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buckyswinterbaby · 4 years ago

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Rule Number Four — Oneshot **

Pairing: softdom!Bucky Barnes x reader

Synopsis: Bucky returns home early from a mission to find the reader in a compromising position. Rules are broken and new ones are made.

Warnings: language, smut (18+), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), fluffy ending, softdom!Bucky, daddy kink (not ddlg), reader is submissive, nipple play, orgasm denial, metal arm kink, fingering (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, degradation and a size kink (if you squint), aftercare, established relationship, masturbation.

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Word Count: 2,291

Note: Here’s my first attempt at actually posting an “x reader” or smut fic so please be gentle with her. This was based on a post I saw a bit ago about submissives masturbating while wearing their dom’s hoodie, so I thought I’d give it a go. I hope you guys enjoy!

You had become his wife nearly three months ago and this was the longest stretch you had been apart since.

Even before marriage, the two of you were practically inseparable. You were often found curled on his inviting lap with two arms circled around you, one flesh and one metal, holding you tightly to his chest. To say you had missed the comfort of his warm embrace would be the understatement of the year. It was more like you had been lost without it.

His arms were far from the only thing you missed about your soldier. Before his departure, Bucky had listed off a few rules to follow in his absence. Possibly enjoying your long standing dominant and submissive dynamic a bit more than he was willing let on in that moment.

Rule one: No touching yourself without permission. Cruel but simple enough.

Rule two: No orgasms. Bucky knew you too well to believe you wouldn’t find a loophole that didn’t involve dipping those delicate fingers between your folds.

Rule three, possibly the worst of the set, which was likely his intention: Nipple play, at least once a day. He wanted your delicious buds oversensitive and aching by the time he found his way home to you. While your cunt was left thoroughly neglected and needing his touch.

It was that one rule, one single command that had you breaking all the rest. You had held out for nearly his entire time away, only crumbling when you went to fulfill the rule one last time, the anticipation of his return clouding your senses.

You had intended to do as he said. You laid yourself out on the large bed that had felt overwhelmingly cold and lonely without him, clothed in nothing but his oversized sweatshirt that adorned the S.H.I.E.L.D logo on the front. Perhaps that was your first mistake, opting to forgo the panties you had been wearing the entire day. Leaving your dripping core exposed to the night air with your husband still, as you believed, across the world and unable to claim it.

Your delicate fingers traced the familiar path up the length of your torso, trailing along the valley between your soft breasts that Bucky so often spent his time worshiping. The hem of the sweatshirt rode up more and more as your hand made its way up. A flame flickered in the pit of your belly as you found your hardening nipples, the cool metal of your wedding ring ghosting over. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine it was Bucky’s hand in place of your’s. The cold and unyielding vibranium working your body into fits of pleasure.

It was that thought that had your other hand trailing down instead of up, finding its way to the apex of your thighs. One finger wouldn’t hurt, you surmised. Though that one quickly led to two with a thumb working furiously on your throbbing clit.

Bucky heard your soft moans before he even approached the door, a wide grin spreading across his face. He was home hours earlier than anticipated, a fact he was suddenly so very grateful for. After another moment of listening, he heard the gentle string of gasps you would always release in pleasure, an undeniable sign that your orgasm was quickly approaching.

His interest was thoroughly peaked as he quietly slipped his way into the barely lit bedroom, drinking in the sight of you spread out before him like a man dying of dehydration.

“Y/n,” he called out, alerting you to his presence. Bucky licked his lips as he zeroed in on your now stilled hand, fingers slick and deep within you.

You knew better than to remove them, he’d tell you if that was what he wanted. Your breasts heaved as you breathed out, waiting for him to say something or act, you’d take anything over the silence that now hung in the air between you.

In two steps, Bucky crossed the distance and now stood at the foot of the bed. “I gave you three rules, doll, just three. Thought I’d be nice and make em’ simple for you. Seems you can’t even do that right, can you?”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” you called out, your voice sounding more like a pathetic whimper than actual words. You tried to go on and explain how you had tried to be good but Bucky quickly cut you off. You honestly couldn’t remember even making the decision to ignore the rule.

“Don’t bother trying to apologize now.” His metal hand trailed up your thigh as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. Slowly making his way up until he swatted your hand away, not failing to notice how visibly damp the sleeve of the hoodie now was. “You’ve made your bed, baby girl. I think it’s about time you had to lay in it.”

Your walls clenched down, now feeling empty without anything inside. That feeling didn’t last long as Bucky dipped a metal finger between your lips, gathering the arousal you had so eagerly coaxed out only minutes before. He didn’t waste another moment before pushing in two thick fingers, quickly setting a punishing pace as they curled around to rub your g-spot with each pump.

Your back arched off the bed as he drove you to the brink of release in what seemed like a matter of seconds, skilled hands doing what took you at least a few minutes. It was easy to get lost in these moments with the man you loved and trusted without question. Never hesitating to give over control to your husband as you let yourself fall further into the pleasure he was providing. And boy were you truly lost, at least until the pleasure stopped as his fingers stilled inside you, continuing to ever so gently rub that special spot he could find all too easily.

You looked over at him in surprise as your building orgasm quickly dissipated. “Bucky?”

“Patience. You’ve got a few questions to answer first.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at your huff of annoyance. “Was this the first time you broke rule number one while I was gone? You better be honest with me.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to form an understandable sentence as his thumb rubbed slow, lazy circles against your clit. Your hips bucked involuntarily against his ministrations, he didn't seem angry, though.

“Did you break number two?” he questioned, his free hand roaming up to tease your sensitive nipples, purposefully giving the right one more attention than the other just to drive you nuts.

It took a few more seconds for you to compose yourself enough to speak. “I didn’t,” you moaned out, throwing your head back after a particularly hard pinch to the right nipple.

“Not for a lack of trying, it seems.”

A dark blush crept onto your already flushed cheeks. “I wanted to, daddy. I needed to. I followed rule three the entire time and I just couldn’t take it anymore.” You knew Bucky’s dominant side loved a lusty confession. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t trying to butter him up into finally allowing your release. If you only knew how much you’d end up regretting that wish.

“I left you alone too long, didn’t I? Your greedy little pussy isn’t used to not getting what she wants. And I think I know just the punishment to remind you that when you cum, how much you cum isn’t your decision.” You nearly came around his fingers then and there, which likely wouldn’t do much to fix your predicament besides providing momentary relief. “So you’ll get your orgasm, baby. Then you’ll take every other one I can give you and you’ll say thank you for being so generous. Scream it, even. Loud enough that Steve feels like he needs to go to confession.”

Your breath got caught in your throat at his words, goosebumps rising up behind the path of his flesh hand as it found its way to rest on your lower stomach. “How many?” You recognized that you should likely be afraid of his answer, but honestly nothing could prepare you for the reality.

Bucky seemed to debate the question for a moment before meeting your gaze, giving you the playful smirk you had fallen in love with some five odd years ago. “I dunno,” he admitted. “I haven’t decided yet. You’ll know when I’m done with you.”

His thrusts had been relentless for what seemed like hours, maybe it actually had been that long, you honestly couldn’t keep track. Orgasms blurred together as he used his super soldier endurance and sex drive to deliver the punishment he promised and then some.

Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, holding him closer to your sweat covered body as he continued to rut up against your abused sex, riding you through your most recent release.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from how sensitive you had become, the multiple orgams and brutal pace allowing you no mercy. His thumb swept away a fallen tear before it could run down your cheek, his swollen lips capturing your’s in a far more passionate and intimate kiss than the others you had received throughout the night. Everything seemed to soften after that, besides his cock, of course. His thrusts slowed to a steady but more gentle rhythm as he recognized you were nearing your limit, but also not quite there yet.

Bucky spared a glance at where you bodies were connected, momentarily becoming captivated by the sight. His eyes returned to your’s, pupils still dark and blown, yet they seemed to be more passionate than ravenous now.

“One more, baby, can you do that for me? Give me one more and you can rest.”

You nodded while letting out a string of deep moans, desperately bucking your hips up to meet his thrusts in chase of your final orgasm. It didn’t take long for you to feel the familiar pressure building in your belly, raising you higher and higher in bliss. Words were far beyond you now, only a breathy string of his name escaping your parted lips as you buried your head in the space where his neck connected to his shoulder.

His thrusts grew sloppy as he attempted to hold out until you came crashing around him. His left arm was resting beside your head, holding his large frame up above your’s as not to crush your smaller body beneath him. Metal fingers found their way into the locks of your hair spread out on the pillows. Gentle tugs forced your head up, your eyes meeting his piercing blue ones.

“I want to watch you when you cum.”

Your eyes never left his as he brought you to the rising crescendo that would bring the night to its end. The unyielding intensity and intimacy of the moment had you feeling small but so very safe underneath him. Bucky was home and he was in control, you didn’t have to worry about a thing. You came undone around his cock once again, your tight walls pulling him across the finish line with you. A few more lazy thrusts followed as he painted your pulsing heat, gently pulling out once he was spent.

Bucky moved to lay down beside you, taking a moment to catch his breath before moving to check on you.

His nose brushed against the rim of your ear as he leaned over to place a kiss on your flushed cheek. He whispered soothing words against your skin as you came down, knowing you needed the reassurances and affection after a rough session. “You did so good, took everything just like I told you to. You’re too good to me.” Calloused hands that had spent so many years committing unspeakable acts now gently smoothed down your wild hair. “How about we get you cleaned up, okay?”

He waited for you to nod before moving you into his arms, carrying your spent body to the bathroom so you could take care of your needs while he ran a bath.

Once he knew the water was just how you like it, he moved into the tub, helping you position yourself between his legs with your back against his toned chest. Your head rested back against his shoulder as he moved the soapy loofah across your arms. It took a few more minutes, but slowly Bucky noticed that you were coming out of the headspace you always seemed to slip into when you truly relinquished control to him.

“Was I too rough?” His question broke the comfortable silence you both had fallen into since entering the attached bathroom.

A soft smile graced your lips in response, your heart swelling at his concern just as much as it had on your very first night together. You raised a hand up to rest on his cheek, pulling him down into a gentle and loving kiss. “You were perfect. If that’s what happens every time I misbehave while you’re away, I might just make a habit out of it.”

A chuckle rumbled from deep in Bucky’s chest as he shook his head in amusement. “Doll, you say that like you aren’t already the biggest pain in my ass since the day I met Steve.”

You didn’t hesitate to send a playful jab between his ribs in protest. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Barnes, I am a delight. The light of your damn life, even.”

An adoring smile made its way onto his features as he captured your lips in a brief kiss again. “Now that...that’s something we can agree on. Rule number four is that you never forget it.”

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #marvel smut #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier #x reader #reader insert

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risingsouls · 2 years ago

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🦎 [Do tell of the Colds/Saiyan business relationship, you have caught my attention]

Momo Talks About Shit So She Doesn't Fall Asleep At Work || Open!

[Ask and ye shall receive.

So I think in a few words, the relationship between the Colds and Saiyans was tense but mutually beneficial for most of it. I've sort of gotten the impression that King Cold was more...hands off? Like he made the agreement, supplied them with marching orders and whatever tech or supplies they would need to be effective, and intervened only if absolutely necessary. The Saiyans got to fight like they wanted and got paid for it and the Cold Empire got a sizeable addition to their army, one that literally pumps out guaranteed warriors every generation due to the Saiyan lifestyle.

Don't get me wrong. I don't think everything was rainbows and roses during King Cold's reign, but I think the issues were...easier to blow off? Like there was most likely a culture clash as well as dealing with a new king who just gained power figuring out how to maintain his own power while, in some ways, handing it over to someone else, plus there probably was pushback on even making the agreement at first. The Colds have never hidden their racism, and I doubt they did back then either. But, at the end of the day as I mentioned in a previous post, I think the Saiyans were overall content to serve in the Empire's army because I think they were allowed to keep most of their sovereignty, and I honestly wouldn't be surprised if King Cold had a more, "You run this show for me and I'll only step in where necessary" sort of approach if that makes sense? Like basically the opposite of micromanaging the Saiyans (or perhaps any similar conquests) and letting their monarchy govern as they chose so long as the work got done. More like a collaboration to a degree? A toxic one I'm sure but a collaboration nonetheless.

I think a lot changed when Frieza took over. While King Cold was ruthless, I feel Frieza made him look like a kitten. From what I see and how i interpreted King Cold, daddy seemed more...business minded. Ruled with an iron fist still but was able to and did negotiate. Frieza I feel was very my way or the highway to the finest details. He took advantage of his power--physical and as the emperor--to not only get what he wanted but to torment whoever he saw fit because no one could touch him. I think he put the Saiyans on a much tighter and degrading leash than his father had, and this created further tension and outright hatred of the Empire among the Saiyans who, by their own right, were becoming more powerful and a force to be reckoned with on their own. I think it was Frieza's takeover that really tipped the scale toward more murmuring of revolt, even if it wasn't always serious. Until we look at King Vegeta III, and the more I do look at him, the more interesting his position becomes and mmmmmm. I won't go on about that here BUT. He was a POS but he had balls sometimes, in short.

ANYWAY, I think the Saiyans becoming restless conquering planets for someone else rather than themselves was inevitable, but I think Frieza's delight in the suffering of others and the overbearing and stricter changes he likely made really exacerbated the tensions. And I wouldn't be surprised if he did that on purpose just to see what would happen. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the reason the Saiyan caste system became as strict as it did either, which was the cause of a lot of internal strife for the Saiyans, but that might be giving the Saiyan elite too much slack (though, with Frieza growing to fear the power of the Saiyans and HCs I have about how he purposefully made sure that the jobs he sent Vegeta and the squad on would not allow too much opportunity for growth and kept their training opportunities at a minimum to keep them from getting too strong or becoming super saiyans, I think there is something there potentially).

This is also why I like the relationship between the Colds and the Saiyans to be much longer than a few years: it offers so much more to the story, even with how little we actually get of anything before Planet Vegeta was destroyed. I like the complications it allows and, instead of seeing a people either complacent to the end or always just agitated by their relationship with the empire, it better allows for BOTH, as well as gives more room to speculate over how things got to where they ended up and, for the Colds, how differently they dealt with their subjects (if at all; obviously this is all just how I've read it from the scraps we get).]

#.:ooc:.#.:ask:.#cxldtyrant #i feel like i had more to say #and cooler didnt get a mention but i didnt really think he probably dealt with the Saiyans?#idk maybe you can share your hcs on that ;3

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seeuonadarknite · 5 years ago

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puppy — yandere oikawa tooru x f. reader

hi i got inspired by @vermiliren’s yandere prompts and used two different prompts 😳 it’s been a while since i’ve watched hq (need to get caught up tBH) but the hq boys are fun to write for and i wanted to try it out with oikawa so i’m sorry if i didn’t portray him right-

warnings: toxic parents, kidnapping, abuse, noncon, degradation, facefucking

"Seriously? You lost another game?" The tantalizing tone of Oikawa's mother made him want to cringe.

It felt as if all his parents cared about was his volleyball career. They never asked about his wellbeing, they never asked about his grades, and they never asked about his social life. All they seemed to care about was volleyball.

And that's all anyone really cared about when it came to him. He was the great king, after all. He may have had good looks, but his fan club would have never supported him if it weren’t for his talents. It sucked.

Glancing up at his mother and father, who both seemed very distressed at his recent loss, he sighed. "Sorry, ma. I know you were rooting for me. I'll get em next time!" He sent his mother his signature grin, in hopes of receiving reassuring words or at least a smile back.

Nothing. She didn't even bat an eye. "Go to your room. I can't bear the sight of you right now." It was as if she wanted to call him a pathetic, good for nothing kid. It was frustrating; having parents that lived through him. If he wasn't successful, then they weren't successful.

The pressure was immense. Not only did he feel pressured by his team and fans, but his own parents too! If he made a simple mistake, he'd be done for. His stress was building up; he needed to relieve it before he messed up again.

Pushing his seat backwards, Oikawa departed from the dining room table and made his way down the stairs. His room was pretty secluded, he opted on taking the basement because it was spacious and pretty soundproof. He didn't have to worry about his parents hearing him yanking it, right?

Wrong. He didn't have to worry about the girl that had been locked down there in his closet. Without time to spare, Oikawa pulled the closet door open, revealing your peaceful, unconscious body.

It was really a shame that he had to disturb your peace. "Wake up, puppy." Your bloodshot eyes shot open, only to meet with your kidnapper's dull brown ones.

How long had you been in here? It was really a mystery to you. Oikawa had purposefully taken all clocks out of the room. He didn't want you to have a sense of time, he wanted you to suffer. He believed you deserved to go through the same misery that he did.

"You love me, right? So you wouldn't mind me using you to destress. It's real tough being in my shoes, you know? You have it easy!" The way he spoke sickened you.

It was as if he believed you were living the dream down here. You didn't have to go to work or school, so what was there to complain about? All you have to do is sit back and let Oikawa use you however and whenever he pleases.

Unfortunately, you were far too weak to fight back. Your body was scattered with bruises, scars, and love bites. He ruined you; you were a perfectly clean canvas before he painted you with bruises. All you could really do was beg. Beg like a pitiful puppy at the mercy of a cruel owner.

"Please, T-Tooru.." You knew how much he enjoyed hearing his name roll off of your tongue. "..Don't do this. I'm— I'm still sore from last night!" And you were. The previous night he had yanked your hair, slammed your face into the hard flooring, and fucked you from behind. All because you told him you missed your family.

A small chuckle sounded throughout the four walls of his room. What were you thinking? He couldn't care less about your wellbeing. "I will use you however I want to."

These were the last words that fell from his mouth before shoving you to the floor and placing a foot in between your breasts. "Beg me to stop." He looked down at you with a terrifying gleam in his eyes. One that told you that he could kill you if he wanted to.

"P-Please! I-" A fit of coughs erupted from your throat. "..can't breathe!" You felt as if you were about to lose consciousness when he finally stopped applying pressure and removed his foot. However, your torment didn't end there.

Dragging you up by your hair, Oikawa sent you a glare before giving you another command. "On your knees." Before you could receive another unethical punishment, you quickly obliged, getting into the said position. The position made you wince a little, thanks to the bruises that covered both of your knees.

Oikawa smirked at you before unbuckling his belt and pulling out his cock. "That's a good girl! Now, suck." He didn't even give you a chance to retaliate as he nudged the tip of his cock up against your lips. You reluctantly parted your lips, allowing him to push himself further into your mouth with ease.

Your pace was slow and lethargic whilst you uncoordinatedly swirled your tongue around the length of his cock, pumping whatever you couldn't fit into your mouth with your hand. Unfortunately for Oikawa, you had little to no energy, so you didn't put much effort into your movements.

This just wouldn't do. It felt like he was getting sucked off by a zombie. Letting out a dramatic huff, Oikawa gripped your hair with both of his hands, pushing your head down to the base of his cock. Your eyes had widened as you gagged, feeling the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You couldn't throw up, especially not on his cock. He'd fucking kill you if you did. But god, his cock was making you gag like crazy. It'd be a miracle if he managed to cum without making you vomit.

Whenever he would pull your head away and give you a second to breathe, he'd immediately push you back down, thrusting into your mouth as if you were some sort of toy. Maybe he had forgotten that you were human, just like him. Hell, maybe you had too.

His hands mercilessly tugged at your hair, causing pain to course throughout your scalp. You let out a small whimper, sending vibrations through his cock. This action only caused him to pick up the pace of his thrusting. "Fuck, you really know how to turn a guy on, eh?"

His fingers crept up onto your head, purposefully digging his short nails into your scalp. He loved seeing the pained expressions you'd make at him as you gagged on his cock. "If only the school knew where you really were.." He grunted, temporarily pulling his cock out of your mouth to bask in your expression. It was perfect, he loved the way your pupils seemed to dilate ever so slightly at his taunting words.

"You're not dead! You're here with me, taking my cock like the slut you are— fuck!" Just degrading you like this really turned him on. His cock twitched inside of your mouth one last time before he shot his load into your mouth, filling your oral cavity with his semen.

"Don't even think about spitting it out. I'll just make you lick it off of the floor like the puppy that you are." You knew better than to disobey him. His threats weren't empty, and you'd prefer not to taste the floor; Oikawa was enough.

Pulling his lengthy cock out of the warmth of your mouth, Oikawa watched as you reluctantly swallowed his sickeningly salty semen. Not only was the flavor revolting, but the substance was thick and always stuck to your throat. It was gross.

Oikawa watched your face contort into a cringe as you finished swallowing his semen. God, this was a sight he'd never grow tired of. Crouching down to reach your height, he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead.

As he leaned away, his eyes made contact with yours. It was odd, the glare in his eyes had softened. Was he really going to act like he didn't just force you to down his cum just a minute ago?

Caressing your cheek with his hand, he let out a dreamy sigh. "You’re such an obedient little puppy.”

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honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

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banner designer @jamaisjoons | many thanks to @joonsrack for her translations and @jooneggs for beta reading

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: just a heads-up, there is French in this chapter. it isn’t translated because y/n does not speak French and thus has no clue wtf goes On BUT if you want the goss, feel free to use google translate or ur Local Translation Engine. explicitly sexual content, cursing, voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, spanking, dom!jimin obv, sub!reader, public (not sex-sex but sexytimes in public), shoe kink, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, use of safeword, teasing, bondage, gagging, use of sex toys, fingering, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms, overstimulation, crying during sex, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, a sexy sliver of aftercare before yn zonks it

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week One only. Vote here. Multiple votes are allowed but please do not spam the voting as this is an overall audience pick. I’m very excited to see what the results will be ! Voting is closed! Thank you for participating!

DAY SIX

You wake up early in the morning to a sore throat. Though the arm that rests heavy on your waist and the breath that tickles the nape of your neck tempt you back to sleep, you can’t even swallow without wincing, and the only solution is a cool drink and some pain meds.

Namjoon doesn’t react when you slip out from under him, sliding your pillow under his arm. He simply lets out a satisfied hum and curls it closer to him. Still, you dress in breathy silence, tiptoeing out and leaving the door open a crack for your return.

Downstairs, the blinking numbers on the microwave read shortly before 6am and you groan. The chance of you getting any more sleep after this was slim.

You pour some water and swallow some basic pain meds with a sigh. If you were honest, quiet moments like this were rare. Past the glass sliding door which leads to the outdoor dining area, you can see glints of reddy golds and flaming orange, pooling between trees to warm the concrete patio. This villa was truly beautiful, and you knew you’d never stay in a place like it again. Not only the house itself but the company you shared was invaluable. All the guys had such a personality to them, and you were surprised at how quicky you’d grown accustomed to them all. Fond, too.

Yoongi’s thoughtfulness, Jungkook’s energy, Jin’s stability. Taehyung who was so giving and Hoseok who never let the mood falter. And more recently, Namjoon becoming more confident and Jimin revealing flecks of heart behind the stone facade. Everyone brought something to the villa that made it a truly magical place. You feel like you’d be happy even without the mind-blowing sex. As the elimination day draws painfully close, your stomach turns with the thought of turning someone away. Of removing them when they’d only just gotten settled. The Lady was the hardest job in the game in many ways.

Finishing your glass, you set it in the sink with a wet clink and roll your shoulders, arching your back as the last of your sleep leaves you in a final yawn. You turn to leave, squeaking when you’re met with a solid body coming out of nowhere.

“Woah- Jimin?” The last person you expected to be up so early, you cringe as your voice raises in disbelief.

The man in question grins, eyes twinkling even in the relative darkness of pre-dawn. “Going so soon?”

“I-” You find yourself at a loss of words, feeling caught somehow, and you clear your still-aching throat. “What are you doing up?”

“Looking for you, little mouse. Or did you forget I’m next in line?” He speaks as light and melodic as a music box, but his lips are twisted in a grin as his eyes roam over you, wearing the same clothes as last night. “Has our Namjoonie finally popped his cherry?”

The way he plays with every syllable has you feeling so vulnerable, so under his control, and your gaze falters, looking instead at his odd attire. Like he’d gotten up in a hurry, he’s wearing a mix of pyjamas and clothes. His legs are tightly clad in glossy faux leather, blacker than black, and his top half is a silk pyjama top, sinful red trimmed with black, and with only a single button done up in the middle of his torso, exposing his lower stomach and the top of his chest. You suck in a breath at the expanse of skin, and what looks like the black sliver of a...tattoo?

“Cat got your tongue?” he questions, drawing your eyes back up as he licks his top lip slowly, purposefully.

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, cursing the way your voice catches throatily, clearly affected by him. “And if you’re going to take your turn, can we at least go somewhere a little more comfortable? It’s six in the fucking morning.”

Like a switch is flipped, his face darkens, the humour gone. You swallow the lump in your throat as Jimin’s mouth sours into a scowl, but you can’t deny the heat that pools between your legs at it too. “I knew it,” he announces, voice acidic.

“Knew what?” Your fate sealed, a streak of confidence rises within you. You’d ruffled him. And every part of you is screaming to make him react again.

His eyes are molten power as they focus on you. “Five days and you’ve already become a spoilt brat.”

Your mouth drops open. “Fuck you! It’s your job to fuck me.”

“Why should I fuck you when you haven’t done a thing to earn it?” Jimin takes a step forward and reflexively you back up. “You’re an ungrateful cockhungry slut, little mouse. If you want me, beg for it.” He takes another step and again, you shuffle back, heart picking up.

“I shouldn’t have to beg,” you counter, though your voice isn’t as firm as before. Jimin simply raises a brow, continuing to walk you further into the kitchen until your lower back strikes the countertop. You swallow again, wishing you weren’t so easily affected. “If you don’t fuck me, I’ll just send you home.”

“You could,” he gives dismissively, lips twitching into a sneer at his following words, “but I don’t think you will. I don’t believe you’d send me home if I didn’t fuck you. Because you want to know how it feels.”

You bite your tongue, glaring up at him, at the way he’s so indifferent about it. “Fine. Then fuck me.”

Jimin tuts reproachfully, his arms leaning forward to prop himself up on the bench behind you, caging you in. Your heart stops beating, the throb felt between your legs instead as he’s close enough to touch, his mouth close enough to kiss, not that you’d dare. “That isn’t begging,” he whispers in disapproval.

“I don’t beg,” you insist, even as your hands clench, fighting the urge to touch him.

Suddenly, the shadow over his face disappears, and he pushes up, creating some distance between you again. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he says airily, causing you to frown in confusion. “We aren’t at the begging stage yet. You know what you need first?”

You stare at him blankly, giving him a shake of your head.

Jimin grins, and you swear you see his eyes flash. “Punishment.”

“You can’t be serious,” you breathe, though instead of sounding offended as you intend, you just sound needy. Fuck Park Jimin and his iron grip on your arousal.

His grin broadens like the Chesire Cat. “You’ve been very bad, little mouse. You’ve been demanding and impatient, you’ve used vulgar language and I seem to recall the night you interrupted my sleep because of how loud you were next door. I can’t let it slide,” he divulges with a solemn shake of his head, like your poor behaviour pains him, “I just can’t.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “You can’t punish me like a child.”

“And that will be another one,” Jimin says instead, perfectly calm, rich blue hair catching the light as the sun continues to rise just outside.

“Another what?” you fire back, beginning to tire of so much talk and so little action.

“Another spank,” he deadpans. Were it anyone else, any other situation, perhaps you would’ve laughed at it. Instead, you stare wide-eyed at the stoicism on his face. “That makes it five for swearing to me in this conversation alone, four for being impatient, and five for keeping me up that second night. Should we round it up to twenty?”

You stay silent for a moment, desperately trying to process it. You shake your head slowly. “You can’t make me,” you point out.

“Of course I can’t,” Jimin gives with a chuckle, running a hand through his hair as if to demonstrate how calm he is. Your eyes are magnetised by the silver rings that glint on his fingers, unable to keep yourself from imagining how they might feel on you. “You can always use your safeword, and I’ll respect it,” he continues. “But I doubt it. Whether you like to admit it, little mouse, you want this. You think I haven’t worked out that you a little pain with your pleasure?” He stands back, just a step, but the extra distance makes you feel suddenly unanchored, and you hate it. “I’m going to give you three seconds to turn around and bend over. If you don’t, I’ll walk away and you get nothing. If you take your punishment like a good girl, then we can talk.”

You huff, pressing your lips - and thighs - together in an effort to stay strong.

“One,” Jimin begins, eyes alight with bemusement. You don’t move, just sighing in annoyance again. “Two.”

Your incisors are clamped on your tongue so tightly you can almost taste blood as you glare intensely at his mouth. He draws it out cheekily, letting you wait painstakingly as he wets his lips and finally opens his mouth, the pink of his tongue pressing against his teeth as he-

Before you can process it, you’re flipping yourself around and pressing your upper chest against the counter, eyes squeezed shut in humiliation as Jimin begins to chuckle.

It’s far too loud for the stillness of the early morning, and you muffle a sob in your forearm - not regret, but neediness. A week he’d deprived you, and the smug fucker was right: you’d take what you could get, and love it too. Blessedly, he doesn’t seem to notice the sound, the air filled instead with his triumphant peal of laughter at seeing you presenting yourself to him just like he knew you would.

“Oh, little mouse,” he coos. “What would the others think if they saw you like this, hm? Bent over for me in the middle of the kitchen where anyone could walk in.”

You take in an unsteady breath, feeling your pulse race with excitement as his fingertips - still cold from the morning air - slip under your waistband, as he painstakingly slides it down, revealing your ass. You let out a small whimper when the toe of his shoe catches your ankle, pushing to widen your legs apart. You bite your lip, cheeks heating, core heating even more.

Jimin runs his palms flat over your bare ass and you hiss through your nose at how icy his rings feel. While his hands are smaller than those of other guys of the house, you feel no less under their control, shivering at the contact. “Was it twenty we agreed upon?” His tone is light, playful. He knows he’s got you, and one final burst of defiance bubbles up through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you spit. “Does that make it twenty-one?”

You’re jumping before you even feel the lacing of fire on your right cheek or hear the smack that echos in the room. You choke on a moan, unable to deny how the pain settles into a low-burning pleasure that adds to the wetness between your thighs.

From behind you, you hear Jimin sigh heavily and quickly, like he’s trying to calm himself. “I want you to count them,” he instructs, and you flinch as his hand comes down on you again, but this time his slaps are weak, light swats that warm your skin to prepare it. “Twenty starting now. Understood?”

You bite your lip, but pull yourself up a little to free your face, propping yourself up with your elbows. You feel so vulnerable like this, just your ass bared, legs spread and at his mercy, but all you can think of is feeling his hand on you again. Blearily, you nod, and a pleased hum comes from his throat, barely audible.

Jimin makes you wait for it, holding the silence so that your ears strain, fighting the urge to glance ba-

You jerk with a shallow cry as your other cheek stings with his smack, core clenching. “One,” you announce quietly. With every moment of sunrise, the room gets lighter and lighter, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the thought of someone walking in on the two of you. Was that dread in your stomach or excitement?

He doesn’t speak, only smoothing the skin to cool it before laying another blow, waiting for you to call out a shaky “two.” He’s wearing at least three rings, and you can feel them, more unforgiving than his flesh and painfully ice cold. You wonder in the back of your mind if they’ll leave marks. You can’t help but hope they do.

You’ve made it to eight strikes before your knees begin to shake slightly. Every lick of pain simultaneously hurts more on the raw skin of your ass, but pools as liquid pleasure between your legs faster as you grow accustomed to it. Your pussy aches for contact, and you arch your back after the ninth spank falls, presenting yourself to him even more in the hopes that he’ll be tempted, but Jimin just tuts in disapproval.

“Look at you, little mouse. Soaking after a few spanks. You love this, don’t you? No part of you can deny it anymore.” You pant and bite down hard on your lip, wanting so bad to beg for it. Still, you refuse. Jimin just hums at your attempt at stoic silence, amused more than anything. “Almost halfway. It’ll be over so soon, don’t you think? We should make the most of this.”

You frown at his words, more so when you feel the heat of his body leave you. You crane your neck automatically, spine lifting to stand, but his voice freezes you.

“Fucking face the front and keep position,” he seethes, “I never said you could move.”

You sink back down, widening your legs and lowering your chest so it rests on the edge of the countertop, eyes locked onto the splashback in front of you. With ears straining, you shudder at the sound of a drawer sliding smoothly open, and the various clinks and thuds that follow as he rummages. Once the drawer shuts again and Jimin returns, you can barely breathe, goosebumps breaking out on your thighs and arms.

He pats something against you, then slowly runs it over the heated skin of your ass, the slight friction making you hiss. “Do you know what this is? Feel it.” He continues to brush it around slowly, and you wrack your mind. It’s not metal or plastic - the texture is a little too rough and it isn’t as cold as his rings were. You hiss when you feel it dip down between your thighs, too low to touch you were you need it most. The shape is a tall oval, flat on one side but concave on the other, and you let out a low moan, back arching lower as you work it out. Jimin laughs, bringing it back up to tap it teasingly on your cheek. “I think you do,” he remarks. “Shall we continue?”

You bite your lip but it can’t fully cover the needy moan that spills out. He’s really about to spank you with a wooden spoon, and you’re really dripping for it. “Ye-yes,” you gasp out, a cry ripped from your throat at the first hit. It’s far sharper on your skin than his hand, whistling through the air and landing with a resounding smack. The sting lasts longer too, almost like you can feel the exact outline of the spoon on your skin. “Fuck, ten.”

When Jimin speaks again, his voice is rich with sadistic amusement. “Do you like it, little mouse? You should see yourself. The outline of the spoon just now, the marks from my rings-” he drags a single nail down one of the aforementioned marks, and you keen, the raw pain sent straight to your core, “you mark so beautifully for me. This perky little ass of yours is so red, you know? Should we make it even redder?”

Without waiting for your answer, he lands three smacks in quick succession - right, left, right again. Your body’s instinct takes over and you pull your body forward, tucking your ass in as if to escape it, even as your core throbs with need and your nipples press stiffly against your shirt.

Jimin won’t have it, though, and you moan in a low keen as he wraps an arm low over your hips and tugs you back down, pressing the middle of your back with the fist and clenches the spoon so that you arch beneath it, dropping down that hand to run his knuckles lightly over your abused skin. “Shh,” he hushes firmly, “we aren’t done here yet. If it’s too much for you, you know what to say.”

Your heart warms at his reminder of your safeword, but you have no intention of using it, already melting under the additional physical contact. Instead, you lean back into his grip, presenting yourself for more.

You sense rather than see his grin, but it makes you shiver nonetheless as the amused breath escapes his nose, his cool fingers running over your flesh, thumb and pointer as the rest wrap around the stem of the wooden spoon. “Are you gonna count them then, little mouse?”

Your mouth drops open to answer, but you pause, having to really think back. “Mm, uh, twelve? Eleven?”

Jimin chuckles, returning to those light teasing pats of the wooden spoon, just to make your thighs shake. “Thirteen, actually,” he reveals in a rakish tone. “If you wanted more, you just had to ask.”

Before your brain can process a retort, the spoon comes down again, an audible thwack that jiggles the flesh of your ass with the force of it, and you keen, knees buckling for just a moment. The contrast of intense stimulation of the fiery skin on your ass and the complete neglect of your needy core is infuriating but addictive nonetheless. “Fuck, Jimin, fo-fourteen.”

You automatically suck in a breath in the sudden lull as Jimin rears his hand back, but the quiet reveals a different noise, the laughing and joking and thud-thud-thud of people coming down the stairs, and you’re choking on the air in your lungs, freezing as two familiar faces round the corner and come to a halt as they witness the scene you’re in.

Your legs shiver but your core throbs still as Jungkook and Taehyung watch you wide-eyed, eyes dancing in unision from Jimin, to you, to your ass and the spoon in Jimin’s hand. The cheeks of your face are somehow hotter and redder than the others, but regardless you stay frozen in position, waiting for someone else to make a move.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Jimin who speaks up first, the only one of you four unbothered. “She has six hits left, boys,” he offers up, patting your hip like you’re a ride to have a go on. “Any takers?”

Taehyung steps forward first, Jungkook’s mouth still hanging low. As you watch his slender fingers wrap around the handle of the wooden spoon, you shiver, and he chuckles at your reaction.

“You know,” he muses casually, replacing Jimin behind you as the older man steps away to lean against the bench beside you, “I think I’m starting to warm up to this whole situation, petal. Where else would I get to walk in on a sight like this? And Jimin-hyung is so generous to let us help out. Thank him, Y/n.”

A breath rushes out of your throat, one you hadn’t even realised you were holding. Humiliation rushes through you, but it’s cloudy with arousal, and your tongue is loose with it. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“Good girl,” Taehyung coos shortly, and that’s the only warning before he’s swatting you harshly with the flat back of the spoon, and you let out a strangled moan. Your ass won’t stop stinging between hits, but you obediently call out ”fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,” until you only have three to go.

Taehyung relinquishes his turn reluctantly to Jungkook; the youngest contestant in the house eying you up strangely, almost like he can read and understand the pleasure in the welts on your ass and the tremble of your knee. Almost like he’s been where you are, or somewhere close. Judging by the apparent variety of his streams, you don’t doubt it.

Like Jungkook’s testing the waters, his first hit is the weakest, barely making you flinch. You exhale lowly in disappointment. “Eighteen,” you say, swallowing down the drool that threatens to gather.

Before any more land, you instead feel fingers at your hairline, brushing back strands that have covered your face. Small but strong points of pressure light up on your jaw as Jimin pulls your chin to look up at him, his eyes swirling with deep satisfaction.

“I wanna see the look on your face,” he announces quietly. “I want our Jungkookie to make these last two hurt. Will you take it for me?”

His voice brooks no disagreement, still dripping with authority and control, but you know that he’s once more giving you an out should you wish to use your safeword, so you nod shakily, eyes fluttering. “Please.” You’ve still received no friction - or contact at all - on your pussy, and you feel yourself going crazy. The pain is addictive, licks of pleasure that seep into your veins after every spank, but you can’t handle how you drip down your own thighs, soaking your panties even as they rest hooked just above your knees. Two more hits and you’d finally get what you needed.

You haven’t seen Jimin’s face this close, and certainly not seen his eyes in such intense detail before, and instead of anticipating the next hit you find yourself blinking up at him dazedly. His hair, the deep glossy navy that you’d never seen on somebody before, is swooped gracefully over his brow, which is still a natural black, and below it his eyes are molten with lust and satisfaction, watching your face intently. His hands are hot on your face, the rings cool points of unforgiving contact, and you can’t help but wonder if the plush pillows of his lips are warm like his hands or cool like his rings. They’d feel softer against yo-

“Fu-fuck!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as two sharp hits strike you not on the already-red skin of your ass, but the tops of your thighs instead, just below the swell of flesh. It’s more painful than you’d expect, but you’re so turned on that your mind just screams better and more. Caught up in it, you belatedly gasp out a “nineteen, twen’y,” and feel yourself sink against the countertop, held up by Jimin’s hands on your face and jaw.

“Little mouse,” his voice calls out, and your brows knit together as you struggle to decipher his tone. “Little mouse.”

You force your eyes open, breathing heavily through your mouth as everything except the burn below and Jimin above fade away. “Jimin,” you whisper, lips barely moving.

His give a twitch, pleased. It warms your heart to see the flicker of approval. “What do you say, hm?”

You don’t even think, but your body knows the answer. “Thank you, Jimin.”

“I’m not the only one,” he remarks, though a pleased grin is evident on his face and in his voice.

Truthfully, you’d almost forgotten the others, but as you thank them, eyes still locked on Jimin, you feel your toes curl at the realisation that you’re surrounded by three extremely attractive men. Men that are all here to-

The dopey smile of anticipation is struck from your face when Jimin abruptly lets go of you, pushing off the countertop. You stumble, catching your legs under you and fumbling to pull up your jeans reflexively. “Where are you-?”

You jump at the dull clang of the wooden spoon being tossed in the sink, Jungkook’s hand free as Jimin discards the tool. You watch openmouthed, panties and jeans barely on as the former rest uncomfortably soaked against your core, as the eldest of the three rolls his shoulders and sighs happily. “So, boys; should we make some omellettes for breakfast? I feel like cracking a few eggs.”

Taehyung grins and Jungkook’s gaze slides to you in uncertainty but the two agree, casually retrieving ingredients and utensils like you aren’t sitting there with a stinging ass and your jeans unbuttoned.

“Jimin,” you mumble dumbly, and to your surprise he acknowledges you this time, walking over to stand in front of you with a congenial smile.

“You’re done here, Y/n,” he announces. Unabashedly, his hands slip down and begin to fully slide your panties and jeans up, fingers slipping up the zip and buttoning them closed. “You didn’t want to beg, and I’m not going to make you. You took your punishment, so why don’t you toodle along? I’m sure one of us will call for you when breakfast is ready.”

Your mouth drops open, the final lusty haze of the scene evaporating fast enough to leave you reeling. “Are you serious? You aren’t going to do anything?”

Jimin’s eyebrows lower intently, voice hushing like he’s sharing a secret, even though Taehyung and Jungkook are right behind him in earshot. “Oh, little mouse. You know exactly what to do to get what you want.”

He waits expectantly, but your eyes dart past his shoulders to the other two boys. Begging was one thing, but in front of the others? You fight a pout, hoping your face looks angry rather than put out. “You’re an asshole, and I’m voting you out.”

His grin broadens, wolfish. “Well then,” he remarks with an unbothered lift of a brow, “I better hurry up and make these omelettes before I get sent home, now, shouldn’t I?”

And with that, he turns his back to you and begins chatting to his friends. You stay for one more moment of shocked silence, but soon turn tail, stomping back up the stairs with the wet fabric of your panties pressing coldly against you.

---

When you peek your head in the door, Namjoon is still asleep, so you quickly duck back into your room and change into some fresh clothes and underwear before going back in, content to chill on his armchair until he wakes.

You’d told him you would stay, and the way the fabric of your leggings rubs against your sore ass when you sit only reminds you of the fact that you’d been gone longer than anticipated already. He looks peaceful, though, clearly quite content with the pillow you’d left him with. Namjoon’s mouth is parted slightly, slack and half-pressed into his own pillow. He clutches yours with both arms, snuffling or grunting in his sleep every few moments.

You’re happy with just scrolling through your phone aimlessly for the half hour or so it takes before he wakes, back arching and neck cracking as he stretches. A beam broadens on your face at the dazed slow blink and wide yawn that he emits. “Sleep well?” you ask softly, not wanting to startle him.

He pats the pillow and mattress beside him in confusion, sitting up to stare at you with a squint. “You stayed?”

“I said I would,” you dismiss, a single thread of guilt wrapping around your heart at the memory of where you’d just came from. “I woke up a bit early and needed a drink. Sore throat.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen dramatically, the concern on his face ringed by a mess of tanged purple hair. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve asked…”

“You’re fine, Namjoonie,” you murmur. “I was actually wondering if you’d want to-”

You break off to the sound of what is undoubtably Jungkook belting out his lungs from downstairs, announcing breakfast is ready. Namjoon lights up, kicking the blankets off in a rush to get out of bed. “I’m starving,” he chimes, getting dressed without a shred of the self-consciousness you’d witnessed the night before. Hunger has seemingly stolen all his brainpower, and you follow his eager slipstream as he rushes down the stairs noisily, thumping into the kitchen.

Both your heart and your core throb in disappointment, your opportunity for morning sex lost by the offer of a hot meal. Your mood sours even further when you come face-to-face with the three youngest serving up omelettes, Jimin smiling brilliantly, still dressed in a barely-buttoned silk pyjama shirt and some black glossy pants.

He barely spares you a glance, even as he sits almost directly across from you. You take a seat between Namjoon and Jin, Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin on the other side and the heads of the table kept by Hoseok and Yoongi.

You have to admit that the wafting smells of cooked egg, cheese and various spices have your stomach grumbling, so you vow to ignore the unsatisfied heat between your legs and the smug man across from you and tuck in, your knife cutting through the omelette like butter. It’s delicious, and clearly everyone at the table shares the same sentiment, moans of surprised enjoyment filling the air.

“I’m impressed, Jimin,” Yoongi admits, “the first time I’ve even seen you awake for breakfast and you make us this. It’s fantastic.”

His voice is melodic, teasing at your eyes even as you avoid looking at him. “Thanks, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin replies warmly, “I was actually taught the recipe from one of my good friends who works as a chef in France.”

Hoseok isn’t impressed, and the way he scrunches his face up in annoyance makes you suppress a grin. “Let me guess, Remy the rat? If we dig around in that hair of yours will we find him tugging you around?”

Jimin ignores him coolly, knife twirling deftly around his fingers. “I haven’t seen Victor in several years, but his cooking lessons have always stuck with me. Dis-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai qui tu es.”

“You are what you eat,” Namjoon muses, shoveling a wobbling stack of egg into his mouth.

Your eyebrows lift, turning to him with shock. “You speak French?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin straighten in interest at the man directly across from him, but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice, cheeks bulging as he hurriedly tries to finish his mouthful. “Took it as an elective in university,” he explains once he’s done, “never actually been to France, though.” He turns to Jimin finally, eyes shining with the spark of curiosity that always seemed to smoulder there. “What’s it like?”

“C’est incroyable,” Jimin enunciates, the French dripping off his tongue like sparkling water. “Tu devrais y aller un jour. Mon ami a un appartement à Paris avec une chambre d’amis dans laquelle je séjourne des fois.”

Namjoon gasps, and you glance around the table, everyone bar the two of them looking totally confused. “Avec vue sur la Tour Eiffel?” The only indication it’s a question is the way his pitch rises, but the rest is incomprehensible to you, so you just return to your omelette, content to watch the conversation play out like a foreign movie without subtitles. Body language and tone being your only clues.

“Bien sûr,” Jimin replies easily, his head tipping to the side, eyes burning as he stares at the older man, “mais on pourrait peut-être parler de choses plus excitantes que cela? As-tu apprécié la compagnie de Y/N dans ton lit hier soir?”

You straighten up as you hear your name, glaring at Jimin in suspicion. You’d never regretted picking Spanish in high school instead of French more. Namjoon, interestingly, seems equally ruffled by Jimin’s comments. “That’s really none of your busi-”

“Tu vas me parler en Français, Namjoon, ou je vais commencer à te poser des questions en Anglais. Qu’est-ce que t’en dit? The choice is yours.” Jimin’s voice turns sharp, spitting out the syllables like jabs. The choice? In unison, everyone at the table turns to Namjoon in question as the academic flushes.

“Fine,” he says shortly in English, before switching back to French. “On n’est pas vraiment... allés jusqu’au bout. J’allais lui proposer ce matin, mais tu nous a appelés pour le déjeuner. .”

Jimin’s mouth curls slowly, deviously, making Namjoon swallow. You feel your own cheeks heat at the thought that they were very likely speaking about you. “Is that so?” Jimin asks in English, head tipping slowly. He takes a single bite of his breakfast, making Namjoon shift awkwardly in his seat at the wait. “Well; I do apologise for interrupting.” You look up between the two of them. Was he referring to him spanking you that morning? Or him calling you down just when you were going to make a move? Jimin isn’t done, sliding down in his seat just slightly, so he’s leaning back. “Laisse-moi me faire pardonner.”

Namjoon’s brows knit and his mouth opens to reply, but suddenly he goes ramrod stiff, eyes flying wide open. “Wh-what are you-?” His chest heaves once, his throat bobbing as he swallows down the rest of his sentence.

You frown, glancing down to see the shiny tip of Jimin’s shoe pressed firmly against Namjoon’s crotch, shifting back and forth. You look away, hoping to avoid attracting more attention to Namjoon’s predicament, but you can’t deny the hot rush of heat between your own thighs at the thought of Jimin getting Namjoon off at the breakfast table with just the sole of his shoe. You finish off the last of your omelette bitterly, hating the way that your mind wishes you were in Namjoon’s seat right now.

Like nothing’s happening, Jimin continues to converse with his elder, the others at the table seemingly none the wiser. “Ce n’est peut-être pas une une chatte bien chaude et humide, mais tu es un bon garçon, n’est-ce pas? Tu vas prendre ce que je te donne, non?”

“Jimin,” Namjoon croaks out, voice surprisingly steady even as it’s low with arousal, “i-is there any more batter left? I’d love another omelette.”

Jungkook pipes up, finally hearing enough English to be able to contribute. “There’s not much left, but I was actually thinking I kinda feel like some hash browns and bacon, so we could go for round two if anyone else is up for it?”

Yoongi and Jin, like they’ve been awakened with the promise of more food, drag their chairs back simultaneously to stand. “I don’t trust you with frying bacon, Jungkook,” Jin answers from beside you with a small grin, “let hyungs help.”

Half the table files away, Hoseok also joining those in the kitchen, probably because he’s hoping for some taste-testing, and you’re left with Taehyung being the only unaware party, on his phone as he mindlessly sips away at a glass of juice.

“Regarde-moi ça,” Jimin announces with melodic glee. “il y a moins de regards sur toi maintenant. Les autres sont dans la cuisine, Taehyung ne nous prête pas attention, et Y/N sait déjà ce qui est entrain de se passer; regarde-la.”

You glance up at your name but Taehyung doesn’t even react, mouth slightly open as he focuses on the video he’s watching silently, pinky finger tapping at the condensation on the glass absentmindedly.

Namjoon turns to face you, before glancing down at the shoe which rocks faster and broader between his legs, his cock tented and leaking a small wet patch in his trousers. He knows you know. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t-”

Jimin overtakes deftly, making Namjoon hunch over the table as the jerking of his shoe against Namjoon’s clothed cock speed up. Even as Jimin’s eyes are on you, he addresses the older man in lush French. “Est-ce que tu vas venir comme ça, hm? Crois-tu pouvoir rester silencieux?”

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the heat stemming from between your legs as you wish you could’ve felt some contact from Jimin instead. Even just the sole of his shoe would be better than nothing, but it seems that Namjoon doesn’t share the sentiment, as his hand shoves at Jimin’s foot. “Rouge,” he gasps out lowly, and Jimin recoils like he’s been shot.

Sitting upright, feet to himself again, Jimin’s eyes widen at the word. Even with the little to no French knowledge you have, you can guess the meaning. Red. Namjoon used the safeword. “I’m so sorry,” Jimin croaks, and you’re startled at the vulnerability and genuine apology in his voice, “are you not-?”

“Juste parce que je suis techniquement vièrge, ça ne fait pas de moi un soumis,” Namjoon explains with a rueful smile. You wish he would’ve spoke in English, but his light tone at least reassures you that he isn’t mad or hurt or upset. He mostly just seems a little embarrassed and overwhelmed.

“Can we stop speaking in baguette?” Taehyung pipes up miserably, putting his phone away. “Oui, oui. Mercy. Oh reservoir. Anything more complex than that and you’ve got me lost.”

Namjoon frowns, bewildered. “Do you mean merci and au revoir?”

“Do I?” Taehyung questions rhetorically, eyes dazed. Namjoon just shrugs hopelessly, but that seems enough for the black-haired boy. He cheers up a bit and, glancing at Namjoon’s hunched figure, lets out a short sigh. “You look tense, hyung. Do you need some help relaxing?”

Jimin bites his lip with guilt, and you hate the way you’re drawn to that pillow of flesh, so pink against the white of his teeth. What you wouldn’t give to lean over there and see what it felt like to kiss him.

Namjoon, however, seems less concerned with Jimin. You get the idea that perhaps he’s not one to have a short temper or hold grudges. “It’s okay, I think I might have a quick shower upstairs before the second lot of breakfast is finished.” Displaying his characteristic shyness, Namjoon makes an awkward yet completely unsuccessful attempt to leave the room without revealing his tented crotch.

Taehyung’s eyes follow it out until Namjoon’s out of sight, his mouth hung open. After a moment’s thought, brows knitted tightly together, Taehyung turns back to the two of you at the table. “Do you think he’s turned on by food or something? He did seem pre-tty eager to chow down that omelette. I should go ask him.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jimin sinks his face into his hands as Taehyung scrambles after Namjoon, and you honestly don’t blame him.

You manage to make it to late afternoon before you encounter Jimin again. After the meal, he speaks quietly to Jin and the two disappear into the private rec room. For you as well, the day is spent inside, Jungkook asking for your assistance in spotting him at the indoor gym, mostly so he can explain to you and Hoseok the extremely elaborate plot of his latest anime show while he lifts weights. You and Hoseok, completely lost, ended up spending hours there trying to understand all the character arcs and plot twists and backstories, eventually moving up to Jungkook’s room so he could show you the first few episodes. By the time he let you go, you made your way downstairs with a bag of laundry, having almost spent a full week in the villa.

Unlike most of the house, the laundry feels very basic and surburban: a front-loader, a dryer and a sink with some cabinets are really the only pieces of furniture, so you perch on the dryer as you wash, and the washer as you dry your load of clothes.

Letting the regular thump of the drying machine lull you into a sleepy daze, you’re too zoned out on your phone to notice someone approaching until fingers wrap around your phone, pushing it down away from your face.

Jimin’s still hasn’t changed out of his red pyjama shirt, and as you sit up ramrod straight and focus onto him, you admire the way the lapels lay open to expose his collarbones. “Fancy seeing you here,” he announces with a grin, eyes raking over you as you sit atop the washing machine.

“What a coincidence,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And what would that be, little mouse?”

You fight the urge to press your legs together at the petname, Jimin’s eyes intelligent and self-satisfied as they watch you. “Coming here to seduce me.”

Jimin laughs, and your cheeks flush hot at the sound, his head tipping back to expose a graceful neck. “Oh, Y/n, don’t think so highly of yourself. I’m just here to do my laundry.”

Dubious, you keep your legs dangling over the side and your arms crossed as you look down. True enough, a basket of washing rests and his feet, and you wait bitterly as he brushes your legs wider so that he can turn on the machine, selecting the right settings and pouring in a scoop of detergent. You keep a stoic silence, biting down on your tongue at his actions, but he doesn’t seem to care about your eyes on him.

In fact, he appears to openly thrive on it, sinking into a crouch in front of the machine and blinking up at you innocently, his face in front of your aching crotch. Refusing to give in, you press your lips together while he opens the door and deposits his clothes, socks, underwear, everything he’s been wearing the past few days. Once he’s done, you feel yourself relax a bit, but then he lets out a thoughtful hum.

“I suppose I should wash these too,” he muses, fingering at the bottom edge of his shirt, and your mouth goes dry. That fucker. He doesn’t even look at you as he undresses, but the smirk on his lips speaks volumes.

Your hips long to writhe, but you force yourself still as he unbuttons his shirt, opening it up and chucking it in casually, running a hand over his now-naked chest, quite literally rubbing it in. The most skin you’ve seen on him yet, you allow yourself to drink in the sight. He’s more muscular than you’d expect, though it’s all lean muscle, graceful yet speaking to a corded strength.

Even though you know it’s coming, there’s nothing that can prepare you for the obscene sight of him pulling down the zipper of his black patent leather pants, revealing equally black boxers. He’s not hard, not even the slightest hint of a chub, and the thought infuriates you that he could make you so needy without even getting aroused himself, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

As he lowers his pants down, his thighs are revealed in all their glory, the thickest part of him. They flex as he lifts each leg, tugging off the pants fully and tossing them in. Though you hadn’t noticed before, now is the first time you’ve seen him without his shoes on, and you marvel at the fact that he loses none of his power like this, that it really comes from within, from his piercing gaze, knowing smile and confident posture. Chucking them in the washing machine too, he pauses for a moment, lip tugged up in a smirk, before his ringed fingers find the elastic waistband of his boxers.

Startled, a breathy, “Jimin,” falls from your lips unbidden, barely audible.

“Hm?” Jimin has no regard for modesty as he bares himself fully, cock twitching as you stare, wide-eyed. “What’s the problem, little mouse? This is a shared facility.” He chucks the slip of light fabric amongst the rest of his clothes and shuts the lid, pressing start. A gasp escapes you as the machine kicks into gear, already beginning to shudder and rock under you, sending vibrations to your needy core.

As you stare, Jimin stands in front of you, resting a hand on the edge of the machine, right between your splayed legs. His dick is slowly plumping up, the man completely unbothered as he lowers his free hand to press at the skin around it, sighing.

Your fingers clench into fists as your arms remain crossed, pussy thriving and dripping with the pleasure after so long, but cursing that his hand is so close yet so far to your clothed cunt. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you spit, leaning back and tipping your head up to stare stubbornly at the ceiling. The image of him, his naked body is still seared onto your eyelids and you let out a huff. “You have no shame.”

“Shame never seemed like a particularly useful quality to have.”

“I’m not giving you what you want,” you insist, voice trembling slightly - though you blame the steady jarring of the washing machine that runs from your core all the way up to your teeth.

“Then I could say the same to you,” you hear Jimin reply easily, before letting out a suspiciously low groan.

Your head shoots down and you gawk at the way he grasps himself, fully hard now, and runs the crook of his pointer finger over his weeping head. His cock is gorgeous, the hair above trimmed neatly and the tip arcing towards the ceiling, towards your shocked stare as he smears the glistening precum around his head, hissing at the coolness of his rings on the heated skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you utter in complete bewilderment. “This isn’t washing your laundry!”

Jimin hums, head tipped back and eyes slipping shut in indulgence. “I can leave to jerk off alone if that makes you more comfortable?”

You fall silent, eyes locked onto his languid strokes. That isn’t what you want at all, and he knows it. “Jimin,” you murmur lowly, captivated by the slow drags of his hand on his cock, rings glinting wetly. He makes a noise of response, almost lost in the mechanical whirring and thudding of the washing machine that stirs in your loins. Your voice is barely louder than his. “Jimin, why are you making this so difficult?”

His head tips back down, lips parted and eyes lidded. “Oh, little mouse,” he sighs, “do you wish you could touch? Do you wish I was inside you?”

You glance again at his hand, resting mere centimetres away from your core. “You know I do,” you admit in a small voice.

“Then beg,” he replies simply, hand slowly picking up speed on his dick. “The only thing that’s keeping you horny and unsatisfied is yourself. You could’ve cum three times already if you knew what was good for you.”

You sigh, licking your lips needily. A light ding echoes in the room; your washing has finished in the dryer. You ignore it. “Please, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes open fully, locking on you with a smirk. “Closer,” he answers, teeth exposed as he grins just slightly. Still, though, he continues to stroke himself, even going so far as to take a half step forward to rest the underside of his cock against the washing machine, groaning at the vibrations.

You huff when you realise he isn’t going to speak further. “You do realise I could just go get myself off, right? You don’t have all the power here.”

You know you’ve said the wrong thing when his cheeks lift, lips spread wide in a teasing sneer. “We both know that’s not quite true. Perhaps I don’t have all the power, but a little birdie told me that you’re no longer allowed to put your hand in your own pants. I don’t suppose that rings a bell?”

He knows about Hoseok’s deal. Perhaps they all do. In an effort to wipe the smug look off his face, you scoff, spreading your legs wider in a show of relaxation. “Well then, I guess I might as well go upstairs and ask Hoseok to fuck me. I bet he’d do a better job than-”

Like lightening, his hand leaves his own cock and lashes out, fisting your shirt in his hands and tugging you forward, hard enough that you have to quickly uncross your arms and grab onto him to stop your foreheads from knocking together. You gasp at the fiery look on his face, his voice a sharp growl. “If you think he can fuck you half as good as I can, you’re dreaming.”

“Wha-?” you make out, so close that your breath ruffles the wisp of hair that swoops over his brow.

Just as quick as he grabbed you, Jimin lets go, stepping away. “Your laundry is ready,” he announces lowly. “You’ll be waiting outside my bedroom door in two hour’s time or you won’t get anything at all. Clear?”

Startled, you nod, jumping down off the mid-cycle washing machine, your legs feeling wobbly with the sudden withdrawal of vibrations. Grabbing your washing out of the dryer, you rush out the room with one last glance at him before the door slams and locks behind you. All is silent in the hallway as you ascend the stairs, but internally you scream with excitement.

Two hours drags and stretches and then snaps, everything too slow and then too fast until you’re knocking on Jimin’s door, stomach swirling sickly with anticipation.

He takes his sweet time answering, heightening your heart rate, but by the time he does it takes your breath away. He’s in a different pair of black pants, jeans that are skinny enough to make his legs seem a million miles long. His chest is fully covered this time, but it’s a transparent white mesh singlet, a white pressed blouse with gold buttons and cufflinks unbuttoned at the top to expose it. His lips, plush as ever, are covered in a sheer gloss that glints in the light and his eyes are intense in the frame of thick lashes and a hint of shadow on the lids, warm and smokey. As usual, he’s laden with jewellery, his classic silver rings paired with a pair of thin dangling chains from his lobes that sway hypnotically when he tilts his head in greeting.

You, too, had dressed for the occasion, seeking out your prettiest pair of lingerie - a black lace set with embroidered vines and buds around the hems and cups. The only thing you’re wearing on top is a black silk robe tied lazily around your waist. Thanking your lucky stars nobody had wandered into the upstairs hallway while you were waiting, you step inside, the thick carpet under your bare feet muffling your steps.

Jimin is back in shoes, and you bite your lip when you recognise them as the ones he’d worn at breakfast just that morning. It feels like days ago, your heightened arousal the whole day stretching time into an eternity.

“Kneel,” he instructs shortly, pointing at the carpet in front of him. For a moment you hesitate, but you'd gotten so far and it would be foolish to test your luck and risk getting thrown out with nothing yet again. Besides, part of you wants to see what he'll do when you're actually good for him. You kneel.

His room is perhaps one of the largest excluding yours. His bathroom door is shut, but even just the bedroom has room for a queen bed, two nightstands, a dresser and a chest at the foot of the bed which you're facing. You wonder idly if he'd paid the staff off for the biggest room, but before you can ponder much more he steps in front of you, his crotch right at your eye-level. You glance up him, sucking in a breath at how perfect he looks glancing down at you.

You lick your lips in anticipation, and it draws his attention. "This pretty little mouth of yours," he muses, reaching out to run his fingers over your lips, tugging down the flesh to watch it bounce back. Your chest puffs in pride, mouth practically watering at the thought of sucking him off. You part your lips when he presses on the seam, and his first two fingers delve into your mouth, slowly thrusting so that the pads run along your tongue, making you drool around his digits. You widen your jaw obediently, eyes pleading. But his face changes, then, a frown clouding his features. "More trouble than it's worth," he decides stiffly, and suddenly your mouth is empty, Jimin wiping your saliva off on your cheek before he turns his back to you, opening the chest.

Your mouth stays slack and open, but for a different reason. From what you can see, the wooden box is filled with toys, slips of fabric and leather, metal chains, everything. Suddenly, something catches your attention. At the bottom right corner, the initial PJM have been gracefully engraved, painted in with a glossy black ink. This is his, you realise, what he uses for his shoots. You feel your panties dampening between your legs as he rifles around.

When he turns back around, you recoil slightly, recognising the buckled contraption he comes up with. A ball gag. He smiles wickedly at your reaction, standing over you and running his hand through your hair, combing it back from your face. "This is a good thing, little mouse," he explains, tapping your lips twice to indicate to widen your jaw. You obey in a daze, feeling the sphere of unforgiving black plastic fill the front half of your mouth, your teeth keeping it in place. "Now you won't be tempted to run your mouth. Isn't that thoughtful of me?" You glare up at him as the straps wrap around your skull, his deft fingers tightening the buckle just enough so you can't spit the ball out. Your breath comes through your nose now, huffing at him.

He chuckles, crouching in front of you. It's overwhelming, suddenly having his face so close again. The perfect swells of his cheekbones, the sculpted brows and intelligent eyes so intensely locked onto yours. "You can't speak now, little mouse. So your safeword is going to be non-verbal. Click your fingers once for yellow, and over and over as much as you can for red. Okay? Click now so I know you can do it."

You click your fingers, feeling your chest ease slightly with the reinforcement of your safety net. The moment you're done, however, that warm concern vanishes, and he straightens up, turning away from you yet again.

"You're lucky," his voice announces, leaning over to dig in his box of tricks, "normally I'm not so generous. Normally I wouldn't let you cum until you'd well and truly earned it. But those cries of yours on the Monday night..." He trails off, spinning back on his feet to face you, a pair of leather cuffs in his hand, unconnected with heavy duty silver loops dangling from them. His eyes pierce you with a hint of vulnerability that you don't think he even realises he's showing. "You drive me crazy, Y/n. I want to hear you cum over and over and over again for me."

No matter how much your chest rises and falls, you feel breathless, eyes wide. Unable to verbally respond - though you don't even know what you'd say - you just give him a pleading gaze, hips rocking against the bottoms of your feet in search of friction.

He lets out a breath, stepping forward. "Take off your robe," he instructs with a rough voice. Your fingers fumble with the slack knot, hurriedly shedding it and tossing it away, leaving yourself in just the lingerie. "Fuck," he says with a breathy chuckle, "you're gonna be the death of me, little mouse. Wrists."

You clench your teeth around the ball gag in a keen at his words, lifting your arms up to reach him.

One at a time, he fits on the leather cuffs. They're relatively wide, though not too thick, and once he does up the buckle on each one you feel your eyes flutter. Something you'd never felt before but it's divine, the way they wrap so snugly around your wrists, not only a physical anchor, but a reminder that you're his, letting out a low moan when he slips a finger in one of the silver loops, tugging to ensure the fit.

Jimin's lip twitches at your reaction, and instead of telling you to stand, he uses the hoops, pulling your wrists up by the cuffs until you stand to ease the pressure, stumbling slightly as you get off your knees without your hands to assist. He leads you to the head of the bed, where you see the two chains that wrap around the bars of the headboard.

"On," he instructs, letting go so you can clamber up, sitting as you await further instruction. "On your back, darling," he coos, pressing at your shoulder so your head rests back onto the pillow. Automatically, you lift your arms, pulling a smile from his lips as he loops the chains through the silver hoops of your cuffs, spreading your arms wide apart, knuckles brushing against the wood of the headboard.

"Don't go anywhere," he remarks teasingly before leaving you, retrieving a few things from the chest. You tug slightly at one of your cuffs, testing it, and muffle a groan at the feeling of being trapped, tied down and at his mercy.

When he returns, his hands are full, and he tosses the fruits of his labour on the bed beside your torso, getting up on the bed to sit between your legs. You gasp when he tugs your ankles firmly, making you slip down so that your arms are straight, less room to struggle. This way, too, you can barely crane your head up, chest blocking your few of the toys he's brought over.

"Now," he says with a patient sigh, fingering the hem of your panties, "let's get rid of these, mm?" You lift your hips obediently when he goes to slip them down, curling your toes at the sudden cool air on your pussy. "Fuck, look at you," he gushes lowly, his fingers running up and down your slit so light you can barely feel them, making you whimper. "So fucking wet, little mouse. I haven't even touched you."

You lift your head to moan at him, trying to get out your plea, though your words are unrecognisable through the ball gag.

He pouts teasingly, rubbing the flat of his palm over you, slicking up his hand. "Oh, poor baby. The mean old Jiminie kept teasing her, did he? Baby just wants to cum?"

You groan, eyes scrunching shut as you nod your head. Even the simple touch of his hand between your legs is so good you could cry.

You tremble when you feel two fingers slip inside your wetness, a tight fit but one that lets him in so smoothly with how much you're soaked for him. He finds your g-spot with an almost supernatural ease, rubbing at it with the pads of his two fingers, curling inside you. You let out a strangled groan which makes him chuckle.

"I'm being generous now, aren't I? Say thank you, Y/n."

You sob. He knows full well you can't speak, but you obey nonetheless, letting out an unintelligible garble of your thanks.

"Good girl," he coos, and your legs fall apart wider in bliss as he begins an indulgent pace, the cool bands of his rings when they plunge inside you addictive. The second his thumb lifts up and begins rubbing at your clit, you're already on the edge from being deprived so long, and you cum almost immediately, shuddering around his fingers at the deep but powerful satisfaction.

You come down from your high relatively quickly, but he's already slipped his hand out, and you glance down in confusion, only to choke on a moan when you see him, tongue poking out slightly in focus as he uses your own slick to lube up a dildo, a powder pink silicone one that's roughly the shape of a cock, but far smoother, getting wider at the bottom for a place to hold it.

Once he's done, almost without acknowledging you, he grips your knee, making it bend and your leg lift higher up the bed, spreading you wider open for him, the other one still flat on the mattress, splayed wide.

"That was your warm-up, little mouse, I hope you enjoyed it," Jimin remarks with a grin, and you breathe heavy around the gag, back arching as he presses the head of the dildo into you.

It's far wider than his two fingers, and the stretch dumbs you, making your mind slow to a halt to appreciate every inch that fills you, dragging against your sensitised g-spot. Jimin's knuckles bump your clit when he bottoms out, and you shiver, the dildo so deep inside you.

"Let's get started, shall we?" he declares rhetorically with a wolfish grin, and once again your eyes squeeze shut when he begins a bruising pace, every strike spearing you open and making your eyes water. Your spine hitches as you writhe beneath him, but his grip on your bent leg is too strong, and no matter how hard you clench he drives the dildo so fully inside you that your mouth is slack, wide enough that your teeth don't even clamp around the ball on your tongue. With an open mouth, more sound comes through, and you hear the room filling with the wet sound of him fucking you with the dildo, but also your own moans and hiccuped screams.

He fucks you to the edge faster than you can comprehend. There's so much pleasure on every stroke, and he's using so much speed that it feels like you can't take it, like you might explode, but still he pins you down, letting you yank at the cuffs that bind you as you're forced to cum violently around it, thigh muscles clenching as you try to clamp your legs around the intrusion.

"Fuck, that's it, don't stop cumming," you hear him growl, and you sob with pleasure as your orgasm morphs quickly into oversensitivity, but Jimin never lets up for a second.

Your eyes water, tears slipping down over your temples as he continues to fuck you, and suddenly you no longer feel his hand on your leg, it flopping down weakly as fingers tap over your hand.

"Don't forget the signal," he instructs as you sob and writhe, "I'm not fucking stopping without it."

It takes you a moment to process that he's asking about the safeword, but as overwhelmed as you are, you don't want him to stop. "Hngingn," you cry, his name coming out jumbled through the ball gag, and your legs automatically lock around his hand, seeking to stop the roughly thrusting dildo, but his spare hand just rips your legs away, one of his jean-clad knees pinning down your shin and your screams reach a new pitch when you feel fingers strumming at your clit, the pleasure like a million needles, making your hands fist.

After an eternity of going crazy with overstimulation, you pass a bend. The pain turns back into pleasure, and you settle, going quiet and shifting slightly to seek it out, eyes rolling at the rhythmic rocking of your hips as he fucks you with the dildo.

"That's it," Jimin guides, breathless with exertion, "I want you to cum again, little mouse. Clench tight for me."

You do as he says, eyes so blurry you can't even see anything but the patch of blue in your vision, his head bobbing slightly as he speaks.

Without thinking, you follow his instructions, and like clockwork a third orgasm rips through you, taking you by surprise as the extra pressure of the dildo on your g-spot plunges you over the edge. You hadn't even realised you were close, but clearly Jimin had, and you tremble beneath him, letting the waves of pleasure flood to every corner and crevice of your body, your fists tightening and your toes curling. You weep openly at how good it feels, whimpering when his fingers on your clit stop and the dildo slows, slipping out of you one last time with a slick noise.

You're sweating, twitching, trembling, but still you manage to blink away your tears and focus on him blearily as you feel him removing the ball gag from around your head, fingers gentle as they massage your jaw slightly, letting you close it and lick your lips, feeling the ache.

"Did so well," he praises, and you pant happily, a lazy smile stretching out on your face as your tears begin to dry. The sound of a zip makes you frown, so you glance down to see Jimin already fisting his own cock, just as red and needy as the last time you'd seen it. You whimper as he shuffles forward, lifting your legs up into the air to spread you wide for him.

Almost forgetting you can speak now, you whimper wordlessly for a few moments, before making out a weak, "Jimin," tone pleading.

"Shh," he coos, his cockhead tapping at your drenched entrance, making you shiver. "One more, little mouse."

"I can't," you sob, chest hitching as he slips into you, just bigger than the dildo. You let out a reedy cry at how he strikes you're abused g-spot, and his fingers massage the backs of your thighs soothingly.

"You can," Jimin insists, fucking into you slowly, making you hiss every time, "just one more for me. You have your word."

You sob at the overstimulating madness as his pace picks up, driving so intensely inside of you, but you don't use the safeword. There's a kind of euphoria bliss to being stretched to your limits, pushed so far, and you trust him to take care of you, want to do a good job for him.

So you shake your head, moans blending into cries blending into whimpers. "Fuh-fuck," you gasp as once more sharp stimulation turns warm again, and you near a fourth orgasm. You shiver under Jimin, his thrusts so deft and powerful, jerking your body in rhythm. "I ca- I can't cum again," you admit shakily, "'s too much, Jimin, I can't take it!"

Jimin grunts with the force of his thrusts, but his hands are gentle as they keep your legs spread. "You're almost there, little mouse, you're doing so well."

Your back arches violently when he drops one of your legs to rub at your clit, fresh tears streaming into your hairline. "Fuck, oh god, I'm gonna- fuck!"

You stream as your final orgasm takes you like a train, and a feeling you've never experienced rushes through you as you squirt, thighs clamping iron tight around his hips as he curses at the sight and spills into your trembling body.

Even in the throes of his own orgasm, you feel Jimin's hands pass up and begin releasing you from the headboard, your arms falling limply as he cups your face, barely even rocking into you as every slight movement plunges you into oversensitivity.

You gasp, trying to catch your breath with closed eyes as this thumbs brush away your tears, his cum hot inside you.

"God, Y/n, you were amazing, did so well for me," he confesses lowly in your ear, and you let out a whimper as he presses a single kiss to your cheek, the most tender he's been with you so far.

"Did well," you repeat mindlessly, "Jiminnie."

"You did," he promises, and you hiss as he pulls himself out of you carefully, the feeling of his seed mixed with your own cum flooding out down onto the sheets. "God, look at you," Jimin muses under his breath, surely not meant for you to hear.

Barely conscious, your eyes flutter, and the last thing you remember seeing is him stripping off his expensive white cotton blouse, cleaning you up with it so gently that you barely feel the sting on your clit.

FAN FAVOURITE

TAGLIST

Okay real talk doing 5 ppl per comment takes fucking AGES so imma just try 45 since last time 50 didn’t work.

@agustdpeach @tinysweetscrown @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @saikokirastuff @kim-ji-woo-hoo

@starryskyslove @taemetiger @wildly-lost-lantern @mini-coop25 @bbbrats

@crafty-babe @megahwn @sope-and-shine @kuppyjiminie @igot7-penta-seo

@brooklyn11208 @taetaehooray @heathenssss @ironicarmy @mykingdomismyheaven

@franklytae @ddaenggtan @scribbleseas @ex-silent-reader @lovelysky15

@0nlyours0 @houseofarmanto @xddaengx @bucky-thorin-winchester @joonadore

@shi-tmp3 @latina-army @djasheyash99 @yeontanie21 @chogiyeol-utopia

@swanqook @parksfilter @jungtaeyoongles @lilylovsu @kaitlynmarie1120

@karma299 @tearkth @hjordan1994 @bangtan-dreamland @sarcasmflowsinmyveins

The rest will be in the comments!

Unable to tag @risefallrise @btsphdotcom @kitty-queen-13 @stardust-and-ashes@crazykpopaddict @positivelyjada @paradisetaemin @awixxx @litty-dumb @passionate-love-57911 @sweeneyblue1 @carrooooooooo @purplepearl07

1K notes · View notes

the-secret-life-of-bi · 3 years ago

Note

News flash: Asking people to not to use a word on them that they’re uncomfortable with is not “anti-queerness” lol. I’m queer, I identify with the word, but I’ll never use it on someone who hasn’t explicitly stated they’re ok with it cause I’m not a fucking asshole. Please consider getting over yourself soon.

I want to put it out there don't use and have not personally seen a queer person use the word "queer" toward any individual person without express permission. I'm sure it happens, and that's shitty, but I've never done or personally witnessed such a thing, just to put my perspective into context. What I have seen is queer people berated for daring to use the word as an umbrella term. Yet no one asks if everyone is okay with being referred to as gay before using that as an umbrella term, even though many people also have negative associations with that word being used as a slur towards them. And I accept that that conversation probably happens too, somewhere else that I don't see it, but again, just to put it into context, it's not something I personally have witnessed.

Describing myself and the community I belong to with the same term is not using queer as a slur. The constant insinuation that we should only use our own terms quietly and away from anyone they might offend is anti-queerness, actually. The fact that our identity is considered one of the dirty ones, that other groups can loudly and proudly use their terms for themselves and inclusively as an umbrella without being labeled bad, but people who use queer can't, is degrading. The fact that queer people, talking about their own personal experiences, have to see their posts reblogged and tagged "q slur" is infuriating. It purposefully separates us from the community as a whole and allows for further fracturing and discord amongst differently identified LGBTQ+ people...which is a tactic that has been used to keep everyone in the community down for forever.

"Queer is a slur" is used as a pseudo-woke way of discriminating against people who have more nebulous identities, or who don't want to fully out themselves, or wouldn't know what other label to use if they are ready to come out. It's okay to say, "Queer is not a word I use to identify myself, please don't use it when talking about me specifically," but to label every use of the word you see as a slur is just...mind bogglingly offensive, as far as I'm concerned.

And frankly, the most alarming thing about seeing so much of it recently is that, when I first started getting into LGBTQ+ discourse on Tumblr at the beginning of the pandemic, "queer is a slur" was a sentiment that I saw primarily in TERF circles. Now it seems to have become more pervasive everywhere in like, only the past year.

But sure, I'm a real asshole, out here calling everyone queer just to make them uncomfortable. You caught me.

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putas-in-suffering · 5 years ago

Text

Mermaid

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 18+ older

Warnings: Language, rough sex (slapping/manhandling), unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, female ejaculation, some non-con elements, degradation (name calling), Dark/Dom Miguel, think Miguel and Emily’s fucked up vibe in that one scene...you know the one 😏

Word Count: 4.4K

Summary: Part 2. Miguel finds out about your tryst with Bishop and things take a dangerous turn.

A/N: Sucias! We got a present for you! We got Part 2 for our previously published Bishop fic Terms of Endearment. Check it out because it does tie in with this one. Also, it has Bishop smut. This has our Cartel Daddy hella mad and hella ready to destroy the pussy. Prepare yourselves because Miguel ain’t about to take it easy on you. Enjoy and share with your fellow sucias! Feedback is the preferred drug for our addiction and greatly appreciated 💖💖

*Read Part 3 here!

(Gif credit to @angels-reyes)

You flinched again when Miguel slammed his drink down, the sound angry and stern. He’d been in a bad mood since the moment you’d arrived nearly an hour ago. He’d called you earlier today and requested your presence at his home. He said he wanted to talk something over and insisted on having dinner prepared. You’d hesitated, flashes of letting Bishop Losa fuck you in a storage closet racing through your head. You could tell something was weighing heavy on Miguel’s mind, but you’d let it go and acquiesced to meeting him. Before Miguel was your employer, he was your best friend. And as much as you wanted to call it a night, you went anyway.

After the factory, you’d made more rounds, overseeing the operation and reporting back to Miguel via text. Once you’d gotten the stoic invitation for dinner, you’d raced home and showered the Mayans MC president off your skin. You ignored the pull to relive those memories as your fingers grazed your body, halting on the areas that Bishop had gripped so fiercely. There weren’t any visible markings, but you didn’t need to see it to know it had been there. You could still feel it.

You’d redressed for your impromptu dinner in a silk golden dress. The sleeves were long, the waist cinched, the skirt flowing over your hips and stopping around your ankles. There was a slit down the side, breaking up what would be a normally stylish conservative dress. You had yet to wear it. It was a gift from Miguel for your birthday a few months ago. You weren’t sure why you suddenly felt the need to wear it, but you’d be lying if you said guilt had no part in it. What you’d done was reckless and irresponsible, and if Miguel found out…well guilt would be the last thing you’d feel.

Another harsh clang of silverware pulled you from your thoughts. You winced as Miguel took a forceful bite of his steak, chewing with all the intensity of a caged pit bull. Beyond pleasantries, you hadn’t spoken to each other. The air was obviously tense, the mood uncomfortable. Miguel had purposefully made it that way. And you weren’t sure why.

“You look beautiful.”

The words made you pause mid-chew. Your eyes found Miguel’s staring back at you, his gaze somewhat softened but no less intense. He cleared his throat as he wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, sipping from the amber liquid in his crystal glass.

“Uh, thank you.” You replied dumbly, still caught off guard by his choice in topic.

“The dress I bought you?”

You nodded, watching as he lent back in his seat to appraise you. You shifted awkwardly, feeling something simmering just beneath the surface. The house was empty, the staff dismissed for the night. The space was dimly lit. The reflection of the pool just beyond the glass doors was the only light outside. It should’ve been relaxing, romantic even, but the rigidity of the night was fast bleeding out and all over the white linen cloth that adorned the table.

“I have quite an eye. Fits you perfectly.” He continued on, swishing the whiskey in his glass.

“You do.”

“Why now?” He questioned, brow arched in your direction.

You straightened, the food on your plate long forgotten as you reached for your own glass. You swallowed the bitter liquid, the burn doing little to ease your frayed nerves. You weren’t afraid of Miguel, but you were afraid of the things he could do. You’d seen him at his worst and while you never expected to feel that kind of wrath directed at you, you couldn’t say it was impossible. You’d obviously done something to upset him. And you had an inkling of what that might be.

“Just felt right. Thought you’d like to see it.” You replied with a smile, hoping to convince both him and yourself.

Miguel returned the tight smile with his own, nodding as he adjusted the gold cuff links on his left wrist.

“I’ve known you a long time. Verdad?” He asked, the tone letting you know that it wasn’t a question that really needed an answer.

You did anyway.

“Yes.”

“And just like I’m sure you know me, I know you.”

Again it wasn’t something that needed verification, but you nodded in confirmation.

“I’ve let you run things on your own. I’ve let you manage without my supervision. I’ve entrusted you with delicate matters.”

Your breathing began to escalate with every word he spoke. He was calm, his demeanor almost peaceful as he met your eyes. His lips were quirked into a smirk, but you could see the hard ridge of his jaw beneath the well-groomed facial hair. He was clenching the muscle. And you knew from experience what that meant. He was actively trying to contain himself. Your gaze quickly shifted to his fingers, seeing that he was circling them on the tablecloth. Miguel had tells like everyone else and they were beaming in neon back at you. He was mad, no…livid.

“Miguel, what’s this about?” You dared to ask. You didn’t want to play this game with him. You’d seen it enacted out on many before you, none of it ever ending well for the person opposite Miguel Galindo. But you weren’t just some lowlife. You were his friend, practically his family. How dare he treat you like a traitor? You’d given your life to his business…to him.

“I’m not stupid, sirenita.” He bit back, intentionally using your childhood nickname. He usually said it with affection, but such was not the case this time. He was mocking the title, mocking you.

“And you think I am?” You retorted angrily, done playing nice.

“You must be to have let a man like Bishop Losa fuck you in my factory.” Miguel seethed, leaning across the table so that you could see the veins of his neck protruding from the crisp white collar of his shirt.

You’d been expecting the words, but shock seized you nonetheless. Having Miguel confront you about your sexual exploits made you feel childish and small. He glared at you with such disappointment that you could practically taste the sour flavor in your mouth.

“You must be fucking stupid to forget that I have every inch of that place bugged and under video surveillance. Even the storage closets.”

As much as you tried to fight it, you looked down in shame. He was right. You were stupid. In that moment you’d let lust fuel your decisions. But that didn’t mean that he got to disrespect you and treat you like a common whore. You’d seen plenty of his men come through the ranks and fuck on the job. And while it was a problem, it was also mostly laughed off. Men will be men bullshit. Fuck that.

“Who I fuck is none of your business.”

Miguel laughed, though it was obvious he found no humor in the situation. He scratched at his chin, his eyes darting everywhere except to you.

“You think that’s what this is about?”

“I know it is.” You said as you jutted your chin, no longer allowing him to reprimand you like some teenager.

He startled you by rising from his chair, slowly walking to you with measured steps. He said nothing at first as he perched on the edge of the table beside you, looking down at you. Just how he wanted it. He reached for you chin, but you jerked away. He wasn’t deterred. He repeated the action and this time you let him.

“You let him defile you. Let him make a mockery of me while you laughed. Your loyalty is now in question.” He whispered. His touch was gentle, but his words cut like a knife. And they stung.

You jerked out of his grip, eyes wide with disbelief. Miguel had never talked to you in such a way. He’d never treated you so viciously. He’d always respected you. Always looked out for you. He took care of you, making sure you always had what you needed. He never once made you feel as low as you did in that moment. He may not get his hands dirty anymore, but he didn’t need to. His words were his weapons. They always had been. You’d just never been the one to take the hit before.

“You can’t be serious?” You asked, shaking your head.

He said nothing. The flames of fury began to rage hotter within you as he stared down his nose at you, looking at you in a way that he’d never done before.

“Fuck you.” You gritted out, narrowing your eyes up at him.

His lips lifted into a smirk, his eyes shifting to the neck of your dress. You shivered, feeling his gaze on your cleavage. It didn’t last long, but it was enough to make you react in an unexpected way. Your body felt warm with something other than anger. Your nipples hardened against the dainty fabric of your dress, not a gust of cool air to be found.

“You don’t think what you did was damaging to me? To this operation?” Miguel questioned, the irritation back in his words.

“So because I get fucked, your entire business is at stake? Is that what you’re telling me Miguel? Because it sounds like horseshit.” You stood from your chair and hovered in his face, smelling the alcohol on both of your breaths. “You’re mad because I let Bishop Losa fuck me and not you. This has nothing to do with business. You’re jealous.”

The air was sucked out of the room the moment the words left your mouth. You could see the minute they penetrated Miguel’s armor, see the deep rage making its way to the surface. He was tense and stiff, his eyes unrelenting and unforgiving as they stared straight through you.

You’d crossed a line, yet again. But you weren’t going to back down. You’d never been one to do so and you weren’t going to start now.

“Admit that to yourself, Miguel. Admit that’s what this is about.”

Silence.

He only continued to stare with that same void expression, looking as if he wanted to strangle you. His hands flexed as if testing the idea. You shivered again, though it was far from fear you were experiencing.

“I didn’t think so.” You taunted, a victorious smile making its way to your painted lips. You turned to leave, done with the conversation and your employer. If he wanted to act like a juvenile, then you’d treat him like one.

You made it two steps before a heavy hand gripped your elbow. You yelped at the force of the hold and the momentum used to spin you around. You nearly lost your footing, your heels making it difficult to balance. A pair of arms braced you, but they weren’t about to offer you comfort. They tightened around your midsection as they hauled you against the wall. Your head slammed with a brutal thud and you winced at the pain that radiated from your skull.

“Look at me.”

You forced your eyes open, meeting Miguel’s cold, murderous orbs. His fingertips dug into your upper arms while his chest heaved against yours with raggedy breaths. You matched his breathing, the fear most definitely taking hold now.

“You’ve forgotten who you work for…who owns you. I make the rules. I tell you when and where. I make you who you are. Me entiendes?” He didn’t wait for a response. “If I had known you’d rather whore yourself out I would’ve had you on your knees years ago.”

The slap echoed throughout the empty house. Your palm stung, the force of your strike still radiating through your arm. Miguel’s cheek was red, but he showed no other visible sign of being struck. His grip was still iron-clad on you, his breathing still rapid and manic.

“Go fuck yourself.” You snarled as you pushed against his chest, attempting to escape his clutches. He didn’t relent. You punched him, hitting him square in the jaw like he’d taught you years before. He released you instantly, cradling his face. You took the chance and ran for the door, but your dress and heels made it difficult to get any sort of real traction. Loud, foreboding footsteps boomed behind you as he caught up. He struck out and made contact with your arm, once again ensnaring you in his hold. You fought back this time, putting up a fight as he struggled to subdue you.

Another slap. Only this time it was you who was clutching their cheek.

“You fucking bastard.”

You charged at him, fists clenched and ready to damage his perfectly etched face. He reacted instantly, reaching for the back of your neck while he held your wrists together in the other. He was close. The both of you breathing in the other’s air. There was barely a sliver of space between your lips as you dared the other to make a move. You could feel the distinct outline of him against your stomach. He was hard. The notion should’ve sickened you. Little did he know, you’d been wet from the moment he’d called you a whore.

“If I wanted you, I could have you. Remember…I own you. Always have.” He declared cockily, eyes roaming your face, searching for any indication that you wanted him to put a stop to this.

You wouldn’t.

“I don’t belong to anyone. Least of all you.”

He licked his lips, a dot of blood already pooling to the surface where you’d hit him. The sight satisfied you.

“I feed you. I cloth you. I’ve made you everything that you are, sirenita. A whore playing dress up.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before he locked his lips against yours in a brutal kiss. You struggled against him, unwilling to surrender. You slipped against the marble floors as he backed you against one of the columns, pinning your body against his own. His lips attacked you, teeth gnashing and tongue probing for entrance. His beard scratched at your skin and left a sting in its wake. You realized he’d let go of your wrists. Your hands were tangled in his shirt. You’d meant to push him away, but you’d pulled him closer instead. Your nails dug into his pectorals until you were rewarded with a sharp hiss. He bit your lip in retaliation, the taste of iron landing on your tongue.

His hands ripped at your dress, the slit now torn wide to reveal the black lace you wore underneath. The neck of your dress fell open to expose your braless breasts to his assault. He wasted no time in taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth, sucking so hard that you whimpered and jerked away. You tugged at the roots of his thick hair, pulling him from your chest. He was still bent down, his neck craned so that he had to look up at you. You admired the change in position, feeling a rush of desire at the sight of him hungry and dazed for you.

You took the opportunity to switch positions, swinging him around so that he was now trapped between you and the wall. Your hands went to the buckle of his belt and began to release him from the confines of his designer slacks. Your mouth watered as his cock sprang forward. It was thick and heavy; hot and throbbing in time with your pulse. You made sure he kept his eyes on you as you licked your palm, coating it in saliva. He clenched his jaw as he watched you, releasing a strangled moan when you wrapped your hand around him. He began to succumb to you, his body overwrought with the need to release.

“Who’s the whore now?” You provoked, tightening your hand around him. He cursed and thrust his hips in response, but he was far from letting you win.

He grasped your chin, bringing your face so close to his that you could see the outline of his blown wide pupils against the near black of his irises.

“I’m going to fill that mouth so full of cum that you’ll be tasting me for a fucking week.”

You swallowed and clenched your thighs, his words making your walls contract in tantalizing tremors. You wanted that. You wanted all of that and more.

“You can deny it all you want, but I know…I’ve always known. That pussy is mine. It belongs to the Galindo cartel.” His hand wandered down and over your breasts, sweeping under the band of lace that concealed you from view. He found your clit and teased it, encouraging the overflow of your arousal that was sure to come. “And it gets wet at the thought of me fucking you until you can’t walk. Right?”

You bit your lip and gasped as he entered you, massaging the wet heat of your walls with expert precision.

“Answer me.” He demanded, finger sliding further into your depths.

“Fuck you.”

You were working hard to keep the effect of his touch off your face. You remained impassive and cold, but the further he explored, the closer he brought you to that proverbial edge.

“Oh, you will…”

In a flash, you were hauled into his arms and pushed into the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. He ripped at your panties with one hand, the ruined fabric falling away from your body to land in a heap on the floor. The lace had rubbed harshly at your skin as he tore it away, but the feeling was eclipsed by the harsh thrust of his cock into your unsuspecting body. The action caught you off guard, pulling a breathless curse from your lips. Your body tightened and twisted around him and his cock, trying to accommodate the intruder.

“I knew you’d be tight.” He confessed into your neck as he began to thrust. His hips met yours in a ruthless pattern, merciless and cruel. You could only hold on as he took from you, pushing so deep that he hit the natural barrier within you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” You chanted as every line and ridge of his cock grazed beautifully so against your walls. Your spine twisted in both pain and pleasure, lights already dancing behind your lids. You tangled your fingers into his hair, scraping your nails against his scalp. He shuddered, the sensation traveling through his body and into your own.

He moved a second later, carrying you from the wall to the table you’d both been seated at only moments before. His motions were fast and unhinged, uncaring for you comfort as he slipped from your grasp. You both hissed, but didn’t have a chance to relish the emptiness as he turned you around, arching your ass into position.

“Bend over.”

You practically fell face first into the table as he pushed your head down. Your arms caught you just in time as you spread your legs and welcomed him between them. He shoved your dress up and landed a sharp slap to your right ass cheek, the sting reverberating through your lower half. You flinched and threw him a withering glare over your shoulder. His hands spread you, his cock nestled between your folds as he readied to enter you once again. Your thighs were slick, your walls now primed enough for him to slide uninhibited. He was taking without asking, without remorse, and you ate it up, daring him to give you more.

You moaned at the same time he grunted, his cock now back inside of you. You squeezed your eyes shut against the onslaught of euphoria, feeling the web of climax begin to weave itself around you. You pulled at the tablecloth beneath you as Miguel thrust deep, his hips flush with yours as he penetrated your fucking soul. You could feel his eyes burning into you, no doubt taking extreme pleasure in seeing you be such a slut for his cock.

“Are you going to cum?” He ground out, hands still holding your ass apart to watch.

“Yes…”

“Do it now.”

You whined as he began assailing your clit with his finger, rubbing so hard that you felt your eyes cross in your skull. The feeling was foreign, more powerful and unexplored. You shied away from it, unwilling to let go.

“Don’t fight it.” Miguel ordered, feeling your body flinch away. He only went faster and harder, intent on making you come undone.

You had no choice. You gave yourself over to it, letting him pull your orgasm from the depths and send it to the surface. You readied for the inevitable and cried out when your body began to convulse. You were only mildly aware of the gush of liquid that left your body as you were flung into space and launched into a chamber of weightlessness. Miguel’s praises and groans tickled your skin as he bathed himself in your release. He pulled his cock from your depths and let you soak him as he watched in rapt fascination.

“Fuck, just like that…” He said in awe, his cock once again sliding along your folds as your pussy continued to contract against him.

Your face was pressed into the table, your ass still in the air and presented like some kind of prize. You panted with exertion as your limbs became lethargic and sated with the buzz of desire. It felt like an hour had passed, but in reality it’d only been seconds.

You were flipped onto your back, the whiplash making you dizzy. Plates and glasses toppled to the pristine floor as Miguel pried your legs open and resumed fucking you with wild abandon. Your eyes rolled and your toes curled as he fucked you through your post-coitus high. You were moving with every brute thrust, your body shifting up the table. You caressed your breasts as he looked on, growling in approval. His hair was tousled, his lip bleeding with his shirt untucked and pants undone. He’d never looked sexier.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” He breathed as he doubled his efforts. He ravaged your body with a new ferocious energy, pulling away when the feeling became too much. He wrapped his hand around himself and pulled at your ankle with the other. “On your knees.”

You nearly slid off the table, your heels barely touching the ground before he was pushing you to kneel. You did as he wanted, meeting his devious stare with a bat of your lashes.

“Open your mouth.”

You complied, sticking out your tongue as he jerked himself off. The head of his cock released streams of thick, white cum seamlessly onto your awaiting tongue. He aimed it perfectly, ensuring it all ended up in your mouth and nowhere else. You could feel it already sliding down your throat as you waited for him to finish.

“Swallow it.”

He held your chin, keeping your mouth closed and running his thumb over your lips. You obeyed and swallowed down every drop, savoring the decadence. He looked down at you with a worshipful eye, an expression that was usually reserved for your professional accomplishments. You relished it, just as you did all the times before.

Miguel tucked himself back into his pants and then reached a hand out to you. You accepted his help and stood, albeit on shaky legs. You clutched the front of your dress together, the thing nearly shredded on your frame. You waited for him to say something, but he only turned and walked to the kitchen counter where his phone sat. He picked it up and walked back to you, his attention focused on the digital screen at his fingertips.

“I know everything that happens within my operation. Sometimes people have to be reminded.” He was back to being calm, not an ounce of irritation left on his handsome features. “I’ve done that with you. And now I’ll do that with Bishop.”

Your blood ran cold when he showed you the screen of his phone. Footage of what just transpired between you two played out, a security timestamp at the bottom of the screen making you aware that this was the real deal. Every moment, every obscene action and insult was captured for anyone to see. Humiliation rushed through you.

“I’m the only one that has access to this. But by tomorrow morning Bishop Losa will receive a clip of this footage. A message that he’s touched what’s mine and to never do so again.”

He shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped towards you. You remained unmoving, no energy left to fight with Goliath. He caressed your cheek gently, the patronizing tone now back in his voice.

“This is part of your punishment. Take it like I know you can. Okay?” He prompted. His gentleness was soothing, but a farce. He’d made his point and now you had to fall in line. You were just a solider, taking orders from the commander. And he was reminding you of that.

“Sirenita,” He called, the affection that’d been missing the last time he’d used the name now unmistakable.

You met his eyes. They were back to the mahogany color you’d grown to love. The darkness no longer shrouding him. He cradled your cheek, noting the way you winced when he touched the still tender flesh.

“Say okay.”

“Okay.” You finally replied, defeat coating the word.

“I’ll get this cleaned up tomorrow.” He gestured to the mess behind you, the dining table looking as if a bull raged through. “It’s late. Go upstairs and shower. I’ll be up in a bit.”

You went to refuse, but he stopped you with a kiss. You responded back eagerly, tangling your tongue with his and letting him taste himself. By the time he pulled away, you were both breathing heavily, hearts beating wildly.

“Things are going to be different. You’ll be with me for a while. No more solo missions.”

You tried not to let the disappointment show at his words. You were being demoted. From right hand to whore. You now belonged to Miguel in the one way you said you never would. You’d refused him for so long because you knew the power he held over you…knew the type of life he could give you. It’d be everything you’d wanted and more. Addicting. Luxurious. Lawless. You’d get so lost in him that you’d lose yourself. You knew it. But you’d made a mistake and you had to repent. And you’d do so willingly.

You’d go from whore to housewife in an instant. You’d be his Queen before long…back to running things. Only this time you’d do so with your legs wide and your mouth open. If Miguel wanted a cartel whore, then he’d get one.

#miguel galindo #miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo x you #miguel galindo imagine #miguel galindo fanfiction #miguel galindo fanfic #mayans mc

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samthemarvelfan · 4 years ago

Text

Graveyard: Chapter 2

-Coming Up Empty-

Summary: How could someone who once held your heart, be so heartless?

Pairing: Loki Odinson x OFC

Warnings: Sexual language, innuendos, threatening, Loki is a dick. Degradation.

A/N: Flashbacks are italicized. This chapter gives a brief look into why our reader is feeling the way she is. Enjoy! <3

After your much-needed, albeit not exactly relaxing bath, you felt 1000 times better. The grime and filth that had cemented into your hair and under your nails was gone, and you began to feel like yourself again.

Loki had given you privacy to get ready for dinner with the Grandmaster which, in turn, kept you from punching him in the face.

You’re still shaken. Shaken from both this place and the God with whom you’re stuck. It’s like he’s erased you from his memory. All the time you’d spent together, the memories...it means nothing to him. He’d kill you, you know he would, if you got in his way.

You’d have to survive. Survive just long enough to get back to Asgard and help your people. Then you would strike, when the time was right.

The dress he’d created for you was stunning, and it fit you like a glove. The silk felt like a mother’s hug around your body. It’s deep emerald complimented your skin tone beautifully, there was a very, very high slit over your left leg, and a sweetheart neckline to enhance your bosom perfectly.

Compliments of the God of Lies, no doubt.

After doing what you managed to call styling your hair, you’d found a toiletries bag hidden in a cupboard. Comb, toothbrush, deodorant, perfume and a few other bits and bobs.

For a nutjob he’s pretty hospitable to his guests.

“I’m ready, let’s get this trip to hell over with.” You gripe, stepping out into his room with your hands on your hips.

Loki is stood by the door, and when scans your body, he smirks.

“And what, may I ask, is so funny?”

Loki simply grabs his cloak and throws it on. “Nothing. You look like the perfect little wench. Let’s go, we shouldn’t be late—I watched this man melt his cousin.”

After quickly gagging at that sentence, you pressed on.

The walk to the banquet hall is silent, as you’d expect. What in Odin’s name were you suppose to say? So, how are things since you murdered your father? Cast any fun spells as of late? Does my home—our home lay in ruin?

It was hard to believe there was a time when you’d have done anything for Loki. The memories make you retreat into yourself, to a time when you weren’t one of the fiercest warriors in all of Asgard...

...but to a time when you were his.

“If you even think about trying that move on me, Loki Odinson, I can assure you I’ll be more than happy to cut off your favorite horn.” You threaten, holding up a dagger.

Loki laughed, “Why would I want to do anything that might scar that pretty face of yours, Ellaria?”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. “Stop using my full name—you know I hate that.”

His daggers vanish into his sleeves, and stalks towards you slowly, keeping your gaze the entire time. When he reaches you, you look down and cross your arms, using the gesture like a shield from him.

Loki thumbs your cheek, “...and you know I think it’s a beautiful name, for a beautiful woman.”

The butterflies soar in your stomach. “Loki...” you warn meekly.

“Yes, darling...what is it?” He whispers, and cups your face with both hands.

“What if someone sees?” The words are barely audible, but they don’t have to be—they’re only for him.

He smiles softly, “Let them. One day, I will be King, and anyone who dares interfere with my heart will be for the sword.”

“Your Father—“

“My Father...” Loki starts hatefully, but he calms, and lets his hands fall from your cheeks to hold your own, “Even he cannot stop my love for you. No one can.”

The sound of a whistle brings you back to reality.

“Ooo-hoo! Someone certainly looks like they’ve been worn out.” It’s the Grandmaster—mere inches from your face.

When did we get here? And why the hell is this guy so theatrical?

Loki’s arm snakes around your waist, “Indeed. I’ve decided I’d like to keep this one, Grandmaster. If that’s acceptable. I quite enjoy having a pet around”

The sickening grin on his face is enough to make you wretch.

“Of course! It’s so rare that you find the perfect consort to satisfy. And she’s so put together, not used like all of mine. What a shame I didn’t get to her first. Topaz, isn’t it a shame?”

The surly beast of a woman is once again stood by his side. “Mmm.” She grunts.

An incredibly painful silence falls between the group of you, before Grandmaster speaks. “Where are my manners? Dinner is served, please take a seat anywhere.”

Loki grips your arm yet again, and you wince. He either doesn’t know his own strength, or he’d doing it purposefully because it hurts much more than it before.

“Sit.” He commands, pointing at a seat. Ever the gentleman, he pulls out his own, but not yours.

Asshole. You think loudly, and his gaze returns to you.

“I thought you’d be grateful, pet. Not many masters allow their whores to dine with them. Isn’t that right, Grandmaster?” Loki’s asks, not breaking your eye contact.

Ouch.

The insults flowing from his mouth are coming far too easily, almost as though to make them clear he means them.

He probably does mean them. You think.

The GM—your new nickname for him, is at the head of the table. “No way. In fact, most of my ‘pleasure providers’ eat off of the floor in the corner. I can have a server bring her—“

“No, no.” Loki assures, “I only mean to condition her, so she knows just how fortunate she is to have been found by such a benevolent God.”

Taking you’re seat, you feel everyone’s eyes on you. Why are you so bothered? You’re a warrior, tougher than half the men on Asgard. But right now you’ve been reduced to nothing; simply a whore in a nice dress.

The ravenous appetite you’ve had your entire stay on Sakaar vanishes. All the while Loki is seemingly basking in the adoration he received for being a ‘king’. No matter what degradation or humiliation was tossed your way, he simply smiled and agreed with them.

How could you? You think loudly, but you know you’d never get an answer. This Loki felt nothing; no remorse, guilt, or love—he’s empty.

The strain in your throat made your bottom lip quiver. No, Ella. You curse yourself. Not here, you will not be made to feel this way. Not by him.

The evening dragged on, and on...and on. You were starving by the end of it, regretting not eating earlier, but you refused to let anyone know that. Besides, would they care? You’re just a pet to them after all.

“So, will you and yours be joining us on the pleasure vessel? I hate to brag, but my orgies are known far and wide to be absolutely wild.” The GM says giddily.

Loki’s smile is one of obligation, “I’m afraid not. I have high standards, and she doesn’t meet them yet. I wouldn’t want her embarrassing me.”

That one knocked the wind out if you. You felt your eyes watering and had to bite back the tears. He doesn’t remember...or he doesn’t care too.

You want to go home. Back to the warmth of your bed. Where your people were, your friends...you want the life you once had back.

You want Loki to be Loki again.

Once back in Loki’s chambers, you head straight for the bathing room, ignoring his protests and snide commentary.

The overwhelming severity of everything hits you suddenly. Your hand flies to your mouth, muffling the sob trying so hard to escape your lungs.

You slide down onto the floor and weep. How long has it been since your cried like this? You couldn’t remember. Your body racked with grief as you attempt to come to grips with your new normal.

The Loki you knew is dead. The memories you have from all those life times ago mean nothing. You mean nothing—not to him.

The sound of footsteps getting closer to the door silent your sobs. You stand quickly, attempting to wipe away any evidence of your cry-fest.

Loki barges in, dressed in black silk nightwear. “Here, I had the servants bring you something to sleep in.”

You still haven’t spoken, or looked at him. Holding a hand out, you clear your throat. “Fine.”

He tuts, “Perhaps a ‘thank you, my liege’ is in order.” He’s jesting, you know he is. There’s no mistaking that tone.

But you don’t care, not right now. You look up at him with swollen, red eyes. “Thank you, sire. Would you like me to fawn at your feet? Perhaps do all of the unspeakable things you’ve allowed that psycho to presume I’ve been doing, hm?”

Loki is almost taken aback by the state you’re in. “Ellaria,” he says in a tone you hadn’t heard in years. Warning, but not threatening.

You cry out. “I’m not your whore! You’ve known me our whole lives, and yet you degrade me and humiliate for sport. You allow these people to believe you’d have no problem discarding my body once you’ve gotten all you can get out of it.”

His face is unreadable as always. His emotions are in complete control, as is his tone. “You are all of those things here,” He says harshly. “It would do you well to remember that.”

Your heart, along with whatever scrap of care or hope you had for him, breaks.

Loki—your Loki, is truly gone.

“Dress. You need to sleep.” He mumbles, leaving you to it.

The tears return, if only for a moment. You let out a long sigh, and will your self the strength to get through this hell.

Once dressed in your sleepwear—a black, silk nightgown, you exit the bathing room to see Loki laid up in his bed. Content as ever.

You’d searched the room and spotted a chair across from the windows. That’ll have to do. You lay across it as best you can, not fitting entirely, but enough so only your lower legs hung off.

Still better than a cell floor.

“What are you doing?” Loki calls, his eyes still closed.

You ignore him, and shut your eyes as well.

“Answer me. I don’t like repeating myself.”

You sigh, “I’m going to sleep. Leave me alone.”

You twist on the chair, attempting to find some kind of comfortable relief, but there isn’t any. You both know it.

“Come here. Now. Do not test my patience again.” He commands.

You stand, walking to the foot of his bed. “What now? What could you possibly have left to say to me?”

Loki’s nostrils flair, “You may join me.” He gestures to the bed.

You scoff. “No thanks, I’d rather take the floor.”

You spin around, about to settle into the carpet, when you’re suddenly scooped up and thrown onto the bed.

“Loki! Stop it!” You shout.

He ignores you, and get in as well. You scoot as far away as you can go.

“Sleep. You need your rest.” He says quietly, throwing an arm over his eyes.

You wish you could hide the content sigh that escaped you, but this bed was heaven. Soft, warm, and so big. You could spend days here just recovering on all the sleepless nights you’d had.

“Next time food is presented to you, you will eat.” Loki warns, “I don’t need you withering away to nothing...not when I need you.”

Damn curiosity got to you. “What do you need me for, Loki?” It comes out like a whisper, but you couldn’t have mustered more strength if you tried.

He chuckled lightly, “You, my dear pet, are going to help me get back my crown.”

tagging:

@jessiejunebug @babyboybucky

#loki x reader #loki x ofc #Loki Angst #loki odison x reader #loki layfeyson x reader

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anninhiliation · 5 years ago

Text

Baby Ya De Dije

Masterlist

A/N: The credit of the gifs goes out to the lovely @poutyzabdiel and thank you Zabdiel for feeling yourself and pulling my hair into your lane. Im not complaining but please let me breath for the love of god.

Word Count: about 3.7k oops

Warnings: Its smut, guys its me. Just look at my masterlist, most of it is smut. Unprotected sex, oral, spanking, fingering, etc.

You took time off of work to spend time with Zabdiel while he was away on tour. The two of you were sightseeing in Spain, Madrid. The weather was warm so you wore a dress that hugged your curves yet loose enough for the wind to push the fabric around. You paired the dress with your favorite wedges and a small handbag. Your makeup was kept natural as the heat from the sun would melt any makeup right off. You also “forgot” to wear any underwear, hoping the wind would ride up your dress at the right moment. Being away from Zabdiel for a long time made you miss him and you were looking to get fucked hard. The only way to bring out Zabdiel’s rough dominant side was to behave like a brat. The two of you walked out of the hotel hand in hand, and that is where the light teasing began. In the elevator you leaned on him, purposefully pushing your breasts against his bicep.

“¿Qué quieres hacer primero?" You asked as you bit your lip pretending to ponder on the sightseeing “¿Plaza de la Villa?”

You bat your eyelashes innocently as you waited for Zabdiel to answer. He clenched his jaw as he thought for a second.

“Dale, que a mi no me importa mucho. Solamente quiero pasar el día con mi amol." Zabdiel winked at you.

A light blush clouded your cheeks as you got on your tippy-toes and kissed his cheek. The elevator doors opened and you guided his hand out. You purposefully went in front of him, swaying your hips ensuring the fabric would ride up just a bit to give him a preview of what's to come. You guys started at la Plaza de la Villa, and toured the city with light touching here and there and occasionally rubbing up against him. The two of you were currently in Chocolatería San Ginés hot choc n chorrus waiting for your order of chorrus. You slipped out of your wedge nonchalantly and began to run your foot up Zabdiels calf.

“¿Bebé que impensas que estás haciendo?" Zabdiel questioned in a low growl, warning to stop it.

"What do you mean? I'm not doing anything.” You spoke in your most innocent voice as you batted your lashes continuing to stroke his leg inching closer to his thigh.

“You know exactly what you're doing.” Zabdiel hissed with his thick Puerto Rican accent that always made your knees weak.

Before you could answer him, the waiter stopped by and placed the churros with a small bowl of chocolate syrup in the middle of the table.

“Gracias” Zabdiel smiled at the waiter, and you took that opportunity to move your foot further up his leg and lightly touched his cock.

Zabdiel immediately grabbed your foot with one hand moved it away from his dick held it on his thigh and shot you a warning look.

“If you don't stop you're going to regret it when we get back to the hotel,” Zabdiel growled giving you a stern look.

“Fine.” You pouted as you went to move your foot back, but Zabdiel squeezed onto it.

“Mi amol this was your last warning.” Zabdiel asserted.

“I know.” You continued to pout.

With that, Zabdiel let go of your foot allowing you to slip it back into your wedge. A sly smile formed on your lips as you grabbed a churro and dipped the tip in the chocolate syrup. A drop of chocolate began to slide down the side of the churro which gave you a perfect opportunity to lick up the length of the churro and wrap your lips around the tip. You let out a soft moan as the delicious syrup hit your taste buds. You looked away from your churro to see Zabdiel glaring right at you with lust clouding his eyes.

“¿Que te dije?" Zabdiel scowled.

“But I didn't touch you!” You protested as you put the churro back in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around it.

“Nena you know I meant stop teasing me.” Zabdiel hissed.

That hiss drove a pool straight to your thighs. Instinctively you crossed your legs trying to create some sort of friction. Zabdiel noticed the shift in your sitting position and smirked leaning back in his chair.

“So this is a game to you? Yet, here we are with you squirming in your seat probably trying to rub your clit against something. Y/N, did you forget that cunt is mine? And I don't remember allowing you to play with whats mine.” Zabdiel interrogated as he leaned back in, grabbed a churro and began to eat it.

“No.” You mumbled looking away from his gaze and tried not to think of the moisture between your legs growing. When Zabdiel called your body parts his, it always drove you crazy and you lived for it. Even when he went away on tour and would send you little reminders about what was his, it would make you clit pulsate immediately. He knew that, and now the tables were turning on you which you did not like, thus you let out your inner brat.

“No what?” Zabdiel glared as one hand snaked under the table and lightly touched your knee cap as he made his way up to your thigh.

“No this isn't a game, and if it was, I would be winning.” You hissed glaring at him.

“Excuse me, Nena?” Zabdiel asked as he squeezed your thigh. He was looking for you to say “no papi”, which you were in the mood to push limits so he was going to have to work for it.

Zabdiels stern words sent your core pulsating, you were soaked thinking about all the ways he was going to punish you later. You loved it when Zabdiel became all rough and dominant during sex, it was against his nature which made it more thrilling and a bigger turn on for you.

“You heard me.” You glared back, as you hollowed your cheeks for the churro to slide in your mouth.

Purposefully, you pulled the churro in and out of your hollow cheeks, never breaking eye contact.

“You really want to be a brat right here?” Zabdiel warned. “You really want me to cut our date short because I have to discipline you?”

“But Papi I'm not done eating and I barely did anything” You protested as you swallowed the last bit of churro.

“Now you are,” Zabdiel remarked as he called over the waiter.

His hand never left your thigh and squeezed it hard enough to send a silent warning. Which you did not hed to any warning as you grabbed his hand and tried to bring it up to your thigh. The waiter came within ear distance of the table and handed Zabdiel the check to which Zabdiel quickly gave him a little more than the amount owed and told him to keep the change.

“I hate to do this mi amol, but I guess I'm going to have to punish you.” Zabdiel sighed as he watched the waiter walk away.

“Papi I’ll be good.” You whispered staring at his jaw clench.

“Baby ya te dije de terminarla pero no obedeciste.” Zabdiel spat as he exited the restaurant.

“Why don't we go to the Sabatini Gardens and you clear your head papi and see that I'm actually a really good girl.” You pleaded batting your eyelashes and rubbing your thumb against his hand trying your best to play the innocent card.

Smirking Zabdiel looked at you, still with lust filling his eyes and asked mockingly “¿Qué paso con this is my game and I always win?"

"Well, you don't look like you're in the merciful mood." You commented. “And that's not what I'm looking for. I like it when I get my way and it doesn't look like you'll give me my way today.”

"Aye mami te olvidaste that I'm in charge." Zabdiel laughed.

That is when it clicked in your head that there was no way out of the punishment Zabdiel had already planned at the restaurant. There was no point in trying to calm him down as you quickly glanced at a tent in his pants.

“Well, it looks like someone is excited.” You smirked. “Too bad I’m not in the playful mood either.”

“Ahí está la mocosa." Zabdiel glared as the two of you reached the garden.

“You love it when I tease you like this and you know it.” You remarked cockily as you ripped off a flower from the garden.

“Nena, más que hablás así, el peor tú castigó." Zabdiel huffed.

“Oops.” You spoke in your most innocent voice as you purposefully dropped your flower in front of Zabdiel.

You stood in front of him and bent down to pick it up, making sure he had a good view of your lack of clothing. Zabdiel grabbed your hand and dragged you into the maze finding a dead end and cornered you in.

“Get on your knees.” Zabdiel hissed.

“Pero-” You began to protest as Zabdiel snaked his hand around your small throat.

“Qué te dije?” Zabdiel questioned looking at you sternly.

You obeyed, sinking to the ground on your knees with your hands resting on your thighs waiting for Zabdiel to make the next move. Zabdiel pulled his zipper down and released his member, allowing for it to hit his abdomen as he made a ponytail for you.

“Suck.” He demanded.

As your lips hovered over his shaft Zabdiel tugged on your locks.

“If you tease, I won't let you cum today.” He warned.

You nodded and licked up his shaft and sucked his pre-cum. You swirled your tongue over his head and began to take more of him in.

“Te gusta estar en el piso sucio chupando me?" Zabdiel groaned as he tugged on your hair harder and began to thurst his hips. “You're a dirty little slut you know that?”

You held in the need to moan as you loved it when Zabdiel degraded you. Suddenly, Zabdiel tugged on your hair.

“Nena I asked you a question.” Zabdiel hissed as he took control.

You moaned a yes in response as Zabdiel hit the back of your throat with his head. You began to tear up and gag on him, causing a moan to escape his lips. You swallowed a few times, giving him a tighter feel of your mouth. He pulled out aggressively and helped you stand up.

“Bend over and spread your legs,” Zabdiel commanded.

You did exactly as he asked as you felt your pool drip down your thigh. As you bent down, you felt the fabric of your dress lift up exposing your glistening pussy.

“Only a whore gets this wet,” Zabdiel growled as he ran a finger through your slit.

The contact you desperately needed made a moan pierce through your plump lips. You didnt even get to finish the moan as his hands made contact with your throat and mouth.

“Shut up or someone will hear.” He hissed.

You nodded and bit your lip trying to muffle yourself.

Smack

His hand landed on your right ass cheek, making you whimper.

"Dónde está tú tanga?" Zabdiel asked

"I didn't want to wear one." You mumbled trying to hold in your moans.

"¿Por que?" He questioned again as he ran his fingers through your slit waiting for you to answer.

"Ah…Because...mmmm…." You choked out biting your bottom lip as Zabdiel inserted a finger inside you.

He quickly pulled out and smacked your right ass cheek again.

"Diceme." He demanded as he recoated his fingers with your juices.

"I...I'm ahhhh….slut." You managed to choke out.

"Ya sabía éso mira que mojada estás nena." Zabdiel groaned smacking your ass again.

He grabbed his member and began to coat it in your juices. You squeezed your eyes shut trying to concentrate on not moaning too loud. You grabbed onto the bush wall as Zabdiel rammed his full member inside your pulsating core. At first, it was painful being stretched the way you were without any time to adjust. Yet, mixed with the pain was the pleasure you were craving all along. He smacked your ass a few more times, making sure you were aware of who was in charge. You felt Zabdiel’s thrusts get sloppy as he was balls deep inside you. He came inside you and your walls clenched around him as a signal you were close to. Yet he pulled out and helped you stand up straight.

“But I didn't get to cum!” You protested as Zabdiel was fixing his pants.

“If you do cum without my permission I won't fuck you until I get back from tour,” Zabdiel warned.

Slowly Zabdiels cum spilled out of you and made a trail down your thigh.

“You better clean that up before someone notices,” Zabdiel commanded.

You looked down your thigh and back at him as if he were to tell you what to do.

“Cometelo,” Zabdiel smirked crossing his arms looking at you dead in the eye.

You locked eyes with him as you glided your finger from the end of the trail to your cunt and sucked your finger clean.

“Good girl. Now every time you feel more pour out, I want you to do that.” Zabdiel ordered.

You spent the rest of the day sightseeing with Zabdiel quietly. You continuously pressed your thighs together and gave Zabdiel pleading looks to help you cum. Every chance he got he would place his hand on your thigh and whisper all the things he was going to do to you after you got back to the hotel. He kept turning you on, doing nothing about it but smirking at you letting you breathe for a bit and riling you up again. After hours upon hours of Zabdiel sexually frustrating you, you begged to go back to the hotel.

“Pero hay un montón que no vimos mi amol." Zabdiel protested.

"Pero baby I'm tired and need to shower." You pleaded.

You looked at Zabdiel giving him your best puppy eyes and pouting your lip. He rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed groan.

“Vamos.” He finally agreed taking your hand and leading you back to the hotel.

The walk back to the hotel was quiet and you continuously bit your swollen lip. There was still some of Zabdiel’s cum inside you, but not enough to drip. Once the door to the elevator closed you faced the doors holding your arms and standing as far away from Zabdiel as possible. Zabdiel quietly laughed, as he watched you throw a civil tantrum, fully knowing once the hotel room door closed, that is when you would burst. The elevator doors opened and he watched as you exited, still not looking or saying a word to him. Had he not been as tall as he is, he would have been feet away from you by the pace of your walk. He watched, still smirking as you slammed open the hotel room and locked yourself in the bathroom.

“¿Nena que estás haciendo?" Zabdiel finally asked breaking the silence.

You continued to ignore him as you turned on the shower and slipped out of your dress and lace bralette.

“Y/N ¿que te pasa?" Zabdiel innocently asked as he fiddled with the cheap lock hotels have in bathrooms.

Silence. This was your tantrum, instead of giving him what he was expecting, you bit your tongue and chose not to say a word. You stepped into the shower and began to clean yourself up.

Click

You heard the bathroom door unlock and your blonde boyfriend slipped out of his clothes to join you. Once he stepped inside the shower, even though you were not done you grabbed your towel and made your way to the couch.

“Mi amol ¿no me hablás más?" Zabdiel continued to try to break your silence.

“Fuck you.” You mumbled under your breath as you scrolled through your phone.

"Nena yo castigó not you." Zabdiel blurted out as he shut the water off.

“That's nice.” You mumbled under your breath again still playing on your phone.

Zabdiel walked out of the bathroom with a white robe loosely tied shut. The way his shoulder semi showed and his collarbone partially stuck out sent heat to your core.

"¿No te cambiaste?" He asked looking at the way the robe rode up on your upper thigh.

You huffed in annoyance, rolling your eyes.

“Baby ya te dije-” Zabdiel continued, as he walked over to you smiling.

“Ya me dijiste muchas cosas pero no me importa. I'm mad at you." You cut Zabdiel off as you shut your phone screen and placed it on the side table.

He stopped in his tracks and glared at you holding in a giggle.

“¿Estas enojada?" Zabdiel asked you bewildered. "Te castigue y estás enojada?"

"No!" You barked.

"¿No que?" Zabdiel inquired slowly inching closer to you.

“You didn't let me cum today so I'm not talking to you anymore.” You pouted as you reached for your phone.

Before you could grab your phone you were lifted off the couch. You yelped in surprise as Zabdiel placed you on his lap.

“Te dije” Zabdiel began as he waved his pointer finger at you “if you don't tease me I will let you cum.”

“Ya and the sun has set, and the whole day you teased me. I should punish you.” You complained.

“¿Preciosua estas enojada por el castigó?" Zabdiel asked as he made tsk tsk tsk noises.

You nodded your head as you looked away from him crossing your arms. A lust formed in Zabdiels eyes as he watched your wet hair drop water down to your now pushed up breasts. He picked you up bridal style and roughly threw you on the bed. The towel undid itself and Zabdiel hovered over your body like a hungry lion. He kissed you hungrily and pulled on your bottom lip. A wetness began to form between your legs for what felt like the millionth time. He kissed your jaw and made his way to your tender spot below your ear. You let out a soft whimper as Zabdiels hands traveled down your body. He rubbed his thumbs over your hardened nipples and you arched your back. He removed his lips from your tender spot and placed it on one nipple while caressing the other. You snaked your hand into his blonde locks and tugged. He ignored your pleas for more as he paid attention to your other nipple. When he was done he kissed down he valley of your breasts and slowly made it down past your belly button. You spread your legs and intertwined them with his upper back begging for friction.

“Mi amol estás tan mojada." He groaned looking at your glistening cunt.

He lowered his head and began to attack your swollen nerve endings. You bucked your hips still begging for more. You tugged on his blonde locks as whimpers escaped your plump lips. He inserted two digits and began to slide inside you. He pumped a few times, then he began to curl his fingers hitting your sweet spot. As he made figure-eights and pumped you were a moaning mess. Your walls clenched around his fingers, signaling you were ready to release.

“Papi..please.” You begged between the moans.

“Dale.” Zabdiel permitted.

You let out a string of curses and moans of his name as your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. He rode you out never slowing his pace down. When you came down from your high, Zabdiels fingers were knuckles deep inside you still pumping.

"Princesa I'm making you cum." Zabdiel said as he removed himself from your swollen clit.

"But I already did." You said confused

"I want my cunt to cum again hasta yo estoy cansado." He responded and went back to work.

You were still sensitive and it did not take much for a knot to form in your stomach again. Zabdiel added a third finger stretching your walls further and added more pressure to your sweet spot. Your walls squeezed Zabdiels fingers again and he moaned against you, telling you to release again. You did as you were silently asked and released again. Your thighs shook around his head which he held one down with his free hand. After you came down from your second orgasm Zabdiel stood up and slowly removed his robe. His member was already hard and pre-cum spilling through the head. He aligned his member against your swollen pussy. He rubbed it against you naturally lubricating himself and hitting your swollen clit each time. You were so sore and sensitive you felt every move. You were already so wet that it did not take long for his member to be soaked in your juices. Once he was satisfied he rammed himself inside you and rubbed your pulsating clit. You easily stretched around him, and took in his length easier than normal.

“Sos tan linda mi amol.” Zabdiel purred as he admired your body and leaned down to kiss you. You grabbed the back of his neck as he lifted you slightly off the bed and he picked you up. He laid on the bed and grabbed your hips. He lifted you up so you could resync into him. You took over and created a comfortable pace. As you went back down you grinded against him. He let out a groan, and grabbed onto your breasts causing you to moan out. You felt his dick twitch inside you.

“Cum inside me papi and let me cum in the middle of your sweet release” You purred as you held onto his shoulders for support as you kissed him pulling his bottom lip.

Zabdiel nodded allowing you to cum for the third time that night. You felt a new warmth inside you as Zabdiel released inside you. After he was done, you creamed his member and pulled out, sinking into the bed and laying next to him. The two of you caught your breathes and Zabdiel got up he grabbed your thighs planting a kiss on each one.

“What are you doing?” You questioned furrowing your eyebrows.

“I'm not done with my cunt,” Zabdiel growled as he pushed the mixture of juices back inside you.

You laid your head back on the pillow, fully understanding now that this was your punishment. Zabdiel was not going to let go of his pussy until he was satisfied with the number of times he made you cum.

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jjbablocklistcallouts · 6 years ago

Text

The Blocklist: A essay (this is very long)

I know everyones sick of it at this point but I got shit to say so feel free to not read this absolute unit of a poorly written essay. The jjbablocklist divided their list into two different list now. One for creators and one for consumers/rebloggers and I cannot stress enough about how dumb that is since it shouldve been done since the beggining. Also, following alot of these artist and “consumers” of these medias, I noticed some of them are falsely accused, others while being minors. here’s why:

1. A lot of teens and young adults in the community like ships like GioMis, FuMis, NaraGio, MisTrish and plenty more and I know your singular shared braincell cannot handle the idea of 2-3 year age gaps not being pedophilia, but uh, newsflash for ya, THEY AINT. Legally, it is not a crime and that in america where the age of consent is 18, not in Italy where its 15 and not in Japan where its even less. Under the general United States Law, which is where I assume the list makers/defenders are mostly from, these ships are not classified as pedophilia or should be problematic and the ages of consent change to lower ages depending on state. The only way you can add these shippers for their “crimes” is if they promoted or created the interactions of these characters in a sexual or intimate manner whether they are aged up or not, which is still wack if their age is above that of the age of consent in writing/art and the fact that minors, in this case teenagers with the VA cast, are allowed to express themselves with people of their own age group in a sexual manner, real life kids do it all the time amongst themselves so why shouldnt people be able to create it, the whole ordeal is ridiculous imo BUT I can see how it makes a lot of people uncomfortable, a lot of it makes me uncomfortable too so we gotta make compromises somehow so absolutely no lewding the mafia lolis/ jojo lolis in general and if you do, tag it properly so it doesnt spread onto the basic hastags of characters and the show. If you dont you on the list.

2. Claim genderswapping/r63 is transphobic all you want but until I see clear and definitive proof of it being purposely made for that purpose then it’s absolutely ok. If someone makes it to offend someone then its wrong and they should be called out for it (which has never been the case in this fanbase as far as I cant tell) It’s creative, it allows people create new desings for characters or adjust current ones for cosplayers or other artist. Im sure one of your mods can relate, since the do the exact same thing as we do while not addressing a certaint character properly by their canon pronouns. Genderbending does not promote the attack or harrasement of the trans community and that is a fact unless its done by actual problematic artist like Sh*dbase and others, which is still a stretch because I dont think they’ve done it to target people or make fun of them but they are the popular problem icons. So get the actual transphobes on the list, aka those who created the content specifically to harras a specific person, or remove the catergory entirely. Its unnecessary and hypocritical.

— The rest of these are just things that bother a lot of people in the community so if you only cared about minors being on the list then you dont have to continue reading. —

Tumblr is infamously known to be a shitshow of a site where all you can find is problematic content. If you dont like this kind of content, why the hell are you here in the first place? There’s a lot of safer websites to use where like instagram, twitter, amino, facebook, and more. They have actual filters unlike tumblr and finding content you dont like is a lot harder unless you are purposefully looking for it, and even then it could be a challenge due to shadow bans or privatized accounts. Tumblr has none of that, everyone knows it, all of those who dont like it try to stay away from it or use it very scarcely. Why do you think that most of these “problematic” artist/creators/consumers are here? Tumblr has always been its own weird realm, trying to make it anything else goes against what it stand for.

You’re crimes make are literal nonsense sometimes because you include such obvious personal attacks like “Made a literal essay defending GioMis” and “All kinds of awful stuff” as crimes. You added a few account because they message you about how ridiculous the whole ordeal is and you take to findind the slightest bit of “evidence” that can aid you into making them look bad. You know thats not a good reason right?? Even if it were, yall are even more guilty for committing acts of Liable and Defamation and you are choosing to for those you incorrectly put on the list, invluding the minors! Let alone hypocrisy but yall are tired of hearing that one.

Dont add other fandoms into this mess. The Hetalia fandom has been dead for more than 5 years and it aint none of your buisness. It has nothing to do with Jojo. Unless you plan on making more blocklist for ALL fandoms then, goodluck, though make em better.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure is a wonderful and yet problematic series, guess who’s fault it is... its Araki’s. Created a hilarious nazi character, nah its the fanbases fault for roleplaying such a funny character. Pedophilia and rape represented in Jojo and not treated seriously, nah its the fandoms fault for romanticizing it. Homophobia as character traits and degradation of women in Jojo, pfft nah f a n d o m s f a u l t for painting such “false” representations of the characters. Ah, but yall wont drop Jojo cuz that kid your trying to control media for wont drop it either. It is not your responsibility to create a childproof community when the show already has heavy themes. Its their caretakers/parents or the childs own responsibility.

I despise the argument “well Jojo is a 17+ only show so no kids allowed!” you might be right, but has that really ever stopped kids from doing anything?? It does the opposite, it creates a sense of overwhelming curiosity which leads to venturing unkown territory which they may or may not end up enjoying. The problem lies wether young teens are mature enough to watch it or not and judging by this whole fiasco, alot of the people, teens and adults, involved are not.

YOU ARE NOT JUDGE JURY AND EXECUTIONER AND YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO POLICE A MEDIA YOU DO NOT OWN OR TAKE RESPONSIBILITY INTO DOING IT FOR SOMEONE ELSE

I will give you this guys this, theres a few artist and creators that do belong there, very few as far as I could see and read into and some are missing since they are mostly on twitter instead of tumblr. But hey, I managed to find like 12 accounts that I probably wouldn’t like seeing the content of, and I found a lot of good accounts too. A hell of a lot more.

I know Im harsh and a total loser but y’all really gotta do some damage control and think ahead. Merely ignoring the fact that your movement cause a floodwave of hatred, deaththreats and suicide baiting is disgusting, adress it properly, dont condone it. Cuz Im yall wouldnt like 200+ messages of “Kill yourself you of lowlife degenerate. I dont like your the disgusting trash you like so I hope you rot in hell for the rest of your life” It isnt fun, a lot of people have received these, some are even worse and a lot dont even deserve it.

Run the list correctly, its a good idea, it could’ve been handled way better than this and you guys know it. This would’ve been great for 14 year old me not stumbling onto a lot of problematic ships when I first looked up Jojo and it can help many children in the community in the future, but you are ruiling out a majority of the fanbase with such vague and pointless rules as regular shipping and creative freedom. You are demonizing people who like basic shipping and different character desings, and that’ll scare them because they dont want tobe hated for something they like. Because a few biased opinions decided to rule out that what the kids liked is morally wrong and irredeemable. Cuz thats all I can see on the list with the exception of maybe a 12 people on the list. Thats all the rest of the JJBA community sees.

#jjbablocklist #probably getting added to the list now but I hope they read this fully #I cant believe I had to talk to a lawyer and judge just to see if shipping crimes were valid #of course they werent #I probably wasted my time but I needed to get this out

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hercleverboy · 6 years ago

Text

Paint White Roses Red

masterlist

part one : down the rabbit hole

part three: off with her head

Asylum AU

PAIRING: Jefferson x reader

WARNINGS: Swearing, over all angst, themes of violence.

PART TWO: PAINT WHITE ROSES RED

She’d been sitting in her room, now on the last few chapters of her book, absentmindedly humming to a made up tune when a knock sounded through the room. Before she could answer, it was thrown open, and her guard told her that she was wanted by Nurse Harlow. Y/N knew exactly what that meant. It was a simple concept, Good behaviour would be rewarded and bad would result in punishment, but Y/N couldn’t help but push the mark a little, though she knew the pain she’d have to withstand as a consequence. In all honestly, she did it purposefully, knowing full well of the result. She felt very little these days, mostly letting her mind get away from her. The pain, whilst excruciating, allowed her to at least feel something. She knew where the room was, it was down in the lowest floor of the hospital, though that did nothing to mask the horrifying screams that often came from it. She had to be escorted to the room, because that’s what Harlow demanded it be done. Y/N wasn’t sure why, though she was never really told much anyway. As she waited outside the room with the large white door, she noticed how a musty smell hung in the air of the hollow hallways, and her mind drifted back to the man she’d met earlier that day. Was it so crazy to believe in such a theory? Perhaps, but she’d decided that she’d play along just as an excuse to be able to speak to the man who’d made her laugh, and completely captivated her. She couldn’t help but think that he was impeccably handsome, and the fact that some people thought he was insane wouldn’t change the fact that she’d continue to get to know him. They called her crazy too, so she supposed there wasn’t much difference between them. She’s broken by her thoughts as the large white doors swing open. There, with a twisted smirk on her red painted lips, stands Nurse Harlow.

“Miss Y/L/N. Please, come in.” She steps back to allow Y/N to enter, and Y/N sits in the familiar metal chair that sits in the centre of the room. She knows the procedure by now. She would sit down and Harlow would probably mock her about something or other, attempting to belittle her, though it never really effected Y/N. Then her hands would be cuffed to the chair, and the metal reinforcements would latch onto the sides of her head and she’d be given something to bite down on. The dial controlling the amount of bolts of electricity being sent to her brain would be cranked up, not enough to emit long lasting damage, but enough to cause unimaginable pain. And Harlow would laugh as it happened , watching almost happily as the juice hit Y/N’s brain, her screams filling the air. She must get some kind of sick kick out of it, Y/N thought.

Nurse Harlow looks down at the clipboard in front of her, as other nurses strap Y/N’s hands down. She tuts, shaking her finger at Y/N disapprovingly. “Swearing, again, Y/N? You should know not to use such foul words,” She cackled. “But I suppose, with all those voices trapped in that small head of yours, you just can’t help yourself.”

It was Y/N’s turn to laugh now, as for the first time in a while, she really took in Nurse Harlow’s appearance. She was of a small frame, though her head appeared to be quite out of proportion with her shoulders. Her head was just abnormally large. Her thin, red and wispy hair looked like straw, and a cyan blue colour eyeshadow sat on her eyelids, which had been applied terribly. She giggled, and Nurse Harlow scowled.

“Why are you- what’s so funny?” She demanded, and Y/N took a deep breath from her giggles.

“You— You really are The Queen Of Hearts, aren’t you?” She giggled again, at how she really did resemble the fairy tale character.

“Shut up– Shut up!” The nurse yelled, and Y/N’s laughter slowly died down when a harsh slap sounded through the room, and Y/N could feel her cheek burning from the contact. That was going to leave a mark. “It would appear, Y/N, that you’ve been spending too much time with Jefferson. He was here earlier too, and I suspect he’ll be back soon. If he continues to spit such ridiculous theories..” She trails off, and Y/N sneered at her. “Dear Y/N, It would seem his theories have corrupted you.” The Nurse snarled, waving for her assistant to come. The assistant places something for Y/N to bite down on in her mouth as the metal clamped around her skull. And then the juice started flowing.

Stumbling down the hallway, she’s guided by a rough hand on her arm that pulls her around each winding corner. Her guard allows her to steady herself against him as he speaks. “Would you like to go down to the free time room, Y/N?” His voice gets lost amongst others inside her head, though she manages to nod her head and allows him to drag her faint and hazy body through to the large room. He places her down onto the chair and leaves her to her own mind.

‘What’re you doing Y/N? Hurting yourself just to feel something? You’re psychotic.’

“No, no. I’m fine.” She grips her hair in her hands, holding her head.

‘Perhaps that’s why you’ll believe that madman’s ramblings. So you’ll find an excuse for your pathetic existence-?’

‘And developing silly feelings for him? Do you believe he could ever want you?”

“Please. No more.” She whispers to herself, lost inside her own head. She calms herself down eventually, and the voices get drowned out, leaving as well. She looks up from her seat, to see the hatter himself sitting in the chair he’d now deemed as his, across from her.

“Does that happen a lot?” He asks, as he twiddles his thumbs.

“What?” She asks, her once erratic breathing finally returning to a normal pace.

“The voices. What do they say?” He seems genuinely interested, and she finds it odd, though she replies hesitantly.

“It’s mostly just self-degrading thoughts. They tell me what I don’t want to hear.” She mumbled, leaning back in her chair, resting her heavy head on her hand. He opens his mouth to speak, but she decided to change the subject. “So tell me, Hatter. How’ve you been?”

“Well, Dear Alice,” He sounds sarcastic, though serious when he refers to Y/N as Alice. “I’ve figured out something else.” He smirks, and Y/N raises a an eyebrow.

“Oh? Do tell.” She asks, giggling a little, once again intrigued. Without looking, he points a sturdy finger to the left of him, and Y/N follows it, and finds herself looking at a young boy. He must only be around the age of 15, sitting alone, facing the wall. There’s nothing distinctly wrong with him, nothing that she could instantly pinpoint. As she’s about to ask why Jefferson pointed towards him, the kid turns around, and that’s when Y/N eyes land on his face. A bloody smile has been carved into his cheeks, from the corner of his lips to his ear, leaving the flesh rather jagged as it attempted to heal itself. She wasn’t shocked, there were many people who came here with problems of self mutilation. She looked back at Jefferson, and urged him to continue.

“The kids name is Tom. Really freaky guy, and that’s coming from me.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s supposed to of done that to himself before murdering his mother and sister in cold blood. They caught him, and sent him straight here.” His eyes lock on Y/N’s, and his tongue darts out to wet his dry lips. “But D’ya wanna know who he really is, Doll?”

She smirked, recognising that he wanted her to answer. “With a smile like that? I’d bet he’s the Cheshire Cat. Does he speak in riddles too?” Her tone was slightly mocking, though knew how serious it was to him.

“Don’t mock me, Dear.” He smirked too, his signature look, “But yes, he is The Cheshire Cat indeed. You’re getting rather good at this.”

“Yeah, Well.” She tilted her head to the side as she spoke the next question. “Did you get called to visit Harlow today?”

He nodded, his demeanour suddenly changing. “I really hate that woman, with a passion. The Queen was always cruel, but I never—“ He stopped mid sentence as he noticed the angry red mark on her cheek, that he really hadn’t noticed until now. He reached forward in his seat, his fingertips gently touching the marks. “She— She hurt you?”

Y/N nodded, and watched as his teeth clenched.

“How dare she lay her hands on you. I’ll fucking kill her, I swear I’ll-“ He seethed, but was cut off by Y/N placing her own hand over his. He was very protective over her, perhaps because of how he believed she was his Alice.

“I’m fine, Jefferson. Really.” She held his hand comfortingly, and he nodded, though he was still furious.

“I know, love. I’m sorry. It’s just you’re mine— my Alice— and I can’t let anything hurt you.”

Over the next few weeks, Y/N and Jefferson became practically inseparable. Whenever he got the chance, he’d sit with his beautiful Alice and speak with her, ask her how she was. Every free-time they had resulted in fits of laughter and loving touches. She had undoubtedly fallen in love with him, and he with her, though he’d repeatedly claim that she —Alice — had loved him all those years ago when they’d been back in Wonderland together. And though Y/N didn’t remember the life he claimed they’d lived together, she merely thought of it as a privilege. She felt privileged to have been able to fall in love with him all over again. The pair loved each other as much as they could in the hospital where if they got too hand-sy for the guards liking, they’d be separated for the day. Sometimes, Jefferson would manage to escape from his room, running up the staircase to her room, where she’d be able to hear him calling for her outside as he was dragged away again, yelling that he loved her as she giggled. He’d do it a thousand times and face Nurse Harlow’s punishments if it meant he could hear her melodic laugh. The pair where a nuisance to the hospital staff, to put it simply.

One evening, they sat in the free time room, Y/N laughing at some silly joke Jefferson had made, holding one another’s hands. That’s as much as the pair where allowed to touch, though that never stopped Jefferson from attempting to steal a kiss before being pulled away by the staff, unhappy that he still hadn’t kissed you. He promised himself he would one day.

“Jefferson?” Y/N asked, and he looked at her.

“Yes, Doll?”

“Can you tell me about our lives together, before the uh— the curse?” She sounded silly, she knew she did. But to him, oh, to him it meant the world. It meant everything that she wanted to know of their lives together.

And so he explained. How she’d fallen down the rabbit hole into Wonderland. Confused and scared, he’d offered to help her, just a lonely Hatter looking for company. He told of how he’d fallen in love with her. How she returned his feelings, and decided that she’d stay in Wonderland with him. He’d usually be elsewhere during the day, tailoring clothes for others to pass his time whilst you awaited his return.

“And one day, well, one day you weren’t there when I came back.” He sighed. “I searched everywhere for you, I—I thought you’d left me.” He looked down, away from Y/N.

“What happened?” She asked, her voice small.

“Someone from the village told me That they’d caught word that you’d lost your way in the forest and had ended up in the Queens castle gardens. Her men had caught you, brought you to her, but you’d managed to escape.” He looked up, an almost proud smile on his face as She laughed, moving onto her next question

“And Why do you always wear that scarf around your neck?” She asked, suddenly finding that she’d never actually seen him without it. She’d seen him without his hat a handful of times, though he was extremely protective of it, but never without his scarf.

He seemed hesitant, though he supposed she’d see why eventually. Letting go of her hand, he unwrapped the scarf from his neck, letting it fall onto his lap with a smile.

She didn’t react how he’d expected her to. She hadn’t yelped and backed away, nor had she called him hideous and left him. Instead, She reached her hand up to gently trace the scar that wrapped itself around his neck.

“Where’s this from?” She asked, eyes searching his.

“The Queen Herself. Cut off my head back in Wonderland.” He said quietly, staring off into the distance, seemingly in a sort of trance. “She wanted information on you, To know your background and all I knew about you after you’d escaped her men, when you painted the white roses in her garden red, Alice. And I couldn’t— I wouldn’t — I would never put you in harms way,” he looked at Y/N, and tears began to form at the edge of his eyes.

“Hey, Hey. Jefferson. It’s okay. We’re okay.” She attempts to console him, but her attempts fail, and he stands up, beginning to nervously pace the area that their two chairs sat in. He was mumbling the same words over and over again, though they were so quiet, Y/N couldn’t comprehend them.

He giggled, which soon turned into almost animalistic laughter, as he doubled over, howling in his chuckles. This caught the attention of the guards in the room, who moved to restrain him. He thrashed around in their arms, absolutely erratic, attempting to leave their harsh grasp, still cackling as he looked at Y/N. Though Y/N wasn’t afraid, and she watched, rather amused by his outburst. One of the guards stabbed a needle into Jefferson’s arm, and as the sedatives began kicking in, he heaved one last chuckle, and spoke once more. This time, Y/N heard it loud and clear. The same sentence, repeated, over and over.

“Off with his head.”

#jefferson x reader #jefferson ouat #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #once upon a time #asylum #alternate universe #story #fanfic

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saferincages · 7 years ago

Text

(you might say we are encouraged to love)

I received an ask requesting I make this response its own post in full (which of course I don’t mind doing!) so here it is:

An anon in the original post asked why, “Anakin/Vader is seen as interesting for women,” and that could be a bit of a loaded question, but I think there’s a definite rationale behind it. The way it was phrased made me think of a post I saw which addressed the fundamental split between Anakin and Vader as seen by certain audiences, why Anakin is treated by many derisively because there’s an element of the “heroine’s journey” that happens in relation to his arc and the struggles he goes through. It’s here and it’s really interesting in its entirety. “The constant barrage of degradation and trauma and unfairness of a system that benefits at your expense and refuses to validate you for it. And some of that he might have been able to reconcile by “growing up,” the same way a lot of us learn to come to terms with social fuckery, but Anakin doesn’t get the space to do that. He gets a giant bundle of unaddressed trauma and psychological issues and handed a kind of ambiguous destiny about needing to save the entire universe.” <- Imagine the burden of that, and they put it on a child and then give him zero structure to cope with it.

I’m also going to add this comment from that post because I think it’s worthwhile to note: if someone makes you angry and you show anger with your very own face you are weak, you have lost face, you have shown yourself vain and driven by a selfish, animal, irrational, feminine urge to defend yourself; but if you show anger without a face, if you show it unpersonally (the less it’s connected to direct accusation or a specific ill), especially in order to execute a role, then you suddenly appear to be the one in the position of strength, because you can no longer be directly accused of selfishness. The more you can cloak anger in the guise of necessity, the more you meet the societal expectation to be dispassionate, rational, always controlled - the more justification and legitimacy and power to you, even though this mode of anger is often more destructive than the first. This dynamic, assuming it exists as I’ve hypothesized it, is why I think Anakin codes as feminine to many, while Vader appeals to a certain masculine ideal.

Basically, the gist of it is that the emotional turmoil, the trauma, the way he’s exploited for his talents or what he can provide others, the way his agency is stripped repeatedly from him again and again tends to not be the way “male” hero journeys are told. It’s feminine coding (unfortunately) for those themes to be explored. For those emotions to be plumbed and portrayed with a substantive sense of sorrow and helplessness in the central male hero - it is not the “macho” standard. Why they thought they’d get a macho, unyielding masculine power trip from Anakin Skywalker remains a mystery to me, this is the same series where its original hero, Luke (who is his son! of course there were going to be essential parallels and contrasts between them), purposefully throws his weapon away and refuses to fight, and is characterized by his capacity for intrinsic compassion rather than any outer physical strength (even Han is much less of a “macho” guy than dudebros tend to make him out to be - not only because he’s unmistakably the person in distress who has to be rescued from capture in ROTJ, he has a lot of interesting facets that break down that ‘scoundrel’ stereotype, but I digress other than to say I love the OT, and the subtle distinctions in Luke, Leia, and Han that make them break the molds of expectation). SW fundamentally rejected toxic masculinity and the suppression of emotions from its inception, Luke’s loving triumph and role as redeemer only happens because he refuses to listen when he’s told to give up on his friends or on his belief that there’s good in his father, his softness is his ultimate strength. Anakin was never going to be some epitome of tough masculinity, and George Lucas knew exactly what he was doing crafting him in that way. The audiences who wanted Bad Seed Anakin from the beginning didn’t know how to reconcile this sensitive, kind-hearted, exceedingly bright kid, with their spawn of the Dark Side notions, and I think, unfortunately, far too many then either rejected him completely or refused to understand what the central points in his characterization are about.

The fact that this narratively would have made no sense (if Anakin had been “born bad,” then there would have been no miraculously surviving glimpse of light for Luke to save - I’ve said this before, but imagine how profoundly essential to his true self that goodness had to be for it to even exist any more at that point, after all he’d suffered, after all he’d done. the OT tells us more than once what a good man Anakin Skywalker was, it’s part of what makes the father reveal as powerful as it is - if we hadn’t heard the fragments of stories about Luke’s father, it wouldn’t be nearly as shocking, but we KNOW he was a hero, an admirable man, a good friend). I can’t fathom how tricky telling the prequels had to have been to that extent - the audience knows what will happen in the end, it’s a foregone conclusion, we know he will fall, we know Vader will be created, we know the Empire will rise (though that would have happened even if Anakin had remained in the light, which is a whole other discussion). So the question became, who is this person? What influenced him? What shaped his destiny? And that ended up being a far more complex and morally fraught and stirringly emotional story than just “badass Jedi becomes badass Sith lord.”

That talented, highly intelligent boy is taken in by the Jedi after he has already developed independent thought and very intricate emotional dimension - the argument that he’s “too old” to be trained is because he’s not malleable enough to be indoctrinated the way Jedi usually treat the children they take. They may blame this on his attachment to Shmi, but she’s not the problem (if anything, had they not been so unfeeling and rigid, and had they freed her and allowed her to at least stay in contact with her son while he was training because it was a special case - they’re the ones who stick that “Chosen One” mantle on him, you’re telling me they couldn’t make an exception? but no, because they put that weight on him and then never help him carry it and constantly undermine it and question and mistrust him - Anakin would have been stronger in his training, and he would never have fallen to the Dark Side at all. There are so many moments, over and over, where his fall could have been averted, and everyone fails him to the bitter end, when he fails himself).

And so he is traumatized, due to years of abuse and difficulties as a slave, due to having to leave his mother behind because the Jedi would not free her, due to being told to repress his emotions over and over again when he is, at his core, an intuitive and perceptively empathetic person (he wants to uphold that central tenet of his training - “compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is central to a Jedi’s life”), yet he’s made to feel he is broken/wrong/constantly insufficient. He’s wounded by abandonment issues and lack of validation and the human connection/affection he craved, and he develops an (understandable) angry streak, he’s socially awkward due to the specific constraints/isolation of a Jedi’s life and due to the fact that they tried to stamp out what made him uniquely himself, which makes him continually conflicted with a never-ending pulse of anxiety (see absolutely ANY moment where he breaks down emotionally, and you’ll see him say something to the effect of “I’m a Jedi, I know I’m better than than this,” “I’m a Jedi, I’m not supposed to want [whatever very basic human thing he wants, because they make him feel like he can’t even ask for or accept scraps of decency]” - they fracture his sense of his own humanity, Padme tries to validate those feelings but that Code is a constant stumbling block in his mind). He is troubled by fear and the constant press of grief (I would argue he has PTSD at the very least), and all around he’s met by mistrust and sabotage.

Male heroes shouldn’t be treated as infallible in their own narratives (none of them are that, as no character of whatever gender/origin is, as none of us are), but at the very least we usually see them treated with respect by others. Anakin often gets no such luxury. He’s treated the way we frequently see women treated, and that treatment comes from the same rotten core - the idea that emotions are weak, that expressing them makes you lesser, that crying is a sign of deficiency, that fragility of any kind cannot be tolerated. Anakin is even the hopeless romantic in this situation - Padme, while gracious and warmhearted, is much more pragmatic and tries to reason her way out of her blossoming love for him until she’s of the belief that it doesn’t matter anyway because they’re about to die, and she wants him to know the truth before they do. (I’d also like to note that the closest people to him all speak their love aloud when they’re at the point of death - Shmi when he finds her bound and tortured with the Tuskens, Padme in the Arena, Obi-Wan watching him burn on Mustafar, and how unbearably sad is that? even though his mother had said it before, even though he got to hear it many times again from Padme - and it’s her last entreaty to him - we shouldn’t be pushed to the brink of death to express it). Anakin is the one gazing at her dreamily and tearing up about it and professing earnest, dramatic love in front of the fireplace (idc what anyone says about the dialogue, the way he expresses himself is entirely sincere, it’s the rawness of that sincerity that I think makes people uncomfortable bc it’s unexpected), she’s the one who talks about living in reality. She, too, has been taught to guard and temper her emotions from her time as a child queen and the years she’s spent navigating the murky political waters of the Senate, but she’s become adept at it, unlike Anakin. If anything, they’re the only person the other has with whom they can be truly genuine and unafraid of exposing the recesses of their hearts, they’re the only safe place the other has, it’s no wonder they give themselves over to that, and the fact that they do is beautiful, it’s not wrong (which I have more cohesive thoughts on here and it was the underlying thesis of my heart poured into the super long playlist for them too /linking all the things). They see the joy and spirit in the other that no one else ever sees, and they make a home there.

Anakin becomes an esteemed general not only because he’s awesome in battle and strong in the Force and a gifted pilot and a skilled leader (all of which are true), but because he shows those around him respect, and great care. So, yet again, there’s a subversion of what might have been expected. No one is expendable to him. He views the Clone troops as individual human beings. He mourns their losses (many of the Jedi, with their no attachments rhetoric, allow the Clones to be used without much hesitation or thought for their status as sentient beings born and bred and programmed to die in war, but Anakin was a slave. He comprehends their status more than anyone else could). Anakin is a celebrated hero to the public, and in private is being chewed up by fear and uncertainty. Anakin is devoted to and completely in love with his wife, but has to keep it a secret. Anakin still craves freedom that even being a Jedi has not afforded him, because of their rigor. Anakin still desperately has to scrape for even the bare minimum of approval from the authority figures around him - even his closest mentor and friend, Obi-Wan, while they are irrevocably bonded and care for each other in a myriad of important ways, often doesn’t understand him and dismisses his feelings, refuses to advocate for/stand up for him when he needs it, or tells him to calm down. I’m surprised they never tell him he’s being hysterical when he gets upset, but the connotation of being told to “calm down” when angry or sorrowful or frustrated is something most women can identify with all too well. His desperate desire to protect Padme as everything begins to curl and smoke and turn to ash around him has a very clear nurturing aspect to it underneath the layers of terror and frustration and building paranoia - all he really wants is to be able to protect and care for his family, all he hopes is to save them and have a life with them away from all the war and the political in-fighting and the stifling Order. He’d quit right that second but he needs help due to his nightmares, and no one is willing to give it to him. (Except, ostensibly, Palpatine, who has been grooming him and deftly manipulating him and warping his perceptions since he was a child, all under the guise of magnanimous, almost paternal, care. Palpatine is brilliant in his machinations, perfectly cunning in his evil. He knows exactly how to slip in and break people, and he plays Anakin to the furthest extreme. I’m not saying Anakin doesn’t have choices, he does, and he makes the worst possible ones, but Palpatine pulls the strings in a way that makes him feel that he has no agency - and in truth, he does have very little agency throughout every step of his arc, marrying Padme and loving her in spite of the rules is one of the only independent choices he ever makes that isn’t an order, a demand, a fulfilling of duty - and Palpatine poises himself as the answer to all the problems, if Anakin does as he’s told. He’s been hard-wired to take orders for too long. He is so damaged by this point, and so distrusting - Hayden said something once about how Anakin is still very naive in ROTS, even after what he’s been through in the war, he’s still so young and unknowing about many things, and then his naivete is shattered by complete and utter disillusionment, and that shock is terrible and incomprehensible for him, so he clings to the one source of power he’s given, and it’s catastrophic). He is haunted by grief and impeded by fear of loss, and it drags him into an abyss. We watch all of this happen with bated breath, we see everyone fail him, we see every moment where he could have been helped, we see every path he could take if only he had the ability to stand up for himself and had been given the tools to cope with his psychological and emotional baggage, we see that he very nearly turns back, up until the death knell at the end. We know it’s coming from the moment they land on Tatooine and meet him and decide to make him a Jedi. We know, and we still hope for it to turn out differently. We know, and it still breaks our hearts.

I don’t want to make blanket statements about typical male viewers vs. typical female viewers, that’s too dismissive of a stance to take, but on a seemingly wider scale, I don’t think many of the former (especially the ones who were either older fans or who were teenagers themselves at the time) were as interested in political nuance and a tale of abiding love and a young man burdened with more than should ever have been put on his shoulders. Since the question was basically “why does he appeal to women,” (and not just cishet women) I imagine that the answer to that varies greatly depending on any one perceptive outlook, but has a similar core in each case of us wishing we could help change the outcome, even though we know we can’t, and of wanting to understand his actions and his pain, wanting to see his positive choices and his goodness validated, wanting to see him learn healthy strategies, wanting to see his love flourish, wanting to see him freed from the shackles he drags with him, from childhood to Jedi to Vader. The crush of the standards of society and expectation on him may speak to many. He is never liberated (until his final moments of free breath). His choices are either taken or horrifically tainted. His voice is drowned out by those more powerful around him. His talents and intelligence go largely unrecognized. His good, expansive heart is treated like a hindrance. The depth of his empathy and love is underestimated - and that, in the end, is important, because that underestimation, ending with Palpatine, becomes the Dark Side’s ultimate downfall and undoing. Vader may literally pick up an electric Palpatine and throw him down a reactor shaft, but that physical action is the final answer to a much more complete emotional and spiritual journey. He throws him down and the chains go with the slave master, and for the first time, certainly since before he lost Padme, his heart is unfettered, his love is reciprocated, and he is offered a true voice, a moment of his true self, a sliver of forgiveness, before being embraced again by the transcendence of the light. It is his act of rebellion, it is his own personal revolution, his final blow in the war. The entirety of the arc hinges upon him in that moment, Luke has been valorous and immeasurably valuable, but he’s done all he can do - the final choice is Anakin’s (and it’s such an interesting case because where else have we ever been able to fear and appreciate a villain, and then totally transform and re-contextualize him?). He is in that moment, indeed, the Chosen One.

All these facets are fascinating to watch unfold if you’re willing to be open-minded and heartfelt and sympathetic to the journey, if you’re willing to dig into the complex depth of his pathos.

I remember seeing AOTC as a teenager, and my love was Padme, she was where I was invested, I identified with her, I loved her kindness and her bravery and her sense of honor and justice, I loved that her femininity did not in any way diminish her and was an asset, I loved that, while she takes charge and has the fortitude to rush headlong to the rescue, while she can fight and tote a gun and blast a droid army as well as anyone, her superpowers are her intellect and her giving heart and gentle spirit. I totally get why Anakin holds onto the thread of hope she gives to him for all of those years, and why he falls in love with her as he does, but since I felt a lot of the story through her eyes, I understood why she was drawn to and fell in love with him, too. He’s dynamic and a bit reckless, he’s courageous, but he’s vulnerable and needs support, he’s deeply troubled but also radiantly ebullient at times (the scene in the meadow where she’s so touched by the carefree joy he exhibits, how it delights her and takes her aback, because she’s almost forgotten what it is to feel that, she’s almost forgotten other people could, and here he is, warm and teasing and spirited), he is often guileless, especially with her, he’s fervent and loving in a way she’s never seen or experienced, and that love is given with abandon to her. Who…wouldn’t fall in love with that? It’s a gravitational pull. AOTC impacted me in certain other personal ways as well, I was trying to understand some nascent hollows of grief (Anakin losing his mother as he does was very affecting and heartwrenching for me, at the time I’d lost my grandfather to whom I was quite close, and I’m also really close to my own mom, so his woe had an echo to me), but that vision that I specifically had of their love, the way I interpreted it (which I may not have had words for at the time, but I certainly had the emotional response) was a dear and formative thing.

I talked about this here, but to rephrase/reiterate, by the time ROTS came out, my life had shifted completely on its axis. I was still young, but my much dreamier teenage self was being beaten down and consumed by illness, and I was angry. Anger is not a natural emotion for me (guilt and self-blame tend to be where I bury anger), and I really didn’t know what to do with it. Everything felt unfair and uncertain, like there was no ground at all to stand on. I hurt all the time, literally and figuratively, I was in constant pain. I was lonely and frightened and sleep deprived and often had nightmares (this is still kind of true lol, as is the physical pain part). Padme was still my heart and touchstone - as she remains so to this day in this story - but suddenly I understood Anakin in a much more profound way, one I’ve held onto because he’s important to me and I love him. I felt his rage, his anguish, his desire to do something, anything, to somehow change or influence the situation, to rectify his nightmares, to cling to whatever might make a difference, might save him from being drowned in the dark and from losing everything that made him who he was as a person. Seeing him try and knowing he would fail was devastating, but also…relatable, in an abstract way (obviously not the violent parts, but thematically, I felt some measure of what it was to scramble up a foundation that is disappearing beneath you, that your expectations and dreams of what your life would be can vanish in disintegrating increments). All I wanted was for someone to help rescue him, because all I wanted was for someone to help rescue me. All I wanted was the hope that things could turn around - and there is hope in ROTS, despite the unending terror and tragedy, it’s never entirely gone, because Star Wars exists as a universe with the blazing stars of hope and love ever ignited at its center - but still, it was a very personally rooted emotional exploration for me, and I only started to deal with my own floundering anger when I saw how it might consume the true and loving and softer parts of me if I didn’t hold it back. (A few years later, I went through this again in an even worse way, and the source of that rage and despair was someone I cared for, and once I got through the worst bleak ugliness of it, there were a couple of stories I returned to in an attempt to gain newfound solace and comprehension, and Anakin and Padme were in there. My compassionate, hopeful heart was being torn by that fury, and I clawed my way back up from the brink of it because I knew I could die, not even necessarily figuratively, it was…a bad time, if I didn’t find my way out. Anakin’s story is a tragedy and a fable and a kind of warning - we should not deny or suppress our emotions or our authenticity, but we also cannot let it destroy us - and then ultimately his lesson is restorative, too, that we never lose the essential part of our souls, that we must allow ourselves to feel. Balance indeed).

As consistent and transparent as my love for Padme has always been, my Anakin emotions are actually so close and personal that I intentionally avoided ever exposing them for actual years, it’s like…basically in the past month that I’ve ever been truly honest about it on Tumblr, because exposing that felt like too much, but I don’t really care about keeping it quiet any more, and that’s very cathartic.

I myself am an incredibly emotional person, and I don’t believe that Anakin’s emotions are negative qualities, which I meant to underscore. In fact, his open emotions are an exquisite part of him, and it’s the Jedi who are wrong for trying to stamp that out, when his emotional abilities are part of what define him in his inherent goodness and his intellect and strength. He has an undying heart. For he and Luke both to stand as male heroes who represent such depth of feeling is really special, and vital to the story. Anakin is the most acutely human character in many respects, in his foibles and his inner strengths, in his losses and his longings and his ultimate return to his true self - that’s why we feel for him, that’s why we ache and fear for him, that’s why we rejoice for him in the end.

Other people could speak to the Vader part of it much better than I can, Vader’s an amazing and very interesting villain (the fact that, as Vader, Anakin is much more adhered to the Jedi code and way of thinking than he ever was as an actual Jedi, for example - he has an order to him, he is much more dispassionate, he is very adamant about the power of the Force - is endlessly intriguing, because he’s such a contradiction). I use this term for a different character, but I’m going to apply it here - Anakin is a poem of opposites. He is a center that can serve as either sun or black hole. He is a manifestation of love and light and heroism, he is a figure of imposing power and cold rage. He’s the meadow and the volcano. The question then becomes, how expansive are we? When we’re filled with the contradicting aspects of ourselves, how do we make them whole without falling apart? When we do fail, can we ever do anything to fix it? And the answers again will vary by individual, but to my mind - we’re infinite, and thus infinitely capable of, at any point, embracing our light, even if we’ve forgotten to have faith in it, and while we may not be able to fix every mistake or right every wrong, we can make a better choice and alter the path. The smallest of our actions can ripple and extend and are more incandescent than we know. That’s what he does, against all expectation. In the end, he is an archetype not only of a hero (be that fallen or chosen or divine), but of a wayward traveler come home, a heart rekindled, a soul set free to emerge victorious in the transcendent light.

In the final resonance of that story for me personally, I love him for being a representation of that journey, that no matter how long it takes to get there, how arduous it is - that things we lose can be found again, that with the decided act of compassion, pure, redemptive love can be held onto, that the light persists and that, even when it flickers most dimly, refuses to be extinguished, and can at any point illuminate not only ourselves, but can shine brightly enough to match the stars in the universe.

I hope this is at all cogent, here’s a gif for your patience ♥

#anakin skywalker #darth vader #sw meta #star wars #okay to reblog #(of course! <3)#this is so long i'm so sorry for anyone who's now seen it twice but i didn't want to ignore the very sweet message i got #(which i am honored by thank you for even asking and caring and being patient enough to read this spiel omg)#i tweaked some of the wording for clarity (i changed it in the original too) but otherwise it's basically the same #bubble wrap around my heart #*#encouraged to love #anyway i love him #and i love luke so much and that's a vital component here #luke's faith and kindness and important heroism exists for a reason #luke sees the truth and the good and he doesn't let it go and his spirit does not waver and is brightly right in the end #don't you dare try to tell me anakin wasn't always fundamentally good in the truest and most luminous parts of his heart #to do so is to not only undermine anakin but to invalidate luke and padme and i won't stand for that #i could write one of these for luke but i think he's getting really good defense from sharper minds than mine in many cases #i could write one of these for padme but she's also been getting quality recognition lately #so as far as any defense goes this is the best my exhausted little brain can do and i hope it does justice to the story in some small way #i'm so ill and out of it that i have no idea if this makes sense even after copy/pasting it and fixing it up but itried.jpg #long post for ts

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