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biteofcherry · 25 days ago

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Pit of Hell

dark Alpha!Ari Levinson x omega female reader

summary: You only wanted to go one level deeper into the circles of Inferno. Just one step to secure yourself a stable life. But you're unexpectedly thrown into the lowest level. The pit of hell itself. Where a beast awaits.

warnings: dark!Ari; A/B/O; secret society; semi-dystopian; heavy dub-con; coercion; entrapment; power imbalance; breeding kink; virginity kink; rough sex; dacryphilia; branding; light exhibitionism (forced); degradation; very light blood kink (in reference to virginal blood); oral (m receiving); forced deep throating; dirty talk; no knotting

word count: 7k

Author's Note: I gave you some options in the polls and the results were... meh? Lol, I mean I always love Alpha Ari and breeding is forever my on brand kink, but honestly it was just a little disappointing, because I already have alpha Ari with a breeding kink. So I had to come up with something new. Something interesting. And it steered me toward really dark waters 🫢 What you should be aware of, is that I made it a different kind of Alpha/Beta/Omega universe. I made it semi-dystopian, where the dynamics and physiological details usually associated with the omegaverse are extinct. Or are they...? 👀

As I was writing it, thoughts of making it into a series and introducing more dark Alphas appeared. So it's officially the first installment in the universe called Inferno. Aaand I may have already decided on who the other animals are and how depraved they will be 👀

Special shout out and thanks to @buckets-and-trees for dancing with me around the fire of secret society trope and to @stargazingfangirl18 for whoreheartedly supporting the most unhinged list of warnings

Ari Levinson Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Heart pattering, you looked at the glass case filled with rows of colorful cards. Most were gone already, but the one you waited for at the moment was still there. And was about to end up in your hand.

Magenta.

While colours used to be rather indifferent to you, being accepted into Inferno taught you to crave certain shades. Not for their pretty looks, but because each was a key.

Inferno was officially named a private club, but was in fact the only place Omegas were able to earn exorbitant sums of money. Well, not exorbitant if seen from the Alphas point of view, but considering how the crumbled society worked it was the best an Omega could make in the broken world.

Different kinds of service were expected of Omegas at each level of the Inferno. The first circle of the so-called hell was for simple waitressing and it paid the lowest. If an Omega was accepted by the Inferno, they started at that level and had to prove themselves to be allowed into another floor.

For the past eight months you rolled your hips in the third circle where Omegas were dancing on platforms and in cages, while the Alphas carried their business meetings, or leered at them without being allowed to touch.

You were about to exchange your blue key card for the magenta one, descending into another level where the dances would be private, with some touching allowed. It meant the standard paycheck would be higher, plus the tips you might earn from any Alpha who asked for a dance from you. And those tips wouldn’t be in money only, but also certain passes or favors that were incredibly valuable in the cold, harsh world.

Days of cushioned lives that Omegas led once upon a time were long forgotten. They sounded like fairytales when compared to the harsh reality of the past century. Omegas were at the bottom of the food chain now. Not even coveted as much by the Alphas as they used to be. Very few were swooped up and mated, most going through their lives scrambling to stay afloat and perhaps meet a nice, hardworking beta to form a relationship with.

As you waited for Astoria (the woman who was possibly the most powerful Omega in the city, since she was the one managing Inferno and the Omegas working in it), your eyes scanned the colourful cards behind a reinforced glass case.

Magenta was your goal from the very first time you were explained the rules of this place. For now, any colour assigned to deeper levers was too scary, because they meant less control over what happened to you. For example, the red that was appointed for the fifth level meant limited sexual acts.

You didn’t want that. Even if the paycheck would make your life so much more comfortable.

As much as you recoiled from the prospect of deeper circles of hell, you couldn’t help your gaze zeroing in on the single golden keycard. It was displayed in that glass cage at the very top, purposely making the lowest circle of hell appear as the highest advance.

Neither the introduction to the club rules, nor the rumour mill among the Omegas gave away what happened on that level.

Since from levels six to eight Omegas were giving their bodies for all sorts of sexual play, each more debauched and scary, you couldn’t even imagine what happened in the darkest pit. It was too terrifying to even think about.

“It’s best you not consider earning it.” Astoria’s smooth, tinkling voice startled your attention away from the glass cage.

The look she gave you wasn’t a reprimand, but rather a warning. From one Omega to another.

While Astoria was a strict employer, a stickler for rules, she truly looked out for the Omegas. When you were developing a cold two months ago, she slipped you a package of meds which you wouldn’t be able to get yourself.

“Has anyone ever gotten it?” You asked, nodding toward the golden card.

“No.” Astoria shook her head, then paused. “Though… There was an incident a year ago.”

“An incident?” You’ve been working at the Inferno for about a year and a half and you haven’t heard of any incident. They had to keep it secret, if there wasn’t even the briefest rumour about it.

“Someone stole it.” Astoria’s voice lowered into a hush. “Reckless girl was too curious for her own good. She wanted to see…”

Your stomach tightened in dread. The complete unknown was more terrifying than if you had an inkling on what could’ve happened to her down there.

The golden card glimmered enticingly, undoubtedly luring many of the Omegas (especially those who already worked the lowest levels and their boundaries were partially blurred), but your interest in it disappeared immediately.

“What happened to her?” You asked, nervously picking at the fringes of your white, short dress.

Astoria opened her mouth, but before she could say anything another voice interrupted.

“She bore the consequences of her actions.”

It was a male voice. Deep, low and smooth in a way that felt like a thick drop of something sweet, like honey, slowly sliding down your body. It licked you with its timbre from your sternum to the valley below your belly button.

As pleasant as it was, it also scared you with its dangerous potency.

Beside you, Astoria straightened like a string in a violin, her earlier open softness disappearing behind a well practiced mask of professionalism. And obedience, which you never saw in her posture at any other time.

The man who walked in wasn’t only an Alpha. No, Astoria dealt with those without flinching. But there were Alphas and then there were Alphas.

The true apex predators.

There were very few of them, but they were rumored to be able to dominate other Alphas without much effort, as if they were meager Betas.

“I’d say that her curiosity served Rogers well.” He added with a dark sort of amusement.

Your instincts shook in alarm. Any Alpha insinuating an Omega served them well was repulsive, but when it came from a predator like this one it evoked thoughts of complete ruin, of being forever broken.

“Mr Levinson.” Astoria politely bowed her head.

You knew you should drop your gaze down, too, but couldn’t help yourself but look at the Alpha that strode in.

His big, beefy body was fitting for an Alpha of his power. Everything about him looked thick and imposing, even with the seemingly relaxed stance he presented. Golden rings glinted on his fingers as he combed them through his lush hair. As he swiped his hand over his beard, you saw a glimpse of a bleeding sun tattoo on the back of his hand, ink dripping onto his knuckles.

When he moved forward, you tensed in fear, finally tilting your chin down and staring at the floor.

Levinson. It finally ringed in your head with recognition.

One of the four men owning the Inferno.

Perhaps, it was more fitting to name them the four horsemen, considering they created this hell.

“What’s in store for this sweet Snowdrop, Astoria?” Ari asked, circling your shivering form.

You didn’t dare to ask if the unexpected petname came from your white dress, or because he deemed you so fragile and crushable.

“She’s worked blue level for the past eight months.” Astoria’s voice was back to her unwavering, professional tone. Detached from any protectiveness or sympathy she might’ve felt for you. “She’s been promoted to magenta, supposed to start tonight.”

Levinson hummed behind you. Though he didn’t lean over, nor touched you, a jolt of unwanted caress slid down your spine. If that Alpha chose to really touch you, not only you wouldn’t be able to fight him off, but your body would give in at the snap of his fingers; that’s how powerful his Alpha aura was to your Omega hindbrain.

Slowly, Ari circled you again. His gaze swiped over every inch of you, mapping out your curves, each dip and roll.

When he tucked a finger beneath your chin a hot jolt started your heart into a frenzy. The merest touch, but it filled you with terror. He tilted your chin up, forcing your head to lift and give him a full, unobscured view of your face.

“No.” He said unexpectedly, releasing you.

Taking a step back, he turned to Astoria and declared: “She stays on the blue level.”

Without waiting for any counterargument, he walked out of the office. He knew there would be no arguing. Astoria wouldn’t plead for you. Hell, you wouldn’t plead for yourself.

Well, inside of you there was this fussy, outraged voice demanding you be given the opportunity, but you also knew that clashing with this Alpha would be like scratching at a wall. If he didn’t find you annoying to the point of breaking your neck, he’d be at least completely unbothered. Merciless.

Heartless.

Astoria muttered a quiet sorry, which you welcomed with a small, sad smile. Clutching your blue keycard in your hand, you returned to your former level, telling yourself it was at least something you knew well and felt comfortable with. Besides, you were still employed. That was a big win every day.

By the time you returned to your home in the early morning hours, you felt calm and content. Yes, there was still the lingering disappointment at being denied promotion, but you anchored yourself to the stability you still had.

As you walked into your apartment building, you reminded yourself it was the blue level at the Inferno that allowed you to move out of the shitty, very dangerous block you used to live in and into this place. Which still was on the poorer side, but at least the entrance doors were locked and the intendant living on the ground floor was a very sweet, protective Beta who looked out for his tenants.

You paused, after walking into your small apartment and closing the door. Something felt slightly shifted, as if a streak of something not quite familiar lingered in the air.

You gulped, clutching your keyes between your fingers as you moved further inside.

Nothing was moved, not even an inch. There was no one lurking inside as you turned on the lights. Even a few tiny leaves that dropped from your fern were drying on the same spot on the floor.

You shook your head, accepting that your exhaustion and the unexpected interaction with the most powerful Alpha have simply made you more jumpy.

Besides, you told yourself as you started taking off your clothes, Jake - the Beta intendant - wouldn’t let anyone break in. He was a sweetheart, but he once kicked the ass of a piece of shit wet cat Alpha who came drunk to harass his ex-girlfriend.

Placated by self-reassurance, you continued your usual routine. Snack, shower, sleep.

For the next few weeks your life continued the same. At some point you even stopped longingly thinking of the magenta level, though it still popped occasionally into your mind when your knee acted up and reminded you that a doctor’s appointment or physiotherapy would be wonderful, if you could afford it.

Nothing suggested your life was about to change. Not in a big way.

Until the evening two guards intercepted you at the employees entrance to the Inferno to relay the request that you go into Astoria’s office. Which in itself wouldn’t be much alarming, if they didn’t insist you give them your blue keycard.

Were you being fired?

With your heart in your throat, you stepped into the office. Into an empty office. Astoria wasn’t inside. However, there was an envelope on her desk propped against a vase with a single white flower, with your name written on the back of the stationary.

Inside was a simple direction to get into the private elevator.

Surely, you wouldn’t be given permission and code to that elevator, if she wanted to fire you. Inferno had three elevators to take participants to each level - one was for employees, you included, a second one for the patrons, and the third one was for Astoria and possibly the four owners.

With trembling fingers, you hit the provided code on the lock and walked into the elevator. The door slid shut behind you silently. Ominous semi-darkness engulfed you. Inside, there were no buttons, no panel to control where the elevator went, no way to stop it, or open it yourself.

There was, however, another envelope with your name on it attached to the wall.

When you opened it and looked inside, your knees nearly gave away.

The golden keycard glinted at you.

That one mysterious card, which you learned two months ago was best to never be given. To never desire it.

“Oh God!” You cried quietly, dropping it onto the floor and huddling in the corner of the small space.

The elevator was still going down. It felt like being dragged to the literal pit of hell.

When it finally stopped and the door slid open, you stayed plastered with your back to the elevator wall. Perhaps, if you pretended you weren’t there, if you didn’t step outside, you’d be taken back upstairs.

But the elevator remained open. Soft, dimmed light of the bottom floor didn’t feel inviting at all. Not to you.

Long minutes passed and nothing happened. The elevator didn’t close, but also no one barged in to drag you outside. Restlessness increased, pumped by your growing nervousness and fear. You were scared of the rage that could greet you the longer you stayed hidden. And you became more convinced that the elevator wouldn’t be your return to safety.

Maybe that floor would provide you a different route of escape?

After all, each level had three elevator shafts - private, for guests, and for employees.

Swallowing nervously, you tried to remember at what angle the other two elevators should be once you entered the floor. If you ran fast towards one of them, you could get yourself to the ground floor and run the fuck outside.

Your steps were hesitant as you shuffled to the exit and took first glimpses inside the lowest level of the Inferno. What you saw made your heart drop.

It wasn’t a grand, wide space like it was with all the other levels.

It was a round chamber, with marble floor, stone walls reaching high to an intricate ceiling from which dropped a huge iron chandelier. There was a large round table in the middle of the chamber. Four chairs stood at it like four points on a compass, directing north, south, east and west.

Each chair had a different crest carved on it.

Lion. Wolf. Bull. Serpent.

No other elevator shafts were visible. Only a closed double door above which a sign ominously warned:

Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.

Abandon all hope, you who enter.

Though you thought your own hope to have evaporated as the elevator descended, the last remnants of it died this very moment. As you stared at the chamber with no visible escape route and the famous words of final doom.

“Don’t worry, Snowdrop. You won’t be pushed through that door.”

Your head turned to the side, only now noticing the familiar, imposing silhouette of the Alpha. Ari Levinson was leaning against the wall right next to the elevator, with his arms crossed over his chest and his head tilted to the side as he watched you tether on the edge of the floor.

“The darkness behind it is not in my tastes,” he explained casually, like he was talking about not being a fan of whiskey compared to red wine.

“Wh- why am I here?” You asked, twisting your fingers in front of you and eyeing him warily.

“I didn’t apply for the golden card!” You rushed to express.

“No one does.” Ari shrugged. “Or, well, those who apply don’t ever get it. Only one person before got it, as you know, but that was because she dared to steal it.”

“So why?” You feared hearing horrifying promises of spilled blood in slow, painful murder.

“Because you lured the beast.” His eyes ignited with dark hunger and you felt the lick of it between your thighs.

Ari moved and you took an instant step back, slamming your back against the edge of the elevator door frame. But he wasn't prowling your way. Instead, he lazily walked towards one of the chairs.

The one with the lion crest.

He draped his forearms against the backrest of the chair, intertwining his inked fingers in a loose grip. That's when you noticed the golden glint of his rings, from which one presented a lion's head.

“Four beasts rule this world.” His words could be a fascinating tale, if he wasn't speaking the dark, ugly truth of what laid beneath your reality.

“In Inferno we provide the opportunity for some to sate their desires, but we don't participate. Meetings in this chamber aren't focused on our personal lust, but on deciding whose blood to spill and which power to snatch.”

“However-” he paused to lick his lips and you couldn't help but chase that micromovement. “Each of us has cravings that we know would demand satiating at one point. Hence the golden card. It was never going to be earned. It's decided individually by each of us when to play that card, because it's a game that won't be repeated.”

“Won't be repeated?” You echoed, trembling as the terrifying vision of death loomed over you.

“Meaning, my innocent Snowdrop, that once one of us gets someone down here they never return to their previous life.”

Tears welled in your eyes, your breath choking on a sob. Your life wasn’t grand, but you still liked it. You wanted it to continue, despite the hardships you endured.

“It means you're mine now.” Ari's voice deepened into a hungry growl. “Your virginity is mine to take and your womb mine to fill with seed.”

His words tipped your world on its axis. A hot wave of shame that his crude words evoked dropped into ice cold dread as you realized the fate he spun for you.

He wasn't going to murder you. But he was about to break you and bind you to him forever.

“No!” You shook your head, clenching your hands into fists.

Ari wasn't bothered by your reaction, like he knew it didn’t matter because he'd get what he wanted anyway.

“If it's your poor attempt to lie to me about your innocent state, I'll remind you I have free access to your medical file.” He sent you a knowing look.

Inferno provided Omegas with an annual check up that included gynecological examination. It wasn't because they cared for Omegas, it was to provide clients with the best quality entertainment. If Omega's results turned out bad, they were dropped immediately and left to fend for themselves.

“If you're fighting the inevitable,” a dangerous smirk curved his lips, “I could give you a good, scary chase and fight. But, honestly, that's not my taste.”

Slowly, Ari straightened to his full height. He rolled his shoulders and clenched his fingers around the corners of the sturdy, carved chair.

“I want you to give yourself to me. You're going to splay yourself on that table and welcome my fat cock into your tight, virgin cunt.”

Another spike of heat unfurled in your belly and chest, shocking and scaring you more than the Alpha's words did.

Was his Alpha power influencing you so much, or was there a part of you that wanted his brutal promise to become reality?

“You wanted to get onto magenta level because it pays better.” Ari pointed out. “It's also why a golden card is a mad dream for many. ‘Cause they imagine the paycheck and comfort it could provide for them and their families.”

“But there won't be a one time pay for this. No more paychecks anymore. Instead, you'll have all the care and comforts daily. You'll have that knee of yours checked. Regular physio. Stocked fridge, nice clothes, your sister and her Beta husband's molded apartment dried.”

“All of that for being my good Omega, taking my cock and bearing me children.”

Your core filled with heat as your mind bent under the weight of filthy images. Trying to shake it away didn’t work. Your usual numbness to Alpha’s presence and your own basic instincts was frayed at the edges, crumbling the more time you stood there trapped with the Alpha.

What he promised for the doom couldn’t be overlooked, either. If not for your own health, then for your sister. They had a baby who was constantly sick, because of the moldy walls and malfunctioning heat. Levinson had near limitless resources, so fixing someone’s apartment would for him be like spending pocket change.

Unrushed, he moved from behind the chair to stand next to the table. He tapped his fingertips against the painted wooden surface.

And waited, watching you with all the patience in the world.

“It’ll happen, Snowdrop.” He said it with no malice, but there was an unyielding force behind it. As calm and soft he appeared to treat you, his darkness wouldn’t recede. No mercy awaited.

“And yes, it will hurt your virgin pussy when I split it on my dick.” You didn’t take your eyes off his face, so you didn’t see how his cock twitched in his pants at the mere thought of breaking you. “But if you make me go there for you and take what I already declared mine, it will hurt more. So be a good Omega and come here.”

You never liked pain. All your struggles, while you dealt with them, never honed you into someone immune to suffering. No, you were still very human and fragile, and if there were ways to limit your pain, you were going to take it.

So despite sniffling on another sob, you shuffled your feet forward. Tiny step after another. Ari didn’t rush you. Quite the opposite, watching you walk to him heightened his hunger. It was like a foreplay increasing his arousal close to the tipping point.

“ ‘Atta girl,” he praised when your toes touched his boots.

Then big, strong hands were gripping your hips and hoisting you onto the table. One gasp of surprise transformed into a yelp when Ari gripped the fabric of your dress and ripped it apart with his bare hands. Your bra followed. Then your underwear.

You were bared to him completely. Breath quickened and body trembling as he towered over you.

“Lie back.” Ari ordered.

Your heart pounded in your chest, echo of it resounded in your ears and fingertips, pulsing wilder and wilder. The table beneath you didn’t feel that bad, but it was the Alpha in front of you, devouring you with his gaze that promised bad things happening.

Bad, scary things, yet still some deep, primitive part of you roused at the prospect. There was an ache low in your belly, making your pussy walls clench as you watched Ari loom over you.

A jolt made your body spasm when his fingers brushed your naked skin. A tender brush over your knees teasing upwards, along your thighs, over your belly, across your breasts. He skimmed them down again and back up, rousing your body into response beyond your control.

“Spread your legs.” He growled another command, landing a slap to your thigh when you didn’t comply immediately.

It was so humiliating. Baring your most intimate part to a ruthless Alpha.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he splayed his hands on the inside of your thighs and rubbed his thumbs along the outline of your folds. “It’s going to look even prettier hugging my dick.”

He didn’t outright stimulate your folds or clit, just teased the nerves around. Then his palms smoother upwards, fingers spread wide over the curve of your belly.

“You’ll be so full of me. Grow round with our children.”

As he looked at your naked body in dark victory and hunger, you trembled at the image of his face glowing in malicious triumph when he stared at your pregnant form.

Reduced to the object of an Alpha’s wicked desire, yet some deeply hidden satisfaction, almost rusted like a forgotten, ancient treasure, stirred from the shadows.

Through the past century the designations have crumbled from the once admirable and coveted. As the world turned cold, jaded and brutal, certain traits started disappearing. Like the DNA of the people itself had receded, instead of evolving. Though, perhaps, it was an evolution towards the harsh reality you now lived in.

Legends of Alphas’ instinct to protect and provide seemed laughable, since you hadn’t met a single Alpha who would even be kind. There were no alluring scents, unless someone soaked themselves in perfume. Ruts and heats have devolved - which was praised as something that rooted out primal behaviors, but on the other hand seemed to turn everyone unresponsive.

You didn’t need to worry about going into an unexpected heat, or having to splurge on suppressants, but you never felt desired. Nor felt a craving so deep it messed with your own mind.

However, as you laid spread on the table like a sacrifice for the lion, a lick of something heady and scorching hot stirred the latent Omega inside of you.

As terrifying Ari’s plan for your future sounded, a part of you snuggled into that prospect as if it was a safe cushion in the most luxurious bed.

“Suck.” Ari tapped your lips with two of his fingers.

Your mouth opened instantly and his digits slid in, pressing against your tongue. Your pupils widened when a shot of intense pleasure zapped through your body and hardened your nipples as Ari’s purred, pleased that you started sucking instinctively.

“Such a good Omega.” He praised. “Keep sucking. You better get them really wet, since it’s going to be the only prep that you get before I give you my cock.”

With his whole frame being so massive, you could only imagine how proportionate his dick was going to be. It would be a struggle if you were dripping, but with just a brief preparation he was going to tear you.

“Don’t worry, Snowdrop.” Ari chuckled darkly, slipping his fingers out of your mouth and pressing them against your clit. “I can’t wait to turn you into a soaked mess with my mouth and fingers, but for our first time I want those sweet whines and cries as you stretch painfully around every inch.”

Circling your clit a few times, to heighten the first stirring of fire, Ari used his other hand to unbuckle his belt and lower the zipper in his pants. He thrust a single digit into your channel, groaning obscenely at the tight resistance.

“You’re going to feel so fucking good.” He growled, pumping his finger in and out of your pussy a few times.

He withdrew much too soon. You were wet, but definitely not enough for that first slide of cock to be easy. Which Ari evidently loved. His grin was predatory when he pressed the head of his dick at your opening and you couldn’t suppress the sharp whimper at the first inch opening you wide.

Bracing one hand on your hip, Ari reached his other arm to curl his ringed fingers around the front of your neck.

Then he began sliding in.

A firm, languid stroke; merciless against the physical resistance of your inner walls.

You tensed as the pain increased. It was confusing, too, because you expected excruciating pain. Instead, it was a new kind of suffering that ignited overwhelming, heavy pleasure. Nothing similar to the light, bubbly pleasure you felt when touching yourself. No, this was powerful and scary, but made you crave more.

Still, tears welled in your eyes as Ari broke into you and rooted himself deeply. Your mouth opened on a helpless cry.

His gaze was hungrily focused on your face, delighted in the shimmer of your tears. But then, as he slowly withdrew, his eyes flicked down to where his cock was easing out of your pussy.

“Fucking perfect.” He groaned in pleasure at the sight of dark pink smears - your virginal blood mixed with strings of your wetness.

“Your sweet cunt got a first taste of the cock that owns her now.” He pushed back in. “No one else will ever fuck it, or fill it. Only your Alpha.”

“Say it!” The hand on your throat tightened and he snapped his hips into you in a harsh thrust, causing your body to jerk.

“O-” you gasped, tears trickling from the corners of your eyes as pain and pleasure flared low in your belly- “Only you!”

More tears flew with the next rough thrusts, but they began drying as sensations blurred into something intense and unrecognizable. Ari’s cock was splitting you with each slide, your pussy unable to adjust fully to his size, yet it was becoming addictive. A part of you hoped it would never end, chanting prayers for more torment. More pleasure. More dominance.

For his cum.

Your pupils blew wide as your pussy clenched around Ari’s cock when that thought unexpectedly echoed in your head.

“That’s it, Snowdrop.” Ari grunted, fucking you ruthlessly. “Show me how greedy that cunt is for my cock and seed.”

Ari’s sharp bark of laugh resounded at your pitiful whimper when you spasmed around his dick again. Shaking your head side to side (as much as Ari’s grip on your throat allowed), you scratched your fingers against the table. You shouldn’t be feeling like this! There should only be fear and disgust, not a warm fluttering of something soft and vulnerable beneath the primal arousal.

Was Levinson’s Alpha power truly so apex that it drew out a response from a stagnant, latent particle of your Omega designation?

On a particular rough thrust, Ari pressed against a spot that had stars bursting under your eyelids. Your body tensed and arched then suddenly the coil was snapping and you were coming with a hoarse cry.

He fucked you through it, his pace never easing. The hand on your hip moved to splay low on your abdomen, thumb wedging between your folds to torment your clit. The zap of stimulation was borderline painful as you were still quivering in the remnants of climax and it brought more tears. It was too much!

You shook your head. Your fingertips barely reached Ari’s abdomen, your touch more of a caress to him then your attempted fight against the onslaught.

“Fuck!” Ari groaned, moving his hand away from your clit. But only to use his hands to reposition your legs - placing both of your ankles on his shoulders as he bore more weight onto you.

His fat cock seemed to plunge even deeper and an unexpectedly lewd moan spilled out of your mouth.

“Your pretty tears turn me on as much as your virgin blood staining my cock.”

Ari swiped a streak off your temple before wedging his hand between your tightly pressed thighs, again aiming for your swollen clit. His low chuckle at your hitched cry when he started rubbing it anew transformed into grunts of pleasure when your pussy clenched around him so hard he could barely move.

You thought he was unrestrained before, but your body’s reaction provoked the truly primal, unhinged side of the Alpha.

He snarled, teeth bared, as his hips snapped into you so hard you felt the jolt of it reverberate up your ribs. The table in the chamber was exceptionally sturdy, but it moved as the animal ravaged you.

The growl he let out when he reached his own peak seemed to sink into your very bones, binding your cells to him on some incomprehensible level.

And when the hot flood of cum filled you, a deepest, darkest particle in your brain ignited with a thousand lights.

It was a new sensation. Not because you were a virgin who was never fucked and filled. As much as that filthy side had you embarrassingly turned on, that feeling regarded something else. As if there was a second entity beneath your skin and it was finally stirred awake.

For over a century it was believed that designations have regressed so much there was nothing left of the former reactions, or even former physical traits like knots, yet you sensed (and feared) that somehow this Alpha has broken through the iceberg of latency and found the ruins of ancient civilization; stirring some curses to life.

Your breath was ragged, each gulp intermixed with tiny gasps and whimpers as you felt Ari’s cock throb inside of you, spilling more and more. You never thought that a man could cum so much. It felt endless. And the longer it lasted the more it had your core tingling with need for more.

Slowly, Ari eased your legs down. They hung limply over the edge of the table, bracketing Ari’s hips that were still pressed against you. Your arms dropped down, too. One onto the table, the other across your belly, a mere inch above where Ari’s hand was still resting on your lower abdomen.

His hand on your throat loosened its grip. He swept his fingers through the remnants of the tears drying on your face, then down across your body.

“I stake claim.” Ari’s voice resounded firm and unyielding, sending a chill down your spine.

His blue eyes were on you. His face slightly flushed, a vein in his neck protruding and pulsing from the pleasant strain. But his words sounded like they were directed at somebody else, not just at you.

Long seconds passed before you sensed the change in the air. A gentle current, as if a draft got in. You tensed, head turning to the side as you felt another presence in the chamber.

Ari pressed his hand over your sternum and pushed you down when you made a move to get up. He pressed on your belly with his other hand, as well. Which not only served to keep you in place, but also reminded you that his softening dick was still inside you and his cum was overfilling your pussy.

Your heart rate increased as you watched three silhouettes emerge from who the fuck knows where. Big, intimidating, undoubtedly Alphas.

Probably the other three horsemen. Owners of hell itself.

They were wearing dark silver masks. Each depicting an animal. Each matching the crests carved into the chairs at the table. A wolf. A bull. A serpent.

They took their places at the table and looked down at you. Then, as if you weren’t interesting, they lifted their heads to look at Ari.

“What bond do you choose?” Asked the wolf.

His voice was as cold as it was smooth; like a chill one might feel when walking into the woods late in the evening - comforted by it, but sensing impending danger creeping in to strike.

“A brand,” came Ari’s swift reply. “My crest.”

They all gave their nods. Then the bull moved closer to where Ari stood between your spread legs. A flicker of blue flame from a lighter made you whimper in fear, but none of them reacted. The bull held the lighter in his tattooed hand, his wrist encompassed in a thick leather bracelet. Ari lifted one of his hands, closed it into a fist, and brought it to the flame.

They were heating up his ring with the lion’s head.

His crest.

“No,” a weak sound left your lips when you understood the intention.

There was no fight left in you. Besides, you had no chances against Ari alone, much less against four Alphas.

“Shh.” Ari cooed, keeping the hand on your chest in place and rocking his hips into you gently. “You’re already mine, Snowdrop. This will merely be a short sting. Just like your virgin cunt breaking on my cock.”

His blue eyes returned to yours, holding your gaze as he pressed the hot ring to your abdomen. You cried out in pain as it seared your skin, burning a permanent brand on the belly that was marked from the inside with his seed.

“Claim witnessed.”

It was repeated three times, by three different voices, but it barely reached your consciousness as your mind fumbled with processing pain and sinking in unfamiliar contentment.

Ari kept touching you, stroking your sides and your thighs softly as he continued to coo. There was an additional vibration to his tone every few shushing words, comforting in a way that had your body truly relaxing despite the terror it was just put through.

Once you settled down, only looking up at Ari with tear-brimmed eyes, he leaned down. And kissed you.

It wasn’t as soothing as the last few touches and sounds, but brand nearly as hot as the ring burned into your skin.

He straightened, staring down at you as conqueror at the empire he just crushed and obtained. His gaze traveled down your body to where his mark scorched over your mound, then lower, to where your bodies were joined.

Slowly, he pulled out and watched as your glistening pussy gaped and pulsed. A heartbeat later his cum trickled out. Dark hunger was still alight in his eyes. Perhaps, it would never leave. Not when it came to you and owning your body.

You trembled, covering your face with your hands as you felt the mess leak out of you. You saw the sticky combination of your juices, his spend and your blood coating Ari’s cock, and couldn’t comprehend why that unnerving part of you was thrilled about the sight. It made no sense and warred with the appalled and terrified part of your brain.

“Don’t worry, Snowdrop.” Ari sounded amused as he watched you. “I don’t mind the mess. I’ll fuck you so often and thorough that my seed takes no matter how much of my cum leaks out of your poor, little cunt.”

He gripped your wrists and forced your hands away from your face, then placed them on his shoulders. He felt warm and secure under your trembling fingers.

You hated how he anchored you while being the one to break you.

Ari lifted you off the table and set you onto your feet to the floor. His hold remained on your waist for long enough moment that you didn’t topple down on your weakened legs.

Yet, as soon as he was sure you wouldn’t drop down, he guided you onto your knees himself. Making you kneel in the sticky mess that dropped from between your thighs onto the marble floor.

A hand slid into your hair, tangling it in a tight grip. He tilted your head back.

“Clean your Alpha’s cock, Omega.” He ordered. “Open your pretty mouth and taste us.”

You tried to keep your lips pressed, refusing to do something so lewd. There was a flash of displeasure at your defiance and you expected Ari to force your jaw open, or to pinch your nose closed so you had to gulp for breath.

Perhaps he would do that, if your mouth didn’t open on its own volition when he tapped the head of his cock against your lips. Musky saltiness smeared on your bottom lip, somehow provoking an instant reaction beyond your control. It was that new part of you, unearthed by the brutal Alpha.

She made you open eagerly, tonguing the underside of Ari’s thick cock as he pushed into your mouth.

“Good girl, Snowdrop.” He praised, rubbing against your tongue in shallow thrusts. “Get it clean of all the mess you made. Do you like how your Alpha tastes?”

He wasn’t really waiting for your reply, but he enjoyed the garbled sound you made as you tried to deny it and he pushed deep in your throat, cutting off your denial.

He held you there, staring down at you struggling and choking. He delighted in the tears reappearing in your eyes.

“Swallow around it.” He was merciless. “Oh, I know it’s hard and scary, but be a good girl and swallow down my cock. Close that little throat around it, so I can come down it like I did your pussy.”

Tears poured down your cheeks as you finally managed to swallow and it caused your throat to constrict so tight you nearly blacked out.

Ari grunted loudly in pleasure.

With his free hand he tugged one of your hands that was resting against his thigh and guided it under his cock. He made you cup his heavy balls, forced your fingers to tighten and massage them.

Spurts of thick, salty warmth trickled down your throat. You panicked, fearing you’re going to choke to death as you hurriedly gulped it down.

“Fuuuuck.” Ari was watching you with his own lips parted and glistening with saliva. “I’d love to fuck your sweet mouth for hours, teach you how to suck and tongue, but having you just simply choke and cry on my cock might be my new favorite version of a blowjob.”

When he finally let you go, after making sure the very last spurt went down your throat, you were coughing and wheezing. Your hands clutched Ari’s thighs as you slumped forward, resting your head against his leg and breathing heavily.

Naked, filthy and broken, you rested at his feet. Leaning into him like he was your lifeline.

Ari caressed the top of your head then stepped away for a moment. You fell forward, bracing yourself on your hands on the marble floor. A few seconds later something very soft, very warm, and surprisingly heavy, was draped over your naked form.

In your peripheral you saw a glimpse of white with streaks of silver.

Ari covered you with it, then effortlessly picked you up into his arms. Defenseless, exhausted and confused, you simply sank into his embrace. Resting your cheek against his chest, you glanced at the softness wrapped around you. A white fur.

Because you were his Snowdrop.

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson smut #chris evans smut #ari levinson imagine #alpha!ari levinson #Inferno universe

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starreo · 11 months ago

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pro hero! katsuki bakugo drabble .

y'er so much trouble, aren'cha. includes blowjob, very vague? writing, fem! reader, slight perv! kirishima mention lol and adult themes, so mdni!!

you try not to, you really do. but sucking on katsuki's throbbing cock in the elevator of his agency is just so much fun. on the outside, you're just his secretary, sweet girl who god knows how, tolerates all those late night and early morning calls. your colleagues feel so much pity for you, ever since kirishima saw you sneaking out of leaving bakugo's house just in time for their early morning run, he came back to the office, loudly lecturing bakugo on how he can't overwork you like that.

so it makes it so much fun, to slide into the elevator, right after katsuki's blown his head off at some silly intern, fumes practically coming out of his ears as he repeatedly presses the button for the third floor. everyone stares at you in awe as you run right into the elevator. only you could face bakugo right now.

literally.

as he's about to scoff and grumble something stupid about how he's not in the mood to play around with you when the door finally closes and you smash him against the wall. normally katsuki bakugo wouldn't move an inch, but for you.

for you, baby, anything.

one hand of his is gripping your hair and fisting it into a ponytail as your head slowly moves closer to the base of his cock and then back to the tip, while his other hand struggles to find the emergency stop button of the elevator. "fuck fuck fuck- y/n, f-fuck, " he's throbbing in your mouth already, you can feel it deep in your throat as you hollow your cheeks against his girth, looking up at him with those fucked out eyes that he likes so much. he finally finds the button and smashes it right before it opens up on the third floor. and you can hear people outside groaning about how this is the fourth time this month.

as you're quickening your pace, hands wrapping around the excess of his length to help him finish, you can see him poke his tongue in his cheek, eyes shut as he tries so hard not to moan your name when you swallow all his orgasm. when he opens his eyes, it's to see the string of saliva and slick connecting your swollen lips to his softening cock as a few droplets of his cum drip down your chin. and that, is a sight he would never not want to see.

slowly, you get up from your knees, making a silly comment about how he's so much hotter in his winter uniform, and roughly brush your thumb against your bottom lip, collecting all the excess liquid and sucking on it as you watch color return to his cheeks.

"y'er so much trouble, aren'cha" he grins, eyes narrowing in fondness as he pulls you by your neck and sloppily smashes his lips against yours.

pulling back, he sighs before pressing the emergency stop button, eyebrows raising as he notices the crowd of people there, "get back to work you little shits, 'm not paying ya to loiter around-! and use thegoddamn stairs if the elevator ain't working! " and that classic workaholic bakugo act would've fooled everyone else, but when kirishima notices how everytime the elevator has acted up it's been the two of you going down, or coming up, he feels like he's connecting some dots, so he moves forward to catch a better glimpse, and there you are, oh, not to mention the very suspicious white stuff on bakugo's shoes. but it's okay, Kirishima won't tell anyone, maybe he'll take a quick check of the security cameras though, just to erase any evidence that might hurt his manly friend's rep, right? at least that's what he tries to convince himself of as he jolts downstairs with a boner harder than his quirk.

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lovlidollie · 5 months ago

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hiiii mira!! wondering if you’d write something about anal/painal w rafe & reader? somehow i just feel like s1 rafe especially would be the type to put it in without asking while they’re already fucking lol

oh my goddd nonnie u don’t understand how often i think of this concept. and YES. s1!rafe is definitely the most likely to do this. cw ; noncon painal

he’d be fucking you from the back, its his favourite position after all; he gets to see your sloppy cunt struggle to take his dick and watch as your ass jiggles back and forth from his thrusts. he’s got an almost morbid fixation on your other hole. the one that neither of you had even talked about, let alone allowed him to touch. he sees the way it winks and clenches when he fucks you, and he can’t. stop. thinking. about how tight it’d be. he knows it’s untouched. he’s got some kind of third sense for things like this. he can just tell.

one night he simply can’t take it anymore. he can’t take the way it looks at him, entices him like some sort of forbidden fruit. he draws himself out of your warmth, sweat beading on his brow as he fists his cock. slick noises fill the room as he works your arousal all over his thickness. you think he’s just teasing you, just another way to get you desperate and to beg. you hear him spit, assumably on his hand, and you arch your back oh so prettily for him.

but then his tip trails higher. higher than ever before and you swear you feel the air buzz with something horrible. “w-wait. rafe — rafe, what’re you doing?” you call out, trying to get up on your hands. “you’re not taking this from me,” he snarls, ferociously like a rabid animal. with one hand shoving you back into the mattress, and the other lining himself up, he forces himself in.

it fucking hurts. immediately there’s resistance, your sphincter muscle protests, trying to push out the intrusion. you’re shrieking, screaming as he rips through you, jerking and trembling while he holds you down. and rafe? rafe’s in heaven. god, this was better than any pussy. you’re clamping down on him, he can see the way you grip his dick as he drives inch after inch further. he has to clutch the base of his cock to stop himself from cumming prematurely like a little boy. this just felt too good, he wasn’t about to let it end before he could truely enjoy it.

“y-yeah — ah, fuck! — sucks me riiiight in. ‘s’like it was fuckin’ made f’me. take it, y’gonna take it. can’t believe — y’been holding out on me. ‘s’okay. we’ll fix you. i’ll, uh — ‘m gonna make y’like it. gonna make up for all that lost time.”

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leashybebes · 4 days ago

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Hi!! Can i please request the prompt "caring for each other while ill" for bucktommy? ✨💖 It can be post 8x15 or not, i'm not picky, write however the muse hits! (Although i do agree that many of these prompts give post 8x15 vibes! Like what do you mean "reacting to seeing the other one cry" we literally just saw that happen in canon😭😭)

Anyways no pressure of course and also i love your writing! Have a nice day! 🤗

also for @devirnis 💖 went with some nebulous point after they get back together so let's say this features schroedinger's father figure lol

Buck's learned a lot of new things about Tommy, this time around. What he likes, what he hates, what he's scared of. It's been like watching a flower unfurl. It's beautiful to begin with, sure, but you give it some light and you make the soil right, and it becomes something you'd never have been able to predict, with colours and textures and shapes that take you by surprise.

It's wonderful. It's a privilege.

It's a nightmare and Buck is going to murder him.

Because the latest thing that he's learned about Tommy is that when he's sick, Tommy is apparently an absolute asshole.

He doesn't really get sick, is the thing. He has allergies in the summer for which he pops antihistamines and merrily carries on. He has a bum knee that he cheerfully RICEs when the air pressure goes too high. Buck has seen him bruised up from Muay Thai, concussed from a rope rescue that went bad, on oxygen for smoke inhalation, and now…now he has a cold.

The first two days, he'd miserably denied he was getting sick (I feel fine, Evan), refused to take any medication (because I don't need to be drowsy, Evan), went to work (I can't believe they grounded me, Evan), and spent the evening sulking on the couch (I'm not in a mood, Evan).

The third day, he found Tommy at the kitchen table at 5am wearing Buck's favorite blue hoodie with the hood pulled up and the drawstrings pulled tight, a pile of used tissues at his elbow, the tip of his nose bright red, and his eyes teary.

"I woke you up," he says, except it comes out I woag you ub, and the tears spill.

"Uh," Buck says. "Hey there."

"Hi," Tommy says, and scrubs at his eyes with the cuff of Buck's hoodie which…rude. "I think I'm sick." I thig I'b sig.

"You think?"

Buck loosens the drawstrings on the hoodie, pushes the hood down, scratches his fingertips through Tommy's sweaty hair. Tommy nods pitifully against the touch, like he'd managed to completely miss the sarcasm.

"I'm sorry I was mean," Tommy says. I'b sore-y I was bead. "But I think I'm dying." Bud I thig I'b dyig.

Buck bites his lip so he doesn't laugh.

"Okay," he says. "Well, would you rather die in bed?"

"Yes please." Yed bleadth.

Buck does a mental inventory of the medication in the house, the ingredients for a spicy chicken noodle soup while he helps Tommy back into the bedroom, peels him out of his stolen clothes, presses a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"You're a big baby," he says gently, and Tommy gives another one of those miserable little nods, letting his forehead drop onto Buck's shoulder.

"I'b sore-y."

"I'll forgive you if you lay down and take some pills."

"You still lub me?"

"Yes, I still lub - love you, dummy."

Tommy's eyes well up with tears again and Buck tries to remind himself what people say about colds - two days coming, two days here, two days going, right? They've survived worse.

Probably.

#bucktommy #my writing #writing games #this is very silly

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damienns · 7 months ago

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My GIF Making process: Screen capturing using MPV player, Organizing files, 3 Sharpening settings, Basic Coloring PSD + Actions set

This is a very long post so heads up.

I’ll try to be as thorough and true as much as possible to the way I make my gifs (I already use Photoshop Actions which I’ve long since set up but now for this tutorial I’m reviewing them to show you the exact steps I’ve learned to create my gifs 😃) and present them to you in a semi-coherent way. Also, please bear with me since English is my second language.

First things first. Below are the things and tools we need to do this:

Downloaded 4K or 1080p quality videos (let’s all assume we know where to get these—especially for high definition movies and tv series—so this post doesn’t get removed, okay? 😛)

Adobe Photoshop CC or the CS versions can work as well, but full disclosure I haven’t created gifs using the CS versions since 2020. I’m currently using Adobe Photoshop 2024.

mpv player. Use mpv player to get those frames/screenshots or any other video player that has a screen grabber feature. I’ve used adapter for the longest time but I’ve switched to mpv because the press to screenshot feature while the video is playing has been a game changer not to mention ultimate time saver for me. For adapter you need to play it in another video player (like VLC player), to get the start and end timestamps of the scene you want to gif which takes me ages before I can even open Photoshop.

Anyway! Please stop reading this post for a moment and head over to this amazing tutorial by kylos. She perfectly tells you how to install and use mpv player, both for Mac and Windows users.

One thing I have to share though, I had a tough time when I updated my MacOS to Sonoma since MPV is suddenly either duplicating frames or when I delete the duplicates the player seems to be skipping frames :/ I searched and found a solution here, though it didn’t work for me lol. My workaround for this in the meantime is decreasing the speed down to 0.70 then start screenshotting—it’s not the same pre Sonoma update but it works so I’ll have to accept it rather than have jumpy looking gifs.

Now, after this part of kylos’ tutorial:

you can continue reading the following sections of my gif tutorial below.

I want to share this little tip (sorry, this will only cater to Mac users) that I hope will be helpful for organizing the screenshots that MPV saved to the folder you have selected. Because believe me you don’t want to go through 1k+ of screenshots to select just 42-50 frames for your gif.

The Control + Command + N shortcut

This shortcut allows you to create a new folder from files you have pre-selected. As you can see below I have already created a couple of folders, and inside each folder I have selected screenshots that I want to include in one single gif. It's up to you how you want to divide yours, assuming you intend to create and post a Tumblr gifset rather than just one gif.

Another tip is making use of tags. Most of, if not all the time, I make supercorp gifs so I tag blue for Kara and red (or green) for Lena—just being ridiculously on brand and all that.

Before we finally open Photoshop, there's one more thing I want to say—I know, please bear with me for the third? fourth? time 😅

It's helpful to organize everything into their respective folders so you know the total number of items/frames you have. This way, you can add or delete excess or unnecessary shots before uploading them in Photoshop.

For example below there are 80 screenshots of Kara inside this folder and for a 1:1 (540 x 540 px) Tumblr gif, Photoshop can just work around with 42-50 max number of frames with color adjustments applied before it exceeds the 10 MB file size limit of Tumblr.

Sometimes I skip this step because it can be exhausting (haha) and include everything so I can decide visually which frames to keep later on. You'll understand what I mean later on. But it's important to keep the Tumblr 10 MB file size limit in mind. Fewer frames, or just the right amount of frames, is better.

So, with the screenshot organization out of the way, let's finally head over to Photoshop.

Giffing in Photoshop, yay!

Let’s begin by navigating to File > Scripts > Load Files into Stack…

The Load Layers window will appear. Click the Browse button next.

Find your chosen screenshots folder, press Command + A to select all files from that folder then click Open. Then click OK.

After importing and stacking your files, Photoshop should display the following view:

By the way, I'll be providing the clip I've used in this tutorial so if want to use them to follow along be my guest :)

If you haven't already opened your Timeline panel, navigate to Windows > Timeline.

Now, let's focus on the Timeline panel for the next couple of steps.

Click Create Video Timeline, then you’ll have this:

Now click the menu icon on the top right corner then go to Convert Frames > Make Frames from Clips

Still working on the Timeline panel, click the bottom left icon this time—the icon with the three tiny boxes—to Convert to Frame Animation

Select Make Frames From Layers from the top right corner menu button.

So now you have this:

Go and click the top right menu icon again to Select All Frames

Then click the small dropdown icon to set another value for Frame Delay. Select Other…

The best for me and for most is 0.05 but you can always play around and see what you think works for you.

Click the top right menu icon again to Reverse Frames.

I think Photoshop has long since fixed this issue but usually the first animation frame is empty so I just delete it but now going through all these steps there seems to be none of that but anyways, the delete icon is the last one among the line of feature buttons at the bottom part of the Timeline panel.

Yay, now we can have our first proper GIF preview of a thirsty Lena 😜

Press spacebar to watch your gif play for the very first time! After an hour and half of selecting and cutting off screenshots! 😛 Play it some more. No really, I’m serious. I do this so even as early (lol) as this part in the gif making process, I can see which frames I can/should delete to be within the 10 MB file size limit. You can also do it at the end of course 🙂

Now, let’s go to the next important steps of this tutorial post which I’ve numbered below.

Crop and resize to meet Tumblr's required dimensions. The width value should be either 540px, 268px, or 177px.

Convert the gif to a Smart Object for sharpening.

Apply lighting and basic color adjustments before the heavy coloring. I will be sharing the base adjustments layers I use for my gifs 😃.

1. Crop and Resize

Click on the Crop tool (shortcut: the C key)

I like my GIFs big so I always set this to 1:1 ratio if the scene allows it. Press the Enter key after selecting the area of the frame that you want to keep.

Side note: If you find that after cropping, you want to adjust the image to the left or another direction, simply unselect the Delete Cropped Pixels option. This way, you will still have the whole frame area available to crop again as needed and as you prefer.

Now we need to resize our gif and the shortcut for that is Command + Opt + I. Type in 540 as the width measurement, then the height will automatically change to follow the ratio you’ve set while cropping.

540 x 540 px for 1:1

540 x 405 px for 4:3

540 x 304 px for 16:9

For the Resample value I prefer Bilinear—but you can always select the other options to see what you like best.

Click OK. Then Command + 0 and Command + - to properly view the those 540 pixels.

Now we get to the exciting part :) the sharpen settings!

2. Sharpen

First we need to have all these layers “compressed” intro a single smart object from which we can apply filters to.

Select this little button on the the bottom left corner of the Timeline panel.

Select > All Layers

Then go to Filter > Convert for Smart Filters

Just click OK when a pop-up shows up.

Now you should have this view on the Layers panel:

Now I have 3 sharpen settings to share but I’ll have download links to the Action packs at the end of this long ass tutorial so if you want to skip ahead, feel free to do so.

Sharpen v1

Go to Filter > Sharpen > Smart Sharpen…

Below are my settings. I don’t adjust anything under Shadows/Highlights.

Amount: 500

Radius: 0.4

Click OK then do another Smart Sharpen but this time with the below adjustments.

Amount: 12

Radius: 10.0

As you can see Lena’s beautiful eyes are “popping out” now with these filters applied. Click OK.

Now we need to Convert to Frame Animation. Follow the steps below.

Click on the menu icon at the top right corner of the Timeline panel, then click Convert Frames > Flatten Frames into Clips

Then Convert Frames > Convert to Frame Animation

One more click to Make Frames From Layers

Delete the first frame then Select All then Set Frame Delay to 0.05

and there you have it! Play your GIF and make sure it’s just around 42-50 frames. This is the time to select and delete.

To preview and save your GIF go to File > Export > Save for Web (Legacy)…

Below are my Export settings. Make sure to have the file size around 9.2 MB to 9.4 MB max and not exactly 10 MB.

This time I got away with 55 frames but this is because I haven’t applied lighting and color adjustments yet and not to mention the smart sharpen settings aren't to heavy so let’s take that into consideration.

Sharpen v1 preview:

Sharpen v2

Go back to this part of the tutorial and apply the v2 settings.

Smart Sharpen 1:

Amount: 500

Radius: 0.3

Smart Sharpen 2:

Amount: 20

Radius: 0.5

We’re adding a new type of Filter which is Reduce Noise (Filter > Noise > Reduce Noise...) with the below settings.

Then one last Smart Sharpen:

Amount: 500

Radius: 0.3

Your Layers panel should look like this:

Then do the Convert to Frames Animation section again and see below preview.

Sharpen v2 preview:

Sharpen v3:

Smart Sharpen 1:

Amount: 500

Radius: 0.4

Smart Sharpen 2:

Amount: 12

Radius: 10.0

Reduce Noise:

Strength: 5

Preserve Details: 50%

Reduce Color Noise: 0%

Sharpen Details: 50%

Sharpen v3 preview:

And here they are next to each other with coloring applied:

Congratulations, you've made it to the end of the post 😂

As promised, here is the download link to all the files I used in this tutorial which include:

supercorp 2.05 Crossfire clip

3 PSD files with sharpen settings and basic coloring PSD

Actions set

As always, if you're feeling generous here's my Ko-fi link :) Thank you guys and I hope this tutorial will help you and make you love gif making.

P.S. In the next post I'll be sharing more references I found helpful especially with coloring. I just have to search and gather them all.

-Jill

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umikawa · 2 months ago

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infatuated

a/n: listened to like four songs on repeat to write this haha (￣▽￣) I hope this is good!?? used penny and pete from tgm’s relationship as inspo lol <3

Stanley Snyder x gn!reader | 1.8k wc | warnings: on&off relationship (get it together!) alcohol consumption (ur in a bar, don’t waste it) smoking (it’s Stanley) maybe a bit ooc? I love yapping.

♫ infatuated / the royston club | flash in the pan / wallice | war / keshi | lullaby for you / greer

“Nice to see a familiar face here.”

You chuckle at the voice, smooth and deep, with the slightest southern drawl, familiar and warm. The person slides into the barstool beside you, nodding to the other person beside you with a glare.

Get away. Get lost. Don’t come back. The intention was obvious: to rid you of a flea you’d spend too much unnecessary time and attention on. He saved you the time, being in uniform, his purple lipstick painting a nasty (shit-eating) smirk on his lips. His appearance added to his intimidating personality.

“Scaring away my dates as per usual.” You laugh, downing the rest of your drink and flagging the bartender for another. “A beer too, please– Pabst.”

Stanley grins at the remembrance of his drink of choice, crossing his arms across his chest. “Taking your dates to our bar, sitting in our seats— as per usual.” He mocks your words with a scoff, tipping his head towards the bartender when they slide the beer to him. “Don’t have any other place to show your collection of love interests?”

“Don’t you have any other bar to go to?”

“Actually,” he starts, quickly swigging his beer. “This is the closest one to where I’m stationed, but you knew that, didn't you?”

You shrug, tracing the rim of your glass as you refuse to look at him. “Maybe I’m just eternally trapped here,” you said quietly, laughing softly at your own words. “It’s my own personal hell. Limbo, maybe.”

Stanley looks down the spout of his bottle, eerily shifting into the barrel of a gun the longer he stares at it. Was that supposed to be an unrelated metaphor? “Why do you keep holding on?”

You turned to him for the first time since he walked in. Your expression was almost deadpan, but Stanley knew how to read you: longing, resignation, guilt.

He didn’t understand the last one; you had no reason to be guilty. Your parting was solely because of him and his devotion to serve. He would lay down his life in war if he needed to, and you didn’t like that.

“Why do you want to let go?”

Stanley looks at you, really looks at you. Three key differences have changed since he last saw you.

For one, the bags under your eyes. You’d kill him for pointing it out. You always gave him shit for saying it— he was just concerned and didn’t know how to show it. Though you did have some the last time he saw you, they seemed to have worsened, emphasizing the darkened skin underneath your eyes. Have you not been sleeping well?

Two, your hair was longer. It would look the same to a normal person; nothing more than a few inches had been added to the ends of your hair, but Stanley could tell. Were you letting it grow? Or were you refusing to cut it because it was the last thing he touched before he left you again? He shouldn’t give himself so much credit, but hair holds memories.

Third, the lack of bite. Before, you’d shoot remark after remark with him, going on and on for hours on end until you were leaning against the counter with a defeated (sleepy) expression. But now, it was only blatant relinquishment: no fight, no argument, nothing.

“You truly think I want to let go, or that I have?” He keeps his eyes forward, zoning in on the bottles lined up in rows behind the bar. “Do you think you’re the only one that comes to this bar and sits in these seats, hoping the other will show up or already be here?”

Your hand comes up to your face with a quiet sigh, almost a whine, like you didn’t want this conversation to happen. “So you admit it, you feel the same… reluctancy as I do.”

Reluctance? To what? Let go?

“That’s one of the reasons we didn’t work out back then.” You glance at him lazily, eyes darting to the somehow visible stain of purple lipstick on the rim of his bottle. “We always bottled our emotions to save face for the other.”

“Couples therapists would’ve loved us.” He chuckles at your quick joke, taking a sip of his beer. “I guess somewhere along the lines, we got so used to bottling everything up that we started to hide our infatuation as well.” You pause momentarily, furrowing your brows while staring absentmindedly into your glass. “Even when we went to bed, we weren’t together. We were just…laying next to each other.”

Stanley hums, feeling his pocket for a cigarette—he really needs one right now. You spare him a glance but don’t say anything as he retracts his hand, silently waving to the bartender and sliding your card across the counter.

He opens his mouth to protest, but he was already too late when you put your card on the bar. So he keeps quiet, muttering to himself about his marine salary that would have paid your tab.

“It’s fine. Besides, I had a lot more than you did.” You reassured, slipping your card back into your wallet. “Let's go outside. You wanna smoke, don’t you?” He follows wordlessly as you walk out of the bar, taking the box of cigarettes from his coat the second he feels the cool air hit his skin.

Nothing was said between you two for a while—just a silent exchange of glances. The only sound was the exhale of breath that flew past Stanley’s lips occasionally. He’d passed the cigarette to you when he caught you eyeing it, laughing softly at the disgusted face you made after inhaling it.

“I’m glad I never picked up this habit from you.” Your voice strained as you held your coughs in. “How the hell did you pass the Marine inspection?”

“Tobacco isn’t a stimulant.”

“Are you dumb? It is. It’s literally nicotine.” He looks off the side, blinking down at the dimly lit stick in his grasp. “Stanley, come on.” You burst into laughter at his reaction, nearly keeling over when he drops the cigarette to the ground and squashes it with his shoe.

He freezes when he feels your hand holds the side of his face, fingers brushing against his buzzed sides. “What happened to that smart-ass brain of yours, huh?”

Why were you being so casual when moments ago you looked like you wanted a hole to open up beneath you and swallow you? So that you could avoid the prying question of what could’ve been?

“It got fried,” he says, a blank expression on his face. He couldn’t focus with your warm touch against his skin. “Being a marine isn’t easy, you know?” Your thumb starts to brush against his cheek, and Stanley has to fight every power within him not to shut his eyes in content.

“I bet.”

Silence looms over the two of you again. Your palm is still planted on his cheek, and his eyes fluttered shut a second ago—much to his dismay and to your amusement. But before he could continue to savor the feeling of your warmth properly, your hand starts to slip away slowly, and Stanley starts to feel…

Reminiscent.

He’s quick to latch his fingers around your wrist before you can pull away entirely, holding it near his head while you stare at him with wide eyes. He didn’t know what he was doing, nor did you, but Stanley didn’t stop himself when he began pulling you closer, and you didn’t make any effort to pull away when his face was inches from yours.

Just before his lips press against yours, he whispers out. “Do you want this?” A faint nod, almost like hesitation. Then another, firm and confident. Stanley would’ve preferred you use your words, but he dismisses it this time, not wasting another second before he presses his lips to yours.

You sigh through your nose when he kisses you, hands traveling to his neck, holding his jaw delicately, bringing him closer to you with each passing second.

Then, Stanley gets desperate.

His movements become sloppy, uncharacteristic for a man as poised as him, who was ever the perfectionist. His mind was fuzzy, eyes screwed shut as he tried to compose himself before you could pull away.

Stanley was terrified, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

His hand moved to your waist, gripping tightly like he was afraid to lose you again, and maybe he was right to feel that way— because it always ended like that.

He’d have you in his grasp, and then he’d get dragged back to reality before you could indulge in the feeling. But Stanley never held tight enough to keep you bound to him. That was his fault. That’s why you never stayed. Because Stanley could never commit the way you wanted– or hoped.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” He whispers when he pulls away, resting his head against yours while clutching the fabric of your jacket tightly. “I won’t be here for a few months, but when I come back– will you let me come home to you?”

When you look at him, there’s a clear emotion written on his face. One that he’d never shown much before, one that he kept bottled up in fear of judgment.

Vulnerability.

“It always ends the same with us, Stanley.” His eyes shut as you spoke, saying the words he wished you hadn’t. “I don’t know if I can handle watching you leave again.”

“I won't.” He shakes his head, “I couldn’t let you go when I didn’t even have you. Your name is engraved in my heart and soul.”

A soft chuckle comes from you suddenly. Stanley doesn’t understand why. “I never knew you could be so romantic.”

“Let’s focus on the topic at hand, shall we?” He prompts with a light snort. “Will you wait for me?”

A quiet hum follows his question. It's almost like you’re trying to torment him with your silence. “I’ll wait forever and a day, Stanley.” You answer, fixing his collar to occupy your hands. “Even if we break up two weeks in, you’re worth it.”

He shakes his head. As if he was going to let you go again.“When I come back, I’m yours forever.”

You sigh, filled with faux despair. “What a nightmare.” Stanley grins at your remark, holding your chin as he presses a long kiss to your lips. “Oh, I’m already dreading it.” He hums softly, lips curling into a smile when you bump your nose against his.

“We’ll make it work.” He says suddenly, though it sounds more of a promise to himself than a declaration to you.

You glance at him, an almost pained smile on your face. “I know.”

“I love you.”

He’s met with wide eyes holding a glimmer of hope and a touch of love. But, Stanley nearly takes his words back and scoffs to himself at your response.

“I know.”

a/n: I was watching sw… that explains the ending.. sorry… also no idea if Pabst is a good beer, just heard it in a song

#stanley snyder x reader #drst x reader #dcst x reader #dr stone x reader #stanley snyder x gn reader #stanley snyder imagines #stan snyder x reader #dr stone x y/n #stanley snyder x y/n

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eevees-hobbies · 10 months ago

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ume devours pussy like he's been starved for days on end (he couldn't see you for a few days) and bonus points if you're actually a plaything for furin , so he'll do a pussy inspection first >-< - 💌 anon <3

Author’s Note: Hi, 💌 Anon! Welcome back 💕 I Just realized that I didn’t mention Sakura in this entire piece, and my heart hurts because of it, lol. Anyway, I’m snatching my bonus points thank you very much! I love the idea of being used by Bofurin; like sign me the fuck up! Trains go choo choo! Lastly, please don't clock me for the name of this little fic haha. I realized I don't have a banner with just Ume, and I was like, "might as well!"

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Hajime Umemiya. You’re Bofurin’s girlfriend to be shared and loved by all, mention of sexual activities with others, fem! receiving oral, mentions of eating ass, but I spared you THIS time, some dirty talk, pubic hair mention, sorry to the two Nirei fuckers out there, I’m sure he eats pussy like a champ—Tis smut. Minors Don’t Interact.

Word Count: 1.9K

Divider by Saradika. Banner by me

One qualification for a good leader is being unselfish, and Umemiya embodies that virtue perfectly.

When he took on the role of leader of Bofurin, he knew that it would involve quite a bit of sharing that had the potential to test anyone’s patience. But as though it’s his calling—and it most definitely is—Umemiya willingly shares wisdom with those ready to receive it and, most importantly, shares his most limited resource: his time. He’s never had a problem giving away so much of himself for so little in return.

It wasn’t until Bofurin had gotten back from winning an intense match-up with a rival group across town, and you all were celebrating on the rooftop with food and beer, that the obvious occurred to him.

As he watched over the joyous faces of his crew, he found himself studying you, like he always does, as you interacted with Hiragi, whose eyes looked over your form hungrily after you placed a piece of Gyoza against his lips and the tip of your finger touched his tongue.

He watched when you went to speak to Kiryu, who pulled you into his lap playfully and planted a kiss on your cheek, his hands resting under the curve of your breasts.

And he watched as you crossed the space to turn up the pop-punk music crooning from the stereo. Suo reached out to you unprompted and tucked a stray hair behind your ear, his hand lingering for a beat too long to be considered innocent.

It became abundantly clear to Ume that he would be doing a massive disservice to his team if he didn’t share you, too.

You thought he was suggesting an open relationship when he approached you with the idea. Your thoughts were in flux immediately. Was he unhappy? Was there someone else? Your heart sunk into your stomach at the idea and the hurtful implications of such an arrangement, but Umemiya simply shook his head.

“I have no intention of offering myself to anyone but you.”

Admittedly, your new role as the official Bofurin Girlfriend had you just as busy as Umemiya. You weren’t only a sexual toy for them. You were Nirei’s first date, Suo’s confidant, Tsubakino’s shopping buddy, and Kaji’s and Hiragi’s third wheel at metal shows. You felt so lucky to be surrounded by so much love—and dick. But all those excursions—and dick—kept you insanely booked, to the point that you had to develop a shared calendar with your boy toys to not overlap on dates!

So it’s not to anyone's surprise that there are days when you and Umemiya don’t cross paths. You exchange texts frequently, asking how the other is doing and sharing inside jokes with cute gifs and memes, but the absence hurts and leaves you aching for him. And maybe it was also Umemiya’s intention to busy you with the boys because he knew he couldn’t give you as much time as you deserved, but it didn’t hurt any less.

But fret not; on rare occasions, your schedules align.

You can feel him before you see him, an overwhelming presence that makes the air dense and clotted with an insurmountable pressure. You look up to the door, and just as your intuition hinted, he strides into the room where you all commonly loiter as a group—members strewn across the worn-out couch and others talking amongst each other immediately straighten and hush.

Umemiya’s well-kept hair is slightly messy, with a few strands dangling in front of his face, and his eyes are smoldering as they scan across the faces in the room, searching until they land on you.

As soon as your eyes meet, the air feels as though it’s coursing with electricity—sexual tension threatening to boil over and scorch anyone who gets in your path. It doesn’t take long for everyone to get the hint to vacate quickly, knowing that you two are set on a collision course that they wouldn’t be able to stop even if they wanted to.

“Ume," you start but are unable to finish as he crosses the room. His heavy steps are the only thing that prepares you as his lips crash onto yours. As he kisses you, hands placed on either side of your cheeks, he breathes you in. His chest expands against yours, and you’re reminded at that moment how much you’ve missed him—missed this. You both wonder silently, but somehow aloud with your bodies, how you could go so long without the other.

And when you’ve been apart for so long, you don’t have time for pleasantries. Ume is walking you backward until your ass is pushed against the back of the couch, which previously housed Bofurin members, the indentations of their bodies still fresh in the cushions.

He smiles at you—one that you recognize because it isn’t his usual giddy grin; instead, it’s a smile that conveys, “I can’t help what I’m about to do to you.”

Ume gently grips your elbow and spins you around. As he bends you over, you’re now painfully aware of the feeling of a breeze as he hikes up your dress and his fingers pinch at the exposed flesh of your ass.

“No underwear?”

“Suo doesn’t like it when I wear panties. He says it’s a hassle.”

Umemiya hums to himself in response to this interesting tidbit. He kneels, placing two giant hands on your cheeks, and spreads you down the middle. If anyone else were in the room, they’d be able to see everything, from your juicy, wet cunt to your winking, puckered asshole, and the fact that Umemiya can see everything makes you gush.

“My pretty girl is already so wet,” Umemiya muses, eyeing your pretty hole as it drools for him. You blush, knowing he’s not referring to you but having a conversation with your pussy instead.

“Have you been a good girl for the boys?” His mouth leaves hot kisses and gentle nips along the curve of your ass, tongue darting out and leaving a trail of saliva across the expanse of your smooth flesh. You stiffen, wondering if his tongue will dip into somewhere more lewd—and Ume considers it, but he’s on a mission with one goal in mind; he’ll devour your asshole another time.

“Y-yeah, Ume. I’ve been a good girl for them.”

His finger traces your entrance, spreading your freely-flowing juices onto your cunt’s lips. His eyes take you in with pride as you clench around the air simply because his finger is so close to being inside of you. He smiles at the physical way you show how much you crave him.

“For who in particular?”

“My god, Ume! Always with the questions!” You squirm under his touch. You know he isn’t being an intentional tease, but the line of questioning still feels invasive. How do you tell your boyfriend that Hiragi’s cock was breaking you in by noon, and Kiryu had you sucking him off under the table while he tapped away at this phone screen only a couple of hours ago?

“Why are you shy all of a sudden? Here, I can check.”

Your thighs quiver as he slides two fingers inside of you without warning. You attempt to adjust, but his probing fingers are sweeping so deeply inside of you that you have to dig your nails into the soft fabric of the couch to keep yourself from reaching back and grabbing his wrist.

“Sugishita, huh? I can tell.”

Oh, yeah. Sugishita, too.

You cringe as his fingers pass over your clit, making you hiss and recall that you woke up to a particular someone’s head buried between your legs.

“And Nirei, too? Did it feel good when he sucked on your clit? That’s his favorite thing, right? Sucking at your cute little clit until you cum down his throat.”

You huff and wiggle against his hand, growing restless from being exposed like this and against his eyes with no release.

“Does his tongue feel better than mine?” There’s no jealousy in his tone—just curiosity and a hint of ego because he knows the answer before you can say it.

You give him a quick head shake and mouth the word “No,” earning a smirk.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

He’s teasing you, and not saying what he hears means the unfortunate consequence of not having his mouth on you.

“Your tongue feels better than Nirei’s, Ume.”

“Good girl.” And without further comment, and to your delight, Ume places a kiss against the back of your mound, soft pubic hair tickling his lips.

You don’t like to compare sexual experiences; every Bofurin member brings their own “talents” to the bedroom, but Umemiya has to be your favorite. He touches you with such fondness and devotion that it sets you on fire. Your head falls forward, and your shoulders slump as his tongue makes gentle work of your clit, as if to apologize on behalf of Nirei for making you sore.

“Did you miss me, Ume?”

“More than you could ever imagine. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you—done this—that I was starting to get restless.”

Umemiya’s words ring true. He feasts upon you as though what you have between your thighs is the only meal that can satiate his immense hunger. The way he rubs his nose against your sex, chuckling as you whimper against him, “Needy girl. What am I going to do with you?”

Umemiya’s tongue splits you open, his tongue solid and firm as it explores your cunt, his hands are placed on either side of your ass, with his face flush against your skin to leave as little space between you as possible.

The way his hot breath fills you up and the way he moans with every lick makes your head spin. Ume and pussy-eating are synonymous. Eating you out is like breathing in air for him, and the way he’s pushing you forward, your stomach digging into the back of the couch from the exertion, is a clear indicator that he’s just as into it as you are.

“You taste like heaven, baby girl.” Soft, gentle praises float through the air as he laps at you. Between hungry slurps and moans, your legs begin to tremble. If you weren’t holding yourself up against the fortitude of the couch, you’d surely collapse against Umemiya’s face.

“This isn’t too much for you, right, baby? I’m so hungry; let me have a little more of your pretty pussy.”

It doesn’t matter what you say; Umemiya is set on devouring you regardless of your ability to stand.

“Grind back on my face, sweet girl. I want you to fuck my tongue.”

And as someone who isn’t in the business of disappointing her king, you use what little energy you have by pushing yourself off the couch and grinding your pussy on Ume’s outstretched tongue.

He goads you on with each bounce, and in between the soft, wet, smacking sounds from the collision your ass makes with his face, you can barely make out what he’s chanting.

As you look back at him, curving your midsection to get as best of a view as one can in a bent over, ass-up position, you’re met with the intense, unapologetic, “dare you to look away” gaze of Umemiya’s over the top of your cheeks.

Direct eye contact during cunnilingus is an unsung hero, and Ume remains the champion. Your walls clench around his tongue, squeezing the muscle as your pussy juices cascade into his mouth and down his chin.

And despite the way you quake around him, Ume lets you ride it out on his tongue before pulling away and unbuckling his pants.

“God, I’ve missed ya.”

#💌#💌 anon #anon fulfilled #umemiya hajime smut #hajime umemiya x reader #hajime umemiya smut #umemiya hajime x reader #umemiya x reader #hajime umemiya #wind breaker #windbreaker smut #request

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error-dream-was-found · 6 months ago

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I just saw your idea about Quackity sucking at torture and I am SO intrigued 👀 Please do tell

(Also I absolutely love love love your writing <3)

Hiii, thank you for asking :)

And I'm happy to hear that you enjoy my writing <3

It's been a while since I came up with that idea and I can't seem to find my notes on it (I found like 15 other half forgotten AUs instead oops) but I'm pretty sure it came from some discussion with Flora.

The basic idea is that everything happens just as it does in canon and Quackity goes to torture Dream. This is where things get sketchy because as I said, this is a 100 % crack idea so ... what if Quackity just somehow managed to fuck up every single torture attempt?

I really wish I could find my notes on this because I know I had some specific ideas written down but let's go with what I remember. During the first visit I think he might've just underestimated Dream who in spite of being in the prison for a while now was still able to dodge Quackity and maybe even disarm him or something just it ends up with Sam having to interfere.

But it's okay! Quackity's got it! It was just a ... a minor inconvenience, nothing more. But ... things are just not working out during his second visit either, nor during the third one or the fourth one.

Dream is totally not giving fuck about what Quackity wants and for the sake of crack Quackity just miserably fails in all his attempts to torture Dream in the most ridiculous ways possible.

Like, he will get his axe stuck in the obsidian and can't pull it out, he drops a harming potion and hits himself instead of Dream, he sets himself on fire on accident (that lava wall had no business being over there!), he fails to realize that Dream is actually good in strategic games and his plan to hurt Dream for losing a game fails when the game drags on for way too long (bonus points if he loses somehow). Just some very weird (and hopefully somewhat funny) stuff happens.

Some time he doesn't even get to try his hand at torture because he gets carried away with wedding preparation and all (just imagine him forcing Dream help with choosing the decorations or something lol)

After his fight with Karl Dream is forced to be the therapist (he has no escape while Quackity cries about the state of his relationship), least to say Dream is very confused why Quackity thought he is the right person to ask about the relationship problems (srsly Q have you seen the state of his relationships???)

At this point Dream himself might try to give him tips, look he is not a fan of getting tortured but this is just sad, okay?

Perhaps he will manage to actually hurt Dream at some point but by then I think he would be too used to failing that it actually freaks him out more than it freaks out Dream himself. The rest of the "session" was spend fretting over Dream because god man you're bleeding! Dream is just there like ... isn't this what you wanted? And well yeah but also no! (Q has some very mixed feelings)

Overall though I think Q would maim himself in that cell more than he ever did to Dream. On accident of course. I never figured out the logistics of this one but it'd be hella funny if Q somehow managed to idk cut of his own finger or something of the sort which would just end up with him freaking out and Dream having to try to calm him down while also calling for Sam to bring a healing potion

I know that it's supper cannon inaccurate but it's really just a crack idea without any real plot behind it 😅

#thanks for asking I love talking about my silly ideas :)#please ignore the grammar errors my autocorrect loves to screw me over 🤦‍♀️#c!dream #c!quackity #c!dream and c!quackity #dsmp #dreblr #dream smp #dsmp au #can i tell you a story?

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snailmail444 · 1 year ago

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Alex x Reader 🙈

All Tied Up

18+ 💚 NSFW 💚 MDNI

Alex x Reader

It’s the way I have been absolutely possessed the past few days. I’ve been in a huge writing slump but then the new year hit and my brain just. Decided to function? We’re riding the wave folks we’ll see how long it keeps up lol.

ANYWAY! Enjoy the third fulfilled ask in a week. I hope y’all aren’t sick of me yet lmao. NSFW under the cut and remember MDNI

“Are you sure you can’t break these?” You ask, pulling at one of the knots binding Alex to your bed.

Alex stares up at you, all big green eyes and still-confident smirk. “Even I can’t do that. I’ll prove it. But you don’t have to worry baby. It’s no sweat, I can behave.”

He flexes and you watch the veins in his arms protrude as he turns his wrists this way and that, trying and failing to find any give in your handiwork. A flush burns down your face, and your throat feels dry as you eye him up and down—large and muscular and completely at your mercy.

You would have never thought that Alex and his body builder physique would be in such a submissive position. Naked, spread eagle and tied to your bedposts, muscles taught and cock flushed. Laid out for you to devour however you please.

You run your palms up his chest, and his skin is hot against yours, smooth and solid as you work your way up. His pounding heart startles you, feeling how fast and hard it’s beating in his chest. For a minute you stall, feeling the strong rhythmic thump, and almost ask if he’s alright.

Almost, except you can see the way his cock twitches and precome beads at the tip just from your idle touches. You haven’t so much as breathed on it, yet it’s straining so hard already it’s obvious his heart rate isn’t due to nerves.

You straddle him, fighting your cocky smile away, and purposefully maintain eye contact as you suck one of his nipples. Alex instantly forgets his restraints, jerking an arm and making the bed-frame rattle. He was right—the knots aren’t going anywhere.

He pants out a heavy breath, and you hide your delight as you lavish attention on his other nipple. You won’t tease him for too long. Not this first time, anyway.

You push your hips back as you skim your teeth along his shoulder, making sure to rub it in that you can touch as much as you want by stroking up his ribcage, down his sides, along his arms.

Only a little more teasing, you think as you glide your wet cunt across his cock, pretending to have trouble guiding it in as you squeeze it’s base and coat it in your arousal.

“Ahh, please,” he whines, hips bucking as much as the pitiful give in his binds allow, “baby I can’t.”

“What happened Alex? It was no sweat what, two minutes ago? Not even?”

He opens his mouth to respond, and you stop him by sinking all the way down on his cock. His hands strain, and you can tell by the way he’s flushing and tossing his face to the side he’d be hiding in his hands to mute the stuttering moan that falls past his lips.

You don’t give him a moment of respite, electing to ride hard and fast. Without the use of his hands Alex can’t modulate your pace. Typically he’d slow you down, keep you steady, but now you’re allowed the free rein to completely ruin him.

“Ah, w-wait,” he huffs, hips twitching and grinding like he might be able to make you listen to him without using his safe word.

It’s too bad you aren’t in a listening mood.

He can’t take it for too long, biting his lip and breathing in stuttering gasps while he tries to stave off his orgasm.

“Ba-aby, I—“ Alex’s voice cracks, “I’m not gonna—hah—I’m really—“

Either he can’t hold himself off anymore, or he realizes you’re not going to listen, because Alex’s babbling ceases as his back arches and he comes with a whine, his muscles straining and flushed down to his chest.

Your cunt throbs as you slow down through his orgasm, gyrating against his hips until he stops twitching. He’s starting to catch his breath, and you bite down on a smile as you pick up the pace, watching as his face twists up.

“A-h-ah—you—I—“ his voice is a squeak, stopping abruptly as he feel you continuing to rock against his soft cock. A low-grade hum buzzing out of his chest continually as you ride him relentlessly. When it doesn’t stop, you finally still.

“Safe word?” You ask, stroking his cheek and feeling the heat of his skin against yours.

“Nuh—no,” he gasps out, bucking into your cunt despite the way it makes him cry out.

You smirk. This is going to be a fun night.

#stardew valley #sdv #writing #stardew valley fanfic #sdv fanfic #asks #sdv alex #stardew valley Alex #alex x reader #stardew valley x reader #sdv smut #stardew valley smut #oneshot #drabble #stardew valley imagines #n.sfw //

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purgatorygnome · 2 months ago

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Can I humbly ask for more half-canary Jimmy? Very curious to see how he "functions" for lack of a better word lol

Ha! You think this man functions/j

(below i've added a small headcanon dump - 294 words)

When designing him I basically went what if the canary curse was y’know actually a curse sooooo

Jimmy was born and raised human

Part way into third life he began to notice the occasional feather caught in his hair or a few that had somehow made their way into his bed ect. But it wasn’t really something he paid much attention to (bit more concerned with the whole fighting for his life malarkey)

However after his final death and when he arrived back home the curse took a stronger hold on him, causing his anatomy to shift and break. (ehehehe always gotta throw in some good old whump)

His right leg is now a bit shorter than the other, So he basically had to relearn how to walk. Because of this he either has to stretch his leg/walk on tip toes (which is uncomfortable and gets painful after long periods) or he walks with a limp.

His right arm got entirely replaced by a wing. Since it doesn’t have any sort of hand and most certainly can’t be used for flight Jimmy mostly views it as deadweight and has learned to live his life with just the one hand.

His right ear is currently drowning in feathers so that's probably messed up his hearing a bit.

Trying to stay the right temperature is an impossible task considering one half of his body is now essentially permanently wrapped in blanket. and oh god hygiene must be rough, ooo all the body dysmorphia and let me tell you it certainly didn't help with all the future death games. Oh my lord i'm having so many thoughts about him now.

Buuut on a more positive note, he's now an absolutely stellar pillow for his friends (see I can be nice :D)

#so so so many thoughts about him #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #trafficblr #the life series #life series

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419jhat · 1 month ago

Text

For @getmeacloak

Breathless

Fem!Steddie

Eddy Munson finds Stevie Harrington having a panic attack in the bathroom.

Disclaimer: Eddy doesn't know how to deal with a panic attack. She's a teenager in the 80s lol. She just does her best.

***

Eddy Munson would have preferred death.

It was as simple as that.

She didn't want to be in this world anymore, if it meant she had to continue on the way she had been, accepting her place at the bottom of the totem pole of popularity, being treated like scum stuck in the grooves of everyone's shoe just because she cut her own hair and walked to the beat of her own drum.

“I'm sorry, but we have a zero tolerance policy, Edlyn. You know that,” Principal Higgens said, and he didn't sound that sorry about it. Eddy wiped a drop of soda from her forehead. She looked at Carol, who was standing behind her like she was part of this little inquisition and not a member of the parties on trial. Her dumbass boyfriend was standing behind Eddy's chair, periodically kicking the back legs like a toddler, just to piss her off.

“So where's her detention?” Eddy asked, throwing up a thumb in her direction.

“That isn't why we're here. We're here to discuss your behavior. Not Ms. Perkins's.”

Carol had this stupid self-satisfied smirk on her face, like she knew this was how it would go. She was right, of course, but that didn't make Eddy any less angry about it.

“How's that fair?” Eddy asked.

Higgens ignored her. He turned to write something on his stupid little detention slip notebook and said, “Life isn't fair, Edlyn.”

“Eddy,” she said.

He paused and looked up. “I'm sorry?”

“It’s Eddy. My name is Eddy. And I have a zero tolerance policy for getting shit dumped on me in front of the whole school,” she said.

“Oooh,” Tommy cooed. Higgens’s face twisted.

“Your language is distasteful. And so is your clothing. Maybe find a jacket, instead of making everyone uncomfortable,” he said, lips curled with disgust as he looked down at her chest. Carol and Tommy laughed openly.

“Whore,” Tommy said under his breath. Higgens didn't even say anything, even though Eddy knew he heard it. Everyone did. But, as usual, nobody said anything.

Eddy crossed her arms over her chest, humiliation burning her from the inside out. She could feel everyone staring at her, even the new secretary, who was peeking over her glasses with an extremely judgmental look.

“That's not my fucking fault! You know what she did!” Eddy yelled.

Higgens sat up straight. “I think I'll make that two detentions. One for being a disturbance and another for disrespect!”

Eddy stood up so fast that her chair tipped backwards and hit Tommy in the shins.

“Fuck!” Tommy hissed.

Eddy reached over the desk and snatched the detention slip from Higgens's white-knuckled grip.

“Disrespect, my ass! And if I knew you'd be lookin’ I would've brought a jacket to school in the first place. Creep!” Eddy yelled.

Tommy was glaring at her but Carol was still smiling like she thought it was funny. Eddy faked a lunge in her direction, and Carol jumped.

Yeah, that's what she thought.

“Edlyn! Ms. Munson! We're not done here!” Higgens yelled as she walked out of there.

She didn't give a damn. They could call Wayne or hold her back another year for all she cared. Nothing was worth the disrespect.

Only, as Eddy stomped through the hallway, her boots making little squeaking noises as she tracked soda though the hallway, the anger began to fade into tears of frustration and shame. Because, what could be worse than being held back again? How would Wayne look at her? How would her friends? How could she walk through these halls a third time, knowing that most people her age had kick-started their journeys into becoming productive members of society? She couldn't rely on Wayne to take care of her forever. He was getting old. Shit, one more sprained back at the plant and he'd be the one who needed caring for.

All through the hallway, people were staring. Whispering. She crossed her arms again, forcing away the urge to shiver under the harsh AC, and rushed for the closest bathroom before she could embarrass herself even further.

She instantly ran for the sink. With shaking hands, she pulled as many paper towels as she could and began drying her hair. She looked up at the mirror and nearly laughed. She looked like a drowned rat. Her makeup was running down her cheeks in black streaks, her hair plastered against her head and neck. And her previously white hellfire t-shirt was stained an unmistakable coca-cola brown.

“That fucking bitch,” she said under her breath. She grabbed more paper towels and tried to pat it dry. Eddy didn't know shit about stains. Most of her clothes were black, so if she spilled something it didn't matter much.

Then, Eddy heard something behind her. Someone…breathing? She turned around. All the stalls were open, except for one. She could tell that someone was sitting on the toilet, their white leather keds and lacy socks tapping against the tile. Eddy turned away at first, irritated that she wasn't alone. But then she heard them again. Breathing. In and out, in and out, quick and sharp. Eddy couldn't ignore it anymore. She dumped the paper towels in the trash can and walked over to the stall.

“Hey, not to be weird, but are you okay?” she asked awkwardly. They didn't respond. Eddy debated how much of this was her business. It was a bathroom and someone could theoretically just be having a bad stomach day. She wouldn't want someone trying to talk to her through the stall if she was in that situation.

But there was something weird about it. The way they were wheezing like they'd just ran a marathon, or like they were about to throw up.

“Do you need me to get someone?” she asked hesitantly.

Still, no answer. Eddy stood there a moment longer, not sure what she could do. She looked down at her shirt and sighed. Stupid fucking Higgens. It wasn't immodest to wear white. How was she supposed to know someone would dump something all over her? She walked back over to the sink, figuring the girl could speak up if she wanted help.

Then, she heard a thud.

She whipped around.

The stall door was shaking.

Eddy rushed back over.

“Hey, are you okay? Hello?” she asked urgently. This time, a high pitched whine slipped out of the stall.

“Oh my God. Oh my god are you—okay. I'm going to open the door. Okay? Is that okay? Jesus Christ, I hope this isn't another prank,” she said as she dug around frantically for her pocket knife. She flicked it open and stabbed it between the stall and the stall door, wiggling it until the lock came undone. The door fell open, and with it, Stevie Harrington. Eddy caught her before she fell face first into the floor and gently lowered herself to the ground with Stevie limp in her arms

“Are you okay!? Oh my god what is happening!? Is this an allergy thing!?” Eddy rambled.

Stevie’s face was paler than Eddy’d ever seen it, and clammy against her hands. Her mascara was also smeared down her face, and she was crying uncontrollably. Quiet, gasping for air, with tears rolling relentlessly down her cheeks. She was shaking furiously, practically vibrating.

Eddy could feel Stevie's heartbeat leaping rapidly against the palm of her hand, pressed against her neck. She had no idea what to do. Her first thought was to call for help, but she didn't want to abandon her.

“Can you hear me?” Eddy asked. Stevie squeezed her eyes closed and slowly nodded.

So, she was conscious. That was good.

Eddy pulled Stevie out of the stall and turned her, so she was flat on her back with her head in Eddy's lap. She cradled Stevie's head in her hands, treating her more like someone who had overdosed. Though she was pretty sure at this point that something else was happening.

“I feel like I'm dying,” Stevie whimpered.

Eddy had no idea what to do. There was nothing she could do. She reached out and grabbed Steve's shaking hand, squeezing it tight.

“You're okay. It's going to be okay. Let me go get—”

“No! Don't go!” Stevie said, grabbing Eddy's hand so tight that she thought her knuckles might snap.

“Okay! No going! I'm staying right here,” Eddy said. “How about we try breathing? In and out. In, hold, and out.”

Eddy felt a bit like one of those hippy fitness girls on TV who talked about meditation and eastern medicine healing the mind or whatever. She sat like that against the cold floor, staring down at Stevie while Stevie stared back up at her, breathing. After a while, Stevie seemed to gain some sort of clarity in her eyes. She let go of Eddy's hand and the tears subsided.

“Do you want me to go get someone?” Eddy asked quietly.

Stevie sat up, leaving Eddy's legs cold, and wiped her face. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, hiding her expression from Eddy's eyes.

“No. I'm so sorry, Eddy, I don't—”

“You know my name?” Eddy asked stupidly. She cringed after. Of course Stevie knew her name. They went to the same school. But it was wild, for some reason, to realize that her existence had entered the periphery of Stevie Harrington’s world enough for her to remember her name.

Stevie looked up at her, eyes rimmed red, cheeks puffy, with confusion. “Of course I know your name. You stand on the lunch tables and yell at everyone like, twice a week.”

Eddy’s face was on fire.

“Yeah, well. I figured you—it doesn't matter. Are you okay? Do you want some weed? Or gum?” Eddy asked distractedly. Stevie seemed to think about it for a moment. She looked Eddy up and down, but not in the gross judgemental way Higgens and Carol did. It was curious.

“Why are you wet?” Stevie asked.

Eddy looked down at herself and blinked. She'd totally forgotten why she'd been in the bathroom in the first place. She felt a little embarrassed about it now. Just a few minutes ago she'd been despairing how her life was over. Now, she was... making a friend?

A very pretty friend, at that.

“Carol's a bitch,” she said with an air of nonchalance. “And so is Higgens.”

“Sounds about right,” Stevie said with a nod. Eddy wanted to ask when Stevie's opinion on her best friend had become so rotten. But then, Stevie planted her hand against the floor and began to stand.

“Whoa,” Eddy said, hovering her hands out as she stood up with her.

“I'm okay, I just—” Stevie said, and then her knees began to shake like a newborn fawn and she leaned dangerously to the left. Eddy caught her again.

“You smell like soda,” Stevie said in a weirdly dreamy voice.

“You have mascara all over your face,” Eddy said, reaching up to wipe some. Then she caught herself, blushing hard, because that wasn't very friendly behavior.

“So do you,” Stevie said, blinking up at her through her long, pretty lashes. She reached a shaking hand to rub at her eye, which only made it worse in Eddy's opinion. She kept that to herself. It didn't matter anyway. Stevie Harrington looked beautiful even when she was rocking her eyeliner like a backup singer for Kiss.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Eddy asked quietly.

Stevie paused. They stood there, Eddy's arms around Stevie and Steve's face buried against her neck. Eddy realized then, that this would look very interesting to anyone who decided to walk in. Fuck it, she was already the school pariah.

“No,” Stevie said.

“You should maybe go home,” Eddy said. “I'm leaving anyway. Want me to drive you?”

Stevie pushed herself away from Eddy and leaned against the closest stall instead. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked at Eddy shyly.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

Eddy gestured down at her shirt. “No sense in going to class like this. Plus, I think Higgens might want to expel me.”

Stevie laughed quietly, like she didn't have the energy to reply. She looked so exhausted. Eddy had never seen her look like this before. She was usually so bubbly and irritatingly perfect. It was what made her so popular, after all. Now, the shine in her eyes looked flat. Eddy watched her sway for a moment, choosing to let her take her time with a reply. Finally, Stevie tucked some hair behind an ear and reached out to hold Eddy's arm. Eddy knew it didn't have to be romantic, but it made her heart race a little anyway. She felt like a knight in soaking wet armor guiding her princess out of harm's way.

“If it's not too much trouble…” Stevie said hesitantly.

“Of course not! Come on, I've got a great music collection. It will wake you up fast,” Eddy said as she gently helped her out of the bathroom. Thankfully, nobody was in the hallway.

“Oh god, I think I regret this already," Stevie said.

#fem steddie #fem steve harrington #fem eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie #stranger things #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington

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oftenderweapons · 2 years ago

Text

In Your Calvin's | JJK

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 9.6k

Genre: smut, fluff, pwp, established relationship

Rating: 18+ Minors, do not interact

Synopsis: Being Jeon Jeongguk's girlfriend is a great honour, but it comes with great responsibilities. When the commercial celebrating your boyfriend (very secret boyfriend) starts playing on everyone's and their mother's phones, it's time you face what it means to be loved by the most wanted idol of them all.

Warnings: Jealousy and general possessiveness. Swearing. Powerplay, switch!reader, switch!jk. Masochist!jk (?). Marking (hickey, writing on body with a pen), hair pulling (male receiving), edging (male receiving), spanking (male and female receiving). Teasing. Mild degradation. Dry humping. A very mild boobjob. Breast worship. Unprotected foreplay, oral sex (female receiving; brief male receiving), unprotected sex (be smarter, kids), rough sex. Mentions of cockring.

One last thing: 1. this was edited at 3am, please bear with me. 2. Sidenote: I try to be as neutral as possible with the way I describe the girls' appearance, however I wanted to specify that in this fic, I mention Candy having long, straight hair (and huge badonkers, but that's kinda canon by now LOL). It's just a brief mention, absolutely nothing major and holds no relevance to the fic, you might not even notice it; but still, I wanted to make sure I thought about my curly haired goddesses, and short haired queens, (or a combo of both heart eyes) and that I apologise for making this fic just a pinch less immersive for you. (Is this the right moment to apologise to small boobs princesses too? ily sisters, itty bitty titty committee 5evah)

Here's my masterlist, lemme just disappear very quickly. Enjoy 💜✨

You knew Jeongguk had a gig with Calvin Klein. You've known it for months. You've seen him cut calories and hit the gym and dehydrate for a couple days before the shoot because he explained to you how muscle definition works, and crucial to showing a great slab of abs is being basically as dry as a breadstick, to the point of being cranky because you have drunk three glasses of water in the last forty-eight hours.

Which all means, you knew his stomach would be quite surely showing.

And yet your world still stops once you're merrily sitting on your train back home and his half undressed form appears on the screen on your phone.

At first you slam your phone shut, mostly because you're used to hiding your boyfriend away and that's the reaction you usually have when you open one of his flirty pics from your chat.

Next, you realise you weren't on your private chat, and you weren't even looking at pictures in your phone gallery.

You were absentmindedly scrolling. On Instagram.

You unlock your phone again, and right there you're confronted with the very naked truth.

Jeongguk. Is basically naked. On your phone. And it's for the entire world to see.

Your brain slows down, as if the earth axis is tipping over a little in the opposite way.

Something inside you snaps around the third time the video plays in front of your unseeing eyes. To anyone looking at you, you could be just an obsessed fan taking a close look at the fine piece of art, but your eyes are unfocused, your mind too deep in thought to register any stimulus from the external world.

The vibration from the phone awakens you from your state of trance.

“Candy, baby,” says the adorable lover boy calling you. “Have you seen it already?”

Your lips are sealed, and you can't quite bring yourself to speak, you don't know why.

“I'm on my way back home.” You say, and the words feel like cracking a glow stick in your chest.

“But did you see it?” His voice isn't as bright now.

“I'm coming home.” You repeat.

He's silent for a few seconds, and you can hear him sigh. “Okay.”

“He's so insanely hot,” you overhear a girl sitting across from you comment.

“I want to run my palms down the sides of his waist,” says her friend.

You stare at them and you know you must look like a woman possessed right now, but you still allow yourself to incinerate them with a glare, as if your eyes could turn into flamethrowers.

“Candy?”

“I'll be home in ten.” And you close the call.

On the way back home, you hear more people talk. More girls fawn. More women zoom in.

On the escalator, you notice a woman fanning herself while staring at the screen. Another one even crosses herself as the ad from your boyfriend reruns on her phone screen.

Every step on your way home is utter agony, and once you step over the threshold, you're not sure what you're going to do.

Jeongguk is in the kitchen in a sleeveless top, tattoos out, piercings glowing in the gentle light of the living room. And his hair is fluffy, which means he's probably just done blow drying it after taking a shower.

The fact that the scent of his body lotion is still sharp gives you further indication of how recent that shower must be.

“Hey,” he says, turning towards you with a bunny grin, which immediately dims once he sees your expression. “Oh. Bad day?”

You bite your lip and stare at him a fair bit. Then, a bit more.

“Candy, love.”

You don't know what to do with him. Is he yours? Is he really yours?

How come you come home to him making dinner, and being freshly showered, and being so domestic? How come you're living in his apartment, knowing his pass code, having an ID card for his apartment complex and his studio at HYBE? How come he gives you a copy of his schedule and talks about you over the phone on his weekly call to his grandmother and brings you to his parents' house? How come you go on trips together and you're the emergency contact to his fur babies and you make love two to four times a week? How come he's brought you to the town he grew up in and loved you down in the place where he lost his virginity because, "I wish it had been you since the very first time"?

Who is this man?

Is he Jungkook from Bangtan Sonyeondan? Or is he Jeon Jeongguk, your very own quiet, shy, reserved lover boy?

“You're scaring me,” he whispers, putting down his wooden spoon and taking a few steps to stand in front of you.

“Why me?” you ask, staring at his collarbones, too scared to look into his eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asks back, sheepish.

This time your eyes meet his. “Why me? Of all the women out there, why me?” You look down, taking in just how average you feel, every imperfection magnified in your eyes, now that you have so many people you're comparing yourself with, and competing with.

“Candy—” He starts.

“Everyone, everyone out there is literally foaming at the mouth at that commercial, and I'm here? I come home to you? I make love to you almost every night?” You pause and laugh bitterly at him. “I'm a fucking fraud.”

He shakes his head and moves closer, grabbing your wrists. “A fraud, you say?” He tuts in disappointment, places your hands on his waist. “You're not a fraud, ____, you're my soulmate.” He leaves your hands once he feels them clutch at his narrow waist.

Possessiveness hits you all of a sudden, and it is only mildly ebbed by his hands landing at the top of your ass.

“I love you, and I make love to you because it's a fucking dream. You're a fucking dream, and I'm so upset that you don't see it.”

You're jealous. You're simply jealous. It's human and it's healthy to be moderately jealous. After all the comments you heard and read, it's fair to be jealous.

“I reckon you saw the commercial.”

“I saw the commercial and everyone's reaction to it,” you comment, slightly acidic.

Jeongguk bends to place a kiss below your earlobe. “Are you angry?”

No. Not just anger.

Your hands mimic his and crawl to his lower back, toying with the hemline of his underwear. “I'm not mad.” I'm disgustingly jealous and I don't like them having more of what's mine. They already have too much, they've always wanted too much and you always give it to them and I'm furious that it's not mine alone.

Jeongguk wears a mischievous smile as he makes you take several small steps back, the back of your legs hitting the kitchen counter. “Do you like it?”

You click your tongue and shake your head. “No.”

The reply startles him, and he feels his mood dim. Did he—

“I'm not a jealous person, but this… God, this hits a new level,” you finally admit. “They already drool over you quite enough, and now they even have a video of you shirtless. How would I not be jealous!? Half the girls would have snapped your neck. If Yoongi ever did this, Kitten would have his balls dangling from her Mercedes keychain. I don't even know how Lace and Princess are handling their boyfriends naked on everyone's phone. If I were Tae I would seek political asylum in Greenland. Or maybe Tibet.” You take a large mouthful of oxygen before you launch yourself in another tirade.

“Everyone's talking about grabbing your waist, licking your abs, tugging at your hair and shit and hi! I'm here! I'm the girlfriend! Sorry I exist! WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Jeongguk laughs and lowers himself to your chest, kissing where your heartbeat echoes like a crazed war drum.

“It's not fun!” you complain, significantly agitated.

“Mh.” He hums as he moves aside the hem of your shirt, meeting the soft, smooth skin of your chest. “It was supposed to come out on your birthday, that's why's a bit more racy,” he explains more patiently. “But they decided to release it early.” He kisses a tender spot and your left knee tingles a little. “It was supposed to be a slightly too public boudoir shoot. But secretly it was just yours.” Jeongguk finds the cup of your bra and stares up at you as his fingers reach the hem and slide the fabric aside. “I was thinking of you when I made it.”

And once his mouth wraps around your nipple, your right knee starts tingling too.

“Must admit I had to push the limits a lot to finally make you jealous,” he purrs once he is done with the licking, sucking motion of his mouth around your tender flesh. “But I'm sorry I crossed the line.”

What line? You think, your brain already hazy. No sharp line exists in the world you’re currently in. Just the loving, plush hills of Jeongguk's lips, the slippery slopes of his waistline, the sinuous curves of his hip bones leading you to his pelvis, and the soft curls of his luscious dark locks. No crossed borders, only gentle waves licking the shore, water and land embracing one the other.

“Remind me who's the boss here, Candy,” he says, and you know he's playing you right now. “Remind me where I belong.” His mouth is at your ear as he whispers, “Show me who owns me.”

The tingles are spreading as his fingers grab at your ass, his lips connecting with your jaw. “Talk to me, Candy.”

You’re not sure you can articulate words at this moment. Talking isn’t as easy as everyone makes it seem.

His eyes connect with yours and he can tell you’re staring at his lips by the poetic detail of your lashes lowered over your cheekbone.

It makes him chuckle, very gently, that he has all these details of you he adores, and that you have the audacity of asking him why he picked you, and why he keeps choosing you over and over.

He loves you, his family loves you, his dogs love you. This is the way it’s supposed to be.

His finger reaches underneath your chin, forcing your eyes to actually meet his. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he purrs, and as your lashes dart up, he shakes his head a little, loving the way you arch up a fraction, as if pulled towards him. “There she is, beautiful.”

You feel completely neutralised. Disarmed. All the storms brewing over you a minute ago are forgotten as soon as his sweet smile shines like sunlight above you.

His hand combs your hair back, cupping your cheek and landing a kiss on your temple. “Are you feeling better?”

You nod.

“What mood are we in?” You’ve asked him this question thousands of times since the two of you became serious, ever since he opened up about feeling too closed off to make a relationship work; and now, the fact that it was such a solid, valid ritual in your dynamics made it natural for him to ask too. “You need to talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I’m better. I…”

“Tell me what you want.”

You stare at him, at his shoulders, at his biceps, you trace his tattoo with your fingertip, and he looks closely at your finger, at it drawing swirls and circles on his skin.

“Pick me up,” you say softly.

And he does, immediately. His biceps flex and he grunts a little, not at the weight, but just because he knows the sound can make your toes curl, and he likes that a lot. His hands are wrapped around the back of your thighs, then they adjust to your bottom.

“Next? Counter? Bed? Shower?”

You kiss him. Impatient, and needy, you kiss him.

He opens up for you without hesitation, moaning at the sweet invasion of your tongue in his mouth. God, he loves it. It makes him melt, to feel your tongue slip against his, moving wet and sloppy, your lips plush and hot pressed up against him. He loves kissing you. Actually, he loves making out with you. He’s pretty sure he could come of that alone, and he tries to remind himself you have to give that a try. Another day.

He places you onto the counter because he fears his knees might give out on him. And once he has you there it means his hands can roam all over you and grab your chest and toy with—

“No touching,” you snap at him, gripping his wrists and pulling his hands behind his back.

His eyes go wide at the shift in pace, but he obeys. He also feels like he's awakening from a dream only to find out reality can be so much better.

You dig your hands in his hair and he hisses a little as you tug gently, but still roughly. You think of all the people who wish they could do just so as you stare into his eyes, seeing just how turned on he gets as you manhandle him.

You lean towards him and you notice him trying to kiss you, but you tug at his hair harder, holding him in place as the heat of your exhale fans over his parted lips and his chin.

“You want me to own you?” you ask him, watching his muscles twitch as he fights the urge to grab you and put you in place.

He nods. “Do me all the things no one else can.” He has a roguish smile as he adds, “Do me everything they won't ever, ever do to me.” And he is god of deception when he finally tips you over the edge. “Do me everything I want just from you, and you alone.”

You watch him intently, then tug at his hair so that his head is angled upwards, throat vulnerable and exposed.

He's staring at you with a mischievous glint in his expression, a walking temptation, and you can almost hear him say it, 'come on, do it'. And you do it.

You bend forward and sink your teeth in his flesh, the tender skin caving in as your bite marks him softly before your cheeks move into a suctioning motion that you know will turn into a bruise. It just pleases you so.

“Take a step back,” you order as soon as you're happy with the hickey. “Take off your shirt.”

And he winks before he does. You watch the plain of his chest, the valley in between his pectorals leading you down to his navel.

“I hope you're wearing your Calvin's,” you tease with a cocked eyebrow.

He smirks. “Always in my Calvin's.”

You snicker and shake your head. “Take off your pants.”

His forehead scrunches up in surprise, but he eventually obeys.

He's standing in a pair of socks and his white boxer briefs. At least he didn't lie, they are Calvin Klein.

“Do you want—”

“The Calvin's stay on,” you sentence, then you descend from the counter. “Head over to the bedroom. I'll come over in a minute.”

He stares at you, flabbergasted.

“Oh, and I almost forgot: don't touch yourself. Settle down, hands on the headboard and wait pretty.”

He blinks, unsure of where this is going to end or where it came from, but so blazingly grateful for it.

“Okay.”

You give him a quick once-over as you stand in front of each other. His abs are toned and defined, but now less alarmingly than the days before the shoot. His thighs are strong and you love how the material from the boxers wraps around them comfortably and smoothly.

You dare stare at his crotch, at the way the fabric traces the curve of his length, so perfectly long and so perfectly thick.

You allow your fingertips to trace the curve of his spine, so lightly that it causes him to close his eyes, his head inched to the side as he shivers in pleasure.

“Can I be rough with you?” you ask him, your hand reaching the small of his back and cupping the curve of his ass.

He moves his hands on you the exact same way you did. “Maybe I like pain,” he suggests, and from the collection of tattoos and piercings, but mostly from the supercut of memories of him getting bitten, spanked and scratched by you, you’re reminded that you’re not dealing with the edited version of him he has promoted publicly.

This is your boyfriend. Jeongguk. Your Jeongguk.

You sink your nails into the flesh of his ass, and he hisses but smiles, pulling you closer, swaying his hips to tease your crotch with his. “Go get ready, babyboy,” you croon.

He hums invitingly and kisses your neck, trying to get you to move with him, but you’ve made up your mind already.

“Go,” you repeat.

He pouts and grabs your hips. “Come on, what are you trying to do?” he asks, his brow furrowed, his eyes dark and wide and imploring for you to just follow him and spare him whatever cruel surprise you want to use against him.

You grab his wrists, making him unclasp his hands. “Go and you’ll find out.”

He hesitates and then he faces away, still reluctant, turning around a couple times on his way, checking if you’re following him — perhaps, maybe, hopefully…

Yet, you don’t move, not until he turns the corner to the bedroom. And then you make your way over, slow, unbothered.

And you close the door on him.

You head to the bathroom, wash up quickly, and equally quickly you cover yourself in his favourite lotion, taking special care of your neck and chest. Once properly buttered up and covered in nothing but pretty Calvin undies and his favourite Calvin jeans jacket, you’re ready to attack. But you stare at yourself in the mirror, and you feel like there’s still something you could do to give him a heart attack…

Oh, that, you think. And you get to work.

Apparently he has behaved, as you find him lounging in bed, with his boxers still on, his hands laced behind the crown of his head, a fine slab of abs in full glow from the dark amber hue coming from his led lights.

“Are we on a sunset gold kinda vibe— Holy shit.” He didn’t manage to sound as cool and aloof as he’d tried to be once his eyes landed on you.

He wished he could take a picture of you and spread it across town, just so he could stare at it while waiting for a bus, or hanging out at Hongdae with his friends, and excitedly point at it while tipsy to holler “that’s my fucking girlfriend, that fine piece of ass fucking owns me”.

He wished he could put you on an album cover and fill it with all the insane stuff you do to his heart and his mind and his body. How his heartbeat does a little hiccup thing when he sees you first thing in the morning, and how he’s spent every wish on fallen eyelashes over you, and making you happy, and building you a house and having fireworks for your wedding night, and having all his fans seeing just how incredibly fantastic you are to him, how you make him so happy and deliriously smitten and barely coherent when it comes to talking about you, and just… He just wants everyone to love you half as much as he does.

And maybe for you to be only ever in love with him, so he doesn’t risk anyone thirsting for you enough to steal you from him.

“What were you saying about golden lights?” you ask, climbing on the bed, your hand modestly holding the lapels of his jeans jacket together — it’s not time to destroy him yet.

“I— I…” He tries to sit up, but you push him back where he belongs with a well-placed hand pressed to the middle of his chest.

“Put on the red lights, love.” You grin devilishly, watching his doe eyes glimmer with wonder and disbelief.

“Have I ever told you I am one lucky motherfucker?” he says, staring at your neck, at your face, at your hand, his palms already moving to your hips as you straddle him.

“I just know it.” You sit on your throne — his lap —, stretch to the end table to grab the remote to switch the lights to red, and once the deal is settled, you let the jacket open. “I mean. I’m the luckiest because I have these, but considering you profit from them… You know…” You let your breasts show.

“I know…” he says, entirely mesmerised. God, he is so easy, you think, watching his eyes scan your chest like a cat playing catch with a laser light. You mix your standard level of charm with a slow grind of your hips, so slow and gentle that it’s straight up teasing, torture at its blandest level.

“You make it so hard to think,” he speaks with a strangled voice, trying to make you move the way he wants, but you grab his hands with the excuse of lacing your fingers with his, only to drag them back by the sides of his head.

“I didn’t know I could turn your brain into mush just like this,” you reply, feeling your folds moisten in an attempt to ease the sliding of your crotch against his length. Too bad both of you are still clad in your underwear and, according to your plans, would stay that way for quite a while, as long as possible. “You’re so whipped.”

“I am,” he purrs, and tries to get away with moving his hands back to your hips, but before he can dig his digits in the soft of your flesh, you tut.

“You’d better not touch that ass, Jeon. Keep your hands to yourself if you want my hands on you,” you threaten. “Just to remind you who’s in charge, sweetheart.”

His eyes go wide and he moves his palms back behind his head as soon as you finish your remark. “Yes, miss.”

“Good boy,” you praise him, and you visibly notice him holding back from smiling at the praise. “Did you see my little mark?” you ask. “Call it a slog

an of sorts. A vision statement.” You shrug and push back the lapels, hoping for the lights not being too low for him to see.

It has taken a while for your handy work to happen, mostly because it can be absurdly tricky writing in reverse, but thankfully you’re quite prone to graphic arts.

Jeongguk rises a little, getting closer to where he can recognise dark scribbles on your chest. Unusual dark scribbles.

“Is that… Tattooed?” he asks, and his eyes go wide as he meets your face.

You cackle at him, leaning over and licking his lips, sucking his lower one, then travelling along his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe in a way that makes his hips jolt against you, buckling. “I can't have that tattooed, can I? Unless the world knows and it gets a little too permanent.”

He frowns, not at the way he loses contact with your warm crotch, but because of the unwelcome realisation of what it means to not belong to you entirely. “I'm so sorry,” he sighs, trying to hold you, but stopping his hands before he can touch you.

He goes back to his assigned position and begs you with his eyes.

“Oh, no. Don't worry, it's okay.” To keep him distracted, you get back to a soft roll of your pelvis against his, and he seems to oppose, but it only lasts for maybe five seconds.

His wound-up exhale convinces you to reward him further, lowering your chest so that it drags against his as you keep grinding on him.

“Jeongguk, baby,” you murmur fondly.

“So unfair… That I don’t get you like a girlfriend like anyone else…” He speaks, his focus spotty and frail.

“What do you mean, love?” you egg him on.

“All the public stuff… All the PDA and the grand gestures. The stuff that makes it official, you know.” His eyes are glassy and fleeting as he speaks, and it really feels as if speaking were like making a necklace except he can’t quite line up the beads the right way and he can’t manage to get the string inside the hole and it takes a very long time for the words to finally turn into meaning and it’s all so frustrating.

“I don’t care,” you reassure him, and this time you’re not unaffected either, the sentence stumbling out of you before you can even fully register the meaning you were trying to convey. “Can you read the tattoo, Guk?”

His eyelids lift through great effort, and in slow motion. You stop moving to help him focus on the writing, and he grunts at the interruption. He does not like that at all, and having you so close, so soft, so hot and wet for him is making his instinct vibrate with need to be inside you, move inside you, and then finally find his release in the welcoming darkness of your womb.

“I—” He’s really trying so hard, god bless his heart, but he’s so unfocused and his vision is blurry and he needs to blink for a bunch of seconds before he manages to spell the message, and then compute it, and then smirk wildly before he bucks his hips up against you, letting you know that you’d better move on him.

“What is it, Jeongguk? Mind sharing with the class?” you bait him with a cheshire grin.

“Not sharing any of this,” he growls, and you can feel his arms jolt at the urgency to wrap around you, press you to his front and shove you underneath him, so that he can finally move as hard and as fast as he knows the both of you need.

“Oh, don’t be a greedy little boy! Don’t you want to test how it feels to say it?” you tease him further, ready to push him to his breaking point. After all, that is what you’re always trying to do, get as far as it needs to make him go wild on you, barely coherent and entirely animalistic.

“You want me to say it, don’t you?” he provokes you, feeling just how much the humiliation will further send you soaring over him.

“I do,” you admit.

He bites his lip and you look at him, you study the shape of his lips, the glint in his eyes, the dark shimmering of his lovely ebony locks, and the way his chest heaves with effort and arousal. “These tits own Jeon Jeongguk,” he speaks, his gaze piercing yours, holding you accountable for the undoing he knows will follow.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” Your smile is sardonic, evilly pleased with his admission of submission, with him confirming, with conviction, that he is indeed entirely enslaved to his fascination for your chest, that he is so deeply enticed by it that just a silly part of you can guarantee you his unflinching devotion.

“You know it’s right,” he grunts as your movements resume. And at this point, he knows this is going to take a while, and it will most surely turn out vicious.

“Just checking in on you, making sure you haven’t found a better pair—”

“Don’t you dare talk to them like this. Not in front of me,” he hisses with a passion, and you chuckle at how chivalrously he defends your breasts from your own ill assumptions.

“That’s so gallant of you,” you reply, your hands pulling his hair back, your tone fond and just vaguely lined with mocking. “Let them repay you for your kindness,” you suggest, as you start crawling down his body, your breasts landing heavily on his lap.

“Really…?” he asks, first distracted and then extremely alert as he connects the dots. “With my boxers on?” He says with a frown.

You shrug and smirk. “Maybe we’ll get rid of them later…” You sprinkle some kisses on his abdomen, your chest dragging against his sensitive parts.

He frowns at the weight of them, so welcome, and yet deceiving as the fabric is hindering him from fully enjoying the act. “Please, off,” he huffs, tutting and fussing a little, but you decide to reward his patience with your nails tracing patterns against his chest, your fingertips drawing his areolae, your eyes hungry on his lost, bewildered state.

“Not yet, love… Be patient with me,” you reassure him, tracing the rift in between the crests of his hips, one side, then the others, ricocheting between the bones on the two sides. “I’m going to make it so good to you,” you promise him, placing kisses all around the underrated perfection of his belly button — a huge ‘fuck you’ to the people salivating over him and never, ever knowing how such a minuscule inch of his body has you so irreversibly whipped.

“Candy… Mh, love—” His voice has grown unbearably raspy and airy, so light it feels almost incorporeal, if it weren’t for the velvet smoothness of his skin underneath your lips, like marble that has finally received the breath of life, your boy an ineffable Galatea.

“If you knew, Guk, if only—” kiss— “you knew—” kiss— “how sexy, and erotic, and exciting and poetic you look right now, baby. You look like art.”

“Lemme touch you, I need you, I need—” he gasps and you’re almost expecting him to release a groan before he comes, way too early, much earlier than planned. But fortunately he doesn’t, he holds back stoically and cants his hips away. “For fuck’s sake,” he whispers, an arm covering his eyes. “I need a second if you need me to hold back.”

“Oh,” you reply in surprise, lifting yourself off him. “Are you alright?”

“Just give me some quiet for a second, Candy, don’t you dare even speak.” Jeongguk’s chest is rising and falling in wide movements, enticing and captivating.

Finally he removes his arm from his eyes, but he barely makes eye contact.

“Guk?” You ask, worried.

“Just— I’m trying to keep it cool here, love.” He wiggles his body a little, trying to get his boxers to fit a bit less tightly around him. “We should be smarter about this, you know?” His hands clench as he stops himself from reaching for you. “We should get a cockring for next time.”

You ogle him, then smile excitedly. “Really?” you chirp.

“Totally,” he concedes. He smiles even bigger at your smile. “Don’t tell me you bought one already.”

“Uhm… No,” you admit with a pout.

“Dammit. It would have been weird, but I wouldn’t even have complained about it since it would pretty much save my ass right now.” He licks his lips, stares at you some more, and he groans and throws his head back at the renewed flare of arousal after he’d just managed to tone it down a notch.

“I’m so sorry, bunny.”

“I’m alright,” he admits, his tone defeated.

“Is this the right moment to suggest I ride your face?” you say, your grin now sardonic, almost drunk on him and the sight of his body shutting down for you, malfunctioning at the mere touch of you.

He stares at you, wide eyed, nodding energetically, like a kid being asked if they want to visit Disneyland. “Guess it took a half naked commercial to get you to finally ask for it like you own it.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Careful or I can keep going with torturing you. I’m liking it anyway.”

“No no no, come over here,” he says with a stern and determined expression on his face, his hands reaching for the back of your thighs. “I’ve been waiting. Get comfy,” he encourages you, and after some manoeuvring you settle on top of him.

He nods to himself, his nose nuzzling against the crotch of your panties, his mouth opening so he can feel your heat with his tongue, trying to get as close as possible.

Unsatisfied, his fingers reach to slip your panties to the side, but you slap at his hand.

“Nope. You wanted the Calvin’s, and we’re keeping the Calvin’s,” you scold him.

He frowns. “No, you were the one wanting them,” he argues. “Keep them on, you said.”

“Whatever.” You arch an eyebrow at him, but you also know he’s right and this decision has come to bite you in the ass. “Imagine how good it will feel once we take them off… And it feels a bit kinky to keep them on. Like… Like we’re having a quickie and everyone out there is waiting for model Jeongguk to come out anytime now, but once he does, well, he looks freshly fucked and everyone can’t stop talking about it— Oh, that!” you moan, your musings interrupted by Jeongguk trying to get bits of you in his mouth.

You’re thankful for the brazilian cut panties giving him plenty of stuff to work with even with the underwear still on.

“Stop me if it’s lewd but, dammit, I love the smell of you.” He drags his face side to side, basking in the damp, salty scent of your arousal. “I don’t even know what it is about it, but I like it so much.”

“Keep doing whatever you’re doing,” you comment, your voice breathy.

“Do you want me to keep talking?” he asks, and you just rub yourself against his chin, his mouth, and his words come out muffled. At some point you think you might have hurt his nose, so you ease the pressure a little, but he grabs handfuls of your butt and keeps you snug to his face, parts his lips wider as if he were really trying to eat you.

He parts from his designed heaven only long enough to announce, “I’m pushing ‘em to the side, fuck it.” And you’re barely coherent, and he’s speaking with that intimate lisp of his, his accent heavy, like he can’t pay too much attention to words anyway.

You don’t oppose.

In seconds, his tongue is tipping inside you, slippery, and so hot, and you moan without even noticing it. Everything is soaked, his chest is covered in perspiration, and so are your thighs.

You dare look down, and his eyes are closed as he is filling all his other senses with the sensation of you.

You bask in the sight of him, one forearm draped against the headboard of the bed, your other hand reaching down, to his fluffy hair currently tickling your inner thigh. You grab it, careful to be right between gentle and aggressive, in that way he finds so pleasant and sexy.

He opens his eyes suddenly, and the moment he finds your eyes already connected with his face, he finds himself more eager to give you just what you need to plunge into oblivion.

He gives you lush, slow licks, from your centre to your most sensitive spot, he takes his time, and moves into more sinuous motions, drawing curve after curve on his way up. He is unrushed, patient, and eloquent. He is luxuriant, explorative, curious.

He loves what he’s doing, and he loves you and he’s showing it, top to bottom, and all the way up again.

“Guk,” you breathe out, and it’s almost a hiccup.

“Yes, I know,” he murmurs against the bend of your inner thigh, right at the fold to your crotch. It’s so private, so sacred. It’s heartbreakingly yours and his and no one else’s. You’re in a shared space where nobody else can tell what you and him know.

“Please,” you manage to say.

He rearranges his arm so he can move two fingers along the seam between your legs, and then they’re inside, and he’s moving them right, rubbing them against the back wall of your entrance.

As you tip your body forward, he moans with his mouth to your clitoris, happy with the new angle, and once you start grinding against him, climbing your way to your climax, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t go faster, he doesn’t add pressure. He does not change one single thing, and you’re so grateful for the way he has come to understand you, your body, your tells.

“Just right,” you encourage him. “You’re so damn perfect, love— Oh, there.”

That’s the last thing you can remember saying before he sets you off like fireworks. You don’t take much into consideration after that. All is fair, unless he’s holding you back.

You grind, hump, moan, thrash just a little as you get too sensitive and fold in two, your forehead pressed to your wrist on the headboard

as you shake your head ‘no’ but can’t bring yourself to stop from feeling everything he wants you to take.

When you manage to recover, you whisper, “Okay, gimme a second.” And you try to unstraddle his face, but he holds you there, and simply avoids touching your sensitive parts, removing his fingers from inside you.

“Are you alright, Candy?”

You nod and take some large breaths.

He moves your panties back in place, then kisses your mound softly, affectionate, innocent even.

“Can I do anything for you now, love?” He asks with a reverent, caring note in his voice.

You shake your head, still recovering. “Can I lay on top of you?”

“Sure thing,” he says, unlatching from you and leaving some room for you to realign with him, face to face, torso to torso, hip to hip, calf to calf.

He’s still hard as marble, and the gentle grind of your pelvis against his causes him to groan softly.

You press your lips to his to distract him.

The jeans jacket you’re still wearing gives him something to ground himself, his focus aimed entirely at the feeling of the fabric underneath his fingers instead of the humid warmth of your crotch pressed against his.

Just then, you bring your heels underneath your ass, rising to your knees as you swiftly remove your upper garment.

The way his focus moves immediately to your breasts makes you cackle a little, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Candy, you’ll have to get that tattooed.”

“Nah, too dangerous. They might tell on you.”

He frowns. “You’re right,” he still agrees. Too dangerous. You’re dangerous to him too, and there are not many chances of him keeping some form of dignity if he could at any time see a tattoo calling him out for his undying liaison with your chest.

He catches your wrists, making you lose your balance so that your torso collapses onto his. And he keeps you there, wraps you up in his arms.

“Still jealous, love?” he asks you.

“More than ever,” you admit, and you look into his eyes, recognising the feeling pooling in them.

“I'm only yours,” he swears, kissing the side of your head, whatever he can reach, and it's so tender, so innocent, so magical. “What can I do for you?” he whispers, flirting with you.

You wrap your hands around his forearms and bring them up above his head. “No. I want to do things for you.”

You press your lips to his gingerly, then start to kiss down, tracking his throat and moving further downwards, to his chest, stopping where his heart thumps against the petals of your lips.

“Beats so hard for me,” you comment lightly. “Do I make your heart race, love?”

“You do, Candy,” his reply is strained, as if it hurt to speak at that moment.

“But I—” You let your nails tickle the flat of his waist, the elastic band around his hips— “I also make your dick hard, don't I?”

He moans eloquently, then chuckles at your teasing. “You so do,” he admits, embarrassed but also excited, and so so thankful for having found you.

You grab the waistband of his underwear with your teeth, letting it slap against his skin with a dry snap. “Grab a pen from your bedside, will you?”

You look up just in time to catch his eyes flickering open, his expression coming to life slowly. “What?” he asks, confused.

“A pen, from your drawer,” you repeat.

“Oh.” He had been too unfocused and he hadn’t realised you were talking to him, as if the words were just sound with no meaning; however, now he’s paid attention, so he stretches to the side, exposing the slender twist of his waist to your reverent mouth. You kiss him there, his body contracting as your lips attack his ticklish spot.

“You’re a menace,” he complains, giving you the side eye, but also offering you a boyish, loving smirk.

“And yet, you love me.”

“You’re lucky,” he says, right before you nip at his skin in reprimand. “Okay, I am the lucky one,” he concedes, returning to you with a pen in his hand. “You want this one?” he asks.

You nod and stretch for it, then peck the mole beside his navel and make your way down.

His underwear by now is bitterly persona non grata, still you make yourself okay with it and simply move the elastic down, exposing his hipbone more fully.

“What you gonna do?” he muses, propping himself up and staring at you bent over his pelvis. You look at him and prepare the pen, staring in his eyes as you suck at your bottom lip, torturing it a little as you think.

“Are you gonna mark me? Sign me up?” he asks, a mocking grin on his face.

You move the pen away and loll your tongue out, drawing a thick stripe following the shape of him in his boxers.

He immediately drops his cocky act and arches up, sensitive, holding on barely.

“You think you’re so smart, huh?” you scold him provokingly. “Remember where this is all coming from,” you remind him threateningly.

He gasps as your mouth sucks his tip through the fabric, your nails tracing the indentations of his quads.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You’ve got me.”

You nod to yourself. “I do,” you say, patronising just in the slightest. And because you can you rise, remove yourself from the way, and pull at his hipbone, trying to flip him around.

He’s alarmed, but he follows your lead. You straddle the back of his thighs, bend down, and move his underwear down, the elastic stuck under the fold of his ass, further emphasising it. It looks plump and delicious, and for a moment you’re caught admiring him.

He’s twisting his neck to try and see what you’re doing, filled with wonder at the way your hair tumbles over, and he’s mesmerised by the shine of it, the softness of the tips, like a brush, whispering at his skin.

You pick the right spot, then settle down, folded over his glute. His skin is hot against your touch and when you finally bring the pen to his flesh, you hope it won’t fail, despite the perspiration and the soft surface.

Shamelessly, you draw the words like an inscription on a stone.

Poetic, and dirty. Just the way you like it. However, you don’t give him the benefit of knowledge.

You lean back, watch your little handywork with a surging of pride and love and confidence. You smack it, just because you can, not hard, not soft either, just sweet enough that it doesn’t feel like a violation doing it without asking his permission first.

His muscles squeeze, and his breath catches.

Because I can, your brain keeps telling you, over and over, like a mantra. You’re allowed to. He’s yours and you’re the only one allowed to.

“You’re getting confident with this,” he comments, and suddenly your eyes are meeting.

He looks like something you would paint. Something you would dream of, and then wake up and sketch down in the middle of the night, caught by some sort of frenzy, some urgency mixed with an impending fear of forgetting, of losing it. Losing him.

“I’m gonna draw you.”

He doesn’t connect the words for a bunch of seconds. Not until you’re standing up and running out of the room and he asks himself, why, why the fuck is she leaving?

“Candy?” he calls, unsure.

He tries to see what in the world you’ve written on his ass, but you’re making your way back in the room, tablet in hand, and your steps are bouncy and your tits follow the movement so his attention is divided.

“What— Where—?” He’s confused.

And then you’re perched on the armchair at the corner of the room, and the light from your tablet reflects on your face, and you look spirited, caught by some urgency he can’t quite find a name for.

“Candy, for the love of—”

“Just a bunch of minutes. A quick sketch, no more.”

He’s been patient. He’s been understanding. He’s let you tease him, and he’s let you touch him, lick him, suck him. He still has your taste all over his face and chin and he still feels the phantom touch of your breasts against his crotch and all he wants is to feel you on him, around him, against him.

“Please,” he whines.

“Just a minute.”

He swells. Frowns. Thrusts his hips against the mattress.

“Almost—” you say, drawing a couple more lines.

You’re in his arms next. “Put that down, Candy.” His face is right above yours and he’s carrying you bridal style. “Put it down,” he repeats.

You're very still. He's looking at your quick sketch, at the way it was all a rough frame and some basic lines. “You're gonna post that? Share it as some fanart instead of a live portrait?” He throws you on the bed and you clutch your tablet harder, trying to save it from any damage. He's on top of you next, grabbing the device and moving it to his drawer before he returns upon you, blocking your wrists above your head.

“Are you maybe going to draw it faceless, so you can sell it as a picture, to decorate somebody's house?” He bends to your ear and nips at the side of your neck. “Let my ass hang naked on someone else's wall?”

You feel overwhelmed and surprised by his counterattack, not really knowing how to react.

He drags his body against yours, stealing a whimper from your lips. “I think you enjoyed topping a little too much tonight.” He flips you onto your front next, and you find yourself only mildly embarrassed that he's made only one tenth of the effort it had taken you to flip him.

He slaps your ass, and it is nowhere as playful or light as the spank you'd given him. It is his turn to grab the pen.

“Let's see if you can walk the talk, Candy. If you like the taste of your own medicine,” he muses, and he bites your ass cheek, bending over to start writing, but accidentally finding himself unable to resist the urge to sink his teeth in your plush flesh.

“Since I'm not a selfish asshole, I'm gonna tell you what I'm writing. Here we go, 'This ass likes spankings from Jeon Jeongguk'. What do you say? Is it true?”

You're panting, wiggling in his hold, trying anything to see the possessed look on his face. “It's true,” you admit, breathless.

He smirks and lands one more hit on your ass. “Damn right it is,” he says confidently.

He tugs your underwear off harshly, almost angry.

Soon he's naked, and so are you, and he's slipping inside you while you're still on your front, your hips arched all the way up, cupped by his hands. “Let's make this fuck more fun than your drawing, huh?”

And when he starts, goodness, you want him to never, ever stop.

He's ruthless, and he only asks if you're alright once, after three strokes. After that, all's fair, and he's ramming inside you in a way that makes you gasp and arch further, trying to get him even deeper, to an even better angle.

You can't really look at him, since you'd risk a kink in your neck, but he doesn't care. He only cares about his handwriting on your ass, and his name on it. He only cares about the way you're gasping his name, and sometimes, when he slams in at the right moment, the impact causes too much of your breath to come out, so the whispered begging gets punctuated by moaned-out, hiccuped syllables.

He smacks your ass a few more times, his hand tingling, but the spanks seem to make you happy, so he doesn't stop, and he doesn't complain either.

“You're jealous of me, Candy,” he manages to speak, slowing down just enough so he has more of your attention. “Do you have any idea how jealous I am of you? How hard it is to feel like you want to own me half as much as I want to be yours?” He's on his knees behind you, and his thrusts grow more patient, more luscious. Richer and fuller. “Sometimes I'm scared you'll leave me, and someone else will get to have all the wonderful sex I get to have with you. Someone else will get to see your face first thing in the morning, and become a character in your cartoons, and talk about you with their granny, and bring you home for New Year's.” His face collapses close to your shoulder. “What will I do with myself, then?”

You turn your face and you finally get to see him. “Flip me around,” you order him, but your voice is fond. “I want to look you in the eyes while you fuck me like no one else has ever.”

His hair is fuzzy with his perspiration, and his face glistens with a light sheen of sweat. “Sure?” he asks, in confirmation.

“I'm sure,” you comfort him.

He's only happy once you're below him, and he's on top of you, inside you.

You clench around him, and he frowns deeply, trying to control himself. Still, he gives a sharp jab with his hips, and it steals your breath.

“Like that,” you praise him. “I want you to fuck me like that. Like no one else can.”

His eyes stay wide open, stubbornly nailed to yours as he starts moving. It's hard and slow, and it makes you see stars.

“Do you still feel like drawing?” he provokes you, “Or am I fucking you good enough?”

You hiss and bite his arm, both to keep him humble, but also, again, because you can — and nobody else does.

“Maybe I could get on top of you so you can watch my tits bounce, and maybe that will make you want to draw,” you bite back, and next thing you know you're both sat up, you're on his lap and he's bouncing you on his dick.

“Definitely feeling inspired right now,” he concedes. “Maybe I should stop and paint them.”

You push him down and he's finally with his back to the mattress, you on top. “Or maybe you could shut your mouth and get busy so I can cum.”

The slap lands almost immediately on your ass. “Dirty mouth. And a fucking divine cunt,” he speaks through gritted teeth.

He lets you lead for about thirty seconds, during which he stays occupied with your boobs, grabbing them, slapping them, pinching your nipples, and then he grabs your hips and stills them.

“Touch yourself,” he orders your roughly before he starts fucking up from below you.

It escalates quickly from there, and in less than a minute you're gone, collapsing forward, against him, and he's so thankful because he's coming too and your kegels are squeezing him just right, and he only manages to say “fucking yours” before he abandons all his inhibitions and loses himself inside you.

You come back to reality only, and you find yourself tucked in his embrace, his body above yours. You don’t know when he flipped the two of you over, but you like his weight on top of you.

“Hey,” you murmur, combing his hair away from his face.

His expression is lazy and satisfied.

Well done, you tell yourself, almost giving a pat to your own shoulder. He looks fantastically fucked, deliciously edible and perfectly yours.

“Hey you,” he replies, with the most heavenly, blissful grin on his face. No, too tired to be a grin, more like a glowy smile. It’s not fully on, it looks like those battery-operated lights when they’re almost out of energy, a bit faded, or maybe pale. Faint, feeble, dim. Soft. Muted. If his bunny smiles were jewel tones, this was the most delicate pastel pink. A powder baby blue, almost robin egg blue.

You want to wrap yourself in the hazy glow radiating from him, gentle as a sunny dawn in late May.

“So glad you got those Calvin’s,” you joke, and there it is, bunny grin, ten million watts. Apparently that makes his battery die because his head collapses to your neck and he doesn’t seem willing or ready to lift himself back up.

“So glad I made you jealous. But also sorry,” he says, truly apologetic. “I’m happy we did this. I’m happy I saw you like this.”

His lips tickle the side of your neck, and you squirm a little, but you try not to move too much. You want to be comfortable for him to rest on. You want him to stay like that on top of you forever. “I’m still maddish. But I think I can deal with it.”

“There’s more pictures coming,” he says tentatively, and he makes the effort to pick up his head to give you a helpless look, trying to protect himself already by giving you the sweetest pair of puppy eyes he’s ever used on anyone.

“Oh, I’m totally getting your ass branded,” you reply, saccharine. “I was thinking I could make those ribbons, like the ones the police use, except I put my name on it and I wrap it all around your chest, so they can’t drool all over your abs.”

He laughs, and the sound is boyish and playful, and lovely. You fall in love a tiny bit more.

“Can I see the pictures in advance?”

He hums as he thinks about it for three seconds, except he already knows how he wants to play it. “Mh…” he says some more, keeping you on your toes. “No.” He looks up, testing you. “But let’s say I hope you get that cockring ready.”

You pull your head back, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not naked in your Calvin’s, right?”

He grins, gives you a devilish wink. “Maybe.”

You grab his cheeks and squeeze his face and he laughs so hard you can’t be possibly mad at him for even a nanosecond. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“And your tits will be it for me,” he flirts back.

You shake your head. “Brat.”

And he kisses you. Just that.

Before he hits the shower the following morning, Jeongguk inspects the damage you’ve done on him.

He’s quite happy with it. A very faint bruise on his neck. A red splotch on his abs, and another on his hip, but nothing that won’t fade within one or two days. He knows you know the drill by now.

He turns around to inspect his back, and he’s okay with it, nothing that will get him in trouble in case he needs to be shirtless or generically undressed around staff members. He drops his underwear and it’s only once he’s making his way to the shower that he notices something strange on his asscheek.

Oh, fuck. Suddenly reminded of your little handiwork with the pen the night before, he bends to the side, trying to get a better view at his ass.

He finds himself wobbling side to side, like a silly puppy chasing his tail, and that is exactly the way you find him when you enter the bathroom.

A laugh bubbles out of you and you smack his butt playfully. “Do you need help with that?” you ask, cheery.

“No,” he bites back, but he has the most innocent, pouty look on his face, and he is having fun a little. “Maybe,” he concedes, his voice young.

You wrap your arms around him and rise to your toes, propping your chin on his shoulder as you hug him from behind. “I wrote, ‘Candy’s babyboy’.”

His ears go red, just the tiniest bit. “Really?” His expression is so sweet.

“Really,” you confirm, confident, serious, and loving.

“You’re not making fun of me,” he asks, vulnerably.

“I promise I’m really, really not, Guk.” You kiss his shoulder. “You’re my babyboy. And my sexy man. And just mine, generally speaking.”

He nods, a happy, fulfilled look on his face. “Right.” He’s once more confident. Entirely adult.

“Love you,” you reassure him again, and then you kiss his shoulder, again.

He grins. There he is, your boy. “Love you too.”

Hi it's Dita, the writer, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment to keep this poor gremlin fanfic writer motivated. Bye and I LOVE YOU!!!

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