soft little girl who followed the charismatic boy around with crystal stars in your eyes, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to you. He had been so gravity-defying, moving through the soft, marshmallow edges and the sugar-whipped reality of Strawberryland as something different.

No. Not gravity-defying. Rather, in the powdery and sweet sweet Strawberryland, you think that he is the only thing with gravity.

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” he echoes, letting a little patronizing laugh out along with it. “That’s sweet.”

It’s hard not to shift or cross your arms over your chest, abraded by the dripping sneer.

“What? It’s not. It’s not fair that, just because you don’t want to at least give it a try, I can’t participate,” you say. Really, you should just crawl back home and beg to join somebody’s duo, but you can’t lose like that. You can’t lose to him. If you leave it like this, then he’ll have gotten the better of you.

“Can’t get everything we want, huh?” he says, straightening up and taking the door in his hand once more. “Just because everybody else has bent backward to give you what you want doesn’t mean that I will.”

“Wait,” you say, sighing in a white swirl. “Don’t close the door. Don’t you know your manners? It’s rude. You’re just going to let me freeze out here? I walked all the way out here, and even got snow all over my new boots, just for this, just for you to slam a door in my face? I mean, a gentleman would at least invite me in to warm me up.”

Lips twitching into a laugh and his eyes suddenly alight, he says, “A gentleman, huh?” He pulls the door open a little further. The warmth from his home, warm and spiced and oh-so-inviting like oven-warmed gingerbread, brushes over your twinkling skin. “Sure. Show me your manners, then. I want you to ask me nicely.”

Your jaw tightens. Sending him a once over, sharpening your eyes, you decide to just do it. His tone is nasty, but you don’t want to be disqualified for not having a partner. Even if he’s the worst you could’ve been paired with in all of Strawberryland. Or maybe the best, because it’s a gingerbread house competition this year. “Will you just do it?”

“I said ask nicely. Say please.”

He wears a mean smile—he’s having fun watching you squirm. So, you make a conscious effort to straighten up. “Will you please be my partner for the competition?” you say, making your voice sugary and batting your eyelashes in an overdone way. He thinks he’s funny.

Stepping out of the doorway, he motions you inside. It might look gentlemanly if it weren't for the sting in his eyes. You swallow down petty words and push through, your arms full with supplies. Arms aching, you finally let them clatter down over the countertop. The inside of his home is fresh-baked and spiced, aromatic like a true gingerbread cookie straight from the oven. You’re sure the glowing fire helps carry the smell in warm air. It wraps your cold bones up and smooths over some of the frayed edges. You’d been out there for so long… Nobody else had to walk that far for their partner.

Better just to get this done as quickly as you can. You just have to put up with him today, and you’ll be done, and then you can have fun with the competition. He won’t even show up for it; you’re sure.

“I’ll do it all if it’s that big of a deal,” you tell him, laying out the walls and warming the icing between your palms. “You can put the peppermint on, I guess. So then we can say we both worked on it.”

Hair the fluffy brown of true gingerbread and dusted with snowflakes like powdered sugar. Taehyun shakes his head, and it moves with him. “No,” he says, the corners of his lips still turned up as though he knows something you don’t. He rolls the sleeves of his gaudy, knitted Christmas sweater up to his elbows. The corded muscle there, flickering with movement, catches you off guard. Gingerbread, built like that? Tearing your eyes off him with the effort of metal tearing itself from a magnet, you watch him approach the kitchen counters. “I’ll help. We’re partners, right?”

No matter what he says, there’s a twist of something sparkling in those sharp eyes that has you watching him closer—has you trying to gauge exactly what he’s playing at. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. If you want to, I guess.” You gesture at the walls. “Two for us, and ten for display. Can you start the walls?”

“Ten?” he says. “We’re making twelve gingerbread houses?”

With your lips pulled taut, you say, “Yeah… Twelve. Is that too much? I didn’t think any amount of gingerbread houses would be too much for you. That’s a little ironic.” Everything is warm in his home—even when you look down at your own hands to tug off your white woolen gloves, your skin that usually sparkles like frost rests just beneath the surface is tinged with the warmth.

“I can handle it just fine,” he says, taking the wall and base sections of one. “Just wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty outfit. Twelve is a lot of icing.” He spits the word pretty out like it tastes bad. On his tongue, you’re sure it does. He never cared for pretty things the way you do. Your mommy always said that he was just jealous, but when the both of you were little, before your parents’ meddling, you learned that it was just a different lifestyle. One that you don’t understand, perhaps. Who doesn’t enjoy dressing themselves in lush furs and sugar crystals over their necks?

“I’ll be fine,” you say, snipping the tip of the piping bag open. “I wore these knowing they’d get dirty. They’re my baking clothes. My boots already got all messed up…”

“Oh,” he says. “You put on cashmere knowing you’ll get it dirty. Mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for that, huh? And it’s your throwaway outfit?”

“Look. If you like it so much, I’ll let you have it when we’re done, yeah? Maybe you’ll make a pretty penny off selling it.” You ice a warm white line down the length of a wall. “Can you hurry? I’m already icing. I don’t want to be here all day.”

There’s a few long, thrumming moments of quiet, where only the sound of your piping back crackling fills his home. Finishing a wall, you tear yourself away from your work to spare a glance his way.

Taehyun’s jaw is tight, a muscle flickering where he grits his jaw in the low light that washes over him. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes, and though he doesn’t turn them on you, the smoke rolling from them is enough to make your skin warm. You’d successfully gotten under his skin. Why stop here, when seeing that look on his face is so fun? He looks as sour as an apple; as spiced as cinnamon. “Wall?” you say, sharp and haughty as you offer your hand out to him in an impatient demand.

Snapping his head up, he hands you a wall with the heat of a thousand ovens in his face. You feel the scald he intends for you with it, and you revel in it.

You bark commands at him, watching his shoulders grow tense and his lips twitch with each. Crush the candy canes, you tell him. Melt the icing. Sprinkle these over that. Soon enough, you’re sitting back and watching him work more than anything.

He doesn’t say a word. You see them brimming in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them burst out all venomous like you know he wants to. It’s quite the show.

“Would you at least help me hold this up?” he says, holding the walls of a house together with one hand. His hands are a mess of runny sugar and powdered sugar for snow, and yours are perfectly clean. You can at least help a little bit if you want to claim any part in the competition.

You reach for the piping bag, fat with the sweet sweet icing, and straighten a wall up. You trace the seams with it, thick and like glue. With a bit too much pressure, the side of the bag bursts. White rivulets of slow icing run down your fingers and over the table. You curse, dropping it to the counter. That’s all of your icing, flopped down and deflating over the surface all sad-like. It’d been so much, that you thought it would last you each house and then some. Of course, you hadn’t brought extra.

Bringing your sticky fingers up to your mouth, you suckle the mess off. It’s so very sweet—warm and weeping, nutty and spiced with something like nutmeg. It’s Taehyun: the smell of it, the way it spreads over your tongue… You stick your tongue out to catch it where some drips down your forearm. “Mmm,” you say, sticky-armed. “Tastes good.” That’ll be good on the gingerbread houses; maybe the two of you do have a chance at winning.

When you look up to Taehyun, he stands frozen in place, his hands still holding up a half-constructed gingerbread house. His eyes are different. It’s a look you don’t recognize—a look you’ve never seen before. Rather than deep and warm, his eyes are blackish and heavy. A swallow goes down his throat; a tense, barely contained thing.

You frown, your lips still a sugary mess. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Sorry. I’ll clean it up…”

Clearing his throat, Taehyun says, “Yeah…”

He watches you clean the counters, where the icing had pooled, and now the bag is empty, with the same intensity. You can feel it on your skin in a foreign, itching way. You swipe and scoop and work at the spill, and still, he watches. He does not speak.

You survey the houses you’ve managed to finish. They’re pretty, and absolutely competition ready: looping swirls of icing like shingles on the roofs, peppermint chunks all red and white catching light where you’d sprinkled them into the frosting, gumdrops lining the paths true to Taehyun’s own home, and powdered sugar sifted over the entirety of it like snowfall. It’s all great, but there are only four. “What are we supposed to do now?” you say, lips pouty. “That’s all the icing I brought. We literally can’t make any more.” You wipe at a smear on your cheek. How’d that get there? “I think I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow… Can you hold on to the houses for me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Tomorrow,” he says, blinking something away. He straightens. “It’s a long walk. I think you should get going.”

You want to say something snarky or ask him why he wants you out of the house so fast, but it’s true. Night’s creeping over Strawberryland, and you have no icing, and tomorrow’s the last day before the bake-off. If the two of you don’t work harder tomorrow than you did today, then you won’t even make qualifications. You’ll lose before even starting.

You never lose. Not like this, and certainly not to the man standing before you.

ꕀ

“C’mon. You can do better than that, can’t you?” Taehyun says, drooping icing from rooftops like icicles as you sprinkle crushed candies over the top.

You grit your teeth. If he’d been snappy yesterday, he’s made it his mission to be your worst nightmare today. You think it’s his sort of revenge for ordering him around how you did. “What would you like, then?” you say. Maybe it’s feeding right into what he wants, but your life has lent you a short fuse. “You don’t even care about winning. Why does it matter? Let me do it how I want.”

He’s in another sweater. The sleeves are bunched up to the elbow just like yesterday, but you think he’s making a point with it this time. The shifting of his muscles is a bit too intense for piping icing. You’d made it through three more houses, wrangling your inner demons with each passing snide remark or nasty smile the whole time. It doesn’t help that he keeps his home terribly toasty, and you run cold down to the core. You melt and melt until all that is left of your temper is a puddle on the floor beneath you. Gone.

“We’re partners, remember?” he says. He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. “I don’t do things half-assed, Frosty.”

You’re sent reeling with the old nickname. It’d been sweet then, back when it was just the two of you against the world, but now it’s gone sour like milk. It even comes from his mouth soured. It’s something that you thought you’d left a million lifetimes ago, never to hear again. With Taehyun, though, it’s hard to pretend that you are no longer that.

He will not let you forget that, at one point, the two of you were friends. An unlikely pair, especially looking at you now. You thought it was all nothing to you, but seeing him has kicked up dust.

“You don’t?” you say, shooting him a quick glare from the side of your eye. “That’s funny.”

Strong brows shooting up, Taehyun quits mid-piping to look at you. “Funny? What’s funny about it to you?”

You can’t settle the obnoxious smile that curls at the edges of your mouth, mean and taunting and falsely sweet. “Oh, nothing.” You shake a sifter full of powder against your palm. It falls like true snow down over the house.

“No, tell me,” he says, his eyes trained and heavy on your dismissive shrug. “Tell me what you think of me. I wanna hear it.”

Oh, this will be good.

“It’s just that,” you say, “you’re not really known for doing things the best way, you know? Living all the way out here, an ass when anybody tries to talk to you… Well, really, it’s just that nobody likes you. But, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s at least somebody that does.”

His face falls, the twinkle of delight at taunting you that he’d been holding in his eyes gone away. All that’s left is the peaking of something deeper and roiling from out of the cracks. You get the funny feeling that maybe you’ve taken it a step too far.

But, you never lose.

“Is that what it is?” he says. “I work for my shit. You? Everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you.” He measures his words delicately. Like a measuring cup full over the top, he cuts the excess words and coarseness off. He doesn’t say all that he thinks, but you see all he leaves unsaid toiling furiously behind his eyes.

His eyes. They’re clear and, sharp as they are, they pin you. It’s a reflection of that look he gave you yesterday: deep and swirling and wild. It’s more than that, this time, though. It’s laced with anger and bursting at the seams of him. You’re not sure he’ll be able to hold back whatever it is that storms just beneath his skin, this time.

“It is,” you say, punctuation your words concisely. “It’s exactly why my parents said I shouldn’t hang out with you. They said that I’m above… all this.”

Oh, you’ve absolutely taken it too far now. You don’t really mean it. Sure, that’s what they told you, but you don’t really believe it. For some time, you did, but not now. It’s too late for sorries, though. Taehyun’s jaw goes tense.

For a long, awful moment, you just stand there and burn in his silence. It’s worse than any words he might spit. It’s hot—hot, hot, hot, and you turn liquid in it.

In a blink, nothing more, you collide against his countertop. Something clatters and thuds behind you. The gingerbread houses? That doesn’t matter right now—all that your dizzy mind can manage is his body crushing you and his fingers biting into the plush of your cheeks.

Where he had fractured, like true gingerbread, he snaps. You can see it in his eyes; even you know when you’ve pushed too far. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.

His knuckles curl white around the edge of the counter beside you, and his fingers dig deeper into your face. He’s oh-so-hot up against you. “I’m sick of your fucking mouth,” he snarls. His breath is hot as it fans over your face, too. “Someone needs to put you in your place. Where are your goddamn manners?”

Your heart thrums in your chest, and your pulse goes wild in your neck. You can’t form the words to answer him.

“Quiet now, huh?” he says. The husk in it makes the place between your thighs feel weird. You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He shut you up real quick. You’ll give him that.

That funny feeling does flips, roaring to life when his fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms. “That’s your problem.” His eyes send a chill up and down your spine. “You’ve never been told no. You’ve always gotten what you wanted.” Peeling down all the layers, he tugs your knitted stockings and your little fur skirt, and your sweet frosty panties, too. They bunch at your feet. Between your thighs, right where those foreign, throbbing waves reign, cool air laps at a wetness there. The hair all over your body rises. You’ve never felt anything like it. “Not with me. I'll set you straight. I don’t put up with spoiled brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” you say. “You’re just an ass.” They’re the first words that come to you. Damn your temper.

With the same hand he’d been holding your face in place with, he curls his fingers right into your scalp and yanks hard, baring your neck to him. You lose a strained squeak, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sting. If your heart had been racing before, it runs wild, now. You strain your eyes to look at him and his curled lips. Painted with a sneer, he says, “Watch your mouth.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. It’s all unfamiliar: the aching between your thighs, the burning in your blood, and the dazing of your thoughts. “Taehyun, I… I feel weird. It feels weird.”

Something knowing passes over him. “Yeah?” he says. “Show me where. I can help.”

Show him? You hesitate, searching his eyes for an ounce of joke or aversion. You find none, and that pounding is syrupy-sweet, and he says he can help. That’s all you want; all you need. Taking a trembling hand, you bring it down your body, running the palm down the planes of your belly and resting it just over the spot where the lower bit gives way to the apex of your thighs. Going any further—the thought tightens your throat and pinkens your cheeks the color of strawberry frosting. “There. It feels weird there.”

Taehyun smiles a snappy, spiced smile. He likes that. “Want me to make it feel better?”

Your thoughts feel replaced by something powdery and weightless. You give him a dumb nod.

“Say please.”

Something bratty crawls up your throat, but you want help, and he’s the one who will give it to you. He’d meant that: teaching you a lesson. Melted around the edges already, you say, “Please, help make it feel better.” Your voice wavers.

“There we go. That’s how good girls talk. That’s how you ask to get what you want.” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee and slots it between them, pressed right up against that coolness. Right up against that need. “Grind down on it.”

Neck aching at the angle, you say, “Grind?”

He brushes his clothed thigh right up against you. The friction is delicious—sweet and melty and just what you need. It shoots yellow sparks throughout you.

It feels so good. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Grind,” he says. It’s harder, this time. Not a sweet suggestion.

You bring yourself back down on it, gasping at the contact, and you do. You grind, tummy tightening at every brush of the fabric hard and delicious. Your chest constricts, one hand flying up to dig your fingers into his shoulder and the other fighting the hand he has still in your hair. It aches and hurts, and so does the friction as you grow more gaspy and frantic.

It feels so, so good. You want more—you want him to touch you there and everywhere else. He smells just right all over you, nutty and musky like a gingerbread twist. “Taeh—hyun,” you mewl. It burns, but something slick eases the burn a little bit. Just enough for you to enjoy that burn.

“That’s it,” he coos. It’s not a sweet coo; it’s the type of sound one might make when you play right into their mean game. It’s mean. “Make yourself a mess on my thigh. I don’t even have to touch you. What would mommy and daddy think of you now, huh? What would they think if they saw their precious princess fucking herself on my thigh?”

No. That would be the end of you. You whine, thighs twitching. Something twists in your center, scary and foreboding, and still you chase it. None of your thoughts are solid enough to stop. Each time he flexes a muscled thigh or presses it harder into you, you shudder and curl your fingers into his shirt harder.

“Don’t like that, huh?” he laughs. “Then you haven’t learned your lesson. You’re no better than me; I mean, look at you.”

You want to cry when he pins your hips back to the counter, stilling your wild bucking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you claw and reach for that wave, even as it recedes from you. “Why?” you say, voice thin. It’d been so yummy—the sweetness still rests on your tongue. Your heart thumps hard, longing for it.

“I said, look at yourself,” he growls, taking his hold on your hair to crank your head down.

Right where you’d been on his thigh, there’s a sticky, marshmallowy mess. Your mess.

Taehyun releasing his grip on your hair is almost a relief, but he doesn’t even give you time to relish it. The walls of his house blur around you. All that you register in between the motions is his shoulder in your belly and your limbs dangling from you. You dig your hands into his back to balance yourself, but he’s got you.

He has you slung over his shoulder. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. That place between your thighs flutters anew. In all your life, you never worried too much about the plushness of your belly or your thighs. It is who you are; all mallow and soft around the edges and starkly sweet. But you did get nervous when somebody tried picking you up. Usually, you protest and giggle it off. Watching somebody strain to pick you up when they lift other girls like sacks of flour is just something that makes you feel a little strange.

But, Taehyun does not strain. He doesn’t huff; he carries you right down the hallway and into his room, and he even manhandles you down onto the bed with a bounce without so much as a sound. He is a solid pillar beneath you, and then he is a solid, muscled chest above you. With strong fingers, he pins your hands to the mattress above you. With the other, he leads your shirt up.

He’s so warm against your cold skin. His breath like waves from the oven over your mouth, he says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you have all this?” Curling his fingers around a necklace circling your throat, he tears it off with a clattering of a few snow-drop beads.

You gasp, glaring right into his eyes. “What the hell?” you hiss, arching your chest to wiggle beneath him. Your necklace. Who does he think he is, breaking your stuff? That was one of your favorite necklaces, and now it lies all over his floor. Still, your center pounds and longs for the return of his touch. Everything about him just calls for more from you. You don’t know how you went so long without him, or how you made yourself forget just how drawn you are to his magnetism. Maybe he is just what your parents turn their nose up at, and you too, but that does not make him any less a powerful personality.

He knows exactly who he is and what he wants, as solid as the gingerbread cookie. And you, plush and impressionable as whipped marshmallows, take to him just right. It’s something you once knew, but the sneered words of adults obscured that memory.

“Don’t whine,” he says. “I want to see your pretty neck without all that shit. That’s your problem: you’re spoiled.” He reaches down to mess with his pants.

His length springs free. Cheeks flushing, you take it in. You can’t look away, even as embarrassment crawls spindly legs over your skin at the interest you take in the sight. You’ve never seen anything like it—long and hot and weeping something thick and white from the slit at the pinkish tip. A pearl of it dribbles down, landing on your belly in a string where he holds it.

Taehyun collects that wetness and then urges more from the tip with a few drags down the length of it. Wrapping his fingers around it, he begins to slowly work his fist up and down it. It’s nothing short of impossible to tear your sights off it—it’s another thing that inexplicably fans the flames of something roaring in your center. “Do you want to touch it?” he says, watching your tongue dart out to wet your lips.

The sight of him growing restless over his pumping fist is enough to get you nodding.

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and under his breath. He lets his hand off it. “Go ahead. Touch it. I won’t tell anybody you did.”

When he frees your pinned wrists, you reach out a slow hand. You curl your fingers around it the way he had. Your fingers don’t even touch around jt. The weight and warmth of him in your palm makes your blood tingle. Looking up, you search for guidance in those intelligent, swirling eyes. His bangs hang over his eyes as he watches.

Placing his hand over yours, he drags it up and down his rigid length the way he had been doing a few beats ago. “Like that,” he says. “Just like that.”

You pump your closed fist up and down him, encouraged to squeeze harder and flick your wrist faster with each tight breath he lets slip. The skin of your palm gets stickier and stickier, the slick sounds sending your ears and core burning just the same. You like that it makes him feel good—that he’s making those noises just for you.

He twitches under your fingers. “Feels just like I thought your pretty hands would…” he says, stomach tight. “See—what happens when you give up that bratty fucking act? Shit… harder—give it to me harder, Frosty…” Shivering at the name, you oblige him. You reach your thumb up and collect more of that beaded liquid from the slit, and you work your arm harder. Faster. Your forearm begins to burn, but you don’t let it slow you. All you want is more of this; more of him. Finally, he lets sounds out from his chest freely. He grunts and hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall back. “Holy shit. I’m gonna—gonna ice your face, okay?” he says. “You said you liked the taste, huh? Wanna taste it again? Give me your tongue…”

Whatever that means, you push yourself up and situate your face in front of his length, your tongue out. Taehyun’s sounds tighten, and his hips begin to stutter and chase your hand. He picks his head back up to look down at you half-lidded—to watch. With only a few last runs of your palm down his length, skin so slick that your hand just slips and slides up him, he growls through gritted teeth. The weight of him in your working hand twitches once more, and from that weeping tip he shoots dancing ribbons of white. It lands on your tongue hot and sweet, melting out all spiced and snappy.

Snappy like gingerbread. Like gingerbread icing. Swallowing it down, you meet his gaze. He pants, chest rising and falling, but there’s something clear and knowing in his heavy eyes when you do. You think you know now, why he’d been so dazed as you made a show of licking that same sticky icing off your hands and said how good it tasted.

When you release him from your palm, it glistens with his sweet essence. He softens in front of your eyes just the littlest bit.

Eyes just as hungry and still catching his breath, Taehyun says, “Open your mouth. I wanna see your tongue.”

Belly doing wicked twists, you do. You stick your tongue out for him, still laden with the headiness of his taste. He does taste good.

“Swallowed it all down?” he says, eating the sight of you with your mouth dropped open up. “You really are so nasty. They all think you’re so sweet—you think you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.” He pushes you back down to the bed with a palm. “Well, not me. I know that you’re just as filthy as you are spoiled. Somebody had to deal with you.”

Like always, snarky words swirl in your mouth. All it would take is letting them fall off your tongue. But you don’t—not with the feeling between your thighs, and not with the way your blood, frost turned to snowmelt, begs for him to fix it. Not when you know that all it will get you is more of Taehyun’s wrath.

It’s not like what he says is true, or anything. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

“Taehyun, please. I need it…” He takes a marshmallow thigh of yours, pressing it up so that it melds with your belly. Cool air reminds you once more of that strange wetness between them.

Dark, blown eyes catching the sight of it, his lips quirk into a scoff. “Need what?” he says, reaching a hand down. At the contact of his fingers, just as they had against his thigh, your hips jolt and an explosion like the breaking of sugar glass shoots down the muscles of your thighs. He scoops that stickiness up from its source, bringing the soft cream up to his mouth. Tongue darting out, he has a taste of you just as you had tasted him. “Shit—you taste good too, frosty. You’re so sweet, how’d you turn out like this? That’s okay. I’ll deal with you, and then you’ll be just as sweet as you taste.” That fat tip of him presses flush to the source of all your want. “I’ll straighten you out.”

You don’t know what that means, and you are absolutely sure that you don’t deserve it, but any sass is staunched with the utter sweetness of the stretch in your center. Taehyun presses his hips up into you, slowly and internalizing the dropping open of your mouth, the pinching of your brows into a worrying line, and the press of your palms to his broad chest. He takes it and metabolizes it down like cream cake or the plumpest fruits, and he gives you more. More, all the way up until there is no length of him left to give, and nowhere else for him to go.

You feel so, so full. No amount of twinkling jewels or new skirts hold a candle to this. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why Taehyun knows, but whatever. Who cares? Breathing out a shudder, you squirm beneath him to search for that dazzling feeling he’d made you feel earlier.

“Stay still,” he barks, steadying himself beside your head with a sturdy, powerful arm. When had he lost his sweater? You don’t know. You might drool over the definition and warm skin there if he didn’t pull the length of him out until just the tip of him threatens to pop out, and then drive right back in before you could. A gaspy breath falls from your mouth, devolving into mewls and whimpers when he does the same over and over and over again, quick with snapping hips and the smacking of his skin against the soft skin of your bottom. Your thigh quivers in his hold, his fingers digging into the fluff of your thigh as he holds you into it.

Each and every time he slides up against something inside you that makes you feel different. Different from what you felt when you were on his thigh, and different from anything else you’ve felt in the entirety of your life. It’s deeper, right at the very bottom of your belly, sending your veins lazy and your hips twitchy. You want to chase it as much as you want to hide from its power, so all you do is stay in a hazy limbo of sharp gasps and long, drawn out mewls for more.

“No,” he says, his face right in yours. The smell of him, manly and so very sweet like oven-warmed gingerbread, settles over your bones and wiggles its way through your thoughts. It does something to your melted mind, planting a need to cling to him right in the center. Your hands perch all over him: the hair at the back of his head, his working waist, his biceps that flex and strain with his effort, and finally around him so that you can push your cheek to his chest and feel his heart racing there. “You’ll take exactly what I give, and thank me for it. You don’t get to ask for more; not with your mouth.”

“Why?” you say, whining. “I want it—so bad. Please? I’ll be so… so good…” Your voice bounces with each collision of your bodies, and your toes flex and curl at the twisting in your core. Nonetheless, you want more. Whatever this is—this syrupy, pure goodness—Taehyun has shown you something that you will never be whole without again. He has bloomed a flower right in the chest of you, something hungry that will want and want this, and you fear that he will be the only one able to satiate it.

The thought of the smile he’ll wear, should you come crawling back to his doorstep just for this…

Taehyun stops, pushing off you with a curled lip. “What will it take to get you to fucking listen?” he says. He pulls himself from you, leaving you to whine and long for that feeling once more. You want to complain and pull him back over you, but with the fire churning in his dark gaze and the sight of his length, covered in that same white, whipped stuff you’d left all over his thigh.

You’d made a sticky, frosty, frothed mess all over him once again. Really, what would people think of you now? Your mom? Your dad?

Manhandling you again, he flips you onto your hands and knees and shoves your face into the bed. Any yelp or gasp that tears from your chest is muffled into the sheets. Taking the swell of your hips, his fingers like bites against the powdery, soft skin there, his voice comes from behind you. “Won’t you just listen to me? If you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna have to start learning how to hear no.” Curling your hair up and pulling it like a handle, he snaps your head back into another stinging, awful tug. It turns the arch of your back into something that you can imagine is a sight to be seen. If the burning where you feel his eyes raking down the curve of it has something to speak of it, that is. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that’ll help you any. “You don’t get everything you want. That’s not how this works.”

You don’t say anything. You have nothing good or sweet left to say.

“Say thank you, and I’ll give it to you good, okay?” he says, running a flattened hand down your spine. “That’s all I want to hear. Show me you can be good.”

The last thing you want to do is to thank him. That would mean admitting that you’ve lost, and that ruffles your preening feathers. But you want that goodness back, you want his hips snapping into you and that tight knot back in your belly. You’d do anything for it; even forget your ego.

Your mind is gone, anyway. Whatever your rational self would do, it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing that you want right now, and getting it is so easy. “Thank you, Taehyun. Thank you so much… I’m sorry I’ve been a brat, and I’m sorry about what I said to you. Please, just… help me. Please, I need you so bad.”

You? Sorry? It’s absurd, and yet, you entirely mean it. Maybe it’s your lazy brain talking, or maybe he really has won.

“See? So sweet when you act right,” he says. “Let me show you what happens when you do.”

You could cry real tears when he sets that same pace, his hands bracing on your hips to pull you deeper into each thrust and the front of your body bouncing against the sheets with each. Your cries grow hoarse and beyond needy, and your insides twist and turn even more dangerously.

You are on the brink of something divine. Something that will melt down so well, good on the tongue and as smooth as chocolate, but as sharp as the snapping of gingerbread.

And, snap, he has.

“Yes!” you cry, straining your shoulders as you reach behind you and curl your fingers around the place where he meets your skin. “S..So good! Right there—thank you, Taehyun!”

He doubles down on you. His length hits a spongy spot in your core, pounding up against the walls there and turning your insides against you. It’s almost too good. “There we go,” he says, voice shaking with a growl. The delivery of his thrusts grows sloppy. You think he feels just as good as you do. “That’s what—” Falling over you, he supports himself with each strong arm dug into the mattress beside your head, his solid front melded to your soft back. “That’s what I like to hear. Here you go—fuck, I’m gonna give you what good girls get, okay?”

You hope it’s more of that melty icing he shot from his length earlier. The knot in your belly tightens, just on the brink of a glittery, bright explosion. “Mhm!” you say, your voice cracking. You want it—you want it so bad. The intensity of it, turning over in your veins and rendering your thighs jelly, sings in your ears. It’s a frightening greatness, but you rage against the urge to drop your hips into the mattress and run from it. You need to finally taste what you’ve been chasing. “Taehyun! Right there—please, don’t stop!”

You were demanding more from him again, but Taehyun didn’t stop this time. Not when his growls and whines against your shoulder tell you enough about how he’s feeling. He tongues and nips at your shoulders, the only sounds echoing off the walls of his room, the hollow smack of his hips against your bottom, and the only smell of the sweet mingling of his gingerbread sharpness against your heady marshmallow. It’s good enough to eat.

Crying out with a frantic whine, the feeling deep in your belly changes once more, and you’re writhing and squirming against him. Your hips buck and chase and run, wild and just as explosively as the tightness shooting down your thighs and up through your lower back.

Everywhere. You feel it everywhere. It’s in the continued bouncing of your body, in each nudge of his tip to a sweet, spongecake spot deep inside you, in his breathless pants into your skin, and in the curling of his fingers into your hair when he releases a hip to do so, and in your pleads when he chases his own delicious release. Your throat tightens, and suddenly the sheets are all too warm around you, and you realize with blistering intensity that another one of those knots builds up in your belly. It’s quicker, short, and bright. You’ve barely even made it through the last, but still, it comes.

“Holy shit,” he growls, hips stuttering and then stilling. He reaches a hand down between your thighs and finds a very sweet button. The breath in your throat catches, and in nothing more than a blink of an eye, you crash again, and then your bodies are two twitching, elated things. He presses himself impossibly deeper into you before shooting that same hotness, sweet ropes of sugary icing right into you, and your fluttering insides hold him tight and eat it up. Your heart pounds in your chest, running amok in your ears and your neck, and you try to catch running breaths to no avail.

Occasionally grinding up into you, though there is hardly any space between your joined bodies to do so, Taehyun shoots more lazy spurts for a few long moments. His breaths slow against your skin, and yours do in your chest. Slowly, you recover as two entangled bodies, all clammy and melted like left in the oven for a bit too long.

Pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of your neck, and then down your spine when he pushes off you and pulls himself out, his tongue darting out against your skin for some, he says, “Taste so good… So sweet, even on your skin…” He brushes the wild tangles of hair from your face and adds, “I wonder if you’ve gone all sweet inside, too? You look like it…” The mess of you, your thick creaminess staining your thighs and his runny load pooling from your hole, is all over. It even makes the sheets beneath you dirty with dribbles of his release as it drips. “I told you I’d get you sweet.”

If that sluggish, sugary thing moving through your veins is sweetness taking over you from the inside, perhaps you have gone sweet. Or, perhaps you now have every reason to become his worst nightmare—just if it gets you this.

You’ll play sweet for now. The softer kisses he seasons your skin with are no less enthralling than the delightful goodness still ebbing away between your thighs. You think that, for the first time, you have lost.

And, to your very own dismay, it tastes so very sweet.

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

✎୭ ashlynn's note BRAT TAMER TAEHUN, amirite?

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ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat · 1 day ago

Text

girlfriend?

spencer reid x fem!reader

the people have spoken (the 8 votes on my poll) so here!!!

no use of y/n

fluff and maybe kinda sorta comfort??

summary: reader wonders why exactly she's not spencer's girlfriend and he's more than happy to play along

warnings: reader is younger and has never had a boyfriend, mention of roommate, awkwardness??, new relationship, kissing, reader uses physical affection to distract spencer, "i'm fine" no you're not!!!, insecurities and simply spencer being a cutie

my very first time writing fanfiction and posting my writing!!! please give feedback

After a long day of daydreaming and a rather upsetting conversation with my roommate, I've come to realize that I'm technically not Spencer's girlfriend. I mean, he's never asked me to be. Of course he's sweet and we've kissed several times but he's never formally asked. I've never had a boyfriend so I just assumed that one or two dates ultimately meant together. Apparently that's not right. Maybe I'm overreacting and maybe I'm not cut out for this dating thing but why hasn't he asked? We can hardly go a day without seeing each other. Doesn't that mean something? Maybe I'm insane because that's highly likely, too.

Although anticipating it, I still jump when he knocks. The door opens and it's clear that he came straight from work, his messenger bag on his shoulder. Like every other day, we walk straight to my bedroom and he leaves his satchel on the same old cushioned chair.

Spencer places his hands in his pockets, his eyes floating over me dubiously.

"Are you alright?"

Well, that took all of three seconds.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I answer, fiddling with my pajama shorts' strings. There's no way I'm turning psycho-not-even-girlfriend on him because he hasn't defined our relationship. Because of the chance he doesn't want me to be his girlfriend, that's a conversation I'm not having.

His eyes narrow and he steps closer. "You're fidgeting, avoiding eye contact... not to mention that you've hardly spoken to me since I've got here which is just... not you at all. You always talk."

"Hey!" I frown.

I watch as his hands come up to hold my face and I begrudgingly look him in the eye only to find concern. "Did I do something?" he asks softly.

My head shakes in his hands. He drops them. "You didn't do anything wrong."

He notices the emphasis, following me when I go to sit on the edge of my bed. I'll never get over how out of place Spencer looks in my room.

His eyebrows raise as he looks down at me. I feel like I'm in trouble. "But I did something apparently."

"Nope," I hum simply, pulling him down by the tie to mush our lips together with little grace. The reciprocation was fleeting, his mouth briefly opening only to move away as fast as it came. "See? I'm fine," I grin unconvincingly.

"You're a terrible liar. Tell me what's wrong," he sighs, stuck between worried and annoyed.

He steps back, eliciting a whine from me. My eyes drop and I figure that I might as well dance around it since I'm a terrible liar. Picking at the loose string on my comforter, I murmur, "do you... um... you like me, right?"

Confusion draws his eyebrows together. "Of course I do. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Honestly, I'd be crazy not to. What told you I didn't?"

"I'm not your girlfriend," I whisper pathetically, eyes never leaving my fidgeting fingers.

I can practically feel the realization hit him. A shaky breath that never quite becomes a nervous laugh leaves him before he responds gently, "I haven't asked you to be. Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

My head finally lifts, a slight frown on my lips as I nod.

"Will you be?"

My eyes go wide and I freeze. "What?"

He laughs softly, walking a few steps closer before crouching down to my level. "Will you be my girlfriend... please?" he asks politely, a tiny smile on his face.

I nod eagerly before I can do anything else. When words do come out, they're frantic like I can't get them out fast enough. "Yes! Yep! Mhm. Please."

This time, when I kiss him, he doesn't hesitate or pull away, he smiles, hands finding my face and brushing away any stray hairs. A thought occurs and I break the kiss, thumbs brushing his cheeks. "So... why didn't you ask before?" I ask almost absentmindedly.

He swallows and very gently mutters, "I didn't know if you'd want me to be your boyfriend."

I can feel my heart melting as I press a soft peck to his mouth. How did he not know? Isn't the way I'm constantly nervous obvious to him? I'm not exactly good at masking anything.

"Of course I did. I do. And now you are my boyfriend so how about that?" I smile and he does too.

"I'm glad," he laughs.

"Me too."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #fanfic #criminal minds

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amaryllis-22 · 1 day ago

Text

Word count: 2.1k

Pairing: John Price × Reader

Infos: Pregnancy, afab reader, mild possessive behavior near the end, mature and slightly dark themes

Based on this idea

As a member of Task Force 141, you'd dedicated your whole life to your team, to the Crown, and to the protection of international security. Going from home to work and from work to home had become the normality you'd learnt to accept.

It was nothing too tragic, truly.

When you were on duty, you didn't have time to worry about your decadent social circle, and when you were off deployment, you could always hit a pub with one of the lads. None of them would ever turn down an opportunity for a little distraction. Hell, you'd even started spending more time in the barracks than in your flat, to the point where the landlord questioned whether you'd died in action and he merely hadn't been informed about it.

Everything had been fine until, well, it no longer was.

Shrouded in the silence of your one-room apartment on a grey autumn day, you'd wondered what would be left of you after you inevitably ceased to be useful to the military. You'd probably be discharged with a respectful handshake, a few medals, and a good amount of money to spend the rest of your life doing... what exactly? Rot in loneliness?

No, you couldn't stand it, not anymore at least.

Those same circumstances you had considered acceptable and fulfilling suddenly seemed not to be enough. Perhaps you could have borne it in your early years of service, when your sole concern was coming home in one piece and making sure your comrades did the same.

But at the moment you had other needs. You were aware of it.

You'd wandered for a while in the dark searching for something that could help you feel complete — a sort of homemade spiritual journey with more failures than successes and the revelation you were seeking at the end.

You wanted a baby, desperately.

You'd never thought about motherhood before, and yet it had only taken the slightest nudge to turn it into the entire centre of your attention. It was as if a switch had been flipped in your head, triggering that innate and basic instinct to bring another creature into this world.

Shit, you had nothing ready to welcome your little angel.

The house you lived in was too small and in a part of town not ideal for easy access to schools.

Not to mention your job.

You clearly had to take a leave of absence. No matter how accustomed you were to injury, you wouldn't have tolerated the slightest chance of jeopardising your pregnancy.

You absolutely had to notify the higher-ups, or things were bound to get ugly. Money wasn't an issue with all you had saved, but it was possibly worth looking for a part-time job to support yourself in the meantime. All in all, it was better to be safe than sorry

Maybe, just maybe, you were moving things a smidge too fast. No, starting to buy baby clothes and toys was not a good idea because in your euphoric frenzy you'd forgotten a rather important detail.

You weren't in a relationship.

Now, that could have been a problem.

Your lifestyle wasn't helpful in keeping anything steady in the romance department. You could go on a mission and disappear for the next few weeks, if not months. You'd tried in the past (albeit, you must admit, with not too much effort), but balancing your various obligations had proved so stressful that you'd proudly declared yourself out of the market. Your new-found desire to start a family, though, would have forced you to return.

As resourceful as you may have been, it was going to be difficult to conceive a baby without a man to, you know, knock you up.

At that point, instead of getting on some dating app or throwing yourself into a classic blind date like a normal person, what had you done? Obviously, you'd gone to your captain, the man who had saved your life more times than you could have counted, dropping the bombshell he wouldn't have expected.

⎯⎯⎯ 「 𖤓 」⎯⎯⎯

"I want a baby," you announced the minute you entered his office, barely giving the door time to close behind you before you placed yourself in front of his desk. John's hand, which had been working on paperwork, froze in its movement, and his sterling blue eyes lifted to give you his full attention.

"Pardon?" His voice came out gruff and deep, words slipping out in a rush, as if his mind was not quite ready to digest what you had told him.

"I want a baby, Cap," you repeated unperturbed, shoulders squared, legs slightly apart, and back straight as a board. You were almost as confident in your stance as you were in your conviction.

Price's eyebrows furrowed, lips curled into a grimace that bordered on mockery. "Yeah... I heard that."

He hesitated, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the wooden surface of the desk. "I was just wonderin' why you felt the need to share the ... news with me."

The man struggled to follow on which train of thought your brain had derailed.

What was this nonsense?

As far as he knew, you weren't in a relationship and didn't seem interested in one. At least, that was the reply you had given Soap when the Scot had pointed out your dry romantic situation.

Going from 0 to 100 wasn't anything foreign for you; he had learnt to deal with it, but this... was excessive even by your standards.

Had you met some bloke who had made you fall at his feet with honeyed words and pretty promises? No, you wouldn't have been fooled by it. Not his soldier. You were too mature for that shit, but John couldn't help the feeling of jealousy growing in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm telling you this because..." Your statement was enough to snap him out of the tunnel vision his stubborn self had coerced itself into; "...I need your help, to get one I mean."

The silence that spread through the office following your declaration was suffocating. You had mentally prepared for every possible reaction from him, yet seeing it actually happen was in no way comparable.

It wasn't the first time you had stood under Price's intense glare, not with how your relationship was set up. As much as he was your superior, you hadn't failed to make your opinion heard if something didn't sit well with you. You had never come close to insubordination, never really questioned his authority, but you certainly hadn't simply responded with a mere "aye, Cap'n" and carried on with your day.

It was an odd partnership, but it worked for both of you.

If John had to be honest, he viewed it as refreshing and somewhat fascinating. He was aware of how deep your loyalty ran — you'd have followed him down to hell if it had been necessary — so he could overlook your more colourful comments. Still, that didn't mean that he would spare you any of his warning stares.

He wasn't sure if you were playing a nasty prank on him. It wasn't like you, not about such personal matters anyway.

You probably weren't, if the determination and sheer earnestness flashing in your eyes could serve as an indication. That, though, led him to another, bigger problem: seriously consider what you were asking of him.

To state that, after all the years you had spent working shoulder to shoulder, Price had never thought of moving things to another level with you would have been a lie. He clearly found you attractive, and the chemistry between you two was undeniable. But hell, you worked so well in his team that he didn't feel like fucking it up simply for some of his urges.

Blurring the lines between work and love life could prove to be a minefield, a dangerous territory where it was difficult to venture.

You, however? Seemed more than willing to dive in like a suicidal maniac.

"You sure are somethin'." He exhaled, with a hint of exasperation. He was way past the age to keep up with you; that much was clear.

John hadn't even entertained the idea that you might see him as more than a trusted friend (he refused to believe that your relationship was purely professional), and now you were begging him to impregnate you? A whiplash wouldn't hold a candle to what this whole affair had become.

He would have wanted to plant his hands on your shoulders and shake some sense into you, to bombard you with questions about how you came up with such a plan, to remind you, in a perhaps overly patronising way, that this was not a decision you could take lightly: it was one that would change your future in the long run, one that you appeared to be handling far too casually.

His tired and burdened body rose from the chair in all its might, strong legs leading him directly in front of you. You owed a lot of explanations to your Captain, who had no intention of letting the matter go without first securing the info he was seeking.

"Why are you proposin' this to me?"

There was no malice or accusation in that, only a curiosity that bordered nearly on morbid. John felt shameful in that moment. Of all the vastly more important issues he could have raised, that was the only one his mind had focused on.

In a twisted manner, you had chosen him.

The knowledge that you'd handpicked him of all people to 'help' you was enough to rub his ego in all the right places, but he needed to know why.

Did you realise who you were offering this to? The consequences that would have followed?

His gaze never left your face, refusing to miss any possible change in your mannerisms. He made you feel like a rare species under a microscope, as if you couldn't hide anything from him, not when he had already scoured the innermost depths of your being in search of answers.

"You're the first one I thought of," you mentioned, finding it almost difficult to get the words out. Your limbs had suddenly become tense, making your posture stiffer than it should be. "Besides, I couldn't trust anyone but you with this."

John regarded himself as a stable person, capable of maintaining a cool and detached mind even in the most absurd and stressful scenarios. Yet in that moment, you had really managed to catch him off guard.

For fuck's sake, he had enough.

Did you want his cock to bully your pussy so badly, to fill it with cum again and again until there was no doubt left about the life he had planted in your womb?

He wasn't going to stop you.

Noticing his impassive expression, you hastened to assure him that, should he accept, you would ask nothing in return: no support for the baby, no parental responsibility, and no emotional attachment.

At that he merely snorted, shaking his head as if trying to chase away an annoying bug.

If you thought he would leave both of you, you and YOUR child, you obviously had still not fully understood the kind of man he was.

John could already imagine it.

A small cottage surrounded by nature, his beautiful wife waiting for him at the door, open arms and sweet smile, the laughter of children in the distance, and a warmth to finally caress his tough skin.

He wouldn't have let you resume your military career after; it would have been too dangerous and pointless.

Not that you had to know.

You would have so much to think about that you wouldn't even notice it. Your little angels would need the steady presence of a mother, and you certainly wouldn't be the one to deprive them of that, would you?

Don't worry; he would take care of it, putting his life on the line for the safety of your little family.

Family.

He had struggled to believe he could ever have one of his own, and now you were offering it to him on a silver platter. How lucky.

"Alright." His calloused hand rose to meet your cheek, thick thumb being passed over the soft pad of your lower lip. His face lowered enough to be exactly before yours. "I'll help you, just... don't come cryin' later for bitin' off more than you could chew."

Tag list: @nova-willow-541

✎There will definitely be a part two in the future.

#call of duty #john price cod #john price #price x reader #price x you #john price x you #john price x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #task force 141 #fem reader #cod fanfic #john price call of duty #tf 141

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stuckinmymind22 · 2 days ago

Text

wise words | ace x gn!reader

and then it hit you - "you're in love with me"

wc: 1,127

tags: its just a bunch of fluff

series: "you're in love with me"

a/n: ik i said i'd post this tomorrow but i got too excited. this one ended up being much longer than i initially intended it to ngl i really like this one, it might be my favorite so far (both in the series and in general)

"ace," the whitebeard had said, making eye contact. the usage of his name told ace that whatever he had been about to say would be serious. "you are in love." pops had decided to have mercy on the boy, leaving ace alone to sit with what he had said, only slightly struggling to stand his nurses running after him. ace had been left frozen as he processed pop's words. it had felt like pieces falling into place and the world felt clearer. holy shit, he did love you

not proofread

ace had been treating you differently lately, that difference became starkly apparent when compared to how he acts with the rest of the crew. ace was known for being affectionate, both verbally and physically, especially when he gets a few drinks in him, but the way he acted around marco for example paled in comparison to the way that he would hang onto you.

ever since you returned from a mission just over a week ago he had barely left your side - that's not to say that you minded it, you had always had a bit of a thing for him and now you were starting to suspect he felt the same.

recently, you had discovered how he has been going out of his way to be around you. someone spilt the beans on how he has been taking over tasks assigned to other members just so he could be near you.

and here he was, high up on a mast helping you repair the edge of a sail that was damaged in a recent storm. a task that in all honesty was beneath him. a task you knew he hated, you remembered how he would complain about it.

ace kept poking his head around the side of the sail to talk to you, his eyes sparkled as you joked around and you found yourself getting lost in them. the two of you weren't exactly on task, you should've been done with this by now but no one has said anything and you weren't about to complain. you were basking in his warm company while trying to sus out how into you he was. the gears were turning then it hit you.

"holy shit," you say causing his head to snap to you in concern. you couldn't help but vocalize your revelation, "you're in love with me."

immediately, his playful smile fell as his face dropped, eyes going wide. out of all of the things he thought you might say, that was not even an option. still, he made no move to deny it

ace himself had only just realized the way he felt about you when pops, of all people, had called him out on it.

it all had happened after a banquet thrown in celebration of your return. you (along with several others) had just returned to the moby dick after a voyage to one of the islands under whitebeard's protection. the party had been dwindling down and you'd been making the rounds, and he'd been completely unable to keep his eyes off you, even when talking to pops his eyes consistently flickered over to you.

a small chuckle coming from pops was the thing that had pulled him away from you. "you're in deep, my son," the man said full of mirth. he had laughed even more at ace's confused face, "my boy, you are completely smitten."

"w-what do you mean?" ace had stuttered. his bright red face should have betrayed his look of confusion, but the puzzlement had been genuine.

"you haven't been able to take your eyes off of them since they returned. you struggled to even before they left," a light joyful laughter had broken whitebeard's speech, "haven't you noticed how you always gravitate towards them? don't you feel lighter when they are around?"

answering honestly ace had skeptically nodded to the line of questioning. the legendary pirate shook his head with a smile, muttering something about kids.

"ace," the old man had said, making eye contact. the usage of his name told ace that whatever he had been about to say would be serious. "you are in love."

pops had decided to have mercy on the boy, leaving ace alone to sit with what he had said, only slightly struggling to stand his nurses running after him.

ace had been left frozen as he processed pop's words. it had felt like pieces falling into place and the world felt clearer. holy shit, he did love you.

ace had stood in place for an undetermined amount of time, stewing in the realization. it had been marco who snapped ace out of his daze. after minor amounts of prodding, ace had confided in the doctor what pops said. to his surprise the first division commander had been relieved, telling ace that everyone on the ship seemed to know how the two of you felt about each other except for you two.

he wanted to believe you felt the same way, but he didn't want to hold onto false hope, despite what marco had said ace couldn't believe that you felt the same way, but he also knew he had a duty to tell you.

at the moment ace had no plans to make his feelings known (he hadn’t quite come up with anything yet, it was still new to him) and the last thing he expected was that you would figure it out on your own. to say the least he was caught off guard.

"am- am i right?" doubt and excitement are mixed into your question.

his face, all the way to the tips of his ears alight, the boy who was quite literally made of fire was burning up. ace nodded, the move paralleling a child caught doing something that they shouldn't be. he couldn't bring himself to look you in the eyes, but that all changed when at the edge of his vision, he saw a large smile blossom on your face.

you were so excited you didn't know what to do. you started to resent the fact that he was just outside of your reach when all you wanted to do at the moment is kiss him.

"let's get down, we can finish this later," you proposed. ace agreed to your plan with hesitation.

once both of your feet were firmly placed on the deck, you grabbed him by the necklace and he stumbled into your lips. ace was startled by your actions at first but he was quick to melt into the kiss. you dropped his necklace to hook your arms over his shoulders. his hands moved to frame your face, pulling you closer to him, deepening the kiss.

the wolf whistles in the background all faded until they felt worlds away, as if all that existed in that moment was the two of you. reluctantly, the kiss was broken when the need for oxygen started to outweigh the need for each other's lips.

ace rested his forehead against yours as the two of you struggled to catch your breath. he couldn't help the massive smile that formed on his face - this went way better than he ever could have imagined.

masterlist | damn, that shit was so cute, patting myself on the back fr

#one piece #one piece x you #one piece x reader #ace x reader #one piece headcanons #ace fluff #one piece fluff #portgas ace x reader #fluff #fire fist ace x reader #ace x you #gn reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas d ace fluff

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mingi-s-dimples · 3 days ago

Text

Save the best for last - OT8 ATEEZ

KINKTOBER DAY 30, REQ. BY anon (last day!!!)

~"domot8 x freader where atz is mafia/ceo! reader is in a relationship with san but they are both okay in letting the other members join in the fun..;) however san likes to talk dirty in a way with hints of possessiveness to remind reader even though the other 7 fucks her, she’s still his hehe he also loves watching the members wreck the reader btw…. pls make it as filthy and kinky as possible! really go crazy with it! some ideas(if it helps-i hope it’s no burden): dirty talk, hair pulling, spit, multiple creampies, dp, squirting, exhibitionism, voyeur, choking, big dick!, bulge kink, mirror sex(?) and so on….. 😅" - I hope it's crazy enough for you anon.. for me it sure was 😂🤍

pairing: bf mafia ceo!san x gf fem!reader x ot7 (the other members) subordinates of San

genre: 18+, pure filth, gang bang

summary: San's men want to have your way with you and ask for permission and.. when San also sees you'd be eager to do it, he saves himself for last only to remind you who you had always belonged to.

wc: 8.4k (I am so sorry I went fucking overboard 🧍‍♀️)

warnings: okay prepare, mafia!au, gang bang, foursome, 5some, double penetration, multiple creampies, dirty talk/degradation (only from San), she sucks two at the same time, she takes two&two at the same time (hence the 5some), spitting, hair pulling, mirror sex, exhibitionism, dacryphilia. voyeurism, possesiveness at its finest, choking, big dick!san, bulge kink, squirting, lots of cummm, unprotected, for sure forgot something (it's 4:40 am at the time I post this), completely consensual, will definitely edit later.

Author's Note: Oh my fucking god holy fuck this was a damn ride. It was INTENSE. I went damn overboard with some of the details upsi, I had to. Gave everyone at least some attention 🤗 no one was left out (poor reader fr). This is my first ot8 fic. I hope you enjoy this, love u anon and I'm so sorry I am 2 months late 💀💀💀 life was erratic. Oh and.. Merry Christmas, everyone! Fluff fic coming right after this menace. From one extreme to another I guess 💀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and doesn't represent the reality of the members in any way.

The soft hum of the city buzzed faintly outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of San’s office. Late evening sunlight poured into the room, bathing everything in golden hues as you perched on the edge of his sleek, black desk. Your legs swung idly, the sound of your heels lightly tapping against the wooden surface filling the otherwise quiet room.

San sat behind his desk, engrossed in the papers spread before him. His sharp black suit hugged his frame perfectly, exuding authority as he worked in focused silence. You let your gaze drift over him, taking in the way his jaw tightened every so often when he read something he didn’t like. Even when he was deep in work, San had a presence that could dominate a room without him uttering a single word.

But today, you weren’t in the mood to let him bury himself in paperwork.

“San,” you called, dragging out his name in a playful lilt.

His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, a flicker of amusement flashing in them before he resumed scanning the document in his hands. “Yes, darling?” he asked, his voice low and velvety, though there was a clear undertone of distraction.

You leaned forward, resting your palms on the cool surface of his desk, your tone turning teasing. “You’ve been working all day. Don’t you think you deserve a break?”

San’s lips curved into a small smirk as he set the papers down and leaned back in his chair, his arms folding across his chest. “Is that so? And what exactly do you suggest I do on this ‘break,’ hmm?”

You feigned a thoughtful expression, tapping your chin dramatically. “Well… I could think of a few things.”

Before he could respond, the door to his office suddenly swung open, breaking the charged atmosphere between you. The sound made you jump slightly, and you instinctively straightened up, your gaze snapping to the intruders.

The other seven members of the group filed in one by one, their casual but confident demeanor filling the room with a new kind of energy.

“Interrupting something?” Jongho’s voice was the first to break the silence, his eyebrow raised as his eyes darted between you and San.

San’s expression didn’t falter, though the slight twitch of his jaw gave away his irritation. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he replied coolly, leaning back further in his chair.

Wooyoung, ever the bold one, grinned as he sauntered over to the desk, his sharp gaze flicking over you with clear amusement. “Doesn’t look like ‘nothing,’ though,” he teased, leaning casually against the edge of the desk beside you.

“Wooyoung,” San said, his tone holding a warning, though his posture remained relaxed.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Wooyoung’s antics. “Do you ever know when to stop?” you asked, though your tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Not really,” Wooyoung admitted with a wink, his grin widening.

The rest of the members settled into the room, each finding a spot to sit or lean as the tension in the air shifted. You could feel their eyes on you, curiosity and mischief glinting in their gazes. It was impossible to ignore the magnetic energy they all carried; it was part of what made them so formidable as a group.

“Do we have business to discuss, or did you all just come to disrupt my evening?” San asked, his tone laced with dry humor as he gestured for them to get on with whatever they came for.

Hongjoong stepped forward, ever the leader, his expression calm but knowing. “We wrapped up the last deal earlier than expected, so we thought we’d drop by,” he said smoothly, though the subtle smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his intentions.

“And by ‘drop by,’ you mean make yourselves comfortable in my office?” San quipped, his gaze flicking between them.

Yeosang, who had been silent until now, let out a soft chuckle. “You can’t blame us, though. You’re the one who keeps all the interesting things hidden in here.”

His words carried a double meaning that wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you glanced at San, who still looked completely unbothered, though his hand had started to drum lightly against the desk.

Seonghwa, ever the smooth talker, decided to chime in. “You know, San,” he began, his tone light but calculated, “for someone who’s so protective, you seem awfully relaxed about leaving her alone with us.”

San’s smirk returned, his dark eyes locking onto Seonghwa’s. “Relaxed? Who said I was relaxed?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

“Then again,” Wooyoung piped up, his grin downright mischievous now, “maybe you’re not as possessive as we thought.”

The words hung in the air, the challenge in them clear. You glanced at San, curious to see how he would respond. To your surprise, he leaned back in his chair again, his expression calm but dangerous.

“Possessive?” he echoed, his tone laced with amusement. “Oh, I am. Make no mistake about that.”

His gaze shifted to you, his eyes softening slightly. “But I also trust her. And I trust all of you… to a degree.”

The unspoken invitation in his words made your breath catch. The room was silent for a moment, the weight of his statement sinking in before the playful tension returned.

“Well,” Hongjoong said, breaking the silence, “that’s quite the declaration.”

San’s smirk widened, his confidence unshakable. “It’s not a declaration. It’s a fact.”

The others exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from amusement to intrigue.

“Does that mean we can—” Wooyoung began, but San cut him off with a raised hand.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said, though his tone was more teasing than serious. His eyes met yours again, and you could see the glint of amusement in them. “After all, it’s not entirely up to me, is it?”

The attention in the room shifted to you, and you suddenly felt the weight of their gazes. San’s question was clear—this was your choice as much as it was his.

Your mind raced, the charged atmosphere making it difficult to think clearly. But as you looked at San, his calm confidence grounding you, you realized that you trusted him completely.

“Well,” you began, your voice steady despite the nervous energy coursing through you, “I think… it could be interesting.”

Your words hung in the air for a moment before the room erupted in a mixture of laughter and teasing remarks. San’s smirk turned into a full grin as he reached out to take your hand, pulling you closer to him.

“Interesting, huh?” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You nodded, your heart racing as you met his gaze. “As long as you’re okay with it,” you added, your voice soft but sincere.

San’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he nodded. “I’m more than okay with it,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

The room buzzed with excitement as the others began to discuss the details, their playful banter filling the space. But your focus remained on San, his steady presence anchoring you as you stepped into uncharted territory together.

The tension in the room grew thicker as San gave the subtlest nod, his eyes never leaving yours. His hand cupped your cheek tenderly, grounding you amidst the teasing grins and playful energy that radiated from the others. The question in his gaze was quiet but clear: *Do you trust me?*

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but laced with certainty.

San’s lips curled into a soft, almost mischievous smile. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then let us take care of you.”

Yunho was the first to move, his large hands brushing over your shoulders as he leaned down to meet your gaze, his warmth both reassuring and electrifying. “You really are something special, you know that?” he said, his voice honeyed with praise. “We’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but only if you’re ready.” His thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your skin, his touch comforting yet deliberate.

Mingi crouched next to you, his height even now making him an imposing figure. His grin was boyish, yet his tone carried a teasing edge. “San really is lucky, isn’t he? But I think tonight, you’re luckier.” His fingers brushed against your hand, holding it loosely as if offering silent reassurance. “We’re going to treat you like the queen you are.”

Their words made heat rise to your cheeks, and you felt San’s hand slide from your cheek to your waist, steadying you. His presence was a calming anchor even as the others moved around you with measured anticipation. “Remember,” San murmured into your ear, his tone a mix of possessiveness and care, “you can stop this anytime. But if you trust me, just let go.”

Your heartbeat quickened, but you nodded, the warmth in his voice giving you courage.

Hongjoong’s voice cut through the moment, calm and composed but carrying an edge of excitement. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his sharp gaze locking with yours. “Just follow our lead.”

Together, they began to guide you, their movements deliberate yet unhurried. San was the one to lift your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He murmured, his voice steady, “Let them see the side of you only I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.”

Your shirt was the first to go, the fabric slipping from your shoulders under Mingi’s deft touch. He let out a low whistle, his eyes twinkling with admiration but never crossing into disrespect. “You’re stunning,” he said, his voice reverent. Yunho, standing behind you now, pressed a hand to your lower back, his touch firm yet gentle.

Yeosang’s quiet presence was next to catch your attention. He knelt beside you, his fingers brushing over your wrist as if asking permission before helping with the next piece of clothing.

The air buzzed with anticipation, but no one rushed you. Each movement, each touch, was careful and deliberate, designed to put you at ease. San stayed close, his hand a constant presence on your waist or shoulder, his protective nature evident even now. “You’re doing so well,” he praised, his voice rich with affection.

Mingi’s teasing came back as he tilted his head, his eyes raking over you with playful admiration. “You’ve been hiding all this from us?” he joked, though his tone carried genuine awe. “Not fair.”

“She’s breathtaking,” Yunho agreed, his voice warm as his hand brushed against your arm. “San’s been keeping the best things to himself.”

San smirked, his possessiveness flickering through despite the shared moment. “Don’t forget,” he said, his tone low and dangerous, though his eyes softened as they met yours. “She’s still mine.”

Wooyoung laughed, breaking the tension with his lighthearted energy. “We know, we know,” he said, throwing his hands up dramatically. “We’re just borrowing her for tonight.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics, the sound breaking through your initial nervousness.

As they continued to undress you piece by piece, the warmth of their attention made your skin tingle. Every movement was accompanied by a murmur of praise, a gentle touch, or a soft reassurance. They were in no rush, savoring every moment and ensuring you felt cherished and adored.

San knelt beside you as the last piece of fabric was removed, his hand cupping your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with so much love it made your heart ache. “And you’re safe.”

The others watched the intimate moment, their respect for San’s bond with you evident in their quiet stillness. When he finally pulled back, his smirk returned, his possessive streak shining through. “But don’t forget who you belong to,” he added, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip once more.

As you settled back against the desk, the warmth of their gazes enveloped you, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of heat flow through you.

San’s voice was the last thing you heard before they began. “Let us show you just how much you mean to us.”

The living room was bathed in warm golden light, the soft hum of conversation filling the air. As the group carried you from the office to the shared space, their laughter and teasing remarks created a sense of playful camaraderie. The room, spacious yet intimate, had an air of familiarity that contrasted with the charged tension lingering among them.

They gently set you down on the large sectional couch, its plush cushions yielding to your weight. Wooyoung leaned over from one side, his mischievous grin ever-present as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "Look at her," he mused, his voice a touch lower than usual, "so perfect and so pretty like this."

Mingi, who stood behind you, chuckled softly. "She’s even more stunning up close," he said, his large hands resting lightly on the back of the couch. His eyes glimmered with mischief, though there was a noticeable gentleness to his movements. From the corner of your eye, you could see Hongjoong to your right, already rolling up his sleeves, his sharp gaze focused entirely on you.

San remained standing near the edge of the room, his arms crossed but his expression unreadable. The corners of his lips twitched upward slightly as the three members began to close in. "Remember who’s in charge," he said smoothly, his deep voice cutting through the quiet murmurs. "You can admire her, but don’t forget that she’s mine."

Wooyoung smirked, exchanging a glance with Mingi and Hongjoong. "Of course, hyung. But you wouldn’t mind if we… made her feel special, right?" he teased, his voice playful yet testing boundaries.

San’s dark eyes flicked toward you, searching your expression. "Do you trust me?" he asked softly, his tone steady and grounding amidst the lighthearted chaos. His gaze held yours firmly, waiting for your answer.

You nodded without hesitation, your voice barely a whisper. "I trust you, San."

A satisfied hum left his lips. "Good." He gestured with a slight nod, granting the others permission to proceed. "Don’t forget—she’s precious. Treat her that way."

Wooyoung, ever the bold one, began by brushing his lips lightly along your temple, his fingers trailing down your arm in feather-light strokes. "Precious is an understatement," he murmured, his voice sending a shiver through you.

Mingi leaned in from behind, his hands settling on your shoulders. His touch was firm but reassuring, a contrast to Wooyoung’s teasing.

Hongjoong’s approach was quieter but no less impactful. He crouched beside you, his sharp eyes scanning your face for any signs of discomfort. His hand found yours, his fingers curling around yours in a silent gesture of reassurance.

As the three surrounded you, their touches and presence seemed to envelop you entirely. Wooyoung tilted your chin upward, his lips ghosting along your jawline before trailing to your collarbone. Mingi’s hands, broad and warm, began to massage your shoulders, easing any lingering tension. Meanwhile, Hongjoong traced idle patterns on the back of your hand, his quiet attention grounding you amidst the overwhelming sensations.

The other four—Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho—watched from the nearby armchairs, their expressions varying from amusement to curiosity. Yunho leaned back casually, his long legs stretched out as he exchanged knowing smirks with Seonghwa. "They’re starting strong," Yunho remarked, his deep voice laced with humor.

"Can you blame them?" Seonghwa replied, his tone lighter than usual. His sharp features softened as his gaze flitted toward you, a hint of fondness in his otherwise composed demeanor. "She has that effect."

Yeosang tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "San’s holding back more than I expected," he mused, his words eliciting a chuckle from Jongho, who simply nodded in agreement.

San, still standing apart from the group, exuded a quiet authority. Despite the teasing commentary from the others, his eyes never left you. "Remember your place," he reminded the group lightly, though there was no malice in his tone. "She’s mine to love and protect."

"And tease," Wooyoung quipped, pulling back briefly to glance at San. "You said it yourself, hyung. She’s precious. We’re just appreciating her beauty."

San raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting back to you. "Just don’t forget who she belongs to," he said finally, his voice calm but firm.

As if to emphasize his words, Wooyoung leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Even with all of us here, you’re still his, aren’t you?" he murmured, his voice dripping with playful reverence.

The room was growing warmer, the air thick with an electric charge that seemed to pulse between everyone present. The soft rustling of fabric caught your attention, and your eyes flicked over to the four members who had been watching from the sidelines. Slowly, one by one, they began to shed their shirts, their toned torsos coming into view. Each movement was deliberate, as though they wanted to savor every second of this shared moment.

Yunho, the tallest of the group, was the first to approach, his steps unhurried and confident. His broad shoulders and defined chest were illuminated by the soft light of the living room. His gaze flicked down to you, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile. "I think it’s our turn now," he said, his deep voice sending a shiver through you.

Seonghwa followed closely behind, his elegant movements almost hypnotic. His sharp features softened slightly as he looked down at you, a gentle fondness in his expression. "Don’t worry," he murmured, his voice smooth and calming. "We’ll take good care of you."

Behind them, Yeosang and Jongho exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. Yeosang, with his quiet intensity, began to unbuckle his belt, his fingers moving with a casual ease. Jongho, ever the composed one, ran a hand through his dark hair before stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

The three members who had been close to you—Wooyoung, Mingi, and Hongjoong—reluctantly backed off, their hands lingering on your skin for a moment longer before they stepped away. They moved to the side, their breathing still heavy as they watched the scene unfold. Each of them began to undress, their movements slower than necessary as if they wanted you to notice every detail.

Wooyoung leaned casually against the armrest of the couch, his bare torso gleaming under the soft light. "We’ll let them have their fun," he said, his voice teasing. "But don’t forget—we’re next."

Mingi crossed his arms over his chest, his sharp jawline set as he watched intently. "Take your time," he added, though the hunger in his gaze betrayed his impatience.

San remained standing apart from the group, his suit still perfectly in place. The contrast between his composed exterior and the evident strain in his pants was almost too much to bear. His dark eyes drank in every detail of the scene, from the way you sat on the couch, your hands trembling slightly, to the way the members circled you like predators waiting for their moment to strike.

You glanced up at San. His lips curved into a small, approving smile. "Enjoy yourself," he said softly, his voice steady despite the clear tension in his posture. "But remember who you belong to."

The four of them seemed to come to a silent agreement, their eyes flicking between each other as they decided how to proceed. Finally, Yunho spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the quiet tension. "Let’s start simple," he suggested, his gaze dropping to your hands.

"Two and two," Jongho added, his voice steady. His dark eyes softened slightly as he looked at you. "If that’s okay with you."

You nodded, your heart racing as they took their places. Yunho and Yeosang each took each of your hands, their fingers brushing against yours as they guided your movements. Their touches were firm but gentle, their eyes never leaving yours as they made sure you were comfortable. They took off their pants completely, followed by their briefs. Their cocks sprung out and your hands instinctively went for their lengths. You looked up at them, then down at the position you were in. Legs slightly spread out, your cunt dripping with arousal on the blanket that was on the couch, the two men in front of you and their cocks in your hands. You took a deep breath and started to move your hands, stroking their lengths slowly, at first. Yunho's cock was already dripping with pre cum, making the perfect lube for his hand. For Yeosang, you spit in your hand and started lubing it up. He quietly groaned at the sensation, satisfied with your way of lubing him.

“Yes… that's it, sweetheart..” Yunho whispered, his head slowly falling back as your hand started to move more rapidly, your thumb rubbing over the tip, putting pressure on it.

Yeosang was already out of it, his breath heavy as he was hardly holding back from pushing your hand further on his cock. He waited and waited until he couldn't anymore.

“Fuck it..” his hand hand hovered over your head, hesitating for a moment. He looked at you and tried to back up, but Yunho interrupted his move.

“That's such.. a great idea, Yeosang..” he said, his eyes gazing over you. “But only if y/n and San are good with it, of course…” he said and all 3 of you looked at San. He suddenly had his pants unbuckled, his hard cock straining against his briefs. He nodded, his hand now lazily rubbing it through the cloth. He was turned the fuck on with this situation, the fact that he was observing you so patiently, waiting for his men to have their fun with you and use you as they pleased, as their fuck toy.

“Boss is okay with it.. but are you, y/n?” Yeosang said, his hand hovering softly over your cheek, making you look up at him.

“Y-yes..” you whispered and he didn't hesitate any further, his hand guiding your mouth to his cock. You instinctively started sucking on the dripping tip, kissing and licking circles all around, from the tip to the base of his cock then all along his shaft. As you sucked him off up and down slurping and putting pressure with your tongue and lips on the tip, his hand slowly started pushing your head on his cock. He let you get used to his size, your lips stretching slightly as he pushed further.

“Ah fuck, Yunho.. her mouth feels so good.. you gotta-you gotta try this” Yeosang said breathless, catching the other men's attention. Yunho smirked and waited for his turn.

Aa you bobbed your head up and down on Yeosang’s cock and stroked your hand on Yunho's on your left, you started to focus on making Yeosang cum first so you could suck Yunho off, too. Within a few more licks of your tongue and hard sucking on the tip he came down your throat, making you slightly choke on his huge load. Yunho chuckled, satisfied at the view of you choking and couldn't content his excitement at being sucked off by you, that he slowly moved Yeosang from your face - who was panting still - and harshly tilted your chin up so that you could take his cock in your mouth.

“Can I join in, too?” Jongho said, his cock already heavy and dripping in his hand.

You nodded briefly while sucking on Yunho's cock and he joined in… but he didn't joke when he said he'd *join in*. He made his way right in front of you and switched places with Yunho for a moment until he was satisfied, then after you sucked him off for a moment he exchanged glances with Yunho and they came to a silent agreement. Yunho, *slowly* made the tip of his cock fit at the same time with Jongho's and you started to suck both simultaneously.

Yunho’s hand tangled in your hair, barely resisting from mouth fucking you. He softly pulled you towards his pelvis, both cocks filling up your mouth good. Jongho whined at the sensation, his head lolling back in pleasure.

“Yeah.. that’s it, darling..” Jongho said, his ragged breath giving away the fact that he was damn close. Yunho was too, his hand pulling your hair softly backwards only to thrust powerfully in your mouth. Each of them fucked your mouth prettily until they came down your throat, filling your mouth with their cum. Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes, the feeling of being stretched by their cocks only amplifying the pleasure and arousal growing in your belly.. and between your legs.

You had just finished with Jongho and Yunho, your hands still trembling slightly as they stepped back, their satisfied expressions lingering as they caught their breath. The room was filled with a heavy scent. As they backed away, the other four men—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, and Wooyoung—moved forward, their eyes locked on you, filled with a mix of hunger and anticipation. The air grew heavier, the tension palpable as they closed in on you, ready to claim their turn.

But before they could make their move, a voice that brooked no argument cut through the silence.

San stepped in front of you, his presence commanding, and with one smooth motion, he cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender yet possessive. His gaze softened as he looked down at you, but his words were sharp, like a warning.

"The next man to make a move without her permission will regret it," San's voice was calm but held an undeniable authority. He leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours as he asked, "Tell me, who do you want?"

You felt your heart race, the pressure mounting as the room fell deathly quiet. The other men—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, and Wooyoung—shifted uncomfortably behind San, their whispers of complaint barely audible. "This is taking too long," Hongjoong muttered softly. He's gonna make us wait?" Seonghwa sighed in frustration, his voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't fair." Even Mingi and Wooyoung exchanged glances, their impatience palpable, but they dared not protest further. They knew better than to challenge San’s authority.

A bead of sweat trickled down your temple as you stared at San, unsure of what to say. The choice was overwhelming, and the silence seemed to stretch on forever. You opened your mouth, but the words caught in your throat. "I... I..." Your voice wavered, and your hands shook as you glanced at each man in turn.

Finally, with a stutter, you managed to say, "M-Mingi."

San’s lips curled into a small, approving smile. "Good choice," he murmured, backing away just enough to allow Mingi to step forward. His praise made your chest tighten in both relief and anticipation.

Then San turned to the others, his gaze cold and decisive. "Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Back off. Stay with Yunho, Jongho, and Yeosang until she's done. She'll decide what to do next."

Reluctantly, the remaining three men complied, their disappointment clear, but they knew better than to defy San’s orders.

The room quieted once more as Mingi stepped closer, and the weight of your decision settled in. He positioned himself to your mouth and let you take the lead for a moment.

Mingi stepped forward, his eyes dark with desire as he knelt before you, his towering frame somehow softening with a nervous yet eager energy. His hand trembled slightly as he guided his cock to your mouth, the warmth of your breath against him drawing a shuddering moan from his lips. He wasn’t shy about making sounds; each gasp and whimper escaping him felt raw, his pleasure uninhibited. “God… you’re so good,” he murmured breathlessly, his voice catching as you dragged your tongue along his length in a slow, deliberate motion. The way you swirled your tongue and teased him at the tip had him bucking his hips slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders for balance as his knees threatened to give out. Every lick, every motion from your mouth sent Mingi spiraling closer to the edge, his moans turning into desperate whines that filled the room. Every sound that escaped his throat gave you energy to suck him more, deeper, faster, sloppier, even if his huge, girthy cock was making you choke on it with every deeper thrust. “Y-you’re… gonna make me—” he stammered, and before he could finish his sentence, his climax overtook him. His body tensed as he came, the sound of his loud, unrestrained moan echoing through the room.

Panting heavily, Mingi stepped back, his legs shaky as he tried to steady himself. You wiped your lips, your own breath coming in short, heavy pants as the intensity of the moment settled between you. For a brief moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the shared experience thick in the air.

Mingi finally broke the silence, offering you a sheepish smile. “That was… incredible,” he admitted, his voice still husky. “But what do we do now?”

Before you could answer, San’s familiar voice cut in, smooth and commanding as ever. “I’ve got an idea,” he said, stepping forward with his trademark confidence. His gaze flicked between you and Mingi before landing on you, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“How about this,” San began, his tone low and almost teasing. “You take Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and Yeosang next. All at once. Then, when they’re done…” He glanced over at Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho, his smirk widening. “You’ll handle them. Together.”

His words sent a ripple through the room, the other men exchanging glances, their expressions a mixture of excitement and anticipation. San’s smirk deepened as his gaze returned to you, his voice dropping even lower.

“And when that’s over,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “it’ll finally be my turn.”

San’s tone held a sense of finality, his dominance undeniable as he stood tall before you. “The best things,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “are always saved for last.”

The tension in the room was palpable, every man’s gaze now fixed on you, waiting to see how you’d respond. San’s command lingered in the air, his natural authority unmistakable as you tried to steady your racing heart and prepare for what lay ahead.

Your lips trembled, the weight of anticipation heavy as you stood surrounded by three of them—Seonghwa, Yeosang, and Hongjoong—each waiting, their eyes fixed on you. Finally, you stammered, “Y-yes,” the word escaping in a breathy whisper.

San’s gaze softened, pride shining in his dark eyes as he stepped closer to you. Gently, he cupped your face, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek. “That’s my good girl…” he murmured, “or should I say… good slut?” his voice low and rich.. His lips quirked into a smirk as his gaze flicked briefly to the men nearby. The sudden word he said made your eyes widen, surprised he hasn’t used those type of words yet.. as he always uses them when there is just the two of you.

“If you want the chance to be with me tonight,” he continued, his voice smooth and commanding, “you’ll be a good girl for them first. Take care of them. Do you understand?”

You nodded, your breath catching under the weight of his intense stare. “Good,” he said, stepping back and motioning toward Seonghwa, Yeosang, and Hongjoong. “Go on, show them what my good, little slut is capable of.”

San moved aside and as soon as Seonghwa approached you first, his movements slow and confident, San stopped and turned around. “Ah… I almost forgot. Listen carefully," he growled, his voice low and laced with a deadly calm that sent a chill through the air. "She’s mine. The only one who has the right to speak to her like that is me—and even then, it’s only because she allows it. If I catch so much as a whisper of disrespect from any of you, there won’t be warnings, there won’t be second chances. I will make you disappear, and you all know pretty damn well how I take care of people that cross my words.”

“Got it, boss!” all of them said in unison, clearly spooked by his words, but with a good reason.

Seonghwa stepped in front of you. His strong arms slid around you, pulling you firmly against him with your back pressing to his chest. “You’re stunning,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. Yeosang stepped in next, his hand grazing along your thigh before resting on your hip. His fingers trailed up, featherlight, before settling in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your temple.

Hongjoong followed, stepping to your side with a teasing smirk. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, tilting your head gently toward him. “You’re safe with us,” he murmured, his voice low and steady before capturing your lips in a kiss that was as consuming as it was gentle.

Their touches surrounded you, each of them focused on you as the last layers of fabric were shed from their bodies, leaving only warmth and closeness between you. The atmosphere was charged, the air electric as anticipation built around you.

Seonghwa adjusted his hold, his arms sliding beneath your knees to lift your legs effortlessly, pressing them against your chest in a mating press. His chest was firm against your back, his grip steady and sure as he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on the side of your neck. The new closeness made your breath hitch, heat flooding your senses as you leaned back into him.

Yeosang and Hongjoong steadied you on either side, their hands gliding along your thighs and hips, their touches reverent yet deliberate. Yeosang’s lips brushed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin, while Hongjoong whispered your name softly, his voice sending sparks through you.

As Seonghwa positioned himself right under you and began to move, his breath caught, a low groan escaping him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His cock thrusted deep in your ass, his movements deliberate and controlled, each shift of his body sending a wave of warmth coursing through you. Hongjoong soon joined, his body aligning with yours as he ligned his cock to your folds, rubbing it up and down for a couple of times before sliding right in, his quiet gasps mixing with Seonghwa’s.

Yeosang’s steadying hands roamed your sides, offering a grounding presence amid the growing intensity. His kisses traced a path along your shoulder, and his voice was a soothing counterpoint to the fervent rhythm the others set.

The synchronized motion between Seonghwa and Hongjoong was overwhelming, each of their movements filled with purpose, their breaths shallow and mingling with your own. Seonghwa’s grip on you never faltered, his strength keeping you secure as he murmured against your ear, “You’re perfect..”

Their closeness was intoxicating, and the connection shared between the four of you was more than physical—it was a deeply intimate expression of trust, affection, and unspoken understanding. Each kiss, each whisper of praise, and every deliberate movement spoke volumes, leaving you surrounded by warmth and devotion.

Yeosang shifted with purpose, his hands smoothing over your sides with deliberate care before he moved to position himself beneath you. His movements were careful yet assertive, his hands guiding your hips as he thrusted himself in your cunt, his body perfectly aligned to support you. His chest rising briefly as he murmured, “Let me take care of you, too,” his voice low but filled with steady confidence. The feeling of being filled by both Yeosang’s and Hongjoong’s cocks was damn overwhelming and pleasurable, tears falling down your cheeks as you were held up by the 3 boys. But.. one was missing.

The room pulsed with heat, your body trembling from the overwhelming sensations of Yeosang’s deliberate rhythm beneath you and Hongjoong’s teasing precision. Every sound, every touch, had you teetering on the edge, your breaths hitching as you tried to keep up with the intensity.

“Forgot about me for a second, huh?” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and playful, though the hunger in his eyes betrayed just how impatient he had been. He stood near you and the boys, watching you.

Your eyes flicked to him, and the moment they met his, he was already moving. Whatever remained of his clothes was gone in an instant, hitting the floor without hesitation. “You look so good like this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as, his hands ghosting over your trembling thighs.

Yeosang let out a low chuckle, his grip on your waist tightening as he adjusted his angle. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Wooyoung replied, his hands sliding up to your hips, brushing against Yeosang’s as he steadied you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

Hongjoong smirked, his fingers caressing your thigh as he watched Wooyoung with quiet amusement. “Don’t overwhelm her right away. She still needs to be in shape for whatever boss wants to do with her later.”

But Wooyoung was unrelenting, his lips trailing down your neck to your shoulder, his kisses growing more insistent. He looked at Seonghwa as he guided his cock into you. The stretch was overwhelming, the new sensation pulling a sharp gasp from your lips as your body adjusted to the addition… in your ass, right where Seonghwa had been fucking you for a while. Wooyoung let out a low groan, his forehead pressing briefly against your shoulder as he steadied himself. “You feel… unreal,” he whispered, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

Seonghwa, who had been quietly observing, started to thrust in sync with Wooyoung, filling you up. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice soft and commanding as his lips brushed your ear.

Wooyoung’s movements were slow at first, his hands steadying you as he found his rhythm.

The room was thick with heat, your body trembling as Yeosang and Hongjoong moved in sync, their rhythm pushing you closer to the edge. Their hands gripped you firmly, Yeosang’s nails digging into your waist while Hongjoong’s fingers tightened on your thighs. The pressure inside you was almost unbearable, but it only heightened the pleasure coursing through your body.

“Just like that,” Hongjoong groaned, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, his release spilling into you in hot waves. A cry ripped from your lips as Yeosang followed, his grip steadying you as he filled you to the brim, the sensation overwhelming.

Behind you, Wooyoung let out a low growl, his chest pressed against your back as Seonghwa whispered praises into your ear. Their movements were relentless, each thrust drawing out another moan from your trembling body.

“You’re perfect,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice strained as he sank deep inside you, his warmth joining Wooyoung’s as their releases filled you in unison. The sensation of both of them spilling into you left you breathless, your body tightening as your climax crashed over you in a wave of blinding pleasure.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you felt everything—every stretch, every pulse of warmth as they stayed inside you, their hands soothing you as you shuddered in their arms.

“S-so full,” you whimpered, your voice shaky as tears slipped down your cheeks, your body utterly spent yet tingling from the overwhelming sensation of being completely filled.

Their warmth surrounded you, grounding you as you came down from the high, your body still trembling but utterly sated.

The weight of San’s gaze lingered on you, dark and full of unspoken hunger. He stepped closer, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “So needy,” he murmured, his voice low and full of heat. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his piercing stare. “One more round, sweetie. That’s it. Then you’re all mine.” His thumb brushed over your trembling lips as his tone dropped further. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you after watching this, you little slut.”

Before you could respond, San stepped back, and Mingi’s hands slid to your waist. He pulled you closer, his large palms steady and grounding as his lips found your neck. The soft press of his mouth left a warm trail, and the quiet groan he let out sent a shiver through you.

Behind you, Jongho’s touch was firmer, his hands gripping your hips as his breath fanned against your shoulder. He didn’t speak, but the heat of his presence and the deliberate press of his lips to your skin left you breathless.

“Just like that,” Yunho murmured, his deep voice a soothing contrast to the desperate need in his eyes. His fingers grazed along your jawline, tilting your face toward him.

You gasped softly, overwhelmed by the intensity of their touches and the way they surrounded you. San’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding yet dripping with a dark fondness. “Good girl,” he said, his tone rough as he leaned in to press a fleeting kiss to your temple. “Now let them have their moment, because after this…” His words trailed off, his smirk growing wider. “You’re mine.”

As the 3 boys started fucking you relentlessly, breaths mingling together and whines escaping your chest, they stopped suddenly. You didn't realise why until your sweet boyfriend stood right in front of you. San’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. “Stop.” The single word carried enough weight to make Mingi and Jongho halt mid-thrust, their movements freezing as their eyes turned to him. Yunho’s grip on your waist loosened slightly, though he stayed close, his breath still hot against your neck.

“You don’t get to finish yet,” San growled, stepping closer, his intense gaze boring into yours. His tone softened just slightly, but it was no less firm as he tilted your chin upward to meet his piercing eyes. “Not before them, and certainly not before me.”

You gasped softly, your breath hitching as his fingers traced your jawline, his possessive smirk returning. “You think I’m letting you come so easily?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a husky murmur. “No, darling. You’re gonna wait until I’m the one who pushes you over. I want you crying out my name, trembling and completely undone because of me. I want you so damn overstimulated you can’t even think of anyone else.”

San turned his sharp gaze to the others, his tone cool and deliberate. “You heard me. Keep her waiting.”

Mingi’s hands tightened on your hips, his grip grounding as his pace resumed, slow but deliberate. The low groans rumbling from his chest mingled with Yunho’s deep, steady breaths behind you. Jongho pressed closer, his lips brushing along your shoulder, his quiet growls sending shivers down your spine.

Their rhythm built together, their bodies perfectly in sync as your moans and cries filled the room. Mingi leaned down, his breath hot against your ear.

Yunho’s hands slid up your sides, steady and warm as his lips found the nape of your neck. The way his whines wrapped around you, combined with the desperate, broken groans from Jongho, sent waves of heat coursing through you.

Your cries grew louder as their movements became more erratic, each of them chasing their orgams with a fevered intensity. Mingi’s deep groan echoed through the room as he held you tighter, his body trembling against yours as he finally came. Jongho followed moments later, his grip on your hips firm as his own breathing hitched. Yunho’s orgasm was quieter but no less intense, his face buried in your neck as his chest heaved against your back.

You trembled in their arms, overwhelmed and breathless, when a familiar voice pierced through the haze.

San stepped forward, his movements purposeful, his shirt now entirely gone. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice low and commanding, drawing all attention to him. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, thoroughly undone and trembling from the intensity. “I told you she wasn’t finished yet.”

He scooped you into his arms effortlessly, his strength both steadying and overwhelming.

He stopped in front of the tall, ornate mirror that stood near the dining table, his reflection capturing his sharp gaze as he set you down gently on the edge of the table. “Look at yourself,” he commanded, his tone rough but laced with a dark sort of tenderness.

You blinked up at him, dazed, your reflection showing your flushed cheeks and trembling frame. San smirked, his hand tilting your chin so you wouldn’t look away. “You see that? That’s what I do to you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with possessive pride.

Before you could respond, he gently pushed you forward, your palms meeting the cool surface of the table as he pressed your body into it. His hand slid down your back, firm but reverent, as his other hand came to rest on your shoulder. “Keep watching,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “I want you to see exactly how I make you mine.”

The intensity of his words, the way he held you so effortlessly yet with complete control, sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. San’s reflection in the mirror was just as commanding as his presence behind you, his gaze locked onto yours as he slowly began to thrust into your dripping cunt.

Mingi, still catching his breath from nearby, let out a low chuckle. “San, you really don’t hold back, do you?”

San glanced over his shoulder briefly, his smirk growing darker. “Of course not. She doesn’t deserve anything less.” His attention returned to you, his voice dropping as he added, “And she wouldn’t want it any other way, would you, sweetheart?”

The only response you could manage was a breathless whimper, your reflection showing every ounce of the anticipation coursing through your body as San’s grip tightened, grounding you once more in his complete control.

San’s gaze darkened as his hand choked your face and neck down on the table, his strength grounding you even as your legs trembled under the weight of his presence. “Watch me,” he commanded, his voice low and rough, a blend of control and desire. His eyes flicked toward the others as he smirked. “Watch how my little slut lets me take everything from her, how much she trusts me to push her to her limits.”

His fingers trailed deliberately down your back, firm but reverent, sending a shiver coursing through you. The cool surface of the table pressed against your skin, contrasting with the heat radiating from his body as he leaned over you. “You’re mine,” he whispered into your ear, his tone soft yet charged with unrelenting intensity. “And you’ll show them exactly how good you are for me.”

The table creaked under the pressure as San started pounding into you, a silent promise of what was to come. His hand slid to your shoulder, steadying you, his thumb brushing soothing circles into your skin as his other hand started to slowly tangle in your messed up hair.

Your breath caught as he bent down, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Don’t you dare look away,” he murmured, his voice sending a rush of anticipation through you. “I want you to see everything. Every moment. Every second of what I do to you.”

Your reflection in the mirror revealed the truth—the flushed heat of your cheeks, the dazed look in your eyes as you nodded, overwhelmed by his intensity. San’s smirk deepened, his possessiveness evident in every movement as he fucked you, ensuring you felt every ounce of his unwavering focus.

The tension in the room was palpable, each sound amplified as the others watched, their breaths mingling with yours. San’s hold on you remained steady, his thrusts getting sloppier, deeper, more purposeful.

“S-San..!” you cried out, tears pricking at your eyes as he hit your cervix, the roughness of it all sending you over the edge. His hand hovered underneath you, feeling up your belly. As he bottomed down as deep as he was able, stretching you the fuck out, he could feel his cock softly bulging in your lower belly. He let out a satisfied sigh, smiling in the mirror as he saw your eyes teary.

“Yes.. that's it, slut. Scream my damn name.” San said as his pace grew faster and deeper, table creaking under his force. “I thought you'd be all loosened up from the boys fucking you at the same time but damn… their cocks ain't competing with mine. Is that right, darling?” he smirked, looking in your eyes in the mirror as he heard the boys complain in the background.

“Y'all better shut your mouths if you don't want me to give you a reason to complain.” he said between thrusts and they nodded, defeat visible in their eyes.

“Tell me, slut. You're close, is that right?” The way your breath hitches… and the way you desperately arch your back against the hardwood.. “

“San..S-San.. please. P-please.. -ah!” you moaned out as he jerked your head upwards by your hair. His thrusts grew erratic, your head dizzy from his power. He pounded in you a few times before filling you up with his huge load of cum, your walls clenching around his huge cock. Right after him you cry out in pleasure as your orgasm washes over you, tears streaming down your cheeks and on the table. You squirted all over the table under you as he slowed down and then pulled out, lifting you up in his embrace and watched you come undone.

“Damn.. I didn't know Boss is this fucking rough with her.” Yunho said, surprised at the power he fucked you with.

“Yeah but.. the princess seems to enjoy it, too.” Yeosang added, the other boys nodding in agreement.

“Everyone had their way, right? Now, all, get out and get washed. Y'all know we have a busy schedule tomorrow. I'll take care of my girl.” San ordered and watched the boys leave his home before bringing you to the shower, talking you through it.

He asked you all sorts of questions. How was it, if you liked it… how did it feel. If you were scared for even a moment or if you doubted him. All these questions made you grow fonder of him, but you were too spent to answer everything in detail. He washed you and himself up and went to bed with you, cuddling and stroking your hair until you fell asleep.

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@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

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taeyongdoyoung · 2 days ago

Text

poison

summary: tasting the king's meals for poison is a great honour to be bestowed on you. but poison is not the only thing you're interested in tasting... paring: king!haechan x maid!reader genre: royalty!au, romance, drama, smut warnings: reader has anxiety, food-tasting, mentions of poison, hierarchical system, rich guy/poor girl trope, shitty ex jaemin (sorry boo 💞), evil uncle trope, threats, mentions of blood, insecurities, crying, pet names, lots of kissing, inexperienced reader, lowkey corruption kink, fingering, handjob, cum-eating, loss of virginity, unprotected sex author's note: the plot is loosely inspired by some historical kdramas and the folk of the air trilogy 🥰 also, there are some references to nct songs in bold bc it's me, duh word count: 4.8k

Your life as a maid in the royal palace is pretty boring. You wake up, you prepare meals in the kitchen, you wash clothes, you clean rooms, you sneak a piece of stale bread if you find any (if you're lucky even some cheese), you go to sleep, repeat. Every day is the same. No drama, no adventure, nothing out of the ordinary. You don't like it but it's all you can do so you can send some money to your poor family.

That is until on one random day you are summoned to the king's chambers immediately, the other maids saying it is of utmost importance. You are panicking. Did you do something wrong? You try to attend to your duties with all the care and attention to detail possible. Will you be scolded or worse, punished, for some mistake you cannot place? You try to calm your rapidly beating heart, as you enter the king's room.

Looking down nervously, you bow deeply, not able to think of anything else to say, rather than mumbling a weak "Your Majesty".

"Relax, I'm not going to kill you," king Haechan says in his signature deep voice.

His words do little to ease your mind and your hands are still shaking.

"I've been told by my most trusted counsellor that I have many enemies and cases of poisoned aristocrats have been increasing. So, after discussing it in great detail, he advised me to look for a food taster. Someone I could count on not to betray me," the king explains.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, but w-why me?" you ask meekly.

"You know my counsellor Jaemin, don't you? I believe you two were once…intimate. He said you could definitely be trusted. And I trust him with my life, so…"

Your damn ex Jaemin…You can't tell if him recommending you to the king as a potential food taster is a compliment or a curse. After all, you could literally die from poison. But then again, what can you do? You can't exactly disobey the king's direct command. At the end of the day, he bestowed a great honour on you. Anyone else would be jumping with joy. Anyone else but you.

"Your Majesty, I'm not denying you, of course. It's just that…I'm the only source of income for my poor parents. I can't bear to think of them all on their own."

"You have my word. Should anything happen to you…your parents will be well taken care of," the king promises and there is so much compassion and sincerity in his voice, you have no choice but to believe him.

"Very well, then. I'll try all your meals before you," you vow solemnly.

"Splendid," the king claps his hands.

That is how your boring days at the royal palace come to an abrupt end. You try the first couple of meals anxiously and with little appetite. Your stomach hurts from nervousness and not because there is any poison in the food. As time goes by, the food-tasting process becomes second nature to you. Eventually, you convince yourself that the chances of actual poison are low and you begin to enjoy your daily interactions with the king.

"What do we have for lunch today, my sweetest treasure?" the king asks. You like how he addresses you. As if you are genuinely important to him. As if it would pain him if he lost you. It's a kind gesture to distract you from the reality of how replacable you are.

"Your favourite, Your Majesty. Kimchi jjigae," you respond politely.

"Yesss, it's gonna be a great day!" the king squeals happily like a little boy.

It is an unwelcome reminder of how young he actually is. Unwelcome because you cannot imagine how difficult it must be for him. Enemies lurking at every corner, having all this power and responsibilities…and no one to share them with.

After you try the kimchi jjigae and check its safety, the king begins eating excitedly.

"You know that not all poisons kick in immediately, right?" you know it's rude to interrupt him but you cannot help yourself. "There is still a chance that we both get poisoned but the symptoms appear later."

"I know, but…" the king sighs, his mouth still full. Once he finishes chewing, he finishes his sentence. "It's still a precaution. At least Jaemin seems to think so."

You roll your eyes at the mention of your ex.

"Did you not end things on good terms?" the king is curious.

"We just…had lots of differences. Jaemin, being from a higher social class, said that I was just a way to pass the time. That he didn't see any future for us…That he would never marry me."

"Ouch," the king keeps chewing his favourite food. "I mean, it's technically true you belong to different worlds, but he could have said it more nicely."

"Do you trust his judgement? I'm not talking about relationships. Just…on the topic of poisons and stuff," you need to know.

"I suppose. We've known each other for so long, it'd be silly not to trust him."

"May I make a suggestion?" you inquire. "I know I'm not as qualified as Jaemin, but it's still worth taking other people's opinions into consideration."

"Sure," the king shrugs. "What did you have in mind?"

"If there are so many cases of aristocrats being poisoned, why don't you try taking a little poison each day to build an immunity? I've heard this method is quite common in other kingdoms."

"Where did you learn that?" the king asks you suspiciously.

"I read it in a book somewhere."

"You can read? No offense."

"None taken. When I'm done with my maid duties, I sneak into the royal library sometimes. Don't tell the king," you joke.

"Your secret's safe with me," the king laughs.

Time passes in the same old way. Cleaning, cooking and food-tasting. Repeat. One evening, the king summons you again.

You are about to take a bite from the food before him when he unexpectedly grabs your wrist and stops you.

"I don't want you to do that anymore," he murmurs.

"What?"

"I've started taking a little poison each day to build an immunity, like you advised me to. So far, I've been doing alright. And…I just think it's unfair, alright? What if you actually die?" the king whispers, as if the thought is so unbearable to him he can't even say it. "I can't lose you. I…trust you too much."

He trusts you? The thought is so bizarre in a flattering way your heart hurts upon hearing his sincerity.

"Are you planning to find another food-taster, then?" the very question is painful to you. Despite the potential danger, you don't want to be replaced. You want to keep being his person.

The king shakes his head.

"No life is worth more than mine. I'm not doing that outdated thing anymore."

"Of course, your life is worth the most! You are the king!" you exclaim passionately, pulling the food towards you.

"You think I don't know that?" he whisper-shouts, taking the food once again. "You think I don't wake up each morning wishing things were different?"

What…what is he on about? Why would he wish he wasn't the king?

"I'm not sure I follow," you say quietly.

"It's fine. I don't understand myself. Just…don't tell anyone, okay? Not even Jaemin. Let everyone believe you're still tasting my food and come at the allotted times as usual."

The not even Jaemin part shocks you. Does he no longer trust him as he once did? What is going on?!

"As you wish, Your Majesty," you respond, not even thinking of disobeying him. As confusing as everything is, you need him to trust you. More than you've needed anything else in your life.

"Oh and…one more thing. You should call me Haechan. When we're alone, that is."

"Uhm, okay. Haechan?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" he tilts his head cutely.

"Nothing, just trying it out," you chuckle.

Haechan laughs warmly and starts eating calmly.

"I can't tell if you're brave or reckless," you tease him.

"Perhaps both," he shrugs.

One Monday, your worst fear comes true. As you are preparing Haechan's meal, you are faced with his uncle. You've never been a fan of him for some unknown reason, but now you know your suspicions were completely justified.

"Give me the meal," he orders and you are so terrified, you do as he asks.

He pulls a vial out of his pocket and pours it on top of the food nonchalantly, mixing it well with a spoon, so that it doesn't show.

"Say a word to the king and you parents are dead," he threatens.

"What do you know about my parents?" you ask boldly. Foolishly, even.

After Haechan's uncle says the names of your parents and the exact location of their home, you realize he isn't bluffing. What are you going to do?

As you enter Haechan's chambers, you realize you can't do it.

"Ooh, this looks delicious," Haechan is about to put the food into his mouth when you rudely push the spoon away from him, spilling the food all over the ground.

"It's super cold and totally unappetizing," you exclaim the first thing that comes to mind.

Haechan eyes you weirdly but doesn't scold you.

"Have this, instead," you pull a sweet pastry from your pocket, knowing it's safe.

Haechan shrugs, not caring about what he's given.

"So yummy," he smiles happily, not suspecting a thing.

If you tell him, your parents are dead. If you don't, he's dead. Sooner or later.

When his evil uncle questions you later, you lie through your teeth that the king wasn't hungry and tossed the food away in an angry fit. Miraculously, his uncle believes that.

Similar things happen throughout the week. On Tuesday, you eat the food meant for Haechan yourself, hoping that the self-poisoning you've been doing in secret with the help of your apothecary friend Renjun will be plenty of protection and that you'll survive this extra dose of poison. On Wednesday, you explain to Haechan that the food was made with old ingredients and give him a piece of bread and some cheese you've set aside. On Thursday, you once again make a mess and spill the meal, pretending it was a clumsy accident. On Friday, you tell Haechan that you saw a cockroach in the food. Very far-fetched but it somehow works?! On Saturday, you go as far as lying to Haechan that you were so hungry you ate his food in the corridor.

Not once does he question you or get angry. His evil uncle, however, is becoming more and more agitated.

On Sunday, the uncle has had enough of your failed attempts to poison the king. And he shows you something that makes your blood run cold.

Two chopped-off fingers that he claims belong to your parents.

"If you fail again, it'll be their entire hands next time. And then, their heads. Choose wisely," he threatens cruelly.

You seem to be at an impasse.

As you are once more left alone with Haechan, you debate what to do. You are running out of ideas. Haechan's spoon is approaching his mouth eagerly. After all, he's been eating nothing but bread and random snacks all week. Your mind goes blank. If he eats that, he'll surely die. If he doesn't, your parents might die. It's an impossible situation. But you are greedy. Greedy to save both his life and your parents'.

"Stop," you cry out.

Haechan's hand freezes mid-air. It's now or never.

"I have betrayed you, Your Majesty, please kill me," you drop to your knees desperately.

"I told you to call me Haechan," he rolls his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Your uncle has been trying to kill you," you blurt out. "He's been putting poison in your meals for the past week. I kept trying to come up with ridiculous reasons to prevent you from eating it but…he's been threatening my parents. Today he showed me two chopped-off fingers and said the next time I fail to poison you, it'll be their hands and the final time, their heads, but…I can't do this."

"Can't do what?" Haechan asks you to clarify.

"I can't poison you," you admit, eyes filled with tears. Even though your parents' lives are in grave danger, losing Haechan would hurt just as much.

"Could have just said that from the beginning instead of feeding me bread for a week," Haechan teases.

"You believe me?" you inquire nervously. Only now does the gravity of the situation strike you. What if he'd chosen to side with his uncle and executed you for treason?

"Jaemin's been warning me about my uncle plotting against me for a while now. I thought it was just his paranoia, but…I'm inclined to believe you and Jaemin."

"Over your own flesh and blood?" you are pleasantly surprised.

"Blood doesn't necessarily make you family," Haechan shrugs. "Okay, here's the plan. We'll sneak out of the palace and go find your parents. We'll make sure they go somewhere my uncle won't be able to find them."

You nod numbly, amazed at how quick he's thinking and finding a way out of this situation.

"Then, we'll return to the palace and make my uncle regret ever trying to mess with us."

"Us?" you repeat.

"Yeah, us," Haechan confirms. "We're in this together, no?"

"Hell yeah!" you reply, infected by his enthusiasm to find a solution.

Once you dress up with cloaks and daggers, Haechan leads you through a secret tunnel hidden behind the royal library that takes you both out of the palace.

"Don't tell anyone about this," Haechan whispers in your ear, his hand on your lower back, making you gasp for air.

"Who am I gonna tell? The king?" you joke to distract him from how affected you are by his gentle touch.

"Yeah, he should never know about this," Haechan chuckles in the dark and kisses you on the lips, taking you by surprise. You…he…what?!

You wrap your arms around his neck, desperate for the way he grounds you and makes you believe it will all be alright, you'll find a way out of this mess. Together.

He is the one to initiate the kiss but sadly, he is also the one to end it as abruptly as it started.

"As much as I'm enjoying the taste of your lips, we have to get to your parents and make sure they're okay."

"Right, right," you agree. He's more concerned about your parents than you, which speaks volumes about his noble character.

You resist the urge to swoon and try to focus on the task at hand.

Once you get to your parents' place, you are happily amazed to find all their fingers intact! That bastard was bluffing!~But the question remains…whose fingers were that?!

"You'll have to go to another town," you explain impatiently. "Haechan has some trusted friends who'll take you in."

"H-haechan?" your mom repeats in shock upon hearing you call the king by his first name.

"Uhh," you look to Haechan nervously for a way to explain. You know he told you to only call him that when it's the two of you but it just slipped so naturally…

"It's okay," he reassures you. "Your daughter has saved my life on multiple occasions. Making sure you two are fine is the least I could do."

"You are too kind, Your Majesty," your dad is even more stunned by Haechan's gentle demeanour.

"Just returning the favour. Your daughter's irreplaceable."

Oh. You wonder if he truly believes that or is simply trying to ease your parents' worries.

Soon enough, you parents are travelling to Haechan's friends and you and the king are riding back to the palace.

Immediately, he summons a court meeting and gives the order for his uncle to be brought to justice in front of all the aristocrats. His uncle is struggling to escape the guards' arms and screaming treason. But Jaemin's and your account of the uncle's actions are enough to convince the people of the truth. Eventually, other aristocrats start speaking up of suspicious things Haechan's uncle has done or said like threatening them or their family in an attempt to take the throne. In no time, the uncle is imprisoned.

"You should have just killed him," Jaemin tells Haechan quietly. "He would have done the same to you."

"I do things differently," Haechan replies. "If you were king, you'd understand."

Jaemin shrugs.

"Lucky for me, I'll never know what that's like."

Haechan rolls his eyes, trusting that his friend has no such ambitions and is happy with his life as a counsellor.

Even with the threat of Haechan's uncle behind bars, he still continues to take little doses of poison to build an immunity. You don't tell him but you do the same, carrying on with food-tasting his meals before him. You value your life, sure. But you value his more.

One random Tuesday, Haechan summons you to his chambers. But the hour does not indicate food-bringing activities. Just like the first time, you are overwhelmed by a strange sense of anxiety. Even though you've known him for so long and have been through so much together, it still unnerves you, being alone with him. You don't know if things would be different if he weren't king. Perhaps not. There is just something about Haechan that makes your knees tremble in the best way possible.

"You've asked to see me, Your Majesty?" you mumble.

"When will you get rid of that annoying habit? It's just me…Haechan," he reminds you needlessly.

"I know, but you're still the king."

"That sounds so detached," Haechan groans. "But I'm hoping what I have to say will convince you to only call my name. Not just when we're alone."

"What are you saying?" you're beyond confused.

"Marry me. Become the queen of my kingdom," he pleads, taking your hand in his.

"But…you can't," you whisper in shock, reminded of how adamant Jaemin was. And if the distance between your place in society and Jaemin's was big…then, the distance between your and Haechan's worlds seems far more insurmountable.

"I can," Haechan looks more determined than anything to do this.

"People will talk…They won't be happy."

"Fuck people," Haechan scoffs. "Will you have me or not?"

"Of course, I will, Haechan," you cry out. "You've shown me more kindness and understanding than anyone in my life."

"You do know I'll give you anything you desire?" Haechan speaks softly. "As long as you're by my side, as you have been so far."

"You do know I don't want anything, right? Even if you weren't king, I'd choose you in any universe."

"Are you serious?" Haechan smiles in disbelief, the idea so foreign to him.

"Of course I am," you insist. "Even if you were a poor bard singing in taverns."

"Hm. I do love singing," Haechan smirks and kisses you.

And gods, his lips are sweeter than any meal you've tasted and every poison you've consumed. You could never get enough.

Your wedding day finally arrives. Shockingly, people are more accepting of your union than you anticipated, because they take your food-taster position in consideration and how valiantly you exposed Haechan's evil uncle. Your parents, as well, are happy to see you and Haechan together.

However, there is one person who is against.

"Is that why you broke up with me? Aiming high, I see," Jaemin snickers rudely once you are out of Haechan's sight for a brief moment at the wedding afterparty.

"I broke up with you because you said I was just a way to pass the time and you see no future for us. If you think I'm with Haechan because of his crown, you're even more foolish than I thought," you scoff.

"Oh, really?" Jaemin raises his eyebrows. "So, you're saying if Haechan lost his title as king, you'd still be with him?"

"Yes, I would. But the fact you're even talking about that can be considered treason by some."

"You know I'm loyal to Haechan. But do you honestly think you're good enough for him? You could never satisfy him. He'll grow tired of you, you'll see. You're so fucking…cold," Jaemin hisses.

His words sting more than when he implied you were with Haechan because of his power. It is true that you are not experienced. Even though you were with Jaemin for a while, you two never…went all the way. You were perhaps far too romantic but you wanted to save it for your wedding night.

"Well, lucky for you, you'll never get to feel how warm I can be," you say with a self-assured smile. "Now, piss off and let me enjoy my wedding."

Jaemin rolls his eyes and seemingly has nothing else to say, leaving you alone.

Why did he have to say all that stuff? You know it's not entirely true, but it still sucks. Jaemin was the one who ended what you two had with his cruel words. It's just that you were the only one brave enough to finally call it quits. And you're glad you did. He may be bitter now but he'll eventually find someone better suited for his character. As for you…you were perfectly happy with Haechan. And you wouldn't let Jaemin ruin your special day.

Eventually, the guests started leaving one by one and it was time for your wedding night. To say you are nervous would be an understatement. Your hands are shaking more badly than the first time you were summoned to Haechan's chambers. You are aware that he's a good person who will treat you right…but he's still your king and that fact is intimidating enough to make you tremble with anticipation.

"Good evening, my lovely wife," Haechan enters your (gods, this is insane) now shared room.

Your mind completely blanks and you have no idea what to say. So, you just start crying.

Haechan immediately rushes to you, embracing you and kneeling next to you.

"What's wrong? What did I do?"

"N-nothing," you manage. "It's not your f-fault."

"What is it?" he asks again. "Did Jaemin say anything?"

"How did you know?" you blink furiously to clear your vision from the tears.

"He's not over you yet, is he? It's obvious from the way he looks at you. And me. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's still as objective as he can be when giving me advice, but…he sometimes stares at me as if I stole his dinner. Not that you're dinner. You're obviously much more important than that and uh…I really should stop talking, shouldn't I?"

You laugh, pleasantly distracted by his ramblings.

"You're good. And he did say some stuff implying I was a gold digger, but…frankly, I don't care about his opinion."

"I'm gonna kill him," Haechan gets up but you are quick enough to grab his wrist.

"No, please, stay. Let him think what he wishes. I only care about what your opinion of me."

"Darling, I am perfectly confident you did not marry me because of my title."

"I know. I'm not talking about that. I mean…I'm just nervous I won't be able to please you. I've never done this before," you explain nervously.

"You and Jaemin never…?" Haechan waves his hand in the air meaningfully.

"I wanted to wait till my wedding night. So, um, here we are, I guess."

"Oh, my angel," Haechan places a hand on your cheek. "You don't have to worry about that. Just, relax, and let me take care of you."

"No, no. Teach me. I'll do anything you say, just…guide me, please?" you plead him, looking up at him, your eyes still moist with tears.

"Okay," Haechan agrees easily. "Take off your clothes."

You gulp anxiously and start unbuttoning your wedding dress. Why is it so hard? Why are there so many freaking buttons?

"Gods, you're trembling," Haechan points out the obvious and his impatience takes over. He removes your hands from your dress and finishes the remaining buttons himself. You are grateful for his help, but you still feel like a total failure for not being able to complete one simple task.

"I'm s-sorry," you pout.

"Don't apologize," Haechan shakes his head. "Can I touch you?"

You nod and he caresses you with his pretty fingers. It feels so sticky and weird but…weird good. Definitely good.

"You're so cute, you know that?"

"N-no, stop," you disagree, chuckling.

"Stop what? Stop doing this?" Haechan teases you but continues his motions, because he sees how much you're enjoying it.

"Stop calling me cute," you elaborate.

"You're so not cute," Haechan obliges jokingly. "That was a lie, by the way."

You laugh again, not just because of his words, but because the things he's doing with his hands make you feel so amazing you can't hold it in.

"You like that, my pretty wife? You like being touched by your husband?" Haechan talks you through it.

"Yes! So much! You have no idea!" you scream as you fall apart under him.

"I think I do," he smirks proudly and lets you ride it out. Then, he takes his fingers out…and licks them clean. Your eyes widen in shock. You've never imagined such a sight possible. The king of the country just did…THAT to you. And against all reason, you're still breathing.

"Show me how to do this to you," you beg, wanting to make him feel as good as you.

"It won't be the same," Haechan giggles. "But I'll give the best of me."

He takes off his clothes hurriedly, extremely excited to teach you everything he knows. You are amazed to see him in his full glory. His golden skin radiates in the dimlit room.

"You look incredible," you gasp.

Haechan tilts his head to the side, his cheeks turning red.

"May I touch you?" you ask reverently, still in awe of his sun-like beauty.

"We're married. Of course you can," Haechan reminds you sweetly and guides your hand, showing you all the way he likes to be touched, telling you what feels good and what doesn't (though everything you do feels good for him but he won't tell you just yet).

You do your best to follow his instructions and soon enough become bold enough to start experimenting yourself. He is enjoying it judging by the expressions on his heavenly pretty face.

"You're so hard. Isn't it uncomfortable?" you inquire, genuinely curious.

"It kinda is. But it's also a good thing. It means I'm really into you."

"The way when you touch me and I'm drippin' and it's kinda strange but also feels nice?" you try to explain the logic in your own terms.

"Exactly that way. You're a quick study," Haechan praises you.

"I just have a very good teacher," you compliment him in return and kiss him deeply, your hand still stroking him.

Soon enough, his release comes and you marvel at how much of it there is. You gather some of it with your finger and lick it, just like he had done with you.

"Fuck. You don't have to do that," Haechan moans.

"But you did it? Isn't it okay?" you blink innocently.

"It's not that it isn't okay. Just saying, you don't have to. I bet it tastes weird."

"No, it's not weird," you shake your head adamantly. "I mean, it's you, so I think it tastes sweet."

"Better than poison?" Haechan teases.

"Definitely better," you agree without thinking.

"I know you've been tasting my meals even when I told you to stop," Haechan blurts out all of a sudden.

"You knew?" you whisper in shock.

"I felt so bad but I didn't mention it because I knew no matter what I said, you'd keep doing it."

"You thought correctly," you sigh. "But you don't have to feel bad. I'm also taking little doses of poison each day, so I'll be fine. We'll both be fine, I'll make sure of it."

Haechan kisses you again, gripping your hair firmly, but gently at the same time.

"Remind me again what did I do to deserve you?"

"Did the Sun ever do anything but shine to make the Earth revolve around it?" you smile fondly.

"You're saying I'm your Sun?" Haechan presses his forehead against yours.

"Provided I'm your Earth," you respond.

"Well, did you know the fate of the Earth is to be consumed by the Sun?" Haechan informs you with a sweet voice but sombre expression.

"Consume me, then," you gladly consent and he slides inside of you all too smoothly.

Earth and Sun, moving together as one. Two entirely different worlds and yet…you belong with each other.

"You're too sweet for me," you murmur, chasing his lips once more.

"You've had too much poison your taste buds are off," Haechan jests.

"Maybe so," you grin. "I should probably drink more of you as an antidote."

"I'm counting on it, my beloved wife."

The End

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