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mulloey · 4 months ago

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hundred bands

student loans, a sugar daddy website, and johnny suh. three things you never thought would find you in quite this way.

part of my february festival

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words: 8.4k

warnings: bdsm dynamics - dom!johnny x sub!reader, degradation, slight humiliation, discussion of pet play & master/slave play, slight corruption, titles (daddy/sir), paddling, face slapping, subspace, brief moment of insecurity, face fucking etc

—

You wonder if this is how it usually starts; a broke college student, an overeager friend and a last resort.

It’s not like you wanted or planned this; your final year of university and your tuition fees were piling up by the hour; your loan had already run out and all your applications for more money had been shot down about as delicately as a war plane. You’re pretty certain you’re on the loan office’s blocked callers list now.

It was your friend’s suggestion. You already knew she had a sugar daddy—a man named Mark who she never let you meet and seemed way too young to be doing this but, based on the flashy clothes she’d started wearing recently, clearly had enough money for it. And contrary to your expectations of sugaring as she called it, he actually seemed very nice; she was constantly gushing about how well he treated her and he appeared extremely respectful and affectionate towards her on the phone calls you’d been privy to. So fuck it, you thought, and you signed up for the website she’d given you as soon as you were drunk enough to bring yourself to do it.

While this was undoubtedly a sex-focused service, she’d emphasised to you the classy nature of the site; no lewd usernames, no nude pictures of any kind; just a clothed photo that showed your figure, basic information about you, and the type of arrangement you were looking for.

PLEASE SELECT ONE:

Sugar daddy/sugar baby

Straight/gay/bisexual

Top/bottom/vers

Dominant/submissive/switch/vanilla

Your blush ran deeper as you made your way down the list, arranging yourself into categories that felt a little like being sold at auction. Sugar baby. Straight. Bottom.

At the final question, you hesitated—you thought about putting ‘vanilla’, a little afraid of what these rich, anonymous men might expect to be able to pay for, but the words of your best friend rang out in your head. “Be honest with what you want,” she’d told you. “Just because you’re doing this for money doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get any fun from it.”

She was right, as usual. If you were going to get fucked for money, then you at least deserved to fucked well; even so, you had to close your eyes in shame as you clicked the little box titled ‘submissive’. That was a side of you that had only ever existed in your fantasies.

The rest of your profile was simple; you almost backed out when they asked for your ID, not wanting to give yourself away, but visions of loan sharks and withheld diplomas squashed those doubts pretty quickly—you were going to do this. You were going to get some rich man to pay your tuition, and that was the end of it. You had no other choice.

To be fair to the site, it was pretty well and, considering what it was for, non-pervertedly designed. You were matched with partners based on your preferences, but no one could message you until you’d liked their profile. You spent a few minutes clicking through the profiles, haphazardly liking or disliking as you felt like it, until one made you pause.

The picture was of a man in a suit, cropped at the neck to conceal his identity; but you didn’t really need to see his face to know that this man… well. He was certainly an option. Just from that one picture, taken from below, sleeves rolled up and linen straining against his chest, you felt authority emanating through the screen. Yeah, this could work very well.

You clicked nervously on his profile, hoping not to find anything crazy or gross in his bio to turn you off of him, but it was, well. Normal. For this place at least.

Sugar daddy. Straight. Top. Dominant. A good start—perfectly aligned with you.

From his bio you found out he was almost 30–a decent bit older than you but not over the line; he worked in the entertainment industry, and he valued discretion. Likewise, you thought.

You clicked like without a much more consideration.

The message came through an hour later, just as you were sitting down for dinner; you couldn’t help but grin when you got the notification, opening it nervously.

Hey. Hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but you’re nearby and I’d be interested in getting to know you. Would that be ok?

At first you were a little taken aback by how… polite the message was. How normal. Given the nature of the site you were half-expecting something perverted and disturbing, but this man was taking you by surprise already.

You typed your reply with your bottom lip held painfully between your teeth.

Hi :) that sounds great! I’m free next weekend if you are?

Great. Saturday evening? I’ll take you for dinner, if you like?

Perfect.

The nine days between then and your first meeting pass surprisingly quickly; you keep in regular contact with your faceless friend, you both having agreed to keep things anonymous for now, and though neither of you dance around the reason you’re both here, you find it easy to have normal, friendly conversations with him too. You tell him about your degree, and he gives you small details about his life and work—a singer, he says. He offers nothing more and you don’t press; from the way he talks about it you get the sense he may be some level of well-known, and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You’ll find out who he is on Saturday anyway.

On Monday night, just as you’re finishing up an assignment, your phone lights up with a new notification. You have his KakaoTalk now; it’s easier and more inconspicuous than the site and feels a lot less intimidating. The cartoon kitten on his profile picture makes you giggle as you open the message.

Now that we know each other a little better, would you be down to talk more about what our arrangement would look like, if it went ahead?

Yeah, of course. What are you thinking?

Can I call you?

Your stomach tightens and your palms tense nervously; you’ve called him before, but as you quickly found out, his voice makes it very difficult to concentrate on what he’s actually saying. You’re not exactly sure why; maybe it’s the deep, masculine lilt to it, but it sets your nerves on edge—still, you imagine this would be a better conversation to have on the phone, so you type your agreement with shaking hands.

Almost instantly the call comes through; “Hello?” You say softly.

“Hey, honey.” His voice is warm and familiar but still intimidating and the pet name he’s been using the past few days doesn’t make it any easier to keep a clear head. “How you feeling?”

“M’ good,” you mumble and he chuckles softly.

”Great. Well, I suppose we’ll just jump into it, yeah?” You make a noise of agreement and he continues. “Your profile said you’re a submissive. Can you tell me a little about that?”

You blank a little, already feeling out of your depth. You never thought this was a conversation you’d be having with someone, let alone a near stranger. “About that?” you echo. “Like, in what regard?”

“Well, do you have experience in that area?” His voice has a slightly deeper edge now; it’s focused and a little stern—clearly this is something he takes extremely seriously. “Have you submitted to someone before?”

“Um.” Your mind flashes with images of your previous partners; the varying experiences you’d had them but none of it seems to fit what you feel like he’s asking. “Not really.”

He hums. “So, if I had to guess,” he says, “you’ve been choked a few times, maybe spanked a little bit, and I’m assuming at least one of your partners wanted you to call him daddy?”

You can’t help but flush; that’s… exactly accurate. “Yeah,” you mumble. “How’d you know?”

“When people say ‘not really’, that’s usually what they mean.” You hear the smile in his voice and you wonder how many people he’s had this conversation with. You also wonder why the thought makes you a little bit jealous.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I assume you’ve gathered by now that I’m looking for more than that?”

Your stomach turns and you nod; it’s silent for a moment until you realise he can’t actually see you and you mumble a reply, embarrassed.

He laughs a little, seeming to realise what you’ve done before continuing. “There’s a lot I want to do with you, but I’m not going to dump it on you all at once, so we’ll start with what you’ve done already, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You said you’ve been choked,” he said. “So you’re comfortable having things on your neck.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’d certainly choke you during sex, if you’re comfortable. But I might use my arms rather than my hands. And at some point, I’d like to put a collar on you. How does that sound?”

“Um.” Fucking fantastic, you want to say, but you’re too embarrassed and still determined to play it at least a little bit cool. “It sounds nice.”

“Good. The next thing we mentioned is spanking, correct?”

You know you’re blushing now, shifting uncomfortably in your seat and trying to relieve some of the pressure between your legs. Something about the way he speaks so calmly and professionally about these things is really doing it for you, apparently. “Yeah,” you breathe.

“If I had to make a guess on that, I’d say they slapped your ass a few times during sex. Maybe a little foreplay, too. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, again, I’d do that too, but it’d be more than that. If you become my sugar baby, you become my submissive as well, which means you’d submit to my rules and discipline. Ya follow?”

It’s not a massive shock; he’d mentioned BDSM before, and you weren’t surprised given his profile—but hearing it out loud, in that voice, is a different feeling. “Yeah, I follow,” you say. “So you’d punish me? How?”

“Well if we’re talking about spanking…” He pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’ll give you an example. Say you broke a rule, like if you talked back to me or I caught you touching yourself when I’d told you not to, then I’d put you over my knee, pull your panties down and spank you til I feel like you’re sorry. How does that sound?”

“Oh.” There’s an undeniable pressure in your stomach and you try not to let the arousal seep into your voice. “That’s… wow.”

“Is that good or bad?” He asks. He’s laughing, but he sounds cautious too. It makes you feel safe, the way he’s genuinely concerned about your feelings on this; it’s the bare minimum, sure, but you expected worse from that website.

“Good,” you breathe. “Really good.”

“Oh?” He’s teasing now; you practically see the grin on his face despite the fact you don’t actually know what that face looks like. “Does someone want to be spanked?”

“I think… yeah.”

“That’s good,” he laughs. “I bet you’ll look really cute kicking and squirming over my lap. Don’t you think?”

“Hopefully,” you mumble.

“I’m sure. And the last thing we mentioned. You’ve called someone daddy before, you said. Did you like it?”

“Yeah.” You answer quickly; you figure there’s no point in shame now.

“I see.” He pauses again. “I usually prefer sir, but I’m not opposed to daddy, either.”

“Oh.”

“Speaking of.” There’s a playfulness to his voice now; a teasing lilt that makes you bite back a laugh. “You should get to bed, young lady. Why are you even up?”

“Assignments,” you say. “And what’s your excuse, sir?”

You hear the sharp intake of breath through the phone; the soft, strangled sound that dies in his throat and you feel a twinge of satisfaction. Yeah. I can play this game too.

He clears his throat, releasing an exasperated sigh and there’s a rustling sound before he speaks, voice dipping slightly. “My excuse,” he says, “is that I’ve nowhere to be tomorrow. Unlike a certain little brat.”

The final word is drawn out, teasing and warning at the same time and your chest tightens in excitement and a million other things. You don’t even know what this guy looks like, but fuck, he’s so good. You want to push his buttons and obey his every word simultaneously.

“True,” you mumble. “Okay, I’ll sleep.”

“Good girl.” The satisfied smile is audible in his voice. “See you Saturday, pretty.”

—

This man is gorgeous.

That’s your first thought when you see him Saturday evening; he’s waiting for you when your car pulls up, calling your name with a smile and wrapping an arm around your waist as he helps you out. He introduces himself as Johnny, and his voice sounds even better in person.

Your second thought follows not long after; you recognise him. You’d figured by now that he was probably some level of famous, but you weren’t interested enough in the whole idol culture to have recognised him from his voice alone; in fact it’s only when he tells you his name that you finally place him. You wait until you’re seated, in a private room you’d rather not know the cost of, before asking.

“I don’t wanna be too weird,” you say, “but you’re an idol, right?”

He laughs, nodding with a soft smile. “I am. Do you know me?”

“I’ve heard of you,” you mumble; you’re not sure why you’re so embarrassed to know who he is—that’s the whole point of celebrities, after all. You chuckle dryly, trying to ease the weight of the awkwardness you feel in your chest. “I recognised your face but I couldn’t figure out where I knew you from til you told me your name.”

“Ah.” His posture is relaxed, tone jovial but you see a surety and intensity in his eyes that makes you cower instinctively. “Heard any of my music?” He asks, and you can tell from his voice that he’s teasing you again.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “I mean, I’m not really into that stuff but like, I’m obviously gonna look you up when I’m home now.”

“I figured,” he laughs. “Shoot me a text once you’ve decided I’m your favourite.”

“If I decide that,” you say, and he laughs louder. You feel yourself relaxing a little; his open, friendly demeanour could make anyone ease up and you can’t help but feel comfortable in his presence. Only his dark eyes, which scarcely leave you but to call over the waiter and order, keep you on edge.

You don’t know what any of the words on the menu mean, so you let him order for you—he seems to like that; choosing for you, making small, simple decisions on your behalf. You see it on his face.

As it turns out he’s very good at choosing, too; the beef dish they bring out is something your friend had told you about, when you’d mentioned coming to this restaurant and she realised she’d been there with her own sugar daddy. It tastes amazing and the champagne that flows with it is even better.

“Food good?” He asks with a smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “Is yours?”

“Perfect,” he says. The weight of his gaze on you is unavoidable and you twirl the spaghetti around your fork nervously, just wanting something to do to avoid his eyes.

“So, um.” You clear your throat, trying to think of something to fill the silence but nothing comes. Johnny watches you with a small smirk; all-knowing.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says finally. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You hold back a laugh, biting your lip and he notices. “Well, I mean…”

“Yeah, okay, I am going to hurt you a bit.” He’s grinning, and you realise he chose his words intentionally; though whether to ease the tension or tighten it further you don’t know. “But I do want you to be comfortable with me.”

“Yeah. I am, I think.”

“Great. May I ask you something?”

You motion for him to speak and he smiles; you think you see the first hint of trepidation in his eyes before it quickly dims into the usual cool intensity.

“Obviously it hasn’t been long enough to make a firm decision,” he says, “but just so I have an idea, are you open to the idea of coming home with me tonight?”

You swallow; your stomach tightens at the proposition and the visions it provokes and your response is whispered like a scandalous secret. “Like… to play with you?”

“Yes,” he says. “It doesn’t have to mean the start of a dynamic, and we won’t have sex; just think of it as a taster session.”

That doesn’t seem so bad, you think. And he’s careful, not rushing you into a dynamic or even pressuring you at all; that’s a good sign, right? “So what— um. What would we do?”

“Depends on your behaviour.” He winks teasingly at you from behind the glass in his hand and your head is in overdrive with the images he’d given you on the phone a few days ago; of being choked and collared and spanked by those impossibly large hands resting so tantalisingly close to yours.

You clench your thighs, swallowing dryly. “Yeah. I’m… open to the idea.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The evening passes surprisingly quickly; the tension in the air has all but dissipated, but for the subtle movements he makes every now and then just to see your reaction; a quirk of an eyebrow, a knowing smile, a perfectly timed touch that sends electricity rushing through your veins.

You know he’s toying with you, studying your natural responses to small hints of dominance so you react with similarly small, playful acts of submission in return; cowering under his gaze, bowing your head—allowing him the first taste of the control you may soon surrender completely to him.

“So,” he says, once the waiters have removed the last of your dessert plates. “Would you like to come home with me?”

—

Five million won lands in your bank account as you’re taking the elevator up to his apartment. You make a noise of shock, staring dumbfoundedly between him and the notification, but he says nothing; just smirks ever so slightly as he guides you out of the elevator with a hand on your lower back.

Johnny’s apartment is pretty much as you pictured it; everything a successful man on the cusp of his thirties would go for—black, white and grey themes, a large TV, low, atmospheric lighting and a stunning view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows that loom over you when you step inside. He removes your jacket for you, pausing to take in the outfit you’ve chosen once again before helping you remove your heels. He’s careful and gentlemanly, touches feather-light on your legs as he slides your shoes off. You’re not sure if the image of him on his knees in front of you like this contrasts or enhances the feeling of his dominance over you. You think it’s the latter, somehow.

When he stands up you see that without the few inches your heels provided you, he’s even more imposing—and in his own house, on his territory, you feel smaller than you ever have before.

“Come,” he smiles. He’s removed his suit jacket now, but the dress shirt, slacks and shoes are still on; the soles click against the floor as he guides you down the hallway by the hand.

You stop at the end of the hall, hovering outside a varnished wooden door. For a moment you stand there silently and his demeanour seems to shift a little; he stands a little taller and his face takes on a new solemnity as he looks you up and down. You feel like you’re being inspected, scrutinised; studied.

Your gaze flickers towards the door—is this where he does it? Where he… dominates people? Dominates you? Are you about to walk into a room full of whips and gags and contraptions you’ve never heard of?

“Hey.” Johnny’s voice is calm and soft and stops your spiraling in its tracks. His lips quirk in an amused smile. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s not a red room.”

“Oh.” You don’t know why you’re so embarrassed—anyone would have assumed that, given the circumstances; still, you avert your eyes awkwardly, face heating up. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says. “I’m not offended. It's reasonable to assume I’d have one. But it’s just my bedroom, nothing too scary.”

“Oh. So you don’t… um.”

“I don’t have a red room?” You nod a little ashamedly and he chuckles. “No. I don’t need one. D’you know why?”

“Why?”

A large hand clasps around your wrist, making you shiver. “Because if we do this, you don’t submit to a room. You submit to me. Wherever we are, whenever I tell you to.”

You flush. “Oh.”

“Mhm.” His voice drops, veins bulging against his neck and he cuts a more and more intimidating figure by the second. You’re so ready.

”Do you remember the conversation we had about safewords?”

Of course you do; it was the first one you had once the pleasantries were over. “Red for stop, yellow for slow, green for go.”

He makes a noise of satisfaction and there’s a ghost of a proud smile on his lips. “Excellent.”

You watch as his hand grasps the door handle, pushing it down but not opening it. He pauses for a moment, gaze flickering back to you and you tense, nerves multiplying by the minute.

“Couple things you should know,” he says. His voice is calm and collected and it makes your head rush. “First thing. When you play with me, you’re on your knees, on the floor. You don’t stand or walk or do anything I do because we’re not on the same level here. Understand?”

Your stomach flips, arousal gathering in your chest and your voice is strained when you squeak out a pathetic “Yes.”

“Good,” he says. He’s smiling knowingly, all too aware of the effect he’s having on you. “Second thing. It’s ‘yes, Sir.’”

Then the door is pushed open, and within a few seconds two things become abundantly clear; first, Johnny is true to his words—you don’t manage a single step inside his bedroom before you find yourself forced to your knees, kneeling with your head bowed beneath the pressure of his hand on the back of your neck. He holds you firmly in position but there’s little force behind his grip; there doesn’t need to be. He told you early on that he has no interest in subduing you or compelling you to submit—you’ll submit to him because you want to, and he’ll give you everything you need in return.

The second thing that becomes clear is that when Johnny said he didn’t have a red room, that was only technically the truth—because sure, it’s not a strictly-sex-only room, and it’s not red, but there’s absolutely no mistaking what happens here.

A glass cabinet displays an intimidating selection of toys; whips and paddles and dildos and things you couldn’t even begin to guess the use for; a bar is fixed to a lower portion of the ceiling, and the ropes hanging from it tell you he doesn’t use it for pull-ups; but most noticeably and unavoidably, there’s a large dog’s cage filled with blankets and soft pillows sitting directly at the end of his bed.

He catches your gaze lingering on the cage and laughs softly; the hand on your neck travels up to rest in your hair, caressing you gently and you hold your head exactly where he left it despite your desire to nuzzle into his touch. You have something to prove today, after all.

“You like my cage?” You hear the grin in his voice, feather-light touches tickling against your skin.

“Is it… for humans, sir?” The size of it makes the answer obvious but you need to hear it from him; the confirmation that this is really as batshit and delightfully insane as it seems.

He hums, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. You feel his presence above you as he crouches down a little, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “It’s for very, very bad girls indeed,” he says. “But you’re not bad, are you, precious?”

“No, sir,” you mumble. “I’ll be good.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He stands back up, towering above you again before walking over to the bed. He takes a seat, staring at you for a moment before his he lifts his hand and beckons you towards him. “Come.”

You hesitate for a moment—are you really about to do this? Are you really going to crawl on your hands and knees towards this man whose face you’d never even seen before today?

Yeah. Apparently you are.

Your breathing stutters as you make the first movements; one hand in front of the other, then your leg, over and over until you’ve somehow made it, you’ve crawled across the room and settled on your knees at his feet. He looks elated.

For a moment, he says nothing; he stares you down with a calm, collected expression that screams control and you try desperately not to shrink under it. The first touch of his hand on your face is electric when he gently grips your jaw, stroking your skin with soft fingers. You feel—and are, to him at least—tiny.

“Sweet thing,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

You can’t help but mewl in response, every cell of your body reacting to him, nerves standing on their ends. It’s a completely new feeling and utterly overwhelming. You want it to last forever.

“Can I hit you, angel?” His voice is low, gentle, the opposite of the way his grip on you tightens with want.

You feel yourself throb, nodding dumbly. “Yes sir.”

He smiles for a moment before his face darkens; the impact of his palm against your cheek would be enough to knock you down were it not for his still firm grip on your jaw. You cry out at the sting, unable to stop yourself and he can’t help but smile. “So responsive,” he tuts. “I’m gonna love training you up.”

You bite your lip, holding back a grin. “I hope so, sir.”

“You know,” he says. “This is my favourite part of having a new sub. Figuring out what type they are.”

You pause. “Type, sir?”

He hums; a low, pleasing sound. “No two submissives are the same, but there are general categories you could fit most of them into. Some fit in all of them, in fact.”

“What are they?”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting and you see the way he settles further into his headspace, back straightening as he stares you down. Your lack of experience seems to do something to him—and that definitely does something to you.

“Well,” he says. He speaks slowly and carefully, every word chosen with thought. “You have your puppies. They like to be on their knees. They like to whine and bark. They like to hump.” His grip tightens on your chin, tilting your head upwards. His thumb pushes past your lips and into your mouth and you accept it greedily. “And if I told them to open their mouth for their master’s spit…” He parts your lips, pushing your mouth open; he hesitates for a moment, as though he’s waiting for you to object but you don’t; you just open wider. His lips twist into a smirk before you feel a wad of saliva land on your tongue. “They’d slack their jaw and swallow it like a good dog.”

He watches with a smile as you obey, letting the spit slide down your throat. Your head feels fuzzy and floaty and all the sensations in your body, from the feeling of the carpet against your shins to the arousal that twists painfully in your gut, feel distant and separate. The only thing that feels real and complete right now is Johnny.

“Seems you like pet play,” he chuckles. “I’ll have to get you some ears. A tail, too.” He strokes your cheek and you keen into his touch unconsciously. “Would you let me plug your ass with a little puppy tail, baby?”

“Yes sir.” The words are coming out on their own now, your body responding for you before your conscious can catch up. He smiles.

“You’d be a lovely kitten, too,” he says. “They’re not as much fun to play with as puppies, but they look oh so pretty in your lap. And sometimes it’s nice to have a pliant little thing that will let you use their holes without complaining.”

Oh, that does sound nice. You think you’d enjoy that sometimes, when you’re feeling softer and more fragile and just want to be cared for. And he’s so large and broad and warm that he’s practically custom made to have you in his lap. You’d fit perfectly and prettily and you sigh dreamily without realising. He laughs and you quickly regain yourself, blushing deeply.

“Sorry, sir,” you mumble. “Um. Were all your subs, like, pets?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve had a few slaves before as well,” he says. “They were lovely; obeyed me like it was second nature. Took all the pain and humiliation I inflicted on them and still wanted more. Almost made me rethink my policy on not drawing blood, but that’s not my sort of thing really; they took a whipping like nobody’s business though.”

You cower a little, gaze dropping downwards; this doesn’t seem like you. You’re more than happy to be hurt and humiliated by Johnny, but this just seems… too much. You’re not ready for that level of submission and you’re not even sure you want to be. You feel a faint pressure on your chest, a familiar feeling of having fallen short but you’re not sure why; you’re allowed to say no—when you signed up for the website you signed a contract which stated it explicitly, and Johnny himself has reiterated it to you multiple times. You don’t have to take everything he offers you and you don’t have to do or be or enjoy anything simply because he does.

So why does it feel like a shortcoming; like you’ve foundered and failed before you’ve ever started?

You’ve zoned out without realising, deep in thought; Johnny sees the gears turning in your head and clicks his tongue, nudging your jaw upwards again. His smile is warm and gentle when you finally meet his gaze and though his voice is still soft and patient, there’s a finality to it that wasn’t there before; a seriousness. “You don’t like the sound of that, that’s okay,” he assures you. “You should never, ever force yourself to do something just to please me, or to please anyone. Understand?”

“I understand, sir,” you whisper. The sternness in his voice tells you he’s not playing now; he needs you to know this and keep it with you.

“Good girl,” he praises. His voice lifts a little and you see the moment he changes tack, back to toying with you like he was before. “God, you’re pretty. I don’t think I could hurt a little thing like you that way even if you did want it.”

You whine without realising it; your mind is a complete fog now, control and awareness slipping away by the second but you manage to string the few words that come to you into a slow, stuttered sentence. “Are those, um… that’s all of it, sir?”

His laugh is fond and a little condescending, like you’ve said something adorably stupid. You feel warm. “Those are just some typical ones,” he says. “Ones I’ve played with before. You don’t have to assign yourself to any of them, it just helps me to see what you do and don’t like the sound of.“

“Right.”

“You seem to like being a puppy,” he continues. There’s a teasing edge to his voice and you hold back another whine. “I think you’d like being a kitten sometimes, too. Turning your brain off and just letting daddy use you, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Your body reacts of its own accord to the title; you shudder in his hold, slumping slightly as a soft moan escapes your lips and it makes him laugh softly, fondly. “You really like the whole daddy thing, huh?”

You nod, a little embarrassed—it’s not even that you’re particularly into it on your own, in fact you only called your ex that because he wanted you to. Sure, you enjoyed it and it certainly made him fuck you harder and deeper and better, but you’ve never explored it of your own volition. You’ve never felt the need to.

But something about the way it sounds so sweet and natural on Johnny’s lips, like he’s acknowledging a reality rather than acting out a fantasy, makes it all seem so right—and so exciting. He certainly suits the name; so big and so strong and in complete control of you. Yeah, you’re definitely going to need to try this out.

You see in his face that his own thoughts are similar; his eyes are fogged with arousal and there’s a thick tension in his neck as he swallows. “You definitely make it work.” His hand moves from your jaw to cup your cheek and he lets you nuzzle against it greedily, a smile twitching on his lips. “Cute. God, there’s so much I could do to you.”

“Do it,” you breathe. “Please, sir.”

“Such good manners,” he croons. “You need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whine. You don’t even know what ‘it’ is, but you know he’s right; you’re desperate, feverish for it. For anything, as long as it comes from him.

“Ask me nicely,” he whispers. “Ask me for what you want, baby, and I’ll give it to you.”

“You,” you say. “You, sir.”

In a moment of desperation—or stupidity, perhaps—you reach for him, hands curling into the material of his shirt and grazing against what feels like a full set of abs beneath it. Wrong move.

He lifts you by the hair, dragging you to your feet and throwing you over his knee. Your heart pounds with expectation but he doesn’t hit you as you expect him to; instead he flips you over so you’re lying on your back, head resting on the sheets; your hair falls prettily around your face and you make the perfect picture of innocence. You want him to ruin it.

The feeling of his hand on your throat is electric; the other roams across your torso, groping your tits with a detached interest. He’s in no hurry, after all.

“Who told you to touch me, huh?” His words are growled, arousal filled as he grabs one of your tits and squeezes hard enough to make you whimper. “Here I thought you were gonna be good for me.”

“I am,” you whine. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I will.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring you down like he’s figuring out whether he believes you before sitting you up so you’re perched on his knee. He grabs your wrists and moves them behind you, folded over each other and resting against your lower back. “Keep those there,” he says. “This is your first lesson. You don’t touch what’s not yours and you don’t move a muscle without my permission. Understand?”

You nod dumbly and he slaps your face just this side of painfully. “Words, my girl.”

My girl. Why does that feel so delicious and warm in your chest? “Yes, sir,” you mewl. “I understand.”

“Good.”

And then his lips are on yours, colliding desperately and almost painfully as if he’s been waiting for this his entire life. His hands are in your hair, tugging your head backwards to allow him to place a trail of wet kisses down your face and neck. His mouth latches onto your collarbone, sucking harshly at the skin and you know it’ll be purple when he pulls away. It stings in the best way and a string of curses tumble out in a rush as you ride the high of pleasure. He bites down a little, making you yelp. “Manners,” he grumbles against your skin but he doesn’t let go, so you figure he’s letting you off with that one.

When he finally pulls away his eyes are dark and feral; all pupil and all control. His hands roam up and down the sides of your torso and he looks ready to tear you apart. “Where’d you get this dress, pretty girl?”

You pause, caught off guard. He was sucking a bruise into your skin a moment ago and now he wants fashion tips? “Um… a mall, I think.”

“Is it special to you at all?”

“Not really.”

“Good.”

With both hands he grabs at the fabric on your chest and yanks it apart; the material rips easily, crumbling in his hands and there’s a million sensations in your body as he yanks the remaining fabric off of you. The sight of your lacy black lingerie makes him smile and he fingers gently at the soft fabric of your bra. “How about these?” He asks.

“They’re not special,” you mumble. “But it’s my nicest set.”

“I’ll get you nicer.” The bra and panties put up little fight against him, and soon you’re completely naked and dripping on his lap. He pinches your stomach, just above your pussy and you whine. “Don’t ever wanna see you in cheap shit like that,” he mutters. “My girl wears the best, you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” you whisper. “Wanna be pretty for you.”

“Always are,” he grunts. He stills for a moment, stroking your thigh before he clicks his fingers, pointing at the floor in front of him. “Down.”

You obey wordlessly; you’ve adjusted surprisingly quickly to the automatic obedience he seems to expect—your body is already following his orders of its own accord even while your mind fades away into subspace and he seems profoundly pleased by it. You settle on your knees, staring up at him with wide eyes.

His lips quirk. Seconds feel like minutes until he finally speaks.

“Give me your hands.”

—

Your friend has been silent for two entire minutes. That’s how long it’s been since you finished recounting the events of the night before and looked up to see her staring at you with an open mouth. She looks… well, you don’t know exactly, but she definitely wasn’t expecting this. That much is very clear.

“Dude.” You force an awkward laugh, trying to break the silence that seems to judge you as much as you fear she is too. “You good?”

Finally she recovers herself and nods, raising the coffee mug to her lips and taking a long sip. She puts it down and you see a small smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah,” she says. “I just. Wow, girl.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t expect… that from you. I thought you were vanilla?”

You frown; you’re not sure you’d categorise your exploits with your exes as strictly vanilla, but to someone like her, who’s more than versed in the world of dominance and submission and had only ended up as a sugar baby later on, you suppose it would be. “I thought so too. Mostly.” You shrug. “But he’s really good.”

“You don’t say,” she snorts. Her eyes are wide and you recognise the faintest hint of arousal in her expression—recognize it at as the same one you’d worn last night when Johnny tied you to a chair in front of his floor length mirror and forced you to watch as he fucked you with a vibrator until you came all over his hands.

You can’t help but rub your thighs together slightly at the memory. You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

“Fuck, I can’t believe he paddled you, girl.” She sounds impressed. “I still can’t convince mine to do that.”

You definitely didn’t have to convince Johnny; when he bent you over the bed and ran the black leather paddle across your ass, all he needed was the word ‘green’ tumbling from your lips and he was convinced and ready to go. You bite back a laugh at the thought. “Yeah,” you say.

“Did it hurt?”

“Kind of.”

You’d expected it to be worse, honestly; the paddle was fairly large and he wielded it in his hands like an executioner’s sword but as he explained to you, pain wasn’t the point of this one. It hurt, sure, but it was a slight sting and then a dull ache that was pretty bearable once the first rush subsided. But that was exactly what he wanted; the leather paddle was for play, designed for sensation rather than punishment—punishment, he told you, would come in the form of a larger wooden paddle you hope never to meet.

“Jealous,” she huffs. “And he sent you even more after?”

You nod. The transfer of ten million won as you stepped out of the taxi nearly made you collapse.

Good girl, the note said. You could almost see the smug smile as he typed it out.

“You got a good one, babe,” your friend says. “Hope he keeps it up.”

So do you.

—

The position you’re in is becoming familiar now; on your knees in front of him, naked and bound by ropes that snake down your back and loop under your thighs. What’s not familiar is the silicone plug sitting snugly in your ass and vibrating on a low, constant frequency; not enough to stimulate or satisfy you in any way, but enough to keep you needy and on edge.

Johnny is slouched slightly, lounging in his large, leather armchair and tapping his foot against the floor. His gaze is firm and authoritative but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. He taps your cheek with his finger.

“What to do with you?” It comes out as a purr and you see his bulge beginning to strain against his slacks. Your breath hitches slightly, lips pursing and he notices, because of course he does; the grin that stretches over his lips is sly and scheming.

“You like my cock, huh?” He asks. “Haven’t even seen it yet, desperate girl.”

Your eyes flicker between his crotch and those dark, piercing eyes, unsure which is affecting you more. “Sir…”

“I’m right here,” he says. “You want it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please, sir. Want it.”

He leans back, adjusting himself slightly. “Take it out, then. Do your job.”

You nod; you can do that. You really fucking want to do that, actually. It’s been over a week of this and you still haven’t seen his cock—he, meanwhile, has seen and touched and marked every naked inch of you.

“Yes sir.” Your hands are shaking when you undo his slacks; you falter slightly when the zip comes down and you realise he’s not wearing underwear and he cocks a questioning eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

You shake your head, blushing slightly. “No sir.”

“Good. Pull it out.”

His cock springs up when you release it from the slacks and it’s just as big as you expected-slash-feared-slash-hoped it would be. It’s thick and veiny too, already leaking from the tip and you know your eyes are wide and desperate but you don’t care. You’ve never seen something more appetising.

“You like it, huh?” There’s amusement in his voice, layered beneath the husk of arousal. “Good. I’m gonna train you to take it every day, make you a total cockwhore for me. Hold still now.”

He pulls you towards him, holding your head steady as he pushes into your mouth. He’s not exactly rough with it, but he’s clearly not too concerned with your comfort right now; any attempt to stop you from gagging or coughing up on it is for his own sake, not yours. He guides it down into your throat and you feel yourself tearing up at the intrusion. You splutter slightly, unable to avoid choking and he tuts, yanking you back by the hair to give you a moment to breathe before pushing you back down.

“Have to train that out of you,” he mutters. “Gonna teach you to keep your throat open for me.”

He holds you still, cock resting in your throat until you settle around it, adjusting to the stretch and the feeling. “Good girl,” he grunts. “Take it like that, all the way.”

He pulls you back again and you gasp for breath, spluttering slightly but even as you regain your composure you’re still suckling eagerly at his tip like it’s the only thing you know how to do. You feel the shudder that runs through him as it reaches his cock, throbbing on your tongue. “You’re too good at this,” he mutters. “Learning so quickly. Who taught you to take a cock like that?”

“No one, sir.” Your voice is muffled around his cock, drool dripping down onto your lap.

“Shit, baby, you were really made for this. You need a reward.”

The feeling of his shoe nudging against your knees makes you jolt. “Open,” he says.

When you spread your legs you feel the stickiness of your thighs as they separate and your face burns—you’re leaking like a fucking bitch. Johnny’s smile is the widest you’ve ever seen it. “Oh, baby,” he tuts. “Dripping all over my floor like that. You in heat, honey?” His voice is teasing, gaze sharp and he doesn’t miss the shudder that rushes through you.

Still being in the early stages of your arrangement, you haven’t yet had a chance to explore the different dynamics Johnny had explained to you the first time you kneeled for him; to feel what it’s like to be his puppy or kitten whatever he wants you to be that day. For now, you’re his straightforward submissive and though you’ve certainly fucked yourself a few times to the thought of him pulling you around on a leash, you haven’t felt in a particular rush to pursue it just yet.

But those words. That tone.

You in heat?

You remember your neighbour in high school who bred dogs; how she’d sit at the table with your mother discussing puppies and litters and heats. It’s a distinctively… canine word to you; to hear yourself, your behaviour described in that way is thrilling. He knows it.

His foot moves forwards until it’s in front of your pussy and you don’t even hesitate for a second when he tells you to mount it. He watches you with a calm, pleased expression. “Look at me.”

He’s biting his lip when you meet his eyes, clearly as afflicted as you. “You remember your first lesson?”

“Yes sir.”

“What was it?”

“Don’t touch, sir,” you whisper. “Don’t touch, or— or move without permission.”

“Good,” he nods. “Remember that. You don’t move unless I tell you to. And you certainly don’t hump. Yeah?”

“Yes sir.”

He curls a stray hair behind your ear and a smile flickers over his lips. “You’re gonna tie that up next time,” he says. He tugs lightly at your hair to illustrate his point and you moan softly. “I don’t want you looking like a stray in here. I keep my toys clean.”

Fuck, you love the way he talks to you; insulting and demeaning yet tickling all the right parts of your brain to make you melt even deeper into submission.

He pulls you towards him. “Keep that mouth open.”

That’s the only thing you get that even resembles a warning before he’s shoving himself into you again and there’s no pretence of gentleness or caution this time as he forces his way into your throat. He holds your head down on it and pushes two thumbs into the top of your jaw so you can’t close your mouth even if you want to—all you can do is gag and choke and take it until he’s finished with you.

You’re faintly aware of tears streaming down your face, but by the time they land on your chest they’re mixed with the door that pours from your mouth as he fucks in and out. You’re so overwhelmed that you scarcely notice the feeling of your dripping pussy rubbing agonisingly against his shoe and trying desperately not to move; all the sensations have blurred into one now and everything is the same, everything is too much. You want more.

When he pulls out you can’t help but whine, feeling the loss and he chuckles. “Never met someone so desperate for cock,” he says. “Born for it, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze shifts to the cock in his hands, still hard and leaking and your tongue swipes over your bottom lip, practically salivating. You shoot him a pleading look and he clicks his tongue. “No, sweet thing. You’ve had enough of that. Besides, I don’t think you’ve earned my cum in your throat yet. Push your tits out for me.”

You obey begrudgingly, disappointed at the denial but still eager to please; he rewards you with a slight nudge of his foot against your pussy and you buck against it, falling against his shin and he laughs and pulls you back by the hair so he can see you properly.

“So easy,” he groans. His hand slides up and down his dick with increasing vigour and he throws his head back in pleasure. “Fuck.”

The tightening of his grip in your hair tells you when he’s about to cum and you push your tits out further to catch it. He grunts and moans through his orgasm and your chest and thighs are a mess of drool and spit and cum by the time he picks you up and takes you into his lap.

His rough hands are tender and careful now as he runs a warm wet cloth across your skin, gathering the mess you made together. His fingers are rubbing soothing patterns on your neck as he‘a mumbling something you can’t quite make out. Doesn’t really matter, though; his hold is warm and familiar and the low vibrations in his chest as he speaks are strangely comforting against the flushed skin of your face.

Maybe it’s the endorphins or the headrush that always follows your scenes with him, but you swear you’ve never felt safer.

The money’s not bad either.

—

nct taglist: @bbdeongi @yabbadabbatuh @fancypeacepersona

requests open.

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #johnny smut #johnny suh smut #nct johnny smut #kpop smut #mulloey writes

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owoeyeoseroghokijawft · 25 days ago

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There's a fox in the chicken coop! Investigation reveals US Agency for International Development provides non-military related funds to Ukraine

The picture shows the USAID headquarters in Washington, DC. (Photo: Reuters)

[Voice of Hope, February 26, 2025] (Voice of Hope reporter Chen Wenyun compiled) Investigators revealed to the North American Epoch Times that officials of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) repeatedly refused investigators from the Senate #DOGE Caucus Chair, Senator Joni Erns (Joni Erns) working group to review documents related to US tax funds allegedly used to help #Ukraine resist Russian invasion.

When investigators were finally allowed to view the documents, they were "stored in a highly secure room at USAID headquarters and strictly monitored," even though "nothing shared by USAID was confidential."

During the investigation, Ernst discovered that USAID's multi-million dollar project "exists in secret funds to put millions of American taxpayers' money into Ukraine for questionable purposes unrelated to our national interests."

“Funds that should have been used to ease the war-torn country’s economic woes were instead used for unimportant activities, such as sending Ukrainian models and designers to New York, London Fashion Week, Paris Fashion Week and the South by Southwest Festival in Austin, Texas,” investigators said.

One of the secret funds provided $114,000 to purchase a “high-end limited edition furniture line” and another $91,000 to fund a “trade mission for a Scandinavian-style furniture line.”

Investigators found that USAID also provided $148,000 in grants to “a pickle maker,” $255,000 to “an organic tea and coffee producer,” $104,000 to “an artisanal fruit tea company,” and $89,000 in support to “a Ukrainian vineyard.”

USAID also provided $300,000 each to a dog collar manufacturer and a company that sells pet tracking apps, $161,000 to "a modern knitwear supplier," $126,000 to "a photographer for a fashion design publication," and $84,000 in support to "a luxury bridal brand."

Ernst first began investigating USAID in November 2023, when he wrote a letter to then-USAID Administrator Samantha Power.

“I firmly support providing weapons and ammunition to Ukrainian militants to fight Putin,” Ernst told Power, “but I am not willing to spend nearly $25 billion of hard-earned U.S. taxpayer dollars on so-called economic aid to Ukraine, including subsidies for overseas businesses like a ‘luxury contemporary knit fashion store’ in Kyiv.”

In a Feb. 4 letter to U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, Ernst said that “USAID has deliberately abused a system designed to protect the security of our nation’s classified information in order to limit congressional oversight of public information.”

Rubio replaced Power as acting administrator of USAID earlier this month. Most of the agency’s employees are on administrative leave, and layoffs are underway that could eliminate as many as 2,000 positions within the agency.

The Epoch Times obtained information about Ernst’s investigation the same day the House DOGE subcommittee prepared to hold a hearing focused on how USAID officials allocated at least $122 million in U.S. tax dollars to multiple organizations operating in the Middle East with documented ties to Hamas, Hezbollah, and al-Qaeda terrorist groups.

Gregg Roman, executive director of the Middle East Forum (MEF), told The Epoch Times on Tuesday (25th) that he would testify before the hearing panel that “there is a fox in the henhouse of our foreign aid system!”

Roman said, “This problem started under the Obama administration, intensified under the Biden administration, and now requires immediate action to stop the dangerous mismanagement and deadly ethical chaos.” “We are not just talking about waste, fraud, and abuse, this is a national security issue. Every dollar misused destabilizes conflict zones and endangers American lives.”

MEF investigators confirmed the evidence of terrorist links through U.S. government documents, USAID records, and other public sources of information.

The House DOGE Subcommittee, chaired by Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene, is part of the House Oversight and Accountability Committee, chaired by Rep. James Comer. The House DOGE Panel, like the Senate DOGE Panel, was created in response to President Trump’s creation of the Department of Government Effectiveness (DOGE), led by Tesla CEO Elon Musk.

DOGE is conducting a forensic audit of federal spending across all federal departments and agencies. One of the first agencies to be reviewed is USAID.

“The revelations that the DOGE team uncovered together with USAID are shocking, but this is just the tip of the iceberg!” Greene said in a statement announcing the hearing on Wednesday (26th).

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konansock · 3 months ago

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Mod Update: Club & Business Activity Expanded

Sul Sul, Simmers! Sorry for taking so long to update this mod, I hereby announce that my Custom Club Activity Project is now officially renamed to Club & Business Activity Expanded.

In the new version, not only is all the activities updated to be compatible with new update, a lot of new activities were added specifically for Small Business - Like Tend Market Stalls, Offer Occult Training, and Tend Gravesite!

You can have a detailed list of all the activities and whether they're available as Club Activities, Small Business Customers or Small Business Employees here.

Base Game: View Aquarium, Attend to Babies, Back Float, Bake and Eat Cake, Bake Cake, Bake Cupcake, Charity, Complain, Cowplant, Cowplant's Cake, Critique, Critique Art, Cupcakes, Dig for Treasure, Friendly Ghost, Ask Future Cube, Game Livestream, Gossip, Haunting Ghost, Open Holiday Cracker, Do Erratic Things, Lounge on Chairs, Brag, Play with Molding Clay, Mourn the Dead, Parent-Kid Activities, Write to Pen Pal, Take Photos, Take Photos, Take Photo for Others, Sell Art, Use Social Network, Talk about Vampires, Tell Stories, Tip Performers, Care for Toddlers, Care for Infants, Help with Homework, Rummage Trash, WooHoo, Try for Baby, Practice Typing, Use Toilet, Witness Death, Fruit Punch Fountain, Use Vending Machine.

Cross-Pack: Care For Birds, Play with Birds, Be Mean to Birds, Order Street Food, Tend Market Stalls, Give Gifts, Go Shopping, Window Shopping, Listen to Stories, Offer Makeover, Toy with Motives, Influence Other Sims, Create Negative Emotions, Spread Positive Emotions, Freeze, Mind Control, Transform Objects and Sims, Play with Animals, Be Mean to Animals, Make a Wish at the Well, Offer Occult Training, Request Occult Training.

Cats & Dogs: Be Mean to Pets, Train Pets, Use Vet Objects, Craft Pet Treats.

City Living: Ask for Bribe, Ask for Donation, Bubble Bottle, Critique Food, Critique Performances, Deface Murals, Fireworks, Attend Festivals, Attend The Flea Market, Attend The Romance Festival, Try To Find Love At The Romance Festival, Attend Geekcon, Attend Spice Festival, Attend Humor & Hijinks Festival, Join Jokesters at Humor & Hijinks Festival, Join Pranksters at Humor & Hijinks Festival, Be Friendly to Talking Toilets, Be Mean to Talking Toilets, Have Fun with Talking Toilets, Sabotage Talking Toilets, Paint Murals, Haggle, Sing Karaoke, Watch Living Statue, Collect and Trade Posters, Collect and Trade Snow Globes, Protest, Play with Hand Sparklers, Play Console Game, Watch Speech.

Cool Kitchen: Make and Eat Ice Cream, Make Ice Cream.

Cottage Living: Collect Farm Products

Dine Out: Color Placemat, Discuss Food

Discover University: Grade Homework, Ride Bikes, Play Ping Pong, Play Juice Pong, Use Keg Stand, Do University Coursework, Write Research Papers, Contribute Knowledge

Eco Lifestyle: Craft Candles, Drink Juice Fizzing Products, Recycle and Compost, Dumpster Dive, Play in Acid Rain, Sketch Blueprint

For Rent: Snoop On Others, Clean Mold, Spread Spores, Spread Mold, Cook Tomarani Cuisine

Get Famous: Perform Scenes, Flaunt Fame, Flaunt Wealth, Interact with Fans, Play in Money Pile, Use Streaming Drones

Get To Work: Contact Aliens, Dance with Mannequin

Growing Together: Play on Treehouse, play in Splash Pad, have Pillow Fights.

Horse Ranch: Ride Horses, Be Friendly to Horse, Be Mean to Horse, Use Horse Obstacles, Harvest Prairie Grass

High School Year: Ride Pier Attractions, Make and Eat Ice Cream, Drink Boba Tea, Use Photo Booth.

Home Chef Hustle: Bake Pizza, Make Waffles, Make Prepped Ingredients

Island Living: Ride Aqua-Zips, Collect Seashells, Go Sailing, Sand Activities, Play with Dolphin, Sunbathe, Make and Drink Kava, Make Kava.

Laundry Day: Watch Laundry

Life & Death: Tend Gravesite

Movie Hangout: Discuss Movies

My First Pet: Play with Rodents, Be Friendly to Rodents, Be Mean to Rodents, Study Rodents, Clean Rodent Cage

My Wedding Stories: Collect Message in a Bottle, Prepare for Wedding

Outdoor Retreat: Roast Food on Campfires, Use Tents, Brew Herbalism Potions.

Paranormal: Explore the Haunted House

Parenthood: Show Gross Manners, Make a Mess, Play with Doctor Playset, Work on School Project Carefully, Work on School Project Sloppily, Shout Forbidden Words, Write Private Journals

Realm of Magic: Have Magic Duels, Set Fire, Offer Magic Training, Read Magic Tomes

Seasons: Bond with Bees, Disturb Bees, Give Romantic Gifts, Give Mean Gifts, Play in Kiddie Pool, Rake Leaves and Shovel Snow

Snowy Escape: Attend Light Festivals, Attend Youth Festivals, Buy Simmi Capsules, Eat Hotpot

Spa Day: Soak Feet, Get Foot Massage, Get Body Massage, Polish Nails, Ask for Manicure and Pedicure, Take Soak Baths, Relax in Sauna, Use Face Masks

Spooky: Carve Pumpkins

Strangerville: Hail to Mother! Use Listening Device, Military Spar, Do Military Training

Vampires: Dark Meditation, Vampire Duel, Have Vampiric Training

Vintage Glamour: Use Vanity Table, Play with Makeup, Study Globe

Werewolves: Werewolf Spar, Hunt for Food, Scavenge for Relics, Mark Territory

DOWNLOAD HERE.

Translation update: @kimikosoma created the French update for my Additional Bucket List mod, check it out here! https://www.curseforge.com/sims4/mods/mod-additional-bucket-list-skills-par-rex-trad-fr

#konansock #modupdate #ts4mod #s4mod #mod update #ts4cc #s4cc #ts4 mods

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tyunkus · 3 months ago

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call you later — kang taehyun

pairing: idol!taehyun x afab!idol!reader wc: 2.3k

summary: you and your boyfriend haven’t seen each other in a while—busy end-of-the-year performances and schedules make sure of that. still, you’ve both worked so hard . . .

warnings: phone sex, dirty talk, teasing, free use mention, mutual masturbation, pet names, no penetration, no nothing tbh it’s literally just phone sex, OH YEAH YOU’RE HIS NOONA, pretty tame i’d say

note: happy 2 year anniversary to tyunkus (me!!!!)!!! here’s a surprise. this is very lightly edited and proofread, ok, i just really wanted to get something out for you guys. missed everyone here soso dearly <3 both reader and taehyun are idols in this, but due to them having extremely busy and vastly differing schedules, reader is in a hotel somewhere in an unspecified location, while taehyun is in tokyo. it’s been a while since i’ve engaged with kpop in general so forgive me for any unrealistic/downright wrong writing hehe. this is the taehyun i was imagining, fyi. love u guys!!!!!

A thousand and some kilometres away from Tokyo, you watch Taehyun’s performance on your TV screen.

You two had been texting, on and off, for the past thirty minutes before TXT appeared onstage. You have a similar conversation every time something like this happens, when one of you is performing and the other remains at home. An initial check-in turns into banter, turns into full-fledged flirting, back-and-forth in quick succession. You send selfies between messages (today, you send one of yourself in bed, scantily clad in a thin tank top, its strap falling loosely off your shoulder). Sometimes, Taehyun slips in a dirty comment (today, he limits himself to one kissy face reaction in response to your photo). Most of the time, after only a few minutes, you say goodbye (I love you, I miss you, call you later), right before the show starts (you turn on the hotel TV, click through the channels until you see an idol you recognize in a stadium you’ve performed at before. KBS Song Festival. A big deal, of course—it’s a shame your group couldn’t go). It’s only a matter of minutes before their performance begins.

What is there to say? Taehyun kills it like he always does. He’s wearing that sleeveless tank top that dips just beneath his obliques. You can see the sheen of sweat covering each ridge of his muscles there, reflecting off of the stadium lights crystal-clear even through the terrible stream quality. You feel all smitten and giggly, like a fangirl or something, and as much as it’s embarrassing and he would absolutely make fun of you for it, you can’t even bring yourself to care.

You watch until the very end, even after all of the groups congregate on the stage to wave goodbye to fans. You keep a close eye on TXT the entire time, your gaze following the unclear figure of your boyfriend in the distance, and are content just watching his broad, solid figure move among waves of idols until eventually the show dwindles into a dead black screen.

You’re sleepy. You have been for the past two hours that you watched the entire program; without Taehyun on the screen to capture your attention, you’re finding it hard to keep his promise to stay up until you can call. Swallowed by the comfort of the hotel’s downy pillows and duvet, you are just about to give into the temptation of sleep when Taehyun’s caller ID appears at the top of your screen and you jolt awake.

“Hello?” Taehyun says once you pick up, his voice deep and tinged with fatigue. It’s quiet on his end. No gruff yells from his groupmates, no shower sounds in the background that indicate someone else is in the room. In fact, the other day he had been very happy to tell you that he lucked out on getting his own hotel room. “You there, baby?”

You close your eyes and imagine that you hear the gentle rumble of his voice through his bones and muscle instead of the lifeless steel of your phone. A smile spreads on your face, completely involuntary, but then you miss him again with a pang in your chest. Truthfully, you know your separation is not a big deal. You had already planned around it, even, your next date (rather, reunion) coming up sometime next week, and yet—and yet. What you would do to feel him against you, real life and blood under your fingertips. “I’m here,” you confirm. “How are you feeling?”

“Great. Super tired.”

“I watched your performance. You did so well.”

He laughs breathily. You can hear the exhaustion. “I hoped so,” he replies. “Did you watch the whole thing?”

You nod, though you know he can’t see you. “Of course I did. You were perfect.”

“Wow, perfect?” Taehyun goads, obviously pleased. “Which part did you like the most?”

He’s baiting you, you know. You roll your eyes then flip over on your back, humming in faux contemplation. “Well. I really liked Soobin’s center part during the bridge, I thought he did really well.”

“Ahh. Good choice. What else?”

“And I thought they styled Yeonjun really well, too, it suits him, his new hair—”

“Yeonjun-hyung?” That strikes a nerve. Taehyun never told you himself, but you know from Huening Kai that Yeonjun had been planning to make moves on you when your groups first met all those months ago at a music show. It never worked since you never noticed; you were hooked on a particular boba-eyed vocalist from the start. His voice lilts, mostly joking, slightly expectant: “What about me, hmm?”

“You? I don’t have much to say about you.”

“Should I end the call?”

“I mean—I mean that of course I liked your voice the most,” you say, through giggles. “And your styling was really good. The shirt lifting part was unnecessary, though.”

“You didn’t like it? I did it just for you.”

“I guess I don’t know how to feel, knowing thousands of non-mes know what your abs look like.”

“You have the upper hand,” Taehyun points out. “Those non-yous don’t know how my abs feel.”

You smile so hard you have to bury your face in your pillow to overcome the embarrassment. “My turn. How’d you like my performance?” The AAAs had happened only yesterday. In between that and Taehyun’s travel schedule to Japan, you two hadn’t been able to talk much last night—hell, for the past several nights. Still, that didn’t stop Taehyun from sending you a link of a viral tweet showing your outfit: a tiny little dress, shimmery, hugging just around your waist, cut to expose several inches of your torso. Goddamn, his text underneath read, followed by a melting emoji.

Taehyun replies without hesitation. “The choreography was interesting. Not what I expected, but you pulled it off. Even though I could tell you were nervous.”

Leave it to Taehyun to be brutally honest, even with his own girlfriend. “Not really a compliment, is it?”

“I’m just telling you what I think, baby.”

“What else do you think?” you prod, unsatisfied.

“You looked beautiful, but that’s obvious. I was scared you would slip, but that doesn’t matter.”

You raise your eyebrows, expectant. “Well?”

“And I liked your outfit. I wished you could have taken it home.”

You scoff. What a ridiculous notion. The styling team would kill you and you wouldn’t even blame them for it. “Why would I do that?”

“So I could take it off of you.”

And, well. You slap a hand over your eyes, blushing to high heaven. “Fuck,” you say, eloquently.

“Mmhm. Wouldn’t that be nice? I’d start with the tights. Maybe rip them off, buy the styling team a new pair as an apology,” Taehyun suggests, his voice dipping an octave lower. Oh, you think, squeezing your thighs together ever so slightly. “You said you didn’t like that I lifted my shirt, but your dress was barely covering anything. Imagine how I feel, huh? Watching you dance in that tight little—”

“Taehyun,” you scold. “You can’t—I don’t—”

“You can wear whatever you want, noona,” Taehyun continues, “as long as I’m the only one who sees that beautiful body underneath, okay?”

“It’s all yours,” you manage, your cheeks burning. You hear a little grunt on his end, and decide to turn it back on him. “You’re breathing awfully hard.”

He lets out a throaty groan, full and rasping, and the sound makes you ache. “Yeah? Can’t f-fucking help myself. You’re so—mm, fuck—so hot.”

“Taehyun,” you whine, going for reprimanding but coming across as desperate instead. Fuck, you can hear the wet sounds his hand is making curled over his cock. How long had it been since he started touching himself? you wonder. Your mouth waters. “Don’t. Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m… I’m not…”

“You don’t like it?” he questions, his voice lilting when he loses his breath, so fucked out. Unfair, you think, just as he breathes out a little chuckle through the phone, his mouth so close to the mic you can almost feel it on the nape of your neck. “No, no, I know you do. Know you’re rubbing those pretty fucking thighs together right now, right? Just so”—his voice wavers here—“so fucking desperate for me.”

You can’t help it. “I am,” you gasp, sliding a hand down between your thighs, finally, finally. You’re wet, so wet that if Taehyun were here, fuck, you would never hear the end of it. You can just imagine the smile on his face, lazy, pleased, just as he cups his nice, big hand over your wet, dripping cunt. The thought makes you moan even louder. “Need you, I need you. I miss—mmm, I miss you.”

“Yeah? You miss me, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you gasp, breath stuttering, fuck it feels good, “I—I’ve been fucking myself thinking about you, Taehyun, I—”

“God,” he groans, and the sound of his fist moving against his cock only grows louder. “Fuck, tell me more.”

“Shit, mmm, it—it doesn’t work, it only works with you,” you whine, your entire face hot, flushed. It’s embarrassing, you realize dimly, embarrassing to confess how needy and desperate you’ve been. But God, if it isn’t true. How many nights now has it been since you’ve felt his touch? Dance practice, vocal lessons, team meetings on both ends. Lately, it’s been hard to keep up with your own schedule, much less Taehyun’s. It’s probably been a few weeks by now, all those busy days seeping into each other, it’s hard to tell. It doesn’t matter, anyway—you just know that you need him.

Taehyun says nothing at first, just huffs out a breath into the microphone, harsh and desperate. You don’t even notice, dipping your fingers between your folds, imagining tufts of chocolate brown hair tickling the inside of your thighs as he eats you out, the strength of his sturdy arms keeping your legs spread wide open for him; all the while, you pump your fingers in and out, your own wetness making loud noises that he can most definitely hear on the other end, fuck, it’s so embarrassing. Then, Taehyun speaks.

“When I come home,” he begins, and shit, even just hearing that has your cunt throbbing, “when I come home, baby, I’m just gonna use you, okay? Fuck, you don’t even know how rough this past week has been—just been thinking, dreaming of your tight little cunt, shit, I miss you so much.”

“Taehyun,” you gasp, clenching around yourself. You moan, all pitchy and pathetic. “You—you’re s-such a tease.”

“I’m not the tease here, baby,” Taehyun replies easily. “Looked so sexy in that outfit, like you wanted me to see—wanted me to want you—and I do, fuck, I do, ’s why I’m gonna use you, rough you up, however I want.”

Too much. You almost say so, burying your face into the softness of your pillow, trying to imagine that his warm body was there with you, on top, underneath, it doesn’t matter. You want him. It is almost ridiculous how much you wants him. You nearly forget to answer. “Really?” you squeak, and Taehyun only laughs, sweet and affectionate.

“Of course, baby. I know that’s what you want. You know, I used to feel so bad about wanting to treat you rough, like a slut—until I realized that you fucking love it.”

Oh. Oh, fuck. You feel a jolt of energy sail down your spine, making your whole body tremble. “I’m close. I’m close, Taehyun, ’m so fucking close,” you wail, and you sound like a fucking bitch, and it’s only worse when you imagine his voice saying that, rough just the way you liks it. “Please, pleasepleaseplease, wanna cum, fuck—”

Taehyun is thousands of kilometers away, an entirely different country, even, and yet he still has you heaving, mindless, shaking all over your bed, begging to come. This is not lost on you; you turnsyour head, embarrassed, relishing in how soft the pillow feels against your open lips and closed eyelids.

“No,” Taehyun says suddenly, and your eyes fly open. “Don’t muffle your moans. Let me hear you through the phone, baby. Let me hear you while you come,” he urges, and at once you lift your head from the pillow, your hair a mess over your face, your entire body sweating and pulsing and wanting. “Are you close? Are you fucking close just from listening to my voice?”

“Mmnn, yes, yes, I am, I’m close—”

“Good girl. Good girl, you’re doing so well, my pretty girl, all fucked out from hearing me touch myself. Want you to imagine that I’m with you, okay? Imagine that I’m the one touching you, making you feel good. What are you, hm?”

There, almost there. You can scarcely breathe, squeezing your thighs together, feeling your own wetness against your fingers, imagining it’s him. “Oh, Taehyun, I—mm, fuck, I—”

“Focus, baby. What are you?”

“I’m a good girl, I’m your good girl.”

Taehyun lets out a moan, low and deep and raspy. You are about to lose your goddamn mind. “Let’s come together, okay?”

“Mhm, please, I want to. Love you, I love you—”

“Baby, baby—”

“Keep—keep going, Taehyun—”

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fucking cum—”

A beat of near-silence; thousands of kilometers apart, your bodies seize in tandem, right before shockwaves of pleasure take over completely. Taehyun lets out a throaty groan, and you hear the shlick shlick shlick of his fist pumping his cock, and as you finish, you swear you feel his hands gripping your waist, his lips brushing your forehead, his entire trembling body slotted over yours.

The next morning, when Taehyun wakes up in his hotel room in Tokyo, he sees you have sent him a link. It leads to a viral Tweet of his own photos—four close-up shots of his abs, taken during Tinnitus, no doubt. Your text underneath reads: Goddamn, followed by a melting emoji.

#guess who's BAAAAACK (me!)#i hope you guys enjoy #a bit rushed but still hot i hope #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #taehyun hard hours #taehyun smut

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whenanafallsinlove · 11 months ago

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BNHA CHARACTERS X GN! READER; - how they would act with a foreign s/o headcanons﹗

﹗warnings: none, pure fluff! :D

a/n: not proof read! Sorry if it's a little repetitive! Requests are open if you want pt 2 with other characters or fandoms :D

includes: Katsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todoroki, Hanta Sero, Denki Kaminari

Katsuki Bakugou:

definitely learns how to cook typical foods from your country

calls you dumbass if you mess up a sentence in japanese

likes to correct your pronunciation and grammar

if you typically eat a lot of spicy foods in your country, you two will challenge each other on who eats the most spice

he likes when you speak in your language

he told you he wanted to learn your language with the excuse that it would make him a better hero

but he wants to learn it because he is just nosy

specially after hearing you saying his name during a call with your family, and not understanding what you told them about him

you told him that if he wanted to know, he would have to learn your language

he obviously takes that as a challenge and learns a lot very quickly (and he's unsurprisingly good too)

Shoto Todoroki:

would be eager to help you learn japanese

he would surprise you by learning your language too

asks you to cook your favorite typical meals for him to try

if you were feeling homesick, he would search online and buy you a bunch of your country’s typical candy

gets embarassed when you catch him listening to podcasts to learn your language

he's like super proud of having a foreign s/o

he will bring the fact that you're from another country every chance he gets

when he brings you to meet his family, he's mortified when his father asks something stupid/stereotypical about your country

when you started dating, one of the first things he asked you was the cultural differences when dating in your country

just to make sure you were on the same page, and also to take into account important gestures that would be meaningful for you

Sero Hanta:

he would compliment you and use pet names in your language

he watched a tik tok of “trying typical candy from my s/o’s country!” and immediately asked you to do it

starts to listen to music in your language!

often asks you to teach him some phrases in your language, but gets frustrated when he just can’t get a grasp on the pronunciation

duolingo is secretly his best friend

admires you for knowing more than one language

would buy anything related to your country and gift it to you,

he sees a postcard at the store with a photo from your country? he buys it; he sees a fridge magnet from your contry? he gets it; he sees a turism magazine with 'top 10 places to visit this year' and your country's name on it, he's already checking out with it

he just wants to make you feel at home with him too

constantly checks on you to make sure you're not homesick

Denki Kaminari:

asks you A LOT about your country, specially the differences between where you are from and where you live now

he’s like a kid, always grabbing random stuff and asking “how do call… in your country?”

begs you to teach him how to curse in you language

probably tries to learn how to dance to music from your country

when you facetime your family he likes to greet them with the three words you have taught him

celebrates your important national festivities with you

he starts to follow and watch entertainment content in your language, claiming he starts to understand it (he does not)

everytime you cook something from your country, he asks you to make some for him too

claims that your voice and personality change when you speak in your language

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #denki x reader #denki kaminari x reader #sero hanta x reader #sero x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader

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pendragaryen · 1 year ago

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British Weekend 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🇬🇧 / Remeringhausen farm estate, lower saxony, Germany - June 2024

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cece693 · 6 months ago

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The Better Brother (Damon Salvatore x M! Reader)

A small pet peeve of mine regarding Damon Salvatore fics is how people sometimes gloss over the wave of self loathing this man possesses. Since childhood he's had to bear constant comparisons with Stefan—how he wasn't enough, not as kind, etc.—so in my mind, if he does find someone he would absolutely push them away. That gave rise to this fic!

Summary: Damon finally found the one, however, thoughts of self-hatred and the constant comparison to his 'better' brother had him doubting if he even was deserving of such future.

tags: sad, in my feelings, break up, Damon thinking he's underserving, self hatred

Damon leaned against the bar of the Mystic Grill, the amber liquid in his glass catching the dim light. He swirled the bourbon absently, his mind not on the drink but on the man standing at the dartboard, a soft laugh escaping his lips as he teased Stefan for his missed throw.

M/N had come into Damon’s life like a hurricane—wild, passionate, and with a kindness that made him feel human for the first time in decades. He wasn’t supposed to fall this hard. But now that he had, every insecurity Damon carried weighed heavier on him.

He drained the glass and set it down with a little too much force, drawing a glance from M/N. Damon met his eyes and forced a smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his own. M/N tilted his head, his expression softening with concern, and made his way back over. “What’s got you brooding over here?” he teased, bumping Damon’s shoulder as he slid onto the stool beside him.

Damon shrugged, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another. “Just thinking about how life is unfairly cruel to us handsome, brooding types.”

M/N didn’t laugh. He didn’t fall for Damon’s deflections anymore.

“You’ve been distant all week,” he noted, his voice quieter now. “What’s really going on?”

Damon’s grip on the glass tightened. He hated how easily M/N saw through him, hated how good he was for him. And most of all, he hated himself for ruining what they had before it could even bloom. But Damon knew how this story ended. It was always the same. Stefan was the hero, the savior, the one who got the happy ending. Damon was the shadow lurking behind, destined to lose.

“You should go back to your darts game,” Damon said, his voice cold now, deliberately so. “I’m fine.”

M/N stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. “I know you don’t believe this, but you don’t have to push me away every time you get scared, Damon.”

Scared.

The word stung because it was true.

Later that night, Damon found himself alone in the Salvatore boarding house. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the room, but its warmth didn’t reach him. He sat on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees, a photograph clutched in his hand.

In the photo, they were both smiling—genuine, unguarded. Damon hardly recognized himself in that moment, caught off guard by M/N’s infectious energy. The picture had been taken at the Mystic Falls Winter Festival, a day Damon had reluctantly agreed to attend. M/N had dragged him to the Ferris wheel, teasing him about being afraid of heights.

Damon hadn’t been afraid—not of the heights, at least. But the way M/N had looked at him at the top, with so much trust and warmth, had sent a different kind of fear coursing through him. For a brief moment, suspended in the sky with M/N’s laughter ringing in his ears, it felt like the world wasn’t so bleak.

He clenched his jaw and stared at the photograph for a long time, his fingers trembling slightly. “You don’t deserve this,” he muttered to himself. “You don’t deserve him.”

With a sharp breath, he shoved the picture into the drawer of the side table and slammed it shut. This was the right thing to do. Even if it hurt. Even if it tore him apart.

The next day, Stefan found Damon in the parlor. The sunlight streaming through the windows only emphasized how wrecked the oldest Salvatore looked. He was slouched in the armchair, a near-empty bottle of bourbon in front of him, his eyes distant and unfocused, as if he had been staring into nothingness for hours.

“What did you do?” Stefan’s voice cut through the oppressive silence of the room, sharp and demanding.

Damon let out a low chuckle, the sound bitter and hollow. “Relax, Saint Stefan,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I did you a favor.”

Stefan’s brows furrowed as he stepped closer, his tone tightening with frustration. “What the hell does that mean?”

Damon finally lifted his gaze, his trademark smirk flickering onto his face. “He’s all yours now,” he said, the words carrying a mix of resignation and self-loathing.

He didn’t need to ask to know what Damon meant. “You broke up with him,” Stefan said, his tone flat, more a statement than a question.

Damon shrugged, his nonchalance forced and brittle. “Better for everyone that way,” he muttered, grabbing the bottle and taking another swig.

Stefan wasn’t having it. He crossed the room in two strides and snatched the bottle from Damon’s hand, setting it firmly on the table out of reach. “Better for everyone or better for you?” he snapped, his voice cutting through Damon’s feigned indifference.

Damon’s smirk flickered. He slouched further into the chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t get all noble on me, brother. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? A clean slate? No more complications? No more me standing in the way?”

Stefan stared at him, incredulous. “You really think I wanted this? That I wanted you to destroy the best thing that’s ever happened to you?”

“Spare me the lecture, Stefan,” Damon said, his tone sharp, though it lacked its usual bite. “He’ll be fine. Hell, he’ll probably thank me someday.”

Stefan shook his head, his frustration mounting. “You don’t get it, do you? M/N doesn’t want me. He never has. He chose you, Damon. And instead of fighting for him, you pushed him away because you’re too much of a coward to believe you deserve him.”

Damon’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists on the armrests of the chair. “Coward? Is that what you think I am?”

“Yes,” Stefan shot back without hesitation. “You’re so scared of being happy, of someone actually loving you for who you are, that you’d rather sabotage it before they can leave you. You think that’s noble? It’s not. It’s pathetic.”

Damon stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he loomed over Stefan. “Don’t you dare lecture me about love, Stefan. You’ve been handed every happy ending on a silver platter while I’ve had to fight for scraps.”

“And this time, you didn’t even fight,” Stefan countered, his voice soft but firm. “You just gave up. And you hurt him in the process.”

Damon’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had come. He turned away, staring into the dying embers of the fireplace. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “He deserves better. Better than me.”

“Maybe that’s not your choice to make, Damon. Maybe he already decided that you’re what he wants. And maybe…just maybe, you should let yourself believe it.”

Damon didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The words sat heavy in his chest, pressing against the fragile walls he’d built around his heart. He clenched his jaw, his eyes burning as he stared into the fire, willing the tears to stay where they were. Stefan sighed, his frustration softening into something closer to pity. “You’re going to regret this,” he said quietly. “And when you do, I just hope it’s not too late.”

He turned and left the room, leaving Damon alone once again.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. Damon sank back into his chair, staring at the empty spot on the table where the bourbon bottle had been.

Deep down, he knew Stefan was right.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

And that was the curse of being Damon Salvatore.

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 5 months ago

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SANTA TELL ME- SAM WINCHESTER

pairing: boyfriend!sam x fem! reader

word count: 1.7k

summary: you give sam a special christmas surprise, in honour of the holiday season to get him feeling festive ;)

warnings: sam eating reader out ;))), smut heavily implied, size kink, pet names and heavy praise kink, scandalous photos, swearing, alcohol mentioned

note from claire: happy holidays everyone, whatever you may celebrate!

"oh, i wanna let him unwrap me, like, oh-ooh-oh get on top of him, by that fireplace, oh-ooh-oh but i don't want a new broken heart this year, i've got to be smart"- santa tell me (naughty version), ariana grande

You had never been much of the festive type. Holidays were hard to come by, with your life being packed up in a little suitcase, constantly on the road in Dean's Impala.

You knew for Sam, it was especially difficult.

He had been a hunter much longer than you. It was his family's calling- it seemed.

You were just happy to tag along, providing help when it was needed.

Dean called you the “sunshine” of the group, always providing the brothers comfort and a shoulder to lean on when things got extra difficult. You had merged yourself in their trio, wedged in the backseat with the angel, Castiel.

You were always happy to tag along, belting old 70s rock with Dean while he drove, teaching Cas how to play games like concentration to pass the time in the car.

But Sam was why you really stayed.

Why you put yourself in danger, just to stay near him.

He was your sunshine, his smile beaming as bright as the christmas lights you plugged into the dingy, fire inducing motel outlet.

You sighed, smiling to yourself as you caught yourself in a shining ornament.

It had been a year or two since Bobby introduced you to the Winchester brothers, and their little companion, and you had been so internally grateful for it.

A Christmas miracle, if you will.

It had been around this time you had caught Sam alone, in the haze of a snow storm. It had been that night he had pulled you close, pushing you up against the Impala doors, kissing you so intensely your blue lips had shown with colour again.

He had kissed you like that ever since- always before he had to leave your side.

He had kissed you so hard your lips were swollen when he left for the bar with Dean and Cas, practically begging on his hands and knees for you to come with him, unable to manage Deans innuendos and Cas’s obvious googly eyes that followed Dean around as if they were permanently glued to him.

But it was a ‘boys night’ (Dean's words, not yours- he just probably wanted to get into Cas’s pants), and you had your plans here.

You had just finished decorating the motel room, to the best of your ability, getting a little tree set up, with twinkle lights cascading around the windows. You lit a candle or two, brushing your velvet set-up with anticipation.

It was just the two of you tonight, when Sam arrived back- and you couldn't be more excited. Butterflies churned in your stomach, anxious for his reaction to your little get up.

You had put on a sexy red lingerie set with little white trim, with a matching garter belt. It was fancy for you, but you wanted to surprise him with something… new.

Something festive and fun.

You eyed the clock on the nightstand, the red numbers blinking at you. It was almost midnight. He’d be back any second. You anxiously paced, running to the bathroom to touch up your red lipstick.

It was then when you heard the lock click, the chill air rushing into the room, quickly met with the scruff of boots on the floor mat, a gasp emitted his lips.

You smiled to yourself, poking your head out of the bathroom. Bewilderment was on his face, childlike wonder twinkling in his eyes as he stared in awe at the decorations.

You had even found little stockings with your names on them, hanging up on the windowsill. You were pretty proud of yourself for that find.

“Hi honey.” you smiled, emerging from behind the doorway. The air was sucked from his lungs. His mouth was open so wide you swore his jaw would unhinge.

“Eggnog?” you asked, walking over to pour him a glass of spiked eggnog, the same recipe he used to make Deans a few years prior.

You made sure to turn around fully, letting him get a full view of your ass as you bent down sensually, as he took off his boots.

“Jesus Christ…” you heard him mutter under his breath, making you giggle.

“You- you did all of this yourself? For me?” he asked, nothing but love in his sweet, soft voice as he took in the room again, his eyes finding your gentle gaze, handing him a glass of eggnog.

“Happy Holidays Sammy.” He took a swig of his drink before grabbing yours and tossing it down, making you yelp in surprise as he picked you up, spinning you around.

His lips found yours, and you grabbed his cold, flushed cheeks as he tugged on your lower lip, emitting a small mewl from you.

“You are the most thoughtful-”

He kissed you.

“most caring- most sweet, loving girl I could ever ask for.” He kissed you between praises, making your cheeks heat as you giggled.

“God I don't even know what I would do without you in my life, my sweet, precious girl.” his nose brushed yours, and you nuzzled yours like you were in some cheesy rom-com.

With him, you always were. And you never wanted it to end.

“So you like it?” you asked cheekily, and he scoffed.

“Are you kidding? It's beautiful. But you’re even more beautiful.”

He tossed you down on the bed with ease, a little oof escaping your lips as you lay on the soft sheets, perching up on your elbows to look at him as he stared you down.

You couldn't help but notice the bulge in his jeans, and the hungry look that had shifted in his gaze. Hot and heavy, you smirked at him, toying with him, like a cat playing with its dinner.

Licking his lips, he groaned as you uncrossed your thighs, spreading your legs just the tiniest amount.

“And sexy. Fuck baby, you drive me fucking crazy.”

You raised your eyebrow, a beacon for him to come closer. But he turned.

“Wait here. Don't move a muscle.”

You watched as he scrambled in his bag for something, pulling out an old polaroid camera that resembled something Dean had. Then you realized it was Deans.

“Is Deano gonna miss that?” you asked teasingly, watching as he adjusted with the dials, powering up the camera to aim the lens at your posed frame.

“He doesn't even realize its gone. And I think he’d appreciate its use. Taking pictures of a sexy, hot model who I get to call mine.” he smirked, snapping a picture, the flash briefly blinding you. You heard the camera start to whirl, a polaroid slipping out white.

He fanned it, setting them down on the desk before he stared you down again in bewilderment, as if he couldn't believe you were real.

It made you flustered, the way he stared at you. With such passion, with such want it drove you wild. He palmed himself through the denim, biting his lip as if he were in pain.

Trying to control himself.

“Did you wanna get your Christmas gift now Sammy?” you asked gently. He nodded, hands curling into fists as you giggled, spreading your legs.

He melted at the sight of you, that damp spot on your lacy red thong. You beckoned to him with a finger. “You can have it. You can have whatever you’d like. Its all yours.” you whispered, eliciting a groan in him as his restraint snapped, large hands wrapping around your thighs and pulling you as if you weighed nothing- to the edge of the bed.

On his knees he looked up at you, as if you were God himself.

As if he was at mass, about to pray to the angels to save his soul. The need rolled off him in waves.

And still, he waited.

“Can I?” he groaned, seeming to beg. You quickly nodded, your need as desperate as his. He wasted no time, fingers hooking to tug your panties to the side before he spread your legs wide, draping them over his large shoulders and licked you clean up the center.

You moaned pornagraphically at the sensation, back arching as you wiggled. His hand came up to press in your stomach, holding you down.

“No squirming baby. I thought you said I could get my gift now, hmm?” he toyed, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You whined, hand slipping into his hair to tug as he lapped at your cunt, clenching around air. You gasped and groaned at the sensations that made your core throb, moaning so loud you knew the entire motel could hear you as he sucked on your clit hard.

“Such a pretty baby…” he cooed at you, puppy dog eyes meeting your foggy gaze, mouth open in a broken cry as you shivered, clenching around him as he slid a large digit through your folds, slowly curling as his finger entered you.

He was so large and big, his fingers reaching places you couldn't even imagine reaching yourself.

“I know, I know baby its so much isn't it? Filling you up all nice?”

“B- butterflies in m’tummy Sammy oh- oh god-” you groaned, brain shutting off as you let the feelings take over, grinding down subconsciously as he pumped his finger inside you, tongue darting out to suck hard at your clit again- just the way you liked.

“Y’gonna cum baby? Cum just for me?”

You bit your lip, looking down at him to nod frantically. It was so much you couldn't even speak. He smiled up at you, with awe and determination in his eyes, your little sounds and gasps edging him on further.

“C’mon baby. Such a pretty girl.” he cooed, planting a kiss to your inner thighs, teeth leaving tender marks as he bit down. The rope had completely uncoiled and snapped, back arching off the mattress as you came with a sharp cry of his name, juices gushing on his lips as he worked you through your orgasm.

“That's it, such a good girl. Did so perfect for me baby, that must have felt so much better hmm?” he teased as you struggled to catch your breath.

“Sammy…” you drawled, feeling giddy and warm. His lips glistened, and he licked his lips as if he was a ravaged dog who finished a meal.

Starving.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, unraveling your fingers from his long locks that felt like silk between your skin.

His eyes met yours as he placed another kiss to your skin, then another.

“You ready if I get the rest of my gift now baby? I’m feeling greedy this Christmas.”

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