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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 1 year ago

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bully⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

tuesday, zhang hao— string ensemble

⋆˙⟡ zbully1 smut series masterlist! hanbin, jiwoong, hao, matthew, and taerae included. game day (group) chapter here. all 7 endings here. ⋆˙⟡ wc: 2.8k ⋆˙⟡ reader: femme afab (listed first, she/her are used a couple times) // gender neutral (alternate version listed second, no pronouns used at all to describe reader— scroll down) ⋆˙⟡ series summary: five bullies. six days. it's gonna be a hell of a week, babe. stay hydrated. ⋆˙⟡ tuesday summary: happy tuesday, you know what that means: two straight hours of wind ensemble. and it's made even more enjoyable by first chair, zhang hao, chewing you out for every mistake you make. he's been quiet today though. it's making your skin crawl. can you manage to get out unscathed?

⋆˙⟡ warnings: explicit smut. 18+. minors do not interact. please read specific smut warnings under the cut! swearing. angst. dub-con. bullying. stuck up, tattletale hao. this is a doozy. you'll be glad we took it easy monday. smut in gn and fem versions are substantially different due to logistics/circumstance. also i clearly know nothing about playing the violin so just 🤓☝️ pipe down over there, k? ily. actually would love to hear real violinists thoughts on this so hmu. ⋆˙⟡ bully scale: ★★★☆☆ (3.5)

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: foreign object and finger insertion (reader receiving), oral (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), dub-con: hao doesn't have consent before sexually touching reader but reader is turned on by it, cum play, bullying.

DO NOT PUT ROSIN UP YOUR HOO HA YA DINGUS!! purely for entertainment purposes, this fic exists in a world where there aren't consequences for that okay? DON'T. I REPEAT DON'T. DO THIS IRL. okay thank you, love you.

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you take a deep breath, bouncing nervously on the balls of your feet at the south campus entrance. you’d barely gotten any sleep last night after your encounter with jiwoong, too busy tossing and turning as you pictured the dirty looks you’d be getting all over campus the next day. but as you walk across the main courtyard to the music building this afternoon, you’re surprised and elated to hear no frantic whispers in response to your presence.

had jiwoong really kept what happened yesterday a secret? you find it hard to believe he’d want to protect your reputation and mental well-being. still, the proof was in the pudding and, so far, the pudding seemed entirely unaware of who you are. just how you like it.

on tuesday afternoons, you had string ensemble in place of advanced drama. although it was a relief to have jiwoong out of sight and out of mind, there was another force at play to deal with.

as you enter the orchestra room, you spot that force immediately— already seated and delicately coating the hairs of his bow with the lifetime supply of premium rosin he’d won for first place violinist at the chinese international music competition three years ago. you know this fact because he never lets you forget it.

with your violin case in your hand, you make your way to your seat: second chair, of course. first chair is eternally occupied by your conductor’s most favorite student.

you sit down in your black music chair, smoothing your skirt so that it doesn’t ride up while you play. opening your violin case, you carefully pull out your instrument and begin quietly tuning it as the rest of the string ensemble files in. you place your bow to the strings, playing a note to assess the sound. the note comes out airy and weak and it makes you inherently wince.

“fucking fix that right now,” a familiar voice to your left suddenly demands. “i won’t ask again.”

your left eyebrow peaks in confusion as you mumble, “you didn’t ask a first time.”

he doesn’t even look at you. and though you already intended to fix the problem without his prompting, you place your violin back in its case and start to fish around in the velvet compartments for some rosin. when you come up empty, you start to panic.

“good afternoon, everyone,” professor ahn greets, tapping her conductor’s baton on the frame of her metal music stand. “we have a lot to get to today, so let’s just jump right in.”

shit. you really need rosin.

but there’s no way you can raise your hand and disrupt professor ahn’s flow. she already thinks you’re a second-rate violinist that “hides her lack of talent behind incessant practice”. this was a direct quote you’d received on your evaluation sheet last semester. besides, all professor ahn would probably say was that you should’ve made sure your bow was up to par before you even got to campus.

you couldn’t argue with that. it was the truth. but your little incident with jiwoong had preoccupied you and suddenly every perfectionist task you routinely performed seemed... obsolete. how could you let him get to you like this?

and why did it still feel so good?

professor ahn taps her baton again, signaling for everyone to turn to the first page of your spring concert repertoire. you swallow nervously, opening your sheet music booklet to tippett’s fantasia concertante on a theme of corelli. it’s an extremely difficult piece that an outstanding violinist struggles to play on a good day. and you would be playing it with your bow in a noticeably poor condition.

you stumble through the piece as quietly as possible, cringing when the sound your instrument produces is less than satisfactory. though your ensemble is still learning the song, others’ mistakes aren’t enough to hide the strange performance coming from the second-chair violinist.

“zhang hao-sshi,” professor ahn suddenly calls. the boy to your left looks up at her in attention, causing your heart to sink to your stomach. “who is responsible for that unsatisfactory sound?”

you were foolish to think you could escape what inevitably always happened during string ensemble: the second of your five jerk-off bullies ratting you out in front of the whole orchestra.

there was a reason professor ahn held such distaste for you and your craft and that reason was zhang hao. each and every rehearsal, your professor would ask the first chair to list any mistakes he’d heard from your section and he apparently only ever noticed yours. you’d sit there, cheeks heating up with embarrassment as hao described every error you made in great detail that day— professor ahn taking note and deducting points from your rehearsal grade as she saw fit.

hao had seemingly made it his mission to single handedly make you quit violin in a sea of unbearable shame.

so you’re shocked when all hao replies is, “i apologize, professor ahn. i was too engrossed in playing to notice where the error was coming from.”

what the fuck? why would he lie? it couldn’t be to help you. hao would throw you to the wolves without a second thought if it meant remaining superior to you.

but his gaze returns to his sheet music, pencil floating across the paper as he quietly adds annotations. you’re honestly freaked out. had he hit his head? had the difficulty of the piece actually thrown him that much?

rehearsal ends shortly thereafter and you stay in your chair, silently tending to your violin next to hao. you’re both usually the last to leave, but hao always makes it a point to stay just a few seconds longer than you. just to prove something.

after your instrument is safely back in its case, you stand up and make your way over to the instrument storage closet. you find your cubby, pulling out your key and unlocking your unit so you can leave your violin there for the remainder of your classes this afternoon.

as you place your violin case gently inside and lock your cubby, the unexpected sound of footsteps behind you makes you freeze in place. slowly, you turn around to find hao standing in the doorway of the storage closet.

weird. hao would never undermine his unparalleled musicianship by keeping his violin in a public storage unit. he sets his case down next to him, crossing his arms and leaning on the left side of the door frame.

“i’m waiting,” is all he says, brow raised expectantly.

you look to your left and right, trying to discern what it is hao could be waiting for. you can’t find anything of note. “um... for what?”

“what do you mean, for what?” hao spits, eyes narrowing angrily. “i didn’t tell professor ahn about any of the mistakes you made today. and i don’t know if you noticed, but you made a fuck ton.”

and the shoe drops, you think.

“did you not even notice my act of kindness?” he asks indignantly. “don’t you think i at least deserve a thank you?”

“oh,” you reply, tilting your head in surprise. you swallow the urge to tell him that kindness in demand of a thank you is not exactly kindness and instead, just nod. “yeah. thank you. i guess.”

it must be some weird power play over you. it’s probably best to make a swift exit and not give him the attention he wants, so you turn on your heel and start to walk toward the door to leave. but as you approach the exit, hao reaches across the door frame— your chest colliding directly with his forearm as he blocks you in.

“c-... can i get through? i have to be in calc iii in fifteen minutes,” you ask with a frown.

hao’s arm stays glued to the other side of the door as he continues to stare at you. “i want a better thank you.”

“you—... why?” you question, brow furrowing in confusion. “i already said thank you. and i didn’t even ask you to lie for me in the first place.”

hao blinks at you. “so you’re not grateful?”

“honestly, you’re kind of making me uncomfortable,” you reply, ducking under his arm and walking back out into the orchestra room. “so if my lack of gratitude means you’re going to go back to humiliating me in front of the entire string ensemble every day... i guess i’ll just have to continue living with it.”

you make it halfway out of the rehearsal room when you hear a faint: “wait.”

you turn around to find a slightly panicked hao still standing in the doorframe of the storage closet.

“you need rosin, right? you ran out?” he asks, as if he couldn’t tell exactly what your problem had been from hearing you play today. “i’ll give you some of mine.”

clearly you’ve just hallucinated. you’re so stressed from yesterday’s events that you’ve started hearing things. or maybe you’re still asleep in your bed at home. or maybe you’re dead. because there’s no way hao would ever give you his beloved rosin.

“let me just get it out of my case,” he says, bending down to the ground and opening up his very expensive violin case. you walk over to him slowly, partly because you don’t believe him and partly because you’re starting to worry something is terribly wrong with him.

“hao, are... are you feeling okay?” you ask, stepping back into the storage closet and watching as he pulls out a fresh cake of premium rosin. it’s a box-shape with rounded edges and no plastic holder, the golden-brown hardened sap shining beautifully even in the dim light of the storage closet.

he stands back up, holding the rosin between his fingers delicately. “never better.”

“you’re—... you’re gonna give me your cimc prize rosin?” you ask, incredibly confused. “why would you do that?”

“because you need it. don’t you?” he answers with a shrug.

“but... but—.” you protest, head spinning a million miles a minute trying to make sense of hao’s bizarre and uncharacteristic display of benevolence. “what’s the catch?”

with no discernible inflection, hao repeats, “the catch.”

“i don’t see why you’d give this to me without a price,” you elaborate skeptically. “you don’t like me. you’re actively mean to me actually. it doesn’t make sense that you’d give me something you value without asking for anything in return. i mean, you couldn’t even randomly choose to cover for me during rehearsal without demanding a thank you after.”

hao considers this for a moment and then nods. “well, what if i ask for the same thing then? in exchange for this rosin, i want a thank you.”

“i can’t even begin to figure out what’s gotten into you today,” you respond with a reluctant sigh, “but fine. i guess i can agree to your terms.”

“we have a deal,” hao affirms with a stupid, perfect smirk. he closes the gap between you, holding out the rosin in his palm. when you try to take it from him, he retracts his hand. “i’ll take the thank you first actually.”

“sure,” you agree, rolling your eyes. “thank you.”

he tilts his head to the side, prompting, “what was that?”

“thank you, hao. i really appreciate you giving me your rosin,” you feed flatly, hoping you’ve finally appeased him.

“an improvement,” he says before shaking his head again. “but i’m still not loving the tone coming out of you... i think you could use some rosin.”

“what do you—” you start to ask, but it’s already too late. without any time to spare, the door is shut behind you and a sudden draft hits your heat as your panties are shoved to the side beneath your skirt. the air leaves your lungs as long, thin fingers dip through your folds and squeeze something cold and smooth inside of you.

“there you go,” hao smiles, incredibly satisfied with the stunt he’s just pulled. “i think that might help your tone.”

“y-you... did you...” you stammer as you gawk at the boy in front of you. your cheeks are beet red at the violation of your sex. you’re in such shock that all you can whisper is, “you can’t put that in... there.”

“an instrument should be well cared for,” he challenges, sinking to his knees and running his hands up and down your bare thighs. “gonna make you sound so pretty.”

there’s a flutter in your core that you desperately want to silence. you could not be turned on by this. one of the men you hate most in this world just shoved a foreign object up you without asking. so why is the hungry look in his eyes as he backs you against the wall of storage units exciting you?

hao hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. you step out of them without a word. he lifts your right leg over his shoulder, bringing your cunt closer to his face as he holds your hips steady.

he licks a stripe starting just above your opening to your clit as if he wants to taste every inch of you. the sensation makes you gasp and then immediately cover your mouth in shame. were you really enjoying this?

“hm, still an airy sound,” hao observes, eyes locked on your center as his fingers grip into your hips. “definitely needs more rosin.”

he dives back in, lapping at your cunt— tongue flicking your bundle of nerves as your arousal builds. you must’ve fallen into an alternate dimension. fainted. been in a terrible bus accident on your way to campus. but why you’d dream of hao’s head between your thighs in a storage closet is beyond your comprehension.

the more he works you with his mouth, the more hums and sighs escape your lips but all of your worries aren’t eased just yet.

“it’s... it’s gonna melt,” you say softly, starting to feel a bit dizzy. “the r-ros—.”

“rosin starts to crumble from heat at 50 degrees celsius,” hao interjects in between sloppy traces of his tongue. “the average internal temperature of a vagina is 37.5 degrees.”

“but—”

“don’t act like you don’t know how numbers work. aren’t you in calc iii?” hao ridicules, biting gently at your clit. you throw your head back at the sensation as he increases the pressure of his tongue against you. “are you just a fraud in every subject you take?”

“hao,” you beg, his slander just adding to the pleasure you’re feeling as your right hand tangles up in his hair— tugging from the root. “feels so good. so, so good.”

“fuck, that’s beautiful baby,” hao pants, right hand detaching from your hip. he parts your entrance with his fingers, the cake of rosin slipping out into his palm with a crude, wet smack. you both stare at the golden brown block, still perfectly intact but now dripping in your arousal. he drags it down the inside of your thighs, mesmerized by the trail of glistening honey it leaves on your skin. “mm, coated perfectly now.”

he drops the rosin on the floor next to you, replacing the empty space in your pussy with his ring and middle fingers. you gasp at the stretch, clenching involuntarily around him.

“i think you’re ready to play,” hao decides, curling his fingers up inside of you against your front wall and pressing on your clit with his thumb. he watches you intently, mouth open slightly as he drinks in the sight of you writhing in pleasure. “c’mon, baby. let me hear you.”

you do as he says, moaning as the pads of his fingers press into your sweet spot again. with every rhythmic stroke, your sounds grow less inhibited and hao grows more entranced. he’s making the face he usually makes while playing his violin— focused, impassioned, and devastatingly sexy.

was hao enjoying playing you as much as he enjoyed playing his other instrument?

“gon—... gonna make me cum,” you whine after another minute, the look in hao’s eyes turning feral. he immediately returns his mouth to your cunt, sucking at your sensitive bud with a renewed vigor.

as hao brings you closer to the brink of orgasm, your moans only grow louder and sweeter like a crescendo. the harmonic sounds coming out of you are intensified by an increase in the pace of his finger-fucking. it’s all too much for you to handle, your walls spasming around him uncontrollably.

“oh my god, hao—,” you cry, your climax crashing over you like the perfect wave. “c-cumming... i—...”

you can barely hold yourself up, clinging to the shelves on either side of you as hao works you through your high. your breathing returning to normal, he looks up at you as he pulls his fingers out of your pussy— lips pink and glistening with your juices.

he removes your right leg from around his shoulder, eyes locked with yours as he stands up and brushes the dust off his knees.

“th-thank... you,” is what comes out of you as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “thank you.”

“yeah, sure,” hao replies dismissively. after making such a big deal about a thank you, it figures he’d pretend he never cared in the first place. “clean off that rosin and use it next week or i’ll tell professor ahn you stole it from me.”

“oh. okay,” you quietly agree, unable to control the awkward energy that’s now tying your tongue. “um. thanks... again.”

he just shrugs, walking over to the door and picking up his violin case. unlocking the door and pushing it open, he takes a few steps out the door before suddenly stopping in his tracks. he turns over his shoulder to look at you. “i almost forgot to ask...”

you gulp at the sight of the upturned corner of his lip in a smug grin.

“... was it better than jiwoong hyung?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

gender neutral version below

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: hand/oral (reader receiving), throat fucking with fingers (reader receiving), dubcon: hao does not have consent before inserting fingers into reader's mouth, reader is turned on by this, cum play, bullying.

IF YOU WANT TO COVER YOUR ROSIN IN CUM, YOU CAN I'M NOT THE BOSS OF YOU but from everything i've read in research for this fic, it will ruin it so maybe don't. up to you tho, babe. love you.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

on tuesday afternoons, you had string ensemble in place of advanced drama. although it was a relief to have jiwoong out of sight and out of mind, there was another force at play to deal with.

with your violin case in your hand, you make your way to your seat: second chair, of course. first chair is eternally occupied by your conductor’s most favorite student.

you sit down in your black chair, propping your sheet music booklet up onto your music stand. opening your violin case, you carefully pull out your instrument and begin quietly tuning it as the rest of the string ensemble files in. you place your bow to the strings, playing a note to assess the sound. the note comes out airy and weak and it makes you inherently wince.

“fucking fix that right now,” a familiar voice to your left suddenly demands. “i won’t ask again.”

your left eyebrow peaks in confusion as you mumble, “you didn’t ask a first time.”

“good afternoon, everyone,” professor ahn greets, tapping her conductor’s baton on the frame of her metal music stand. “we have a lot to get to today, so let’s just jump right in.”

shit. you really need rosin.

but there’s no way you can raise your hand and disrupt professor ahn’s flow. she already thinks you’re a second-rate violinist that “hides your lack of talent behind incessant practice”. this was a direct quote you’d received on your evaluation sheet last semester. besides, all professor ahn would probably say was that you should’ve made sure your bow was up to par before you even got to campus.

and why did it still feel so good?

you were foolish to think you could escape what inevitably always happens during string ensemble: the second of your five jerk-off bullies ratting you out in front of the whole orchestra.

hao had seemingly made it his mission to single handedly make you quit violin in a sea of unbearable shame.

so you’re shocked when all hao replies is, “i apologize, professor ahn. i was too engrossed in playing to notice where the error was coming from.”

what the fuck? why would he lie? it couldn’t be to help you. hao would throw you to the wolves without a second thought if it meant remaining superior to you.

“i’m waiting,” is all he says, brow raised expectantly.

you look to your left and right, trying to discern what it is hao could be waiting for. you can’t find anything of note. “um... for what?”

and the shoe drops, you think.

“did you not even notice my act of kindness?” he asks indignantly. “don’t you think i at least deserve a thank you?”

it must be some weird, new power play over you. it’s probably best to make a swift exit and not give him the attention he wants, so you turn on your heel and start to walk toward the door to leave. but as you approach the exit, hao reaches across the door frame— your chest colliding directly with his forearm as he blocks you in.

“c-... can i get through? i have to be in calc iii in fifteen minutes,” you ask with a frown.

hao’s arm stays glued to the other side of the door as he continues to stare at you. “i want a better thank you.”

“you—... why?” you question, brow furrowing in confusion. “i already said thank you. and i didn’t even ask you to lie for me in the first place.”

hao blinks at you. “so you’re not grateful?”

you make it halfway out of the rehearsal room when you hear a faint: “wait.”

you turn around to find a slightly panicked hao still standing in the doorframe of the storage closet.

“you need rosin, right? you ran out?” he asks, as if he couldn’t tell exactly what your problem had been from hearing you play today. “i’ll give you some of mine.”

he stands back up, holding the rosin between his fingers delicately. “never better.”

“you’re—... you’re gonna give me your cimc prize rosin?” you ask, incredibly confused. “why would you do that?”

“because you need it. don’t you?” he answers with a shrug.

“but... but—.” you protest, head spinning a million miles a minute trying to make sense of hao’s bizarre and uncharacteristic display of benevolence. “what’s the catch?”

with no discernible inflection, hao repeats, “the catch.”

hao considers this for a moment and then nods. “well, what if i ask for the same thing then? in exchange for this rosin, i want a thank you.”

“i can’t even begin to figure out what’s gotten into you today,” you respond with a reluctant sigh, “but fine. i guess i can agree to your terms.”

“sure,” you agree with a sigh, rolling your eyes. “thank you.”

he tilts his head to the side, prompting, “what was that?”

“thank you, hao. i really appreciate you giving me your rosin,” you feed flatly, hoping you’ve finally appeased him.

“an improvement,” he says before shaking his head again. “but i’m still not loving the tone coming out of you... maybe your bow needs some rosin.”

“you already know it does! what are you even talking—,” you start to ask, but it’s already too late. without any time to spare, the door is shut behind you and two long, thin fingers are pushed inside of your mouth.

“there you go,” hao smiles, incredibly satisfied with the stunt he’s just pulled. “a thorough coat to get that perfect sound.”

he cups your jaw with his free hand as he shoves his fingers further into your mouth. you gag slightly as he approaches the back of your throat, your cheeks turning beet red at the violation of your body.

“an instrument should be well cared for,” hao says as he removes his fingers from your lips, unbuttoning your jeans as he guides you to sit down in a black music chair. “gonna make you sound so pretty.”

there’s a flutter in your core that you desperately want to silence. you could not be turned on by this. one of the men you hate most in this world just shoved his fingers down your throat without asking. so why is the hungry look in his eyes as he sinks down between your legs exciting you?

hao hooks his fingers around the waistband of your jeans, tugging at them until you finally lift your hips up wordlessly. he discards your underwear next, chuckling sardonically at your continued state of silence.

his lubricated fingers ghost over you, leaving a trail of your own saliva up and down your sex. the sensation makes you gasp and then immediately cover your mouth in shame. were you really enjoying this?

“hm, still an airy sound,” hao observes, eyes locked on your center as his free hand grips your thigh— fingers digging into the soft flesh. “definitely needs more rosin.”

hao pulls your hips closer to him, taking you into his mouth— swirling and sucking at your heat with his tongue. you must’ve fallen into another dimension. fainted. been in a terrible bus accident on your way to campus. but why you’d dream of hao’s head between your thighs in a storage closet is beyond your comprehension.

the more he works you with his mouth, the more hums and sighs escape your lips.

“hao,” you beg, pleasure building as your right hand tangles up in his hair— tugging from the root. “feels so good. so, so good.”

“fuck, that’s beautiful baby,” hao pants, right hand detaching from your hip. “maybe you can even learn something from how i’m playing you. everyone would appreciate that, huh?”

the patronizing insult makes you throb, another whimper falling out of you. he watches you intently, mouth open slightly as he drinks in the sight of you writhing in pleasure. “c’mon, baby. let me hear you.”

with every rhythmic stroke, your sounds grow less inhibited and hao grows more entranced. he’s making the face he usually makes while playing his violin— focused, impassioned, and devastatingly sexy.

was hao enjoying playing you as much as he enjoyed playing his other instrument?

“gon—... gonna make me cum,” you whine after another minute, the look in hao’s eyes turning feral. he immediately returns his mouth to you, sucking at your most sensitive part with a renewed vigor.

as hao brings you closer to the brink of orgasm, your moans only grow louder and sweeter like a crescendo. the harmonic sounds coming out of you are intensified by an increase in the pace of hand. it’s all too much for you to handle, your core beginning to spasm.

“oh my god, hao—,” you cry, your climax crashing over you like the perfect wave. “c-cumming... i—...”

hao pulls out the cake of rosin from his back pocket as he works you through your high, bringing it between your legs and covering it in your release. your breathing slowly returning to normal,he runs the sticky rosin down each of your inner thighs.

“it’s... it’s gonna melt,” you say softly, both hypnotized and concerned. “the r-ros—.”

“rosin starts to crumble from heat at 50 degrees celsius,” hao interjects as he coats the rosin in more of your fluids. “your body temperature is 37 degrees.”

“but—.”

“don’t act like you don’t know how numbers work. aren’t you in calc iii?” hao baits, licking up the last remnants of your orgasm for himself. “are you just a fraud in every subject you take?”

his eyes lock with yours as he stands up and brushes the dust off his knees.

“th-thank... you,” is what comes out of you as you stare up at him, dumbfounded. “thank you.”

“oh. okay,” you quietly agree, unable to control the awkward energy that’s now tying your tongue. “um. thanks... again.”

you gulp at the sight of the upturned corner of his lip in a smug grin.

“... was it better than jiwoong hyung?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

411 notes · View notes

simply-ivanka · 4 months ago

Text

What Did the Biden Family’s Foreign Clients Get for their Money?

Hunter Biden pleads guilty to federal tax charges.

Wall Street Journal

By James Freeman

Hunter Biden has been convicted of federal crimes for not paying all the taxes he owed on his foreign income. But the most important question for Americans remains unanswered: What exactly did his overseas clients get in return for their money? His Thursday guilty plea on tax charges prevented testimony that may have gone some way toward providing an answer. This potential testimony may also explain why Hunter Biden waited until now to acknowledge his guilt.

The Journal’s Sara Randazzo, Ryan Barber and Annie Linskey report from Los Angeles:

Federal prosecutors signaled an aggressive strategy as the trial drew near, previewing an approach that would show how foreign interests paid the younger Biden to influence the U.S. government while his father was vice president during the Obama administration. Prosecutors said they planned to cast a light on a lucrative arrangement with a Romanian real-estate magnate who was facing a corruption investigation in his home country, along with his ties to the oil company CEFC China Energy and his tenure on the board of Burisma, a Ukrainian gas company.

In court Thursday, [prosecutor Leo Wise] insisted on reading the entirety of the 56-page indictment into the record—over the objection of Biden’s lawyer—to establish the facts underlying the guilty plea.

Alanna Durkin Richer reported last month for the Associated Press:

Hunter Biden’s lawyers say prosecutors are inappropriately trying to insert “politically-charged” allegations about his foreign business dealings into the upcoming federal tax trial against the president’s son.

Special counsel David Weiss’ team told the judge last week that they plan to call to the witness stand a business associate of Hunter Biden’s to testify about an arrangement with a Romanian businessman who was trying to “influence U.S. government policy” during Joe Biden’s term as vice president…

The Romanian businessman, Gabriel Popoviciu, wanted U.S. government agencies to probe a bribery investigation he was facing in his home country in the hopes that would end his legal trouble, according to prosecutors.

Prosecutors say Hunter Biden agreed with his business associate to help Popoviciu fight the criminal charges against him. But prosecutors say they were concerned that “lobbying work might cause political ramifications” for Joe Biden, so the arrangement was structured in a way that “concealed the true nature of the work” for Popoviciu, prosecutors alleged…

In fact, Popoviciu and Hunter’s business associate agreed that they would be paid for their work to “attempt to influence U.S. government agencies to investigate the Romanian investigation,” prosecutors said. Hunter Biden’s business associate was paid more than $3 million, which was split with Hunter and another business partner, prosecutors say.

Ms. Richer also noted that Hunter Biden’s defense lawyers “slammed prosecutors for showcasing ‘these matters on the eve of Mr. Biden’s trial—when there is no mention of political influence in the 56-page Indictment.’ ” The A.P. story continued:

“The Special Counsel’s unnecessary change of tactic merely echoes the baseless and false allegations of foreign wrongdoing which have been touted by House Republicans to use Mr. Biden’s proper business activities in Romania and elsewhere to attack him and his father,” the defense wrote.

But the defense has now opted not to defend.

Of course Romania is not the only foreign jurisdiction that proved fruitful for the Biden family business. The majority staff of several House committees recently reported:

From 2014 to the present… Biden family members and their associates received over $27 million from foreign individuals or entities…

Witnesses acknowledged that Hunter Biden involved Vice President Biden in many of his business dealings with Russian, Romanian, Chinese, Kazakhstani, and Ukrainian individuals and companies.Then-Vice President Biden met or spoke with nearly every one of the Biden family’s foreign business associates, including those from Ukraine, China, Russia, and Kazakhstan.

And of course let’s not forget Hunter Biden’s own deposition on Capitol Hill. This column noted in March that mere minutes after making yet another broad claim of not involving his father in the business, Hunter Biden confirmed the story of travelling with then-Vice President Joe Biden on Air Force Two to China and introducing his father to Jonathan Li in the lobby of the Bidens’ hotel. The following excerpt from the deposition suggests that the timing could not have been better:

[Committee member or staff]: At the time that you did introduce your father to Jonathan Li, did you or any of your business associates have any potential business with Jonathan Li?

[Hunter Biden]: I was working with Jonathan on a potential that he had an idea for creating a private equity fund based in China to do cross-border investments.

Nice. But good luck explaining what value Hunter Biden might be able to add to such an enterprise. Years later, his Chinese associates still hadn’t come up with a story. In 2019 Cissy Zhou and Jun Mai reported in the South China Morning Post:

BHR (Shanghai) Equity Investment Fund Management Company has grabbed global media attention for its links with Hunter Biden, the son of former United States vice-president Joe Biden, after US President Donald Trump fired a barrage of corruption allegations at him and requested China investigate the Bidens’ financial activities in the country.

The company has repeatedly declined to elaborate on the younger Biden’s role at the firm when contacted by the South China Morning Post via phone, mail and visits to the office. But Jonathan Li Xiangsheng, the firm’s chief executive and Hunter Biden’s partner, has said the company was working on an explanation about the American’s role.

Li refused to comment on the younger Biden when reached by the Post on Monday.

A recent visit to the firm’s registered address in Beijing found a small, plainly decorated office, where a receptionist said she had never seen Hunter Biden.

Is there anything Joe Biden said about the family business in 2020 that has turned out to be true?

Meanwhile as Vice President Kamala Harris seeks a promotion, perhaps she ought to disclose if she ever questioned anyone or learned anything about the Biden family business and its implications for American foreign policy. One would guess she was at least curious. Did she ever talk to anyone about the ethical standards for Hunter Biden’s art sales, which turned out to be a sham while she was serving alongside Joe Biden?

Vice President Harris is not just a lawyer but a former prosecutor and a former state attorney general, for goodness sake. Wasn’t she the least bit concerned?

***

Spokespeople for both the president and the vice president say that they won’t be pardoning Hunter Biden. But then why is Hunter Biden’s lawyer still making what seems like a political argument rather than a legal one?

Jack Morphet and Priscilla DeGregory report for the New York Post on comments from defense lawyer Abbe Lowell:

“Hunter decided to enter his plea to protect those he loves from unnecessary hurt and cruel humiliation,” Lowell said.

“This plea prevents that kind of show trial that would not have provided all the facts or served any real point in justice. He will now move on to the sentencing phase, while keeping open the options to raise the many clear issues with this case on appeal.”

He’s going to appeal a case in which he just pleaded guilty to all the charges? Sounds like an argument built for the White House briefing room, not a courtroom.

***

James Freeman is the co-author of “The Cost: Trump, China and American Revival” and also the co-author of “Borrowed Time: Two Centuries of Booms, Busts and Bailouts at Citi.”

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platypusundercover · 4 months ago

Note

May i request something for Argenti and boothill. For each of their scenarios, theyre being reckless on behalf of others as usual and get seriously injured. Their eyes closing, believing fully that theyre going to die. Only to open their eyes again to reader gently caring for their wounds and teafully scolding them.

@dragon-anon

Thank you for the request !! Went a bit crazy with Boothill here, it's like twice the size of Argenti's... First time writing reader-insert, I don't know if it fits well with my usual style but I tried my best. I hope this meets what you were looking for ! Please let me know what you think :D

Argenti

The chase for Idrilla brought him every corner of the Galaxy, from the most beautiful of villages to the war-ravaged plains. Beauty was in life, in the seed turning into a flower and in the first cry of a newborn. For as much beauty as there was in life, and equal amount could be found in death. In the leaves falling in autumn to the sweet smile of a loved one ready to depart.

Was he ready to depart? He didn’t think so. Yet it was not his choice anymore. He reassured himself with the fact that he wouldn’t fall to the Omen of Evil. He pressed a few buttons to enter your location before sitting in the command chair of the One and Only. He could feel the warmth of his blood coating his shirt and vest, sticky under his fingers. Yet he could only think of one thing… How he wished to see your face one last time, to witness beauty once again before dying.

When he reopened his eyes, he met a vaguely familiar ceiling. His head felt like it was filled with fog and nothing made sense around him. As his mind processed all the sensory inputs one by one, a gasp caught his attention. You were sitting beside the bed, his arm in your hands, eyes alert, although they were red and puffy as if you had been crying. He looked at you without saying a word. His emerald eyes roamed your face, your lips, you nose, your eyebrows, then stopping on your eyes.

He sighed with a gentle smile and closed his eyes again. If this was to be death, then he’d accept it. He had seen you one last time, what a blessing.

“Argenti?” You whispered, voice cracking.

He reopened his eyes and moved his head in your direction. You exhaled shakily.

“Thank the Aeons you’re alright.”

You leaned and put your elbows on your knees, his hands still in both or yours. You had just finished treating the minor cuts. You leaned your forehead against the back of his hand.

“I thought you were dead…” Your throat was tight, chest heavy with tears threatening to fall again. Freely now.

Argenti blinked.

“Am I not?”

“Of course you’re not!” You looked up, alarmed. “I found you bleeding all over your ship and I’ve been taking care of you for the past 2 hours!” The tears finally fell down your cheeks. “When I received the ping from your ship as it got close to the station, I was so happy I went out to wait for you at the docks.” You swallowed a new wave of tears. “But you didn’t come out. So, I called for you and you didn’t answer. I forced my way inside and- You- you were-” You sob. “There was blood everywhere. Never do that again. Please.”

The knight took a deep breath, your tears somehow guiding him out of the fog of his senses. The hurt in your voice pierced his heart. He can’t begin to imagine how he’d feel if he had found you in a similar position. He turned his hand to grasp yours.

“I’m so sorry.”

Boothill

Well, fuck. He was sitting in an alley after a chase with some IPC goons, and usually it was to catch his ‘breath’ and celebrate. Now though… his vision was clouded with warning messages. Oil leak, low battery, low coolant level, stuck fans, foreign object in ammo tank. He recognized only a third of them but it was pretty clear, he was not in the best shape. His eyes unfocused and refocused on loop, trying to make sense of his surrounding. He looked down, one of his legs was clearly busted, by some kind of shrapnel round. Bastards.

Another error blasted his vision, this one larger and redder than all the others. The countdown made it obvious what this one meant. He was going to shut down, and in a back alley like this, hiding behind the trash cans, the math was simple. He was going to be tossed by the garbage bots like any other piece of trash and that’ll be the end of his tale. Fucking hell. He didn’t even get close to his goal… What does that make him? What about his promise? What about his family? No one will be there to remember them now… Well, not no one. There was still you. He smiled, content with the thought of you carrying some of the tales of his home and his daughter. Aeons, he missed her so much…

His systems partially came online. He could hear first. The noise of screws and metal and fluid pumping. Then he could smell. The hot soldering iron and motor oil. The he could see. You, running around, grease on your gloves and cheeks, goggles firmly posted on your nose, completely ignoring him. So, he hadn’t been trashed. Not yet. He was held upright hovering off the ground by the port on his back, supplying his body with all the energy it needed. He tried to talk but his voice box must have been removed or disconnected because no sound escaped his mouth but a quip of static. That’s what made you turn around from the soldering iron to face him.

You removed your goggles and the look on your face would have silenced him if he was talking. You were glaring at him, clearly mad, your eyebrows furrowed, eyes swelled. You stayed silent as you went to dig into his torso once again, putting in the fan you just finished fixing. He didn’t try to move and do anything, he knew why you were mad, and didn’t want to aggravate his case.

Once it was snug into place, you retracted and closed Boothill’s chest panels, screwing them back on. The silence was heavy. You ran back to your monitor and he kept staring at you, although it didn’t garner any reaction from you.

You typed a few things and Boothill could see the telltale lines of logs of a full diagnostic running in front of his eyes. He closed them. Then he saw a list of his systems in green, all online. That must include his voice box.

“Hey Doc.” He tried, voice still recalibrating after the shutdown. “Got a bit bruised up there, huh?” He joked.

You refused to look at him as you approached to reattach his missing legs; its hinges, reconnecting the compressed air tubes for the joint, then latching the cable for the captors. Your eyebrows were scrunched together still but not in anger anymore it seemed. You turned back to your monitor, staring at it for a few second as if the recompose yourself and before you could click to start the automated joint test, he talked again.

“Thought I was going to be tossed like garbage, honest. Glad I ended up here instead.”

You pursed your lips and approached again, checking the execution of the synthetic limb as it was responding to commands to bend, flex, and turn. All seemed to be working great. You reattached the metal panels there too to cover the joints and sealed it shut, like you did for the torso a few minutes before.

“Aah c’mon, you gon’ ignore me now?” You stopped in your tracks. “I know the gear’s expensive but I’ll pay you back I sw-“

“I don’t care if it’s expensive!” You blurted out, a mix of anger and sadness in your voice.

Boothill stayed silent and as you returned to the monitor one final time, you hit a key and the mechanical arm holding him afloat lowered, gently putting the cowboy down on the ground. You lowered your head and grasped the edge of the desk with your hands, tears finally spilling over your cheeks.

“I don’t care about how much your spare pieces cost; I don’t care if you scratch the brand new panel I installed 2 weeks ago.” You explained, voice strained, finally looking up at him. “What I care about is not having you almost die on me every month or so. Why are you so reckless?” Your anger wavered. “Why do you have to disregard your own life like that? I am trying my hardest every time to make you stronger, but you always manage to find more trouble.”

You breathed deeply and looked at him in the eyes. His face was painted in remorse.

“Aeons, and then what? What happens if I’m not here to scrape you off the pavement and piece you back together, huh? Then what? That’s it?” You sobbed.

He took long strides over to you and took you in his arms, in a hug. He had always been reckless, that’s true. He couldn’t just stand by when witnessing the shit some officers would let fly. He had to do something, damnit! But he didn’t expect this to affect you so much… His heart dipped.

“I promise, I’ll be better.”

#peep writes #requests #boothill #argenti #boothill x reader #argenti x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr boothill #hsr argenti #argenti hsr #boothill hsr #honkai boothill #honkai argenti

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cornyforjk · 1 month ago

Text

Drive you crazy | Day 8 | jjk

⤷ SUMMARY In which you are stuck living with an arrogant rookie racer who thinks of you as an obstacle, ready to ruin your glory, but things get heated when he has a pervy smile hidden under that pretentious attitude. Emotions that are complicated. You could never fall for your enemy! He's sabotaging you.

Pairing: racer!jk × racer!oc

Genre: angst and pure filth smut

Warnings: trash language

taglist: @tatamicc @jwnghyuns @nono13bnd @hagridshaircare @tatzzz-25 @suashifts @kyuupii @bananaminn @rispwr @spideyjimin

A/note: Helloooo, happy thanksgiving you guyssss. I'm so thankful to be able to write here and I hope I continue writing for a long time ahead❤️.

___________________♡____________________

Y/N

I sprawl across the bed, allowing rays of the sun to directly hit my eyes. Wrapping my arms around I squirm and roll over, sniffling the shirt I slept in.

His shirt.

"Get ready we are leaving?" Suddenly I hear a deep voice on the other side of my door, Jungkook knocks on it waiting for a reply.

"Where?"

"France? We have a race, idiot."

I facepalm, falling on the floor like a stack of boxes hitting the ground.

"You okay?" His voice is laced with concern, I notice the knob of the door shifting, the key inserted in it jingling.

"I'm fine!" I yell abruptly, "Don't come in."

"Alright." His footsteps turn faint and the breath I held in finally escapes in relief.

I touch my face, feeling it warm up, little by little strings attach to my heart and Jungkook's voice is enough to pull them.

Especially his morning voice.

I walk out of the room, hurrying when Namjoon texts me, it takes me some time to pack and by the time I'm outside, I see no one.

Where did everyone go?

I crane my neck looking for the bus that was supposed to take us to the airport but find the place empty.

"They left."

Jungkook says with disappointment, waving at an eerie object at the very end of the parking lot.

"You took freaking 30 minutes to get ready and yet didn't change your clothes?"

I look down at my outfit. Technically Jungkook's shirt.

Feeling a warm blush creeping up my neck I dip my head down, staring at the road with embarrassment.

"I was packing my bag," I mumble, receiving an eye roll from him.

I fake a smile, and a small minivan approaches us.

"Thank Namjoon for this. He said he and the rest of the guys wouldn't step into the bus without you."

My heart swells up, a smile slowly growing with excitement.

Everyone gathers around, climbing into the small vehicle, after three people it starts to fill up quickly. In the end, I'm left standing on the pavement searching for a seat.

Jungkook taps his thigh, gesturing to me to come over.

I look at him vaguely, confused.

"Quick, before we miss our flight as well." He grumps.

I slowly make my way over to his lap, accidentally straddling him, my hands fall on his chest and he sharply breathes. "Sorry..." I mumble.

Jungkook quickly pulls me in, his hand resting on my waist. Soon I started to slip when the breaks started to get frequent. Jungkook slips his hand under my thigh, tugging me closer.

"Hold tight." He whispers jaw clenched as it twitches.

My eyes drift over his hard chest, the long drive leaves me tired, and my head rests on his warm body. It wouldn't hurt to take a quick nap.

It feels silent the whole way, my body almost seems dead and I end up in the plane with surprise glinting in my eyes.

Slowly my eyes open to a foreign voice on the speaker.

"This is your captain speaking, we are now about to take off for France."

My eyes bulge out and I throw myself out of the seat sitting straight as I frantically look around.

A hand slithers between my fingers, interlocking together. I look to my side to find Jungkook facing me, his face squished against the seat as he eyes me with a toothy grin.

"Relax Princess." His hoarse voice leaves me jittery.

"How did I end up here?"

Taehyung who sits next to me answers with a mischievous grin planted on his face. "He carried you of course."

"Even through security?"

Taehyung nods.

I shift my eyes back to Jungkook who intently stares at me with droopy eyes and a stupid smile on his face.

My face lights on fire, turning bright red, I quickly hide it in my hands, receiving a small chuckle from Jungkook.

I nudge him with my elbow as he pouts.

"aren't you going to thank me for not ruining your sleep?" He cocks his eyebrow, sitting straighter. I laugh, feeling playful enough to piss him off.

"No. You are a big bag of dick."

He dramatically gasps, placing a palm on his shoulder. Pretending to find my words offending.

"Did you hear that Taehyung?" He smirks, "I'm a huge bag of dick."

"So the lady speaks with experience?"

Taehyung now enters into the conversation as both of them naughtily gape at me with cocky smiles.

Ganging up together. How dare they.

"SHUT UP!" I yell, crossing my arms and sinking into my seat, blushing furiously.

The number of times Jungkook made me blush today was enough to have blood flowing everywhere in my body.

Jimin quickly turns around, flashing his phone screen at us.

"Natalie sent us this message!" He jumps in his seat with excitement. "We are all getting our own rooms!"

I look at Jungkook but he is already staring at me with questioning big doe eyes. He quickly looks ahead of him, hiding the anguish that I notice.

Our whole flight he stays silent, not a word exchanged between us yet our hands linger together silently.

I want him to tell me to stay.

Tell me to not take up that new room.

Just tell me with words.

But he hides his disappointment with a small smile and flickering orbs that don't look at me anymore.

He wears his headphones, resting his head with his eyes close "Tell me to stay, dumbass," I whisper, hoping he never hears it.

___________________♡____________________

JUNGKOOK

As the plane touched down on the runway at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, a sense of excitement bubbled up inside me. This was it, the start of our much-anticipated trip to France. I was travelling with my seven teammates, and we couldn't wait to explore this beautiful country.

The moment we stepped out of the airport, the crisp French air filled our lungs, and the bustling atmosphere of the city greeted us with open arms. Our faces lit up with smiles as we hailed a fleet of taxis to take us to our destination - a famous French hotel we had heard so much about.

The hotel was everything we had imagined and more. Lavish chandeliers hung from the ceilings, and the lobby was adorned with exquisite French art. We checked in, and soon, we were each handed the keys to our rooms I entered my room, feeling a mixture of exhaustion from the long flight and exhilaration for the adventures that awaited us. The room was elegantly decorated, with a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower from the window. It was a dream come true.

After freshening up and getting settled, we decided to do some sightseeing. Paris had so much to offer, and we couldn't wait to immerse ourselves in its culture. As we gathered in the hotel lobby, I couldn't help but notice Y/n, a fellow teammate, looking as excited as I felt.

"Hey, Y/n," I said, approaching her. "Is there anything specific you'd like to see today?"

She looked at me with a playful glint in her eye. "Well, Jungkook, there's this place I've always wanted to visit - the Bridge of Love Locks."

A smile tugged at my lips. "Sounds romantic. Do you have someone in mind whom you'd do this activity with?"

Y/n chuckled her confidence shining Y/n chuckled, her confidence shining through. "Who needs someone else? I can lock my own love, thank you very much."

I couldn't help but laugh at her cocky response. "You're right, Y/n. Love for oneself is just as important."

We strolled through the charming streets of Paris, taking in the enchanting atmosphere. The city's beauty was captivating, and I was grateful to be experiencing it with my teammates, especially Y/n, whose lively spirit added an extra layer of excitement to our adventure.

As we finally reached the Bridge of Love Locks, I watched Y/n choose a padlock from a nearby vendor, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. She scribbled her name on it and, with a determined expression, fastened it to the bridge, among countless others that symbolized love, both shared and self-love.

The sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the city. Y/n and I stood there, side by side, admiringthe bridge adorned with thousands of locks, each telling a unique story.

"Today has been amazing," Y/n said, her voice softening as she looked out over the Seine River. "And I'm glad I got to share it with you, Jungkook."

I smiled at her, feeling a connection that went beyond friendship.

Beyond friendship....is it even possible?

When I look into her eyes I see sparkle of love, but it's not the same. Those eyes look at me as if we are acquainted. Sometimes when she brings her face close to mine it isn't because she wants to kiss me but because of her uncontrollable excitement, or when she clings to my arm it isn't because she's head over heels for me but because she seeks...a friend.

Why do you bring me my favourite cereal, or sit with me at night listening to my cries of vulnerability? Why do you end up sleeping in my shirt or sitting on my lap thinking I wouldn't notice it? Why do you do all this just as friends? I hate it.

It makes me think of you as something more than JUST FRIENDS.

After an eventful day of sightseeing and exploration in the heart of Paris, I returned to my hotel room. The luxurious suite was both inviting and intimidating, with its opulent furnishings and spaciousness. I couldn't help but feel a sense of solitude as I prepared for bed. Even though we were all in the same hotel, the fact that we each had our own rooms left me feeling strangely empty. Wasn't this what we all wanted? Our own space, privacy, and comfort?

As I lay in bed, unable to sleep and deep in thought, I couldn't help but think about Y/n. Her earlier cocky response about locking her own love had amused me, but now, in the quiet of the night, I found myself wishing there was a bed next to mine where she could be. Her presence had brought an extra layer of excitement and joy to our day, and the emptiness I felt now was proof of that.

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, a sudden knock on my door jolted me upright. My heart raced as I cautiously approached the door. Who could it be at this hour?

I opened the door slowly, and to my surprise, I found a tiny figure standing there, her face obscured by a pillow. It was Y/n. She looked up at me with a sheepish smile and removed the pillow from her face.

"Jungkook," she began, "I hope I didn't startle you. Can I come in? I can't sleep."

I blinked in surprise but quickly stepped aside to let her into my room. As she entered, her eyes darted around, taking in the neatness and elegance of the suite.

"Nice place you've got here," she remarked, her voice filled with admiration.

I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. "Thanks, Y/n. What's keeping you awake at this hour?"

She hesitated for a moment before answering, "Something's missing."

I furrowed my brow, concerned. "What do you mean?"

She turned to me, a playful glint in her eyes once again. "My cocky roommate," she said with a smile.

I couldn't help but laugh at her response. "Well, here I am, your cocky roommate," I said, feeling a warmth spread through me. It was as if her presence had filled the void I didn't even realize was there.

Y/n settled down on the edge of the bed, and we began to chat, sharing stories and laughter, as the night continued to deepen around us.

It didn't take long for me to realize that sometimes, the best adventures were the ones that unfolded unexpectedly, and in this moment, with Y/n by my side, I couldn't have been happier.

___________________♡____________________

Day7 | Day9

Dm me or send an ask if you wanna be added in the taglist.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkoooook #bts #bts ff #bts imagines #bts imagine #bts jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungguk

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romanarose · 8 months ago

Text

Cola

Chubby!Francisco Morales x fem!reader

Summary: Frankie loves how you taste so sweet…. “My pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola”

Content and warnings: Pussy eating like a mad man, ass eating, madly in love, desperately horny, feral Frankie, object insertion, fucked with a foreign object, don’t do this at home, premature ejaculation 💕

Immersivity: reader is AFAB and wears dresses, uses she/her

A/n: inspired by all them pics of Pedro in the Coca Cola shirt… yummy. Finals are DONE and it’s time for my return after a month of no fics!

Special thanks to @hornystan for proofreading and @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for this amazing header! Thank you for making my return so special

Support writers, reblog and comment!

*************

Surely, this was what heaven was like.

Sprawling green meadows and rolling hills, your handsome husband flying you out on a helicopter to a private property. A wicker basket full of a picnic he packed himself had been tossed aside in favor of you humping Frankie’s leg as you both laid on the quilted blanket.

“Baby,” Frankie chuckles, eyes closed tight and nose scrunched up a little as you peppered his scruffy beard with kisses. Sunshine warmed your back in your red sundress, Frankie’s large hands pushing it up and over the swell of your ass cheeks. “We haven't even had lunch yet.”

“Don’t care, need you.” You mutter between kisses, desperately rutting against your dear lover like a bitch in heat.

“But the ice will melt!”

“Don’t. Care.” You kiss his sweet, pudgy face covered in salt and pepper facial hair. “Need. You.”

Frankie laughs again, but his strong arms lift you off his full tummy. “Baby, it’s hot out,” he smiles and sits up, prompting you to do the same despite your cute little pout. “C’mon, have a drink.” He reached into the basket where a few cola bottles sat in a tin bucket? full of ice next to some sandwiches and fruit he cut up himself, just for you. Sweet, sweet man. You packed his favorite, homemade red velvet cupcakes. The cream cheese icing was sitting in the iced tin along with the cola, ready to be added to the cupcakes, nice and chilled.

He opens a bottle, placing the lid inside the basket, careful not to litter, but you don’t drink right away. Instead, you watch as his hands flex to open another bottle, tilting his head back to chug it. His profile was immaculate. Your eyes scan down, taking in the curve of his nose, his softened jawline, plush lips wrapped around the tip of the bottle… but quickly move to his throat. He was a marvel, Adam's apple bobbing and a small trickle of cola down his neck…

With a refreshed, “ah!” Frankie places his trash in the basket, folds in his creasing stomach twisting as he turns. When he looked back, his eyes went wide. First, his eyes went to your discarded panties. Then to you. There you sat, legs spread open and bent, holding your coke bottle in one hand and pumping your desperate, needy pussy with the other. “Jesus, baby…” He licks his lips and you lament the leftover sweetness on his skin wicked away before your tongue could taste how the sugar mixed with his sweat.

“Frankie…” You whine, desperate and mewling for his touch, your desire so intense there was no way you could wait for lunch to end. No way in hell. Tears pricked at your eyes from the burn of the sun and the overwhelming need you had for him. It was always like this with Francisco, intense and burning and all-consuming even after all these years. It didn’t matter, you still fucked like there was no one else on the planet. To him, and certainly to you, there wasn’t.

Frankie mumbled a swear under his breath, his own chest heaving and already tight pants growing tighter. He orders you to lay down and like a good girl, you obey but he stops you. Frankie takes off his hat and plops it down on your head. “For your eyes.” With that, he kisses your lips and you get to taste the lingering traces of his drink. Then, he pushes you down.

You clutch the cold, undrank coke bottle in one hand, Frankie’s sweaty brown curls in the other, the bill of his hat protects your eyes from the sun. You were two orgasms in, drenched in sweat and probably smelling terrible, but he didn’t care.

“Baby?” Frankie asked, making your eyes flick down to him. His eyes were wide and wet, intense and brown. Fuck, he was handsome.

You’re panting, but answer him. “Yeah?”

“I’m real thirsty…”

Normally, you would assume he’s talking about wanting to drink your cum, lap at your pussy as you squirt all over him, hips bucking against his mustache… but honestly, it was hot and you assumed he wanted a drink.

“Here” You hand him the coke bottle in your hands sweetly, sitting up as you do but Frankie orders you to lie down as he grabs it.

You look at him confused but do as he says. Frankie always took care of you, you trusted him, so you laid back down on the heavy quilt, feeling the grass move under the weight of your head.

Knelt before you, Frankie looked a bit of a mess. His curls were all over the place, brown curls every which way, as sweaty as his beard was wet. It wasn’t even that hot a day, but you were working up an appetite.

“You belong to me, right?” He asks you, eyes roaming over your body up and down in your pretty sundress. He looked like he was about to eat you alive, like it was taking everything in him right now not to pounce on you like a werewolf. Francisco’s hands move up and down your bent legs, a sheen of sweat gliding them down, fingernails lightly digging into the meat of you r thighs as if only a thread of sanity was preventing him from digging his claws in and making you subject to his insatiable hunger.

“Yeah baby.” You whisper, breathy but without hesitation. “Every inch.”

Francisco's eyes were locked into yours, pupils black as night, threatening to swallow the whites of his eyes. “Tilt your hips up for me.”

Confused but obedient, you feel your brows furrow as you reach under yourself and hold your hips up. Your eyes couldn’t leave his, not if you tried, his hands so steady and sure he didn’t even need to look down as he slowly inserted the tip of the opened coke bottle into your tight hole. You gasped, though not so much at the intrusion; his fingers hadn’t stretched you yet, but you were used to taking his whole cock. No, the bottle was cold. Not freezing, not after being out of the ice a few minutes, but cold. Francisco pauses, eyebrows cocked in a question of your comfort.

You didn’t want him to stop. “Keep going.”

With a growl, it takes everything in him not to shove the full bottle straight up your cunt, but he knows better. Instead, he took his time. The first time he inserted the foreign object. Once he knew you were okay, all bets were off. Francisco vigorously pumped you, forcing your eyes to tear away from his as you lost yourself in pleasure, feeling the cool drink pour into your channel.

“Such a needy little pussy… she’s so desperate, isn’t she? She just needs to be stretched and filled all the time…”

“Fuck! Frankie! Shit, that feels - ohmyfuckinggod - so good! You feel so good, fuck, I love you so m- shit!” You were approaching a third orgasm, the fizzing of the carbonation a strange sensation in your sensitive insides, and his cock hasn’t even been inside you yet. Frankie couldn’t stop staring at your pussy, licking his lips and palming the erection in his jeans. He had so far been neglected, edging himself in order to bring you, and subsequently him, as much pleasure as possible. Your pleasure was his, your lust was his, your pretty cunt was his to do as he pleased. He could play games with you, shove whatever he wanted into whatever holes and you’d let him… but Frankie didn’t get off on humiliation, he got off on you.

He watched your pussy lips repeatedly swallow the bottle, bits of coke and cum leaking out of you as he began to overwhelm your body. His hand squeezed his dick, throbbing in his pants and he knew he wasn’t going to last. He’d have to recuperate and fuck your face into the grass after lunch. Right now, though… he was thirsty.

Frankie yanked your hands out from under you, pulling the bottle out as you whimper and feel the leftover spill all over your pussy and thighs. That would be annoying later, but that didn’t matter now, not when your loving, adorable husband was dropping to his stomach and latching his lip around your hole. Frankie was drinking coca cola out of your cunt.

He lapped and sucked and licked and drank, the pop fizzling out on your pussy lips as Francisco, whining and crying into your cunt as he came, desperately licked every inch of you. He needed to make this last, he needed to taste every drop, tasting your thighs for the sweet you were so desperate to suck off his lips a moment ago. His tongue was impossible to please, spreading your asscheeks to taste what had trickled down. Only when he seemed to run out of energy, his orgasm satiated, did he slow. You could feel the wetness from his eyes on your lips.

“I just love you so fucking much.” He kissed your swollen, fucked out pussy and closed his eyes, head resting on your thigh as his eyes drooped. He must’ve really tuckered himself out. “So sweet for me.”

*************

Please consider reblogging, if this flops I’ll scream

Inspo comes from Ozzie’s amazing Joel fic, beer bottle insertion

If this does well I’ll write part 2 with reader licking that cream cheese off his dick….

Thank you to everyone who has been supporting me through a difficult month, it has not always been easy between school, and everything that happened, but I got through it and I’m looking forward to something new. I finished up all my assignments and papers even though it was absolute chaos lol and now all I have left is a couple online next semester and then I graduate. 💕💕💕💕

Each and everyone of you so so much, please take care of yourselves!

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #Francisco morales #francisco morales smut #Francisco morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier smut #francisco catfish morales #Francisco catfish morakes smut #chubby Frankie

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lullaby-lillies · 1 month ago

Text

Never - Draco Malfoy x Reader

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: Draco Malfoy never planned on having a crush on you. Note: First time writing a reader-insert, a bit of angst from his part.

————— In the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, amidst the clashing houses and brewing potions, a tale unfolds that is as old as time—yet with a twist that could only be born within these magical walls. Draco Malfoy, a name synonymous with Slytherin pride and pure-blood lineage, found himself entangled in an emotion he hadn't planned for, a feeling that contradicted every principle he'd been raised to uphold. The object of his unexpected affection? A Hufflepuff. Not just any Hufflepuff, but you, a student who, with your kindness and unassuming brilliance, managed to capture his attention against all odds.

Draco was no stranger to getting what he wanted. Power, status, and skill were his to command, but this was a desire of a different kind. For the first time, he found himself yearning for something—or rather, someone—he believed he could never have because of the invisible, yet palpable, barriers erected by years of rivalry and prejudice between your houses.

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual din of chatter and laughter, but for Draco, it may as well have been silent. There you were, sitting at the Hufflepuff table, your laughter like a melody that both soothed and tormented him. Frustrated by the warmth he felt swelling in his chest, he turned to the only defense he knew—derision and disdain. If he could not have your affection, he would settle for any form of attention, even if it was born of negativity.

"Is that the best a Hufflepuff can do?" Draco sneered one afternoon, as you worked on a particularly tricky potion in class. His words were loud enough to draw the attention of your classmates, a smug smirk playing on his lips. Yet, as you looked up, meeting his gaze, he found no hurt or anger in your eyes, only a quiet strength and a hint of confusion. It was a reaction he hadn't anticipated, and for a moment, he felt something twist in his chest—a pang of guilt, perhaps, or something far more complex.

The campaign of cold jibes and calculated snubs continued, each barb a misguided attempt to mask his true feelings. Yet, with every cruel word, Draco felt a splinter of regret. It was a sensation as foreign to him as the notion of being rejected, and he found himself trapped in a maze of his own making.

#my writing #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #Draco Malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction

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icu-fetish · 2 months ago

Text

After countless surgeries, I'm still paralyzed. My neck is still encased in a medical neck brace. It's rigid, yet surprisingly comfortable. For a long time, I was tethered to a ventilator. It was terrifying, of course. The constant hum of the machine... And the sensation of that long breathing tube inserted into me, it felt like I had been transformed into a plant, dependent on artificial sustenance.

When they extubated me, I felt a slight dizziness. Finally, I could breathe on my own. But the joy was short-lived. Every breath required effort, a constant reminder of my recent dependence on the ventilator. Seeing my struggle, the doctor, without a word, placed an oxygen cannula on my nose to support my breathing. For the next few hours, the doctors monitored my condition closely. Since my breathing was still unstable, they decided to run additional tests to rule out any complications.

The test results confirmed my worst fears. My heart sank as I awaited the bad news. The doctor slowly uttered, "We'll likely have to return to mechanical ventilation." I looked at her with a silent question in my eyes. 'Isn't there another way?' I wanted to ask, but the words got stuck in my throat. I tried to take a deep breath, but each inhale caused pain in my chest. It felt like I would never be able to breathe on my own.

I didn't even know what would happen next. I'd probably wake up, reconnected to the machine. "How long could this last?" I asked weakly, feeling my heart pounding in anticipation of the answer. The doctor shook her head. "It's hard to say." She gave me an injection, and I started to lose consciousness...

My eyes slowly opened. I lay motionless, strapped to the bed by countless tubes. I could feel the hard breathing tube in my mouth. Again, that familiar hum that reminded me of my helplessness. Before me stretched long tubes through which the ventilator rhythmically pumped air into my lungs, sustaining my breath, my life. The light from the lamp cut into my eyes, and the smell of disinfectants filled the room. Tears rolled down my cheeks...

I lay motionless, helpless, and felt forgotten by everyone. Now, I'm fed through a tube inserted directly into my stomach. The sensation of a foreign object in my abdomen causes constant discomfort. A sterile catheter inserted into my urinary tract underscores my vulnerability. Changing the catheter has become a part of my hospital routine, and though I tried to get used to the unpleasant sensation, I would close my eyes, wishing it would end quickly.

Nurses and doctors were constantly around me. They checked the equipment, asked me questions that I could only answer with a glance. My condition was gradually deteriorating, and I relied more and more on the machines that kept me alive. The doctors informed me of the need for a tracheostomy, which caused a new wave of anxiety. I imagined the breathing tube in my throat and felt panic. Would I ever be able to speak again? Would I ever return to a normal life?

Before the procedure, the nurse prepared me for the surgery, checking all the necessary equipment. Her hands were soft as she gently stroked my hand, trying to calm me. "I understand you're nervous," she said in a soft but confident voice. "We're going to make a small incision in your throat and insert a tracheostomy tube. This tube will allow for more effective mechanical ventilation." I realized I had forever lost control of my body...

After the injections, I fell asleep. I must have slept for a long time. I can't even open my eyes. However, I can feel that the breathing tube is no longer in my mouth. Instead, I feel a slight wheeze in my throat. I try to breathe through my nose, but hardly any air gets in there. All my breath is focused on the tracheostomy tube. The incision on my neck is a reminder of the surgery that changed my entire life. A large medical collar is placed around my neck. This is another change I must adapt to. I'm no longer who I used to be.

I still can't speak. Those long days spent with a tube in my throat seem like an eternity. This breathing tube has become a part of me. I feel like an empty shell. Only my body remains, supported by artificial machines.

The white ceiling, the monotonous hum of the machines – that's all I see and hear. I've already realized that I'll just lie here in this bed, a vegetable. But deep down, I still believe that one day I will be able to at least speak again, hear my own voice...

#intubated #breathing tube #ventilator #neck brace #tracheostomy #cannula

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whokilledsamara · 1 month ago

Note

Could we have the amab version of your "MISUSE" Mr Scarlett's fic? I adore them aaa

MISUSE {amab vers}

a Mr. Scarletella x amab!reader fic.

warnings || misuse of an umbrella {handle is inserted, but you get poked with the tip}, bleeding, hatefucking, sadism, amab reader, bondage, non/dub-con, "forced" blowjob, VERY SHORT FIC

{an: a copy and paste of my other fic, i just changed the genitalia.}

hiding didn't work. you could hear the static in your head, matter of fact you could see it too. the cold, and slightly damp flooring made your senses all the more tingling, head a bit woozy from all the running.

it was innocent really, the man who always happened to be crawling brought you a gift, and in return you gave him a small peck on the cheek. you hadn't thought anything of it, but you saw him. he saw you too.

bold move. he saw it as defiance. doesn't matter if it was innocent or not, he noticed. he notices everything even when you don't know he is there. the moment you saw red flash in the corner of your eye, you knew you fucked up.

why did you touch that stupid umbrella..

hours passed and nothing happened. you assumed everything was fine, and that perhaps Mr. Scarletella had just gotten his feelings hurt, not angry as you had assumed. but your hopes were cut short when you heard him, his voice filled with static and coldness as usual.

"Knees."

the way he said it in his language unwillingly did something to you, though you would never admit it.

sighing to yourself, you obey his command and slowly sink to your knees. your gaze is locked on the floor as his eyes glare at you. though you aren't looking at him, you can feel it.

his presence alone makes the room feel thick and uncomfortable, but having his length shoved down your throat definitely didn't make it any better.

it was your fault really. you knew better than to attempt to get past him. his strong hand on your hair made sure you were kept up as high as you could go without actually leaving your knees, his thick length clouding your senses as you desperately tried to choke it down. tears welled in your eyes and all you could see was that sadistic grin that he almost always had on his face, though it was wider this time.

once he had his fill, and so did you, he yanked your head off of him, watching sadistically as you gasp for air. the dried tears on your face only made his heart rate speed up, that shit eating grin never leaving his face.

"You, remove, clothing." he says. not even as a question, but a statement.

sputtering and coughing up his leftovers, you grudgingly slip off your bottoms, eyes closed and face flushed with embarrassment. his head tilts and he hums in response, crouching down in front of you.

your body is tense, and your eyes are squeezed tight with anticipation. his long, slender hand makes you shiver at the coldness as he parts your leg, putting you on display for him. a few seconds go by, and just as you are about to open your eyes, you feel a cold poke to your hole. its cold, and strange, making your eyes snap open to stare at the foreign object.

his umbrella.

you start stuttering and looking up at him with a worried expression, the tip of it pressed firmly against your hole. he experimentally moves it back and fourth, making your hips unwillingly jerk from the sensations. your face heats up and you watch carefully as he flips the object around, suddenly pressing the edge of the handle against your opening once more.

"w-what the fuck.. what? that wont fit.. what are you do-" you begin to argue, but are quickly cut off as he pushes it in, using the curled part to his advantage and pushing it as deep as he can.

you let out a shriek, thighs trembling and hands firmly planted on the damp ground beside you. he makes a few curious thrusts with it, seemingly getting off on the view, or maybe even feeling it himself.

"a-ah.. hurts.. mngh." you manage to choke out, your voice a low whine as he twists the handle inside of you. he seems to notice a bit of blood around your opening, only exciting him further as he thrusts it faster.

your legs lift slightly and you cry out, his hand shooting to cover your mouth as to not alert the other members. eyes clenched shut, he curves the handle just the perfect amount- that for some reason makes your vision go black for a second as you unwillingly orgasm on the foreign object.

pathetic noises leave your lips, his hand tightening around your lower face as his grin only grows wider.

"Good." he mutters, slowly pulling the umbrella out of you. his hand leaves your face and before you can think properly he is pushing the handle into your mouth, effectively making you taste the mix of cum and blood off of it. "Clean."

and so you do. you quickly suck off whatever you can, your face tired and worn. he pulls it out of your mouth and pats your head, before static surrounds him.

and hes gone.

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

#homicipher #smut #homicipher x reader #amab reader #mr. scarletella #mr scarletta #mr scarletella #mr. scarletella x reader #mr. scarletella x you

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gurokiitty · 7 months ago

Note

can you write about fem strade x fem mc 👉👈

a/n: HECK YES I CAN !!!!

CAN YOU HANDLE IT?

{ f! strade x f! reader }

word count: 1.2k

warnings/tags: NONCON, mentions of blood and injury, facesitting, suffocation, foreign object insertion.

When you first laid eyes on her, you felt a twinge of something unfamiliar yet compelling, like a moth drawn to an unearthly flame. Strade was unlike anyone you'd ever met—a whirlwind of charm and confidence, her aura both captivating and dangerous. The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and the murmur of conversations, but you were entrapped.

Her smile was disarming, a perfect blend of warmth and mischief that made you feel seen in a way that was both thrilling and unsettling. Her freckled brown eyes seemed to see right through you, as if she knew your darkest secrets and loved you for them. She spoke with such ease, her voice a soothing melody that made you forget you were strangers. Every word she uttered wrapped around you like a silken thread, drawing you closer to her web.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, her accent adding an intriguing lilt to her words.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away. "Sure, why not?"

You talked for what felt like hours, her laughter ringing in your ears like a beautiful, haunting tune. She made you feel special, desired in a way you'd never felt before. When she suggested going back to her place, you didn't hesitate. It seemed like a natural progression, an inevitability.

Now, you lay on the cold, hard floor of her basement, your wings singed beyond repair. You couldn't remember when you were stripped naked or how your wrists ended up bound behind your back. All you knew was that your body throbbed, and your skin was sticky with sweat and blood.

You tried to convince yourself it was just a nightmare, that you were passed out drunk on your sofa, but the pain was too real. Every pulse, every ache, was a cruel reminder that this was your reality.

And of course, she was too.

Strade stood over you, the same endearing smile plastered on her face, but now it seemed grotesque, a mask of sadistic pleasure. In her hand, she held a hammer, its head coated in crimson.

"Aw, ready to give up already, schätzchen?" she purred, her voice sending a chill down your spine. "I hope not, we're just getting started."

You didn't respond, your mouth too dry, your head too foggy to form words. Instead, you stared up at her, hoping she could see the plea in your eyes.

"Ever eaten a woman out before?" she asked casually, shifting her weight to one leg. As she hovered above you, the overhead lights bathed her in a golden halo, and you couldn't help but feel small and insignificant beneath her.

You nodded, the movement making your head swim. Strade merely chuckled in response.

"Good!" she mused, her smile widening. "I'd hate to waste time teaching you."

You knew you had no choice. Protesting would only bring more pain, and you couldn't bear the thought of her hitting you again. She dropped her pants and lowered herself onto your face, her scent overwhelming your senses.

"Lick," she commanded, her body sinking down you.

Her thick thighs pressed against your cheeks, her warmth spreading over your skin like a stifling blanket. The pressure was suffocating, her full weight making it hard to breathe. Her skin was hot and slick with sweat, the musk of her arousal filling your nostrils and coating your tongue as you reluctantly obeyed her command. You could feel her every movement, every shift and grind, each one pressing her deeper against you, further sealing your fate beneath her.

Your tongue moved with more urgency as she pressed down harder, and soon her soft moans filled the room. You felt her muscles tense and relax, her hips grinding against you as she chased her release.

"Mmm, let's see how you handle this, Liebling," she cooed, her legs caging your face.

She didn't lift herself off you; instead, she hovered slightly, ensuring you were still beneath her as she reached for the hammer. With a cruel smile, she dropped herself back down, suffocating you once more. Strade then ran the hard, wooden handle along your slit, dragging it agonizingly up and down as struggled to breathe.

Then, without warning, she inserted it into you, the intrusion sharp and painful. You gasped, your body tensing against the bonds that held you in place. She began to move it slowly at first, each thrust sending waves of discomfort through you, a twisted echo of the pleasure she had taken moments before. The handle stretched and scraped along your walls, and her pelvis jerked into your face.

Her breathing quickened and mingled with each shuddering gasp you made. Strade's excitement was palpable, her hips grinding harder against your face as she found pleasure in your torment.

You struggled to breathe, your airways constricted by her weight pressing down on you. Panic surged through you as you fought for even the smallest breath, your vision blurring at the edges. Desperation clawed at your mind, and you wanted nothing more than to scratch at her thighs, to push her off, to find relief—but your wrists remained uselessly bound beneath you, denying you even the slightest chance of escape.

"Yes, that's it," she panted, her voice heavy with arousal. "Struggle for me, Liebling. Let me feel your desperation."

The handle moved faster inside you, each thrust a painful, throbbing presence, interwoven with the suffocating pressure against your face. Your lungs burned, and you could feel your strength waning, the fight slowly draining from your body as the lack of oxygen took its toll.

Strade's moans reached a fever pitch, her movements becoming more erratic and frenzied. She was close, teetering on the edge of her release, her pleasure derived from your suffering. Every twitch, every futile struggle only seemed to heighten her arousal, driving her further into a state of ecstasy.

"That's it, keep going," she urged, her voice a breathless whisper. "Don't stop. Show me how much you can take."

You tried to comply, your tongue moving as best it could under the crushing weight, but your body was failing you. Darkness crept in at the corners of your vision, your mind teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. You could hear your own heartbeat, a frantic drum in your ears, each beat a desperate plea for air.

Just as you thought you couldn't endure any longer, Strade shuddered above you, her climax ripping through her with a force that left her trembling. She rode out her orgasm, her hips jerking erratically, before finally collapsing forward, her weight pressing down even harder, if only for a moment.

Then, she slowly lifted herself off you, the sudden rush of air almost as painful as the suffocation. You gasped desperately, your lungs burning as they filled with much-needed oxygen. Tears streamed down your face, your body shaking uncontrollably from the ordeal.

Strade looked down at you, her expression one of sated pleasure and cruel satisfaction. She ran a hand through her tousled hair, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.

"You did so well," she praised, her gaze lingering on your heaving chest, the blood and sweat glistening on your skin. She paused, seeming to savour every inch of your suffering, like a connoisseur appreciating a fine meal.

"I think I'll keep you around... Mein kleines Haustier."

#got this in before pride month ended!!#happy pride friends #peep the fem strade banner i made for this hehe #btd strade #btd x reader #strade x reader #ykmet strade #anon requests

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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 1 year ago

Text

airpods

read part two (posted 4/28/24) here!!! wc: 2k reader: femme!afab (matt calls reader a "bad girl", reader is wearing a denim skirt) warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut -- also a really bonkers scenario; funny & angst -- stepcest -- inserting foreign objects -- slighttttt dub-conn-ish summary: (y/n) will only give rivalnewstepbrother!matthew his airpods back if he promises to play a little game with them

ੈ✩‧₊˚ this is a doozy lmao. pretty iconic tho if i do say so myself. i take literally no responsibility for it even tho i am 100% responsible for it. basically just wrote itself while i was in a fever dream-like state so pls enjoy. i think it needs a sequel personally but lemme know what you think!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

warnings: 18+ explicit smut, stepcest, insertion of foreign object into genitals (reader), kind of dub-conny, lots of taunting teasing and degradation from both characters, fingering (reader receiving), oral sex (female receiving), orgasm denial, hints of dom!matt and dom!reader and also sub!matt and sub!reader we really cover the bases and lay some groundwork lmao, lots of swearing and i used the word vagina once it was for something funny not for smut but people can still be triggered by that word so! you are warned.

“matty, what the actual f*ck are you doing?” you ask as the sight of your dumbass step brother admiring his shirtless reflection in the mirror assaults your eyes.

ever since you met matthew a year and a half ago, every holiday had been ruined by your family constantly comparing you to him. why couldn’t you be more like matt? he’s so passionate and hardworking towards his craft and you’re a waitress at a bar. and not a classy one.

though you don’t see him all that much, you have to share the house with him when he comes home to visit. this particular visit, you and matthew have the house to yourselves for the night— your parents having left this morning for a little new year’s getaway.

matthew’s flexing his (admittedly defined) triceps and dancing around a bit— headphones covering his ears. but when he sees your reflection staring back at him in his bedroom mirror, he jumps in horror.

“WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME!?” he shouts, tearing off his headphones and sprinting across the room to slam the door in your face. “stalker.”

“freak,” you reply childishly, stepping back out of the doorframe to avoid a broken nose. once the door is shut, you knock sweetly.

tap, tap. tap, tap.

matthew opens it, cheeks as red (and canadian) as a pair of macintosh apples. “what do you want?”

“well, i was going to give you back your airpods that i stole yesterday so you didn’t have to wear those clunky headphones anymore, but,” you shake the airpods case in front of you teasingly before placing it back in the pocket of your denim skirt, “i don’t really wanna give them to you anymore after how rude you just were.”

“you—… you stole my airpods!?” matthew exclaims. “i’ve been looking everywhere for them!”

you shrug. “i guess not everywhere.”

“ugh, you can be such a b—,” matthew starts to curse, but he stops; a little conflicted pout forming on his plush lips. “a b—…”

“you can’t even f*cking say it, can you?” you taunt, pushing matthew’s door open a little further and taking a step inside. “too much of a marshmallow to even swear at me. afraid of hurting my feelings or something, matty?”

“as i’ve said many times before, just matt is fine,” he spits, brows furrowing in frustration. “and i’m not a marshmallow. and, frankly, i don’t give a… shit… about your feelings!”

“cute,” you mock, inching closer to him. your eyes wander down to his torso, a six-pack of well-fed abs staring back at you. “what is it with all the muscles anyway? you think they’ll distract girls from seeing how much of a dumpling you really are?”

“i’m not a dumpling,” matthew huffs through gritted teeth. “and it’s none of your business.”

you consider this for a moment and then nod. “you’re right. it’s none of my business.”

“really? that was easier than—”

“but if it was my business,” you continue, stealing another glance at his chest. your eyes trail down further— waistband of his calvin klein boxers peaking out from his jeans. you hate to admit it, but he’s kind of hot. maybe that wasn’t an entirely appropriate thought to be having about your lameass new step brother, but it was unfortunately the truth. “i’d tell you it isn’t working. not bad to look at though.”

you turn on your heel, starting to walk back out the door when matthew calls, “hey, what about my airpods!?”

“what airpods?” you reply innocently before a smirk darkens your features. you pull the case out of the pocket of your skirt again and wave it in front of him enticingly. “oh, these?”

matthew tries to grab them out of your hand, but you’re too quick— the earbuds back safely in your pocket before he can steal them. his jaw sets, eyes ripe with anger as he pushes the door shut behind you. he inches forward, effectively trapping you between him and the door. “give them the fuck back, you insufferable bitch.”

a wave of desire rushes over you. there’s just something about driving a nice boy over the edge that really does it for you.

and matthew was the nicest of nice boys— and because of that, a giant pain in your ass. but hearing him talk like that as he corners you in; hovering only a couple inches from your face…

“oh—… i—… uh… sorry,” he stutters as he realizes how close he is to you, backing up and stuffing his hands in his pockets. matthew blushes again as he looks away from you nervously.

he’s resumed his dumpling form, but the glimpse of potential lurking underneath was enough to make you want to see more.

“fine, you can have your airpods back,” you relent with a sigh. “if…”

“if?” he asks, brow raised.

“if you can find where i hide them,” you finish with a proud smile.

“i’m not gonna play that game,” matthew replies with a frown. “besides, this house is huge! you’re gonna make me tear the whole thing up to find something that small? no way.”

“that’s too bad,” you say, shaking your head. “i guess they’re mine now.”

matthew groans. “at least make the playing field more reasonable.”

you tilt your head to the side, a devious plan entering your mind. “i think i can work with that.”

matthew sighs. “i can’t believe i’m entertaining this... but where are you thinking?”

“me,” you answer. “i’m thinking you can search me.”

“like, you’re gonna hide it on your person,” matthew clarifies, ears burning red. “like, in one of your pockets?”

“yeah, exactly,” you hum happily. “my pocket.”

matthew swallows nervously, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “that sounds too easy. there has to be a catch.”

“no catch. it’ll be in my pocket,” you confirm, extending your hand to him. “you just have to find the right one.”

matthew blinks at you, then at your hand. after a moment, he takes it in his own and shakes it. “fine. deal.”

“i’ll be back in a minute then,” you say, throwing open the door and running off to hide the airpods in one of your pockets.

—

“okay, so it’s not in your hoodie pockets,” matthew deduces after reaching a tentative hand in each one and coming up empty. “that means it’s in one of these pockets?”

you smile at him encouragingly as he blinks nervously at you, gesturing to your denim skirt.

“why are you making me do this?” matthew laments dramatically. “aren’t you, like… uncomfortable with me touching you and stuff?”

“not at all,” you reply with a smirk. “i do get a lot of enjoyment out of making you uncomfortable though.”

“so i gathered,” he says, starting to reach for one of your back pockets. “is it okay if i—.”

“just do it already,” you interject, rolling your eyes.

“okay, okay,” matthew says, reaching his hand down the pocket. “sue me for trying to be a gentleman.”

he pulls out his hand. it’s empty.

matthew reaches down your other back pocket, again finding nothing.

“should probably check the front,” you offer contentedly.

“thanks for the hint,” matthew huffs, walking back around to face you. cautiously, he sticks his fingers down your left, front pocket— moving them side to side before removing them. “are you f*cking with me? you didn’t even hide them, did you!?”

his rough tone sends another wave of excitement through you, but you force a little pout. “i can’t believe you think i wouldn’t play by the rules, matty.”

he sticks his fingers unceremoniously in the last pocket, coming up empty yet again. “then where the f*ck are they!?”

you tilt your head cutely, basically euphoric over how much you’re riling him up. “in my pocket.”

“i just looked through all your pockets! they’re not—…” matthew stops yelling, seemingly lost in thought before his eyes widen in total disbelief. “wait… you—… you don’t mean…”

“ding, ding, ding,” you reply with a malicious smirk. “you know, you’re smarter than you look.”

“you—… you put my airpods up your VAGINA!?” matthew yells: confused, horrified and impressed all at the same time.

you shrug. “i’ve had bigger.”

matthew is silent as you walk over to his bed and sit down, spreading your legs just a bit.

“well, the deal’s still on,” you offer, placing your hands behind you and leaning back onto them casually. “if you can find them, they’re yours.”

“you—… you want me to…” matthew stammers, eyes locked on your denim skirt. “to...”

“you don’t have to,” you assert, pulling up your skirt to reveal your bare core to him. his lips part, eyeing your center like it’s the forbidden fruit. and it kind of is. “if you don’t want to.”

“this is ridiculous,” matthew says breathily in a way that tells you that, though this may very well be a ridiculous thing to be happening right now, he’s a bit enticed by it all. he walks toward you, pushing you back a bit further onto the bed with one hand to expose your heat more. “this is absolutely f*cking…”

he kneels down on the hardwood floor between your legs, one hand finding each of your thighs and prying them further apart. he grabs your hips, pulling your naked core closer to his face. you hope he doesn’t notice you clench around his airpods at the man-handling.

matthew swallows hard as he examines every inch of you. scandalized eyes and bottom lip drawn between his teeth, you can basically hear his conflicting, depraved thoughts.

“i really hate you, you know that?” he asks rhetorically, licking his lips as your walls pulse again. he stuffs a finger up you suddenly, pushing it in further and further until he’s tapping on the case of his airpods. “if you’ve been looking for a reason that your whole family likes me better than you, i think both of our searches can end with this.”

the tiniest whimper escapes you at the degradation. it’s exactly what you’d been waiting for.

matthew looks up at you, knuckle-deep in your pussy. his lips part in shock at the sound. “did you--... did you just...”

“are you going to take it out, or what?” you reply, maintaining your rude, slightly bored disposition.

he looks back at your center, moving his finger to try to hook around the case and wiggle it out of you. it doesn’t budge. he inserts another finger into you, stretching your walls out in hopes that the case might come out with more space.

it stays put.

“it’s not coming out,” matthew says, panic in his eyes. “what did you do, gorilla glue it to your cervix?”

“i didn’t even know you knew that word,” you snort, averting his gaze. “i guess you’ll have to find a way to loosen it then.”

matthew’s eyes bulge. “and how the hell am i supposed to do that!?”

“hm, i dunno,” you muse, locking eyes with him again. “don’t they always say to put butter on your arm to make it slippery if it’s stuck in something?”

“you want me to put butter in your...” matthew trails off as he thinks more about your suggestion. “slippery?”

“yeah,” you reply with a nod, desperately trying to maintain your dominance. “you know, like... wet.”

“wet...” he repeats again, eyes meeting your cunt again. “you want me to make you... oh.”

“just a thought,” you shrug off.

matthew shakes his head quickly. “but, we can’t--... i can’t--”

“why can’t you?” you ask, tapping his bare chest with your toes. “oh, i remember now! it’s because you’re a f*cking marshmall--”

matthew’s hands grip your thighs roughly as he pulls your pussy even closer to his face. he licks a long, teasing stripe up through your folds-- ending and circling at your clit.

this time you don’t hide your moan.

“what was that?” matthew taunts, one eyebrow arching in amusement. “feel good?”

it does feel good-- better than you could’ve imagined matthew’s tongue would feel against you. you nod, moving your hips to try to push your core even closer to him. he slaps your right thigh hard, warning you wordlessly not to make a fuss. it just makes you need to fuss more, but he reattaches his tongue to your cunt anyway.

he laps at your clit with such dedication that you’re crying out within a couple of minutes-- begging him for more.

“pl--please,” you whine, hand running through his hair and pulling it from the base. “wanna cum on your tongue.”

“f*cking hell,” he moans into your core, the vibration sending more waves of pleasure through you. he closes his eyes as he starts to rhythmically suck on your bundle of nerves, only coming up for air to say, “how can you be so desperate with a pussy this perfect?”

“matty, i--”

“didn’t i tell you not to f*cking call me that,” he growls, inserting a finger into your now dripping cunt. “so this is what you wanted, huh? stole my airpods just so you could cum all over my fingers? you’re such a bad girl, (y/n).”

you’re right on the edge, just a few seconds more and you’ll be moaning matthew’s name like a prayer.

but then you feel it.

matthew’s finger latches around the now lubricated airpod case-- pulling it free from your warmest pocket as he detaches his lips from around your clit. you stare at him helplessly, the denial of your orgasm leaving you so frustrated you’re rendered speechless.

how could you have let him get the upper hand on you?

“but i guess you forgot,” he says with a smirk, standing up and walking toward the door. “bad girls don’t get to cum.”

you blink silently at him once. twice. matthew holds open the door, pointing into the hallway.

“now get out of my room.”

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