#i am just pulling all this out of my ass though. scratches chin

[ikilledamanforthisurl]

Moon being an older model with darker, clunkier head fins and no eye lights, minimised of many unnecessary aesthetic bullshit but still sporting the calm, futuristic Blue evoking imagery of software in our time & the prominence of Blue in our computers' designs. The very naming of Moon, of Big Sister Moon, as if she were high above the very people who made her, of great importance and potential with even higher expectations, here to lead her people to their ultimate conveniences and incoming salvation.

Pebbles, the newest known model, being bright fucking pink and yellow and orange, with his dainty little ear thingamajigs and glowing eyes, named after only a handful of the cutest of stones.

[miraclewoozi]

DRIVE. - l.c

DRIVE -- or, the night you realise it's actually very hard to stay mad at the guy who shows up at your house, throwing stones at your window on a Thursday night, to try and fix something that was your mistake in the first place.

pairing : chan x fem reader. content : fwb > lovers. angst, smut (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT), fluff. more or less in that order. they’re both dumb as hell. not explicitly put in any detail but this was written with a more 70s vibe in mind so feel free to bear that in mind when thinking of the car/tech/styles etc if u like. w/c : 7.8k warnings : lots of swearing. it’s all a big fuckin misunderstanding because i am a whore for that. weed & alcohol mentioned (neither party is drunk or high at the time of this taking place). mentions of past cheating (neither mc or chan are the cheater). some pov switching because i said so. let me know if i've forgotten anything. proofread exactly once so if there's a typo, no there isn't. SMUT TAGS UTC.  notes : dino. get the fuck off my ass. i’m so serious i am not strong enough to handle the very real feelings i have for you. go away.  notes 2.0 : i listened to halsey’s drive for some inspo for this & took that as the title, so feel free to give it a listen if you want!

SMUT TAGS : dom!chan. car fuckin', making out, hair pulling, grinding/dry humping, fingering, finger sucking, dick riding, marking/scratching, unprotected sex (make good choices), overstimulation, multiple orgasms. praise. chan calls reader ‘baby’ & ‘sweetheart’. he’s a BIG talker during sex (sorry).

You’re not stupid. You heard his car pull up outside your house almost an hour ago. 

Since then, at random intervals ranging anywhere between thirty seconds and five minutes, there have been clinks of a thrown stone at your bedroom window, a piece of the gravel that lines your driveway. Each time, it makes your jaw tense, makes your fingers tighten in the bedsheets you pulled all the way up to your chin in a foul mood at 8pm. It’s been the same now for almost two weeks — you’ve been getting home from work, showering the day away, eating your dinner and retiring to your room as early as you possibly can. Your roommate tried to find out what was wrong around day three but you very promptly shut her down — she’s since learned that the best she’s getting out of you currently is a dismissive wave of your hand or some kind of a grunt. She joked one evening that it was like she’d adopted a teenager; you scowled so violently that she went to her room. 

Hardly any of your other friends have seen anything of you, either, despite the fact that several have come knocking to check if you’re all right. 

You’re very much not all right, as it happens. This is perhaps the most upset you’ve ever felt, and that’s going quite some way. The angriest, too. It’s worse than when that middle aged woman threw her entire bucket of popcorn at your head when you gave her salty instead of sweet, and you were picking kernels out of your hair for the rest of your six hour shift. It’s worse than when your nasty supervisor ‘forgot’ you were in the bathroom and ended up locking you inside the cinema overnight, because you didn’t have your own set of keys to get out and the people whose numbers you remembered weren’t answering their phones. 

It’s somehow even worse than when a summer crush from a few years ago broke things off by telling you that he already had a girlfriend back home and that you were basically just a means to pass the time and get his dick wet. God, and you thought that was the lowest you could possibly be.

Here you are, though, so far beyond all those things it would be comical, if it didn’t hurt. Chan has really done a number on you, and you’re not sure how you ended up getting so emotionally involved in your situationship with him that this is what you’ve been reduced to. For days now, you’ve been swallowing back tears of frustration (both with yourself and with Chan), rolling around in your bed night on night, unable to get to sleep because all you can think about is him.

Him, and the way he sounded genuinely horrified when his friends asked about the ‘movie girl’, and he laughed, ‘God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen’. It was impressive, how quickly your face fell, in no way aided by the squealing giggles that rang through the house as a very, very drunk girl came running out of the living room and shut herself in the toilet, drowning out a chunk of the conversation you were listening in on. Somehow, it hurt even more when he went on to say ‘besides, there’s… someone else’. 

And when you have managed to drift off after hours of staring at the walls and the ceiling, hearing those words on a loop on your fed up brain? Of course he’s been in your fucking dreams, too.

In your defence, all you were trying to do was use the mirror in the hallway outside the kitchen he and his friends were standing in, readjusting your top to cover the hickey that he had so kindly left on your collarbone just the night before. It wasn’t as though you sought him out to listen in; it was a coincidence. And okay, fine, maybe you should have walked away when the conversation turned to the topic of Chan’s love life. Maybe you should have not crept closer and held your breath to be able to hear them all better. Maybe, even, you should have stayed around long enough to ask what he meant by it then and there instead of hopping in a taxi and going home without saying goodbye to anyone. 

Hindsight really is a beautiful thing.

Never gonna happen. Well, Chan seemed quite happy to ignore the fact that it already had happened. Several times. At least four of those being in the very car currently on the street outside your home. The car he’s used on countless occasions to drive you up to lovers’ lookouts in the dead of night, letting one of his many mixtapes play through the tinny speakers, where he’d kiss you breathless and cradle your face between his palms, as his fingers would delicately explore beneath your clothes, as his broad shoulders would slot between your thighs, as his hips rol–

And maybe you aren’t stupid, but Chan seems determined to prove that he sure as hell is. He came to pick you up from work the day after the party like nothing had happened, and couldn’t figure out why you said you would rather walk home in the rain than get in with him and stormed away without any further explanation. Then, he showed up on your doorstep on the morning of your day off with your favourite coffee and a breakfast bagel, asking if you could talk. He still didn’t realise what he’d done to upset you, so you slammed the door in his face. Finally, just earlier today, he ran after you in the mall, persistent as you’ve ever known him to be, and laid a hand on your shoulder when you didn’t turn around to just the sound of his voice calling your name. 

You pushed him off so hard he almost fell over. 

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” You had barked, shrugging your shoulders to try and realign your jacket. “I don’t want to talk to you. What’s not clicking?”

His face resembled that of a scolded pet when he took a step back and frowned at you. “I just wanted to–”

“I don’t care what you want, Chan,” you spat. “Give it up. I’m done.”

You could see the desperation swimming in his eyes as he scrambled for what to say and your heart felt like it was being weighed down all the way into your stomach. You supposed that was the part of you that was causing all this ache in the first place, and further that it was to blame for your current state of misery. But you steeled yourself and stood your ground nonetheless. He wasn’t going to win you over with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

In his silence, you only then noticed how hard your breaths were coming, each slow and long but still dangerously unsteady. You lowered your voice, top lip curling at him as you muttered, “You’re embarrassed of me enough to lie to your friends? Fine. I don’t give a–… but shit, next time, tell a girl that to her face instead of behind her fucking back.”

It’s been seven hours, and you keep replaying the last thing he said to you as you stormed away (how his voice got quieter when he realised you weren’t turning back; how he sounded so hoarse, so sorry). 

‘I’m sorry if I hurt you - I— I never meant to.’

If. If. If. Were you not making it completely fucking obvious that he had, most definitely, hurt you? Part of your brain is even now starting to go down the route that he’s doing this on purpose, that it’s some twisted sort of damage control, that he hopes maybe if he plays dumb for long enough, you’ll forget what you were mad about or maybe start to second guess what you heard. But if that’s what he thinks, he obviously doesn’t know you very well at all. That’s never going to happen. 

Hell, for someone you were being so careful to keep in the appropriate lane in your head, Chan really has you thinking yourself in circles. You’re sick to your back teeth of him, and his stupid voice and his stupid smile and his stupid –

Clink.

Stupid. Fucking. Stones.

A groan loud enough to definitely catch the attention of your roommate sounds from deep within your chest at this interruption to your spiral and you finally, finally concede. Whatever argument he’s so clearly longing to have at 11 o’clock on a Thursday night? Fine. He can have it. If it means he backs off for good, you’ll give him his one last ruck.

You pull the window open none too gently and lean enough through it that Chan comes into view. He isn’t even looking up, you realise, too busy sifting through the driveway trying to find his next little projectile, and you hiss his name to get his attention. It startles him so much that he drops the indiscernible bundle in his right hand. He blindly scrambles to pick it up, those big, earnest eyes gazing at you as if you’re floating in midair before him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask him, trying not to raise your voice too loud but at the same time, needing to generate enough volume for him to hear. He holds the bundle in both hands, now, and they catch the light of the lamp by your front door. Flowers, you register, squinting to try and make them out, your brows furrowing so much that your forehead hurts. 

Black dahlias.

You choke back a laugh. Ah, the joys of fooling around with the son of a florist. Are they all so damn dramatic? (Or does he just know that they’re your favourites?)

Whichever it is, you tell yourself that’s not going to work. You won’t let it. Through gritted teeth, you say, “go away. I’m serious. I’ll call the cops on you.”

He shakes his head, begging as he steps just a little closer so his face is more visible in the amber light too. “Please–” he hurries, biting his bottom lip. “Please, don’t– just… tell me what I did. I want to make it right. Please.”

He never begs like this. In all the time you’ve known him, you swear Chan has said ‘please’ to you fewer times than you could count on your fingers. Which is by no means a bad thing — that’s just always been the very comfortable nature of your friendship, and later, the -with-benefits tag that you ended up sticking on the end. 

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, pinching the bridge of your nose and fighting not to shiver in the cold nighttime air. Note to self: don’t do a Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking winter without layering up, first. “What does it even matter?”

“What do you mean, what does it matter?” He asks, looking down at the bunch of flowers in his hands, then back at you. “I-... you know I’d never hurt you. Not on purpose. Please, just… if I did something–”

“There’s someone else,” you echo, fed up with his pretending. He’s a fair actor, you’ll give him that – he might even have been able to convince you, if you hadn’t already heard the other half of this tale he’s doing his best to spin in his favour. 

His face screws up, thinking he’s misheard. It’s his turn not to understand now. If you’re telling him you’ve met someone else, he’s got questions, because you’d promised to be open and honest with each other if that ever happened, so that you could call things off and go back to being just friends without it becoming a big deal. That was always supposed to be a calm conversation, not… whatever this is. You talked about it, right at the start. But… those are the words you’re saying, aren’t they? And why would you be mad at him if you were the one whose circumstances had changed? 

“What?” he asks, finally. “What do you mean?”

“God, no – we’re just friends. That’s never gonna happen. Besides, there’s… someone else!” You raise your voice without really meaning to, before swallowing hard and glancing back inside your room. “You said that, Chan. Don’t piss me off by coming here and pretending like you didn’t.”

Chan starts to look like he’s trying to figure out an algebraic equation in his head while only having half the required information; his eyes fall down to the gravel, his lips move without any sound coming out of them, his features tighten until there are definite lines between his eyebrows. Then, it clicks. The lightbulb moment. He slaps one hand to his face and shakes his head furiously, and you just know he’s going to wake up with an ache in his neck tomorrow because of it.

“Oh fuck,” he curses. “No, no, no, no, no – that’s not–”

“What did I just say?” You spit down at him. “Don’t piss me off–”

“Listen!” He shouts, and you gesture with your hand for him to lower his voice, interrupting his flow of thought and rendering him silent for a moment. “Fuck, please. Come down here and talk to me. That’s not what you think it is.”

You’re in every mind to slam your window shut and leave him out there in the cold. It would work if you got out your headphones to drown out the sounds of him trying to get your attention, which you have absolutely no doubt in your mind that he would do. And maybe then he’d get the hint; maybe then he would understand that you’re not just some pushover who he can just pick up and play with when it suits him. 

But he’s still holding those fucking flowers like they’re a lifeline, still looking up at you without a single lick of anger on his face. Not stress at having been discovered, which you would have expected him to be swimming in right about now. He looks… kind of beside himself, as if nothing could possibly be worse than what you’re threatening to do.

All this, for you? It just doesn’t make sense. 

“Please,” he says again, quieter, weaker. For the first time, you pick up on the hint of a shiver in his voice, and you swallow. Whether you’re gulping back your pride, or your resolve, or the last remnants of your sensibility, you don’t know. 

Does he deserve for you to hear him out? You’re not sure.

But does he deserve to be stuck out in the cold in just his stupid leather jacket and a pair of jeans? 

With regret, you think, no. He doesn’t.

All you give him is a scowl before you disappear from view entirely, pulling the window closed and drawing your curtains again. Faster than you think you ever have before, you throw on a sweatshirt over your pyjamas, grab your keys, and hurry down the stairs as silently as you possibly can. 

He’s stood in exactly the same place when you edge outside and pull the door closed behind you. Up-close, you can see the tiredness on his face: this is a man who has exhausted himself in worry, you think, and yet he still smiles a little when he sees you in full. He still holds the flowers out for you to take. He still purses his lips and blows out a stuttered cloud of air. Nervous, and not in the way you think he ought to be. So when you walk straight past him and don’t take the dahlias out of his hands, instead standing by his car and waiting for him to unlock it for you, you start to feel overwhelmingly guilty. 

Chan is many, many… many things. But he really isn’t this good of a performer, no matter what you’ve been telling yourself all week. For God’s sake, why is it so much easier to be angry at him when he’s not standing right in front you?

You slip into his passenger side as he fumbles to set the flowers down on his backseat again, and he joins you up front just a few moments later. His hands are shaking when he sets the keys into the ignition. His whole body is. When you cast a real look over at him, the tips of his fingers are pale and his lips are lacking their usual rosy, pink hue. Your own teeth are chattering despite only having been truly exposed to the cold air for a matter of seconds; you dread to think how frozen he must be.

“Are we driving?” You ask to break the silence. Since he got into the car and fiddled with the heating settings to try and warm things up a little, he hasn’t said a word. It’s awkward. It’s horrible. You already miss the comfortable way you’ve been able to sit for hours together, barely talking, just watching the lights of the city and the cars travelling through it. 

You already miss him. Which is a strange thought, seeing as he’s only about ten inches away. 

“If– if you want,” he says, stuttering through the frost in his lungs. “We can go—...”

“Drive, Chan,” you say. It’s not just because you want him to stop falling over his words – which, to be fair, you do. Chan has always been very confident, carrying himself with the air of someone who knows exactly their worth. It’s one of the things you treasure about him. So this? Is fucking weird. But a big part of it is that you know his car will heat up faster if it’s in motion, and right now, you think maybe he’s at risk of losing a finger or two if he doesn’t get some circulation back.

He steps on the gas and the car pulls away from your home. It’s the first time you’ve ever been in his car without there being some sort of music playing, whether that’s historically just been the radio or a tape he put together with the help of one of his older friends. (The tapes that always had your first initial on them. The tapes that he never failed to ask your opinions on when he dropped you home – as if he’d compiled them with only you in mind.) The silence feels jarring and you can hear every rumble of the engine, every squeal of the brakes he definitely needs to get serviced. 

But the car does warm through, and you sigh out relief as the bones in your hands move a little easier, as your fingers curl and uncurl to less resistance from your taut muscles. Chan feels it, too; his body relaxes, his breaths stop coming out in fractions, his face gets some colour back. The timing feels a little less awful when you finally say, “go on, then.”

Chan glances over at you as he drives down an unlit street. Only for a second, like he’s checking you’re still there, before his eyes train back on the road. He’s going to one of your favourite spots. It isn’t a lookout – it’s somewhere completely shut off from the rest of town, hidden by the trees near the railway tracks, somewhere you’ve never had to worry about being seen or heard. Maybe he’s anticipating a screaming match. Maybe he’s expecting something else. Maybe, even, he just cares about how much you love it there. 

“I didn’t know you heard that conversation,” he starts, sheepishly. You want to roll your eyes, reach over and thump him, ask if that makes what he said okay, but you don’t. You stay looking out the front windscreen too. Waiting. “I… all right. I was out of my ass drunk.”

You click your tongue, pressing it afterwards against the inside of your cheek, but again, you stay quiet.

“I don’t think you heard what you thought you heard, though,” he goes on to say. “‘Cause– ‘cause it wasn’t…”

But you can only be quiet for so long in the face of this mess. Especially when he’s apparently working towards a doctorate in beating around the fucking bush. “I heard you tell your friends that it was never gonna happen with ‘movie girl’.”

Chan’s face brightens, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth is wrong with this man. Why does he find that funny? Why is his chest moving like he’s trying not to laugh?

“And you… thought you were movie girl,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Okay – shit. I’m sorry.”

You look at him properly, now, as he indicates to the right and takes the turn that leads him down the lane to your spot. “What are you talking about?”

“I get it,” he says. “You work at the–... but you’re not movie girl. Not that movie girl.”

“Stop talking in riddles before I get out of this car, Chan. It’s too late for this shit.”

He holds a hand up as if to apologise and settles back against the head cushion, suddenly looking far more comfortable than he did thirty seconds ago. He clears his throat, running his tongue over his lips, before sucking in a breath and letting himself go on.

“You’re not movie girl,” he says again, successfully clarifying nothing. “There’s this chick I used to dance with — years back, before… God, when we were in school, like, forever ago. She moved away when we were sixteen.” As he talks, he reaches your destination and sets the car into park, before he unfastens his seatbelt and turns to face you. You do the same, shifting your weight to tuck one leg up beneath you, and with your undivided attention, he goes on. “I ran into her recently. She’s back in town now, I guess. It was like, two weeks—?”

“I’m gonna be all-over grey by the time you finish telling this story,” you interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “Can you please give me the short version?”

“Not if you want it to make sense,” Chan shrugs. Begrudgingly, you let him keep talking. “She said it would be cool to hang out, maybe catch a movie or do lunch or something — and look, I didn’t know she was asking me on a date, I thought she was just being nice, y’know? Trying to be friends, but… you weren’t working that day, it was when you had that… that stomach thing going on? And I brought you the soup my mom made, remember?”

You nod; of course you remember. At the time, you wondered why on Earth this grown man’s mother was making you food — you asked yourself whether he’d told her about you, or if she thought it was for someone else. In the end you decided he must have just been bringing you leftovers. But you’d been too worn out to start asking questions; instead, after you’d eaten, you let yourself fall asleep with your head in his lap as he patted your hair and hummed his favourite songs. You hadn’t let yourself think too deeply about it since. 

“Anyway. We were sat watching the movie and she, uh,” he glances down at his lap, tips of his ears burning pink. “She put her hand, sorta, on my thigh? And then I was like, shit, I didn’t read this right, like… at all. So I moved it off and she took the hint — and after it ended I said to her, you know, I was flattered, right? But I wasn’t interested. And then I went home and got that soup and—… yeah.”

He came straight to see you. To look after you. Hell, you didn’t even fool around that night; in retrospect, it was all uncharacteristically domestic. And slowly, the pieces you’ve spent days struggling to fit together start to fall into place. It makes sense. The only question that remains is do you believe him?

Well, tell a lie. 

There is one more. 

“You said there was someone else,” you add quietly. 

You’ll die before you admit it, but this is secretly the part that was hurting you the most. 

You can’t even look him in the eye, right now; your cheeks are burning with the embarrassment of even caring. As much as you want to tell yourself that the only reason you’re pissed is just because of the dishonesty, you can only stare at yourself in the mirror and point-blank lie so many times. Someone else. You hate it. 

Just the thought of him seeing somebody else, taking them out on dates, smiling at them, laughing with them, kissing them the way he kisses you, touching —

A shiver runs the length of you and you cross your arms, thrusting your sleeve-covered hands under your armpits. 

Chan takes a deep breath in and exhales it slowly, like he’s blowing smoke out of his lungs. “There is,” he admits, nodding slowly, avoiding your eyes, too. “There is someone else.”

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask. 

Chan doesn’t respond straight away. You don’t notice, but eventually his eyes do land back at you; it’s only when he clears his throat to get your attention that you look at him long enough to realise he’s quite deliberately staring. His lips are lifted on the right in a lopsided smile, his eyes soft as he reaches across the seats towards you. You stare blankly down at his hand until he wiggles his fingers, and you think briefly that this is the most fucked up ending to a situationship you’ve ever been through. 

You drop one of your hands down and let him hold it, though, staring at his face as his thumb brushes over your knuckles and you wait for him to finally say it out loud. For him to announce that he’s fallen for somebody and that he can’t see you anymore. To put the nail in the coffin. Don’t tell me their name, you think. I don’t want to know anything about them. Please, just don’t.

“For someone so frustratingly smart, you’re really fucking dumb,” Chan says, finally, swallowing around his words and squeezing your fingers. Whatever stoic expression you had forced onto your face at the start of this conversation dissolves into irritation and you snatch your hand away from him again, letting his own fall and collide with a thunk against the handbrake. 

“Oh, sorry that I didn’t realise you were sneaking around behind my back when that’s the one thing we promised we wouldn’t do,” you snap. “God. The only stupid thing I’ve done here is get involved with you in the f—”

“You’re the someone else.”

Oh. 

Oh.

“I’m—?”

“You.”

The admission hangs heavily between you, as does your nonsense, unfinished insult. Neither of you really know what to do with yourselves except sit perfectly still and try to somehow deal with your increasingly dry throats. When Chan moves, it’s only to turn down the heating dial when his cheeks burn a bit too hot; you appreciate it, in part due to the bead of sweat currently running down your back, but you don’t say so. 

“You could have started with that,” you say weakly, wrestling with all your strength to keep even some of your cards close to your chest. It’s not working though. Your attempt to conceal your elation is a bit like throwing a single leaf on top of a bison and calling it camouflage. 

Chan commits to laughing, finally, your sentiment breaking him too. Now, you do crack that smile, albeit mostly just at the sound that comes from him. It’s bright and airy, lighting his whole face up as he drops all the way back and leans against his car door, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I was trying to build to a moment! It’s not my fault you hit every branch of the anti-romantic tree on your way down.”

“I am not anti-romantic,” you scoff in protest. 

“Yes — you are.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“No, you’re just an idiot.”

“Says she who didn’t realise her fuck-buddy had feelings for about six months, Jesus.”

“Chan—” You start, your voice laced with a playful warning. 

“Here I was thinking I was making it completely obvious,” he rambles on. 

“— oh my God, just shut up and kiss me.”

“Dropping hints left and r—” … “Huh?”

He stops short a fraction of a second after you finish, stumped and silent, frozen with everything but a little buffering symbol above his forehead. Kiss me, you said. Chan, […] just shut up and kiss me. All right, you’ve asked him to do that before, but not like this. Not as if you’ll wither away should you not get a taste of his lips this instant. It takes him some time to process it, but he does move in first, eventually. The way he always does, closing the distance between you like he’s been shot out of a cannon, one hand either side of your face, crashing feverishly against your mouth. 

Every now and again, he’ll be happy to let you take charge and set the pace: mostly just if he’s feeling lazy or especially generous. Tonight isn’t one of those times, however. He holds you and kisses you possessively, like you’re his, like this is how he finally gets to lay claim on you, licking between your gasp-parted lips after he moans straight into your mouth. He’s spearmint sweet, edged with that one cherry flavoured chapstick he stockpiles as he grins up against you, rolling his body fluidly with every separation for air, every changing angle. 

He pulls your sweatshirt up over your head and throws it down into the footwell on the passenger side, straight away hurrying to kiss you hungrily again, hands cupping your neck. His tongue is in your mouth once more, there’s no way you could possibly differentiate your breaths from his: you’re one, in every way you can be with your clothes still on, but it’s not enough. 

“Want you,” you whimper as he nips at your bottom lip and pleasure rushes through you from head to toe. 

“You’ve got me,” he groans with his eyes still closed. “I’m all yours.” 

“No,” you insist, whimpering when his cute little nose drags across your cheek until he’s pressing hot kisses to your jawline. “I— fuck—”  He suckles on the sweet spot below your ear and your spine tingles, head tilting to give him better access. “Chan, I want you.”

Chan settles back from you, his usually bright, sparkling eyes now darkened with desire. All he gives you is a singular glance sideways, but you know exactly what he’s suggesting. You nod, breathing deep, biting the inside of your cheek; he turns off the headlights and it’s all systems go. 

There’s a rush to scramble into the back of the car. Chan takes the keys out the ignition and climbs through the gap in the seats; you opt for the less hazardous approach of getting out of the vehicle entirely and re-entering it instead. Not that it bothers him — no sooner is the door closed behind you, Chan’s hands are on your hips and he pulls you on top of him, your leg knocking the dahlias off the leather and onto the floor in the process. You gasp and glance down but he averts your attention with two fingers under your chin, guiding you to look back at him. 

“What? You think this is the last time I’ll bring you flowers?” He asks, capturing your lips as he leans up to you; at the same time, his hands drop low and he starts to slide open the buttons down the front of your pyjama shirt. “Baby, m’gonna get you so many more.” 

You sigh at the affectionate name, at the change in its use; until now, Chan has only called you baby while he’s buried inside you, bruising you inside and out with sharp thrusts and rough-gripping fingers. But as much as you can feel him growing hard against the inside of your thigh while you try to get comfortable, one knee planted either side of his hips, you can’t help but feel as if this time, it means something different. 

(He’s had feelings for six months: it always meant what it does, now. You know that, deep down.)

Somewhere in amongst the never-ending sloppy kisses and constantly travelling hands, you manage to strip both his jacket and T-shirt off him and you’re pressed bare-chest-to-bare-chest with Chan, feeling every little hitch of his breath in his lungs, every thump of his heartbeat, every tiny increase in the temperature of his skin. Your desperate search for friction between your legs has you rolling your hips down against his hard-on, drawing grunts and making him squeeze at your tits when you rock against him the right way. His head eventually drops to your chest and he replaces one hand with his mouth, freeing his fingers to slide down the front of your pyjama bottoms. 

It’s honestly rarer for Chan to get straight to the point than it is for him to tease you a little first, so when he flattens his palm against you and brushes his fingertips over your already aching clit, you let out a squeak of surprise. He shivers, releasing your nipple from between his teeth for a moment; once he’s collected a little more arousal to ease the friction, he continues to rub at the bud, slowly building the pressure inside you.

“No panties?” He asks, struggle clear in the roughness of his voice. 

“I was in bed,” you gasp, eyes rolling back. It’s for the best that it happens out of pleasure, really, because you’re not sure you’d be able to stop yourself rolling them in exasperation at his remark otherwise. You shuffle a little, lifting yourself up on your knees more, breath hitching when he uses the newly granted space to dip his hand lower and press a finger against your hole. “Please, Chan — this can’t be comfy— just…”

“S’fine” he argues, shaking his head, despite the fact that the angle of his wrist is actually kind of painful, right now. The truth is that he can’t bring himself to care: not when he can smell your fabric softener on the shirt still hanging off your shoulders, the shampoo in your freshly washed hair, all so pretty mixed with the damp scent of your desire. Not when you clench around him as he slides his finger in and out of your cunt. Not when he could get you to soak all the way through these pretty satin pants. 

Your arms snake around his neck as he dips a second finger inside you to join the first. The way your thighs tighten around his hips could — should — be embarrassing, the fact his sturdy lap holds you open enough for your pussy to be toyed with even more so. You almost always do this too music, too — for what might be the first time ever, you can hear every single wet sound your body makes, every hitch of your own breath, every grunt he gives even though he’s not the one being pleasured. 

You don’t even realise how you’re rocking up and down against his hand until Chan licks from the base of your neck to your jaw, smirking over your pulse point and says, “gonna ride my cock this good too, baby?”

And if it was anyone else talking to you like this, you would be embarrassed. Mortified, at being so needy you’re here doing all the work for him. At the cry you give as he splits and scissors his fingers to stretch you out. But instead? You feel another rush of arousal drool out of you as you press your nails into his shoulders and nod, bouncing harder and watching how his bicep tenses up solid with the effort of keeping his arm steady for you to use. 

“Wanna,” you gasp. “Want it so bad, Chan—”

Despite your pleas for this to move further, when his hand pulls back out of the elastic of your waistband, you feel like you could throttle him. The urge ebbs away when his soaked fingers press to your lips and he quirks an eyebrow at you, though — you end up suckling them clean, licking up every trace of your own slick. You lock eyes with him as you do, slumping on your thighs so your drenched core sits right over his tweaking length, the seam of your pants giving just enough friction to your clit for it to feel good as you grind down on him again. 

“Get those off,” he instructs, trying to sound hard and dominant. Which would work, perhaps, if his voice didn’t crack in the middle of the sentence. “Now.”

Even though you’re overcome with a need to tease him, the desire you have to be split open on his length outweighs it, so you do as you’re told and hold it in for later. It’s not easy, but you manage to manipulate yourself in his lap to work the satin down your thighs and past your knees. He helps you tug them the rest of the way past your ankles and feet, shoves them onto the floor — Chan’s hands settle back on your hips and yours skim down his stomach at the same time, fingers grazing over the little hairs that trail from his bellybutton down into his jeans. 

“Can I?” You ask, playing already with his belt buckle. 

He hums assent and you slip it all the way open, tugging as he moves his hips underneath you so you can pull it free from the loops. Between you, you manage to get his jeans unfastened, to pull both them and his boxer shorts down over his ass and to his knees; finally, fucking finally, his cock sits pretty and leaking and free between your stomach and his. It’s getting cold in the car now the heating isn’t on, but you’re already burning up in anticipation for him to ruin you; the way his abs ripple as he takes his shaft into his hand and strokes himself a couple of times to prepare tells you he’s in the same boat. 

It’s like clockwork, from here. You shift into position as easily as you settle into bed after a long day. Chan rubs his tip through your folds, feels the warmth of you and hisses through his teeth with fluttering eyes. Just like always. This never changes. He can’t ever get enough of that first feeling of his cock against your pussy: it’s like the first hit of a blunt, like the first sip of a cold beer, the first full-body stretch early in the morning. He’s sure it’s what arriving at the gates of heaven must feel like. 

You sink down onto him slowly, fluttering around his tip and stilling to give you both a moment to get used to the feeling. He’s thick inside you. Thicker than his pretty, dainty fingers have ever been able to stretch you enough for. Even as wet as you are, you still need to suck a deep breath into your lungs before you can relax your hips further and let your heat swallow him all the way to his base. 

Chan’s head is tipped back in pleasure, he’s biting his lip at the sting of your nails pressing hard into the back of his neck. He loves it, though — loves how the pain shoots in waves down his spine, how it tingles in his brain, how he knows you need to anchor yourself this way or you’ll lose control. He kneads at your ass as you sit against his thighs, listening to you whimpering at how deep he is inside you.

“So fucking tight around me still,” Chan groans, focusing all his willpower into keeping his hips down on the leather beneath him. “Shit, baby — you feel so good…” His neck softens and his head drops forward again as you start to move, rising and falling over and over. He kisses your throat and down to your collarbones while you work up to a rhythm, sliding his palms up your back, hugging you close to him. 

He isn’t even the one putting in the hard work, but within minutes of this, his soft, fluffy hair clings to his forehead. A light sheen of sweat makes him radiant under the moonlight breaking through the trees. He’s breathing heavily, the top of his toned chest painted a soft pink — you don’t think he could possibly look prettier. Not until he cups your jaw with his hands and you look upwards: you land on his smiling face, those plush, swollen lips, his devilish but sweetly glittering eyes. The sight of him, looking at you like you’re some kind of Goddess, makes your pussy tighten and your tiring hips stutter. You slip your pyjama top all the way off your arms and curl your fingers into his hair, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss, through which you’re both just beaming. 

You’ve never kissed him this much. When it all started out, you sort of had a rule against it, but now? Neither of you can stop. As he starts to fuck up into you, taking the reins and letting your burning thighs rest, he keeps your face steady with his hands and freely allows his lips to slide against yours. It’s not refined. It can’t be. Not with how hard and fast his movements quickly become, not with the onslaught of curses and moans and babbled praise coming from the both of you. One particularly sharp thrust makes you yelp out a squeak of his name and he just swallows it down, making a point to keep aiming for— and hitting— that same spot inside you. You’re a mess. 

He could do this all night. When your orgasm bubbles inside you and he starts pinching at one of your nipples, sending you over the edge, he’s nowhere near finished. Even though your cunt massages at his length, throbbing and pulsing through your climax; even though your voice is so high by now that only dogs can hear you; even though you nearly collapse on top of him with almost all your weight in his lap, and he has to work twice as hard to keep this going, he barely slows. He definitely doesn’t stop. 

“You can gimme one more, right sweetheart?” He asks, grunting into your neck. “Always feels so fucking good when you come.” You choke up an ‘mhm’, to which he responds by slipping a hand between your bodies and down to where you’re connected. His thumb presses against your clit again — not moving, just applying enough pressure to make you stutter when you say his name. 

Your thighs are still twitching when you try to lift yourself a little, try to meet his movements as he chases his orgasm too. The “problem” with Chan is that his stamina is otherworldly. You couldn’t keep up if you wanted to. 

“Relax,” he says, tensing his jaw, doing the opposite himself. “Fuck — lie down.”

It’s pretty cramped and hard to move, but you lift yourself off him and only slightly lament at the sudden emptiness between your legs. There isn’t time to get too upset, however: moments after you get comfortable on your back, Chan shoves his jeans the rest of the way down and stands with one knee planted on the seats, lifting one of your ankles up to rest it on his shoulder. He slips back inside you easily then, gripping around your calf to keep you both steady. From the word go, his pace is relentless. You scrabble around for something to hold onto but the entire car seems to melt away; you ball your hands into fists at your sides instead, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“Mm-mm. Look at me,” Chan hums, tightening his grip on your leg. “Wanna see those pretty eyes.” 

You obey, opening your lids to look up at him while he pounds into you hard enough to make the car shake. Over, and over, and over, and over. Rougher. Faster. For how long? Who even knows. All you’re truly aware of is how good it feels. How the windows grow foggy with the  steam of your laboured breaths. How his sweat mingles with your own. 

When his fingers on the other hand get reacquainted with your clit, when he bites down on his bottom lip, when his thrusts start to get messier and more erratic and the veins in his arms start to bulge out, you know he’s getting close. He doesn’t need to tell you out loud. The smirk he wears speaks for itself. 

“Where d’you want it, baby?” He asks you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your ankle. 

“In— mmh, in-…side me—” you stammer, hips jolting as you near your second orgasm to match his first. “Please, Chan — want it all…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah—”

Well, he must’ve been holding himself back something spectacular, because a few thrusts later you watch all of his muscles contract as he tips over the edge, and you go hurtling with him. It’s all so much. All your nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and your vision starts to blur at the edges; it’s not long before you have to close your eyes to shut one of your overworked senses out, completely. Your muscles are sore. Your throat hurts. Even your lungs ache. 

God, he hasn’t gone that hard in so long, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can barely speak — it’s going to take you a week to recover from this, minimum. 

He stills deep inside you, feeling his cock throb with the last pumps of his release. Your leg slips off his shoulder and your foot lands down with a thud onto the car’s (thankfully clean) floor; he bends forward to kiss you, still breathing heavily against your lips. You’ve come over completely boneless and reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair again feels like running a marathon at sprint pace. You’d fall asleep right here, right now, if you could, but with sweat cooling rapidly against your skin, you know that’s probably not up there as one of your finest ideas. 

“You really think getting involved with me was stupid?” Chan asks, nudging your nose with the tip of his own. He’s never been less serious than this in his entire life, which stops you feeling too bad when you lightly slap at his rock solid chest and try to push him off you.

“Yes,” you lie, attempting to reach to the ground for your pyjama shirt while he grips your chin and attacks you with tiny little pecks all over your face. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

(Chan chuckles to himself and thinks that he’s quite happy to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, really. He can stay that way, as long as you promise never to stop.)

thank you so much for reading. i hope you enjoyed it - likes, feedback, comments, reblogs are all so appreciated.<3

[wittlesissyb4by]

Chapter 3 - The Study Group

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Click HERE to read Chapter 2!!

“I…I’m just really nervous.” Jack stammered, dipping his head and rubbing his face as he does any time he’s anxious. 

Marianne used a finger to lift her husband’s chin, looking into his eyes. “I know,” she said, trying to feign confidence, “I am too.”

She gave him a once over, sliding her hands along his shirt that was far too short to cover his belly, straightening it out and picking off any stray lint. 

Jack kept tugging the shirt down. “Can’t I at least wear shorts?” He whimpered. 

Marianne just shrugged, curling her fingers into the waistband of his diaper, gripping and pulling upward so it forced his legs a bit wider. “I don’t really see the point,” she said, tucking the flared edges back into his thighs like she’d been taught, apparently it helps prevent leaks, “they already know you’ll be wearing one, and they’re going to see it eventually. No reason to delay the inevitable.”

He blushed, knowing she was right, but that didn’t keep him from trembling. 

“Hey,” she said, bringing her hand back to his cheek, “you wanted this, remember? There’s no backing out now.” 

That seemed to settle him. He nodded and plopped his hands down to his sides for maybe the hundredth time. Marianne combed him over once more, she found herself uneasy too. There was no reason to be, they were all probably used to it, but Jack was still a reflection of her, and Marianne wanted to show that she was competent in diapering her husband. 

Still, she couldn’t help but gawk at how adorable he looked, like an innocent little one rubbing their eyes and face, tugging on their shirt, and crinkling in their little diaper. She was certainly starting to see the appeal to this whole thing, even if she originally didn’t think it would be her cup of tea when he first presented it to her.

“What time are they getting here?” Jack asked, still a bit flustered. 

Marianne leaned in close for a kiss, which he returned. When they released, she smiled, “they’re already here!”

******

The girls were giddy with excitement when Marianne came back into the living room. They’d been sitting around the couch, chairs, and tables. Notebooks and laptops open, pencils scratching, keys tapping. The sound of Marianne’s footsteps caused them all to stop collectively and look up from their studying. 

“Ladies…” Marianne cleared her throat, voice shaking nervously but trying to feign confidence, “meet…Jack!”

A round of applause broke out, but nothing (and no one) came from the hallway. At least, not for a few seconds. Finally, once the cheers died down, Jack came simpering into the room, hands relentlessly trying to tug down his shirt, only for it to spring back up and further expose the puffy pamper between his legs. “Oh my godd!!” Someone squealed, stomping their feet in hilarity. 

“Awww!! Look at his wittle pampurrs!!”

“Soo cuuute!!”

“Cute? More like ‘pathetic’!!”

The raucous laughter went on for what felt like several minutes. Even Marianne couldn’t help but smile to herself. Though the girls were probably embellishing, it was nice to see them so excited about seeing her husband in diapers. It was validating. 

“Turn around!”

“Give us a little spin!”

“Yea! Show us your diaper butt!”

“Don’t worry about that shirt, it’s not hiding anything. Trust us!”

“Bend over!”

“That’s it! Smack that ass!”

Jack was whimpering over the dull thud of his hand smacking the seat of his diaper. 

“Come here,” Claire said, snapping her fingers and pointing to the ground in front of her, the same carpet she herself used to crawl on when her Mom brought her over as a toddler, “let’s check your diaper.”

Marianne had never seen her husband move so fast. He was trembling all over, but his eyes had this sort of glazy effect to them, like he was in a different world, a different space. He dropped to his knees in front of the beautiful blonde college girl. 

“Make him tell us if he’s wet!” Trinity suggested. 

“Do you do that?” Brooke beckoned, “I always like to guess when I think they’re doing it. The way they try to keep their face from scrunching is so cute!”

“I just check them constantly,” said Valencia, “They get so huffy and puffy when I'm making them spread their legs so I can pinch their pamper every 5 minutes. It almost makes them force it out faster so they don’t have to keep getting all worked up inside of their clitty cage!”

“I like my methods, thank you very much!” Claire giggled. She closed her spiral notebook and set it to the side, tucking her hair behind her ear as she leaned forward to the quivering Jack. “How’s your diaper?” She asked, smacking her gum. “Are you wet?”

Before Jack could form any words that weren’t just stammering baby babble, Claire already had her hand on his diaper. “Hmm…hard to tell…” she said to the room, “What do you think girls? Can you check him?”

Marianne had given them permission to touch Jack and his diaper, as long as they didn’t go in and touch his penis. She wasn’t quite comfortable with that. 

Jack mewed as he went down the line, waddling side to side on his knees so each girl could pinch and squish and poke and prod him. “Hmm…he doesn’t feel wet…but I do feel something small and stiff!” Valencia giggled, tapping him on the hips. “Turn around! Let’s check for poop!”

Jack’s cheeks flushed red as Val used a finger to peel back the waistband of his diaper and peek inside. “Hmm, nope! No poo poo’s…yet! Maybe the little guy’s backed up!  What were the 4 P’s for easing constipation again, girls?”

“Prunes!”

“Pears!”

“Peaches! And…” Savannah flipped through her notes.

“Plums.” Marianne finished, she’d been studying hard the past few days. “I have all of them in the pantry!”

******

“Open wide!!”

“Heeerre comesss the airpwannnne!!!”

“And the Choo-choo train!!”

“Gotta put the car in the garage!! Vroom vroom!!”

Spoonfuls of mush were coming from so many directions that Jack could hardly keep up. Actually, he couldn’t keep up at all. Sweet slop ran down the sides of his stuffed mouth, down his chin, and onto the bib that someone took the liberty of bringing for him.  

“Open! Open!” Savannah encouraged, but didn’t even wait for him to swallow before shoveling another spoonful into his already full mouth. Jack tried to close his lips around it, but some ended up getting pushed out from being over capacity. Savannah deftly caught what dripped down his drooly chin, and brought it back up for a second attempt. 

Jack’s stomach was groaning from the onslaught. The pureed ‘P’s’ were slishing and sloshing, making it full almost to the point of bursting, and the jars still had plenty of food left in them. Did Marianne know she bought such big containers? Maybe she didn’t intend them to all be used at once, but she sure wasn’t doing anything to stop them. In fact, she almost encouraged it. 

“I’ve been trying to get him to eat healthier,” Marianne laughed, “guess I just need to invite pretty girls over in order to get him to eat his fruit and veggies!!”

Jack wriggled helplessly in his high chair. The same one he’d built for himself just a few weeks prior. Marianne didn’t understand why he wanted to add restraints to it until this very moment. The way he was tugging them and whining with all that mush in his mouth made it quite necessary. She couldn’t tell if he was struggling just for show, or if he genuinely was in turmoil, but he didn’t use the safeword, so Marianne assumed all was well one way or another. She had to admit, he did look pretty adorable squirming around in that chair covered in mush. His white shirt was no longer plain.

“Hold still, little one!” Claire cooed, holding his head still from behind the chair while the girls forced even more spoonfuls into his mouth. “It’ll help you feel better! Help get your poo poo’s out!”

When they’d finally exhausted all four jam-sized jars of food and the girls cheered “alll gone!!” Jack was leaning back in his chair, mouth agape, groaning over his bloated belly. Trinity used the bib to mop up his face, Brooke and Savannah removed the restraints from his wrists and ankles, and Val lifted the tabletop. 

“Uh oh, girls!” Claire exclaimed, hand between Jack’s legs. “Feels like we’ve got a wet diaper!!”

******

Jack sat on the floor in his pissy pamper while the girls went over the different types of enemas. 

“Sodium Phosphate, Glycerin, Bisacodyl, Mineral Oil and…” Savannah snapped her fingers over and over, searching for the words, “…and…and…”

“It’s easier than you think,” Val said over her notes, checking off Savannah’s answers. 

“Oh! Tap water!” Savannah exclaimed, smacking her head in her own stupidity. 

“Which one do you use to stimulate colon contractions?”

“Bisacodyl!” She replied immediately with a satisfied smile, “Easy.”

They continued to go through their notes, making sure to cover everything with detail and then some before moving on to a new topic. 

Jack pretended to play with the little blocks and stuffed animals they gave him. It was demeaning and humiliating, but he decided it was better than protesting. He didn’t want to cause a scene or put Marianne in a precarious position where she would be forced to reprimand him, or worse, become too overwhelmed and embarrass herself in front of her peers. He’d asked for all of this, he could deal with it. His diaper was still warm from the piss he added to it a half hour ago. It squished as he shifted, but so did something else. His stomach was churning, doing backflips and giving that noticeable heavy grumble. He thought about asking Marianne if he could excuse himself to the restroom, but she seemed so busy and stressed going through her studies. When he tried to leave the room earlier so they could have their time to study in peace, the girls immediately asked “Where are you going?” and plopped him right back down on the floor where they could “keep an eye on him.” He was stuck in here.

He glanced from side to side, the girls were going over the active ingredients in different suppositories, not paying much attention to him at all. Now was as good of a time as ever. As quietly as he could, he clambered around onto his hands and knees, his heavy diaper drooping between his legs. This wasn’t the first time he’d crawled since they’d been around, (they made him do several laps proclaiming he was a pamper pisser earlier) so they didn’t seem to notice when he slowly crawled over into the corner. 

He just wanted a bit of privacy. It would be weird doing it in front of them. He thought one last time about asking Marianne if he could use the bathroom, but she was so busy with the girls he didn’t want to interrupt, especially to tell them what he needed to do. Plus, he was pretty sure he knew what their answer would be. So, instead, he brought his legs up into a crouch, squatting in the corner and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. 

“Watcha doin’ over there?” Trinity’s voice called. 

Jack immediately flushed red. 

“Oh! I know that look!”

“Awww!! Is somewon twying to make a pushy??”

“Oh my god! He is!!”

“He’s doing the good ‘ole ‘squatty potty’!!!”

“I love how they think they can get away with it…pooping in the corner like a little tottler.”

Marianne didn’t say anything, just smiled sheepishly at her husband’s antics. She’d never seen her husband so embarrassed before. 

“Get out from over there!” Claire called, snapping her fingers and pointing back at the rug in the center of the room. “If you need to do your business, you will do it right here where we can all see you!”

Jack looked to Marianne for help, his face stricken with horror, but she simply gave a curt nod, the edges of her lips curling upwards. This is what he asked for, she told herself. 

His bottom lip started to quiver, but he tucked it underneath his teeth as he made his way back to the center of the room in front of the gaggle of girls. Jack could feel every set of eyes on him while he crouched in his diaper. It was so wet and plump that it practically reached the floor. The girls giggled and smiled, some covering their grins with their hands so as not to be “rude”. 

“Go on Jack Jack!” Val said, taking charge. 

“Yea!” The other girls said, joining in now. 

“Poop your pampers!”

“Make a pushy!”

“Go on, diaper dumper! Let’s see what you got!”

Jack clamped his eyes shut, hoping to block out all the sights and sounds, but it was futile, their incessant cackling reverberated around the room. 

There was only one thing he could do at this point, he had to get it over with. 

“Oh look! His face is turning red! I think he’s doing it!”

Jack’s face was already red long before from the embarrassment of it all, but now that he was pushing, the veins were popping from his head. He couldn’t hold back a grunt as his muscles clenched, then relaxed. The warmth caught him off guard, he was used to expelling the waste and it dropping through the air and into the water below. Now, it didn’t drop far at all, it just pressed back into him as the mush spread through the inside of his padding. Somehow, the girls noticed, either from the smell, or the much saggier bulge of his diaper. 

“Uh oh!! I think somewon has poo poo’s!!”

“Let’s check him!!”

“Not yet, he’s still going! Let’s let the wittle baby finish his business!”

Jack begrudgingly harrumphed and pushed out the remainder of his excrement. He tried to avoid their giggling gazes, but the eyes boring into him were tangible. Finally, he finished, but he didn’t know what he needed to do to convey the message. 

Thankfully, Marianne stepped in: “All done?” She asked, as if being married to him all this time gave her experience on his bowel movements. 

Jack nodded, still unable to drain the color in his cheeks. Marianne could see he had the strangest mixture of embarrassment, discomfort, and arousal. She found that more than a bit intriguing, not the act of defecating himself, but the fact that he was willing to utterly humiliate himself by doing it in front of all of these attractive people. Had he no shame? Or did he just revel in it? Either way, she found it fascinating.

“Tell us what you did.” Val said, a sadistic grin on her face. “Tell us what you did in your diaper.”

Jack looked side to side for help, but none came, not even from Marianne, who just gave him a curt nod, lips curling into a smile. 

“I…” Jack squeaked in the tiniest of voices, he was so humiliated he brought his hands to his face, rubbing his cheeks and squirming like an embarrassed toddler. “I went poo poo’s…”

“Louder!” Trinity commanded. 

His bottom lip quivered, his eyes got a little misty. “I went poo poo’s!!”

“Where?”

“In…in my diaper…”

“We can’t hear you!”

“I WENT POO POO’S IN MY DIAPER!!” he shouted. 

The girls continued making him humiliate himself. Forcing him to say it like a baby. To turn around and wiggle his droopy diaper for them. To stand up and swish his hips from side to side, causing the load to swing like a wrecking ball. 

“Should we…” Savannah started, “should we make him…?”  

All the girls seemed to know exactly what she meant, all except Marianne, so Claire leaned over and whispered in her ear. 

Marianne’s eyes widened a bit, but she didn’t shake her head. She seemed to be weighing options, keeping her eyes on Jack, considering his well-being. Finally, she shrugged and gave a nod in the affirmative. 

The girls collectively giggled and clapped. 

“Okay loser,” Val said, taking the lead, “Tell us: do you like your dirty diaper?”

Jack shrugged, eyes continuing to dart back and forth searching for help as to what to say. His mouth hung agape, but he didn’t seem to notice, drool leaking down his lips, he was so deep in little space. 

“Y-yes…” he said in a voice way too high-pitched for his age. 

“Say it.”

He hung his head, speaking to the floor. “I…i like my dirty diaper…”

The girls all exchanged glances and giggles. 

“Show us.”

Jack looked up, confused. “Wha?”

“Show us how much you like it.” Claire said. “Right there, on the floor.”

It took Jack only a second to register what she meant. It would have taken Marianne ages if it hadn’t just been explained to her. 

“N-no…” Jack begged, face welling up with crimson again, “please…”

“What?” Val cooed, “does the wittle baybee not want to make cummies in his dirty diapy?”

Jack instinctively grabbed his crotch. Even through the padding, Marianne could tell he was hard. If you would have told her her husband would be getting an erection inside of a poopy diaper while a group of girls laughed and ridiculed him, she would have laughed and ridiculed you. But no matter how red Jack’s face got, he certainly seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Lay down, Jack Jack.” Savannah commanded, “on your tummy.”

Despite his hesitation, he worked his quaking legs behind him, then lowered himself down on his belly, the mushy diaper crinkling as it was pressed against the floor, he looked up with doe eyes as he awaited further instruction. 

“You know what to do.” Trinity teased over the laughter of the other girls. “Show us what a big boy you are while you hump your dirty diapers!!”

Jack hung his head in shame, but used his arms to pull himself forward, squishing the mess into himself as his diaper ground against the ground. He visibly cringed, groaning as he wriggled his hips back and forth. 

The girls cackled with delight, even Marianne smiled at Jack’s shame. 

“Hump those Huggies, loser!”

“Pump those poopy pampers!”

“Tell us what you’re doing, diaper dumper!”

Jack was sweating in a mixture of shame and exertion, “I'm humping my poopy diapers!” He repeated over and over as he ground his hips even harder. 

They clapped and cheered and teased him with every thrust. 

“He’s really getting after it!”

“So horny and desperate!”

“See? All these little losers are the same!”

The girls had discussed with Marianne beforehand that anything they said was purely for degradation purposes. They didn’t think ill of her husband, or even care for that matter, they were just playing their part. 

“Tell us when you’re going to cum, loser!”

“Ask us for permission!”

It didn’t take long. Less than 10 seconds since they’d given the command, Jack was blubbering in a pitiful puddle on the floor. “Can I cum? Can i cum please??”

“Call us ‘Goddesses’!”

“And it’s ‘goo goo’ to you!”

Jack moaned and mewed, digging his dirty diaper in the rug. “Nnghhh! Can i make a…goo goo…in my… diapy…Goddesses??”

“No.” Val said without the slightest hint of sympathy. “Lift up.”

Whining and whimpering, Jack reluctantly raised his filthy diaper off the floor. 

“Keep humping.” Savannah said. “But don’t touch the ground.”

Jack was on all fours, humping the air like a desperate bitch. Swishing his hips back and forth and making the dirty droopy diaper swing to and fro. The girls found this to be one of the funniest things they’d ever seen. They continued to make him put on this ridiculous display for almost a full minute. 

“Rub it!” They commanded, making him push his hand into his crotch and stroke it through his padding. 

“PLEASE may I cum, Goddesses?” He was desperate, shouting and whimpering with no regard for how pathetic he looked. 

If Marianne had it her way, she would have let him, but instead she decided to let the girls take the reins. 

“Absolutely not.” Trinity barked. “Get back on your belly.”

They let him simmer down for a bit before having him resume his humiliating humping. 

“Suck your thumb.”

“Babble like a baybee!”

Jack was a blubbering mess on the floor while he mushed his mess with his hips. 

“Turn over.”

He flipped on his back. 

“Raise your hips up. Hump the air.”

It seemed to be a never ending string of humiliations, one after the other. With each bout of Jack being brought to the edge, the girls made him stop and get in a different position. 

“Ple-he-hease!!” Jack begged, actual tears leaking down his face. “Can i make goo goo’s and get out of this dirty diapy?”

The girls seemed to show sympathy for the first time, if only slightly.

“On your back.” Trinity said once more. “You’re not making a goo goo. Not yet, anyway. But you can get out of that disgusting diaper.”

Jack sighed, but did as he was told. 

The girls all turned to Marianne. “Are you ready to change him?”

It was Marianne’s turn to flush. She’d never changed a dirty diaper before. Not that she didn’t know how, but because she never thought she was ready to take on such a task. 

Claire placed a comforting hand on hers, sensing Marianne’s trepidation. “It’s okay, we’ll be right here with you.”

Marianne took a long, steady breath, trying to find her courage. This was something her husband had wanted for a long time. She wanted to share that moment with him, even if she didn’t quite feel ready. But when would she ever be ready? It’s hard to get up the nerve to see your husband splayed out in his own filth, much less clean it up yourself. If there was a time to do it, it would be right now when she had her friends—if you could call them that—by her side, helping her through it. She let out a long, hefty sigh, putting on her Mommy voice. 

“Okay sweetheart!” She chimed, managing to keep her cadence from shaking, “it’s time to change your diaper!!”

To Be Continued

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[adidastain]

bad decisions

1996 serj tankian x fem reader (y/n)

warnings: a little smutty (cockwarming)

notes: all lowercase, first person perspective (I, me, my, etc.)

word count: 2893

—

long-time best friends, adrenaline, and freezing temperatures create the perfect recipe for poor decision-making.

thank god his place was only 4 blocks away from the venue.

“i don’t believe in global warming anymore.” his trembling voice carried easily in the cold, breezeless air. serj cursed under his breath through gritted and chattering teeth.

i scoffed. “we’re almost there,” i said, equally as trembly. it wasn’t this fucking cold when we left, 4 hours ago. now everything was covered in a thin layer of frost, and if we hadn’t kept moving, we might’ve been too.

serj didn’t have his own car and i didn’t have my license, so we were forced to walk a measly 4 blocks to the local niche concert venue, which really doesn’t seem like much of a trek. now try walking 4 blocks home in below freezing temperatures. we’d met some friends at the concert and had a pretty good time, but failed to account for the fact that it was past 12 AM by the time it was over, nonetheless in the middle of january. and of course, like the geniuses we were, we’d left before we could catch a ride.

“why didn’t we get a taxi?” i asked rhetorically, letting go of a heavy sigh that i could see in the form of a thin cloud in front of me as it escaped my lips.

“we don’t have any cash,” he laughed. he paused his steps for a brief moment to dig in his pockets. “right?”

“right,” i shivered. “genius, aren’t we?”

serj smiled at my joke. “genius enough to decide to walk home instead of getting a ride. remarkable.”

i playfully punched his arm. “seriously though,” he continued. “global warming my ass.”

“it’s midnight in mid-january, serj. i don’t know what to tell you,” i smiled, now walking backwards in front of him.

“yeah, in southern california. you would think it never gets this cold. my dick is fucking shrinking, y/n.”

i snorted and scrunched up my nose. for some reason, that was always my reaction when he said my name like that. i wasn’t sure if it was his tone, his accent, or something else.

we finally landed on his doorstep and i waited patiently behind him as his trembling hands frantically fumbled with the keys while trying to unlock the front door. serj then dropped said keys and i laughed at him.

“you try unlocking your front door when you can’t feel your fingers,” he playfully hissed at me while i picked up his keyring for him.

eventually we made it inside. it was warmer but not very much. the air was calmer though, we were in our safe bubble.

i flopped onto his couch while serj set his keys on the kitchen counter and winced. “my dick is fucking frozen,” he whined while running his fingers through his long, curly hair. i sat up and smiled at him, watching him pull his hair back into a ponytail.

“why don’t you grow out a beard, keep your face warm,” i suggested, standing back up and stepping towards him. “you already have a little bit of pedo stubble.” i laughed as he swatted my hand away from scratching his chin.

“did you know that thinking about sex can make your facial hair grow faster?” he changed the subject.

“you must not think about sex very often,” i teased, trying to hide my smirk.

serj rolled his eyes, palming my face and pushing me away. i hated it when he did that and he knew it. “rude,” i scoffed, following him to his bedroom.

“er, excuse me, love. i’ll be changing in here now,” he said in a godawful attempt at a british accent, stopping me at the doorway. i flicked his forehead out of revenge and he snorted before closing the door in my face. “your british accent is proper rubbish.” i yelled, in a much better british accent. “won’t survive the islands with that lump o’ shite up yer sleeve, mate.” i then said in a scottish accent.

he cracked open his door, showing just his face and bare shoulder. serj glared at me as if he had something to say, but i spoke before him, saying, “you might want to try studying foreign films if you plan to travel around the world in that band of yours,” in a german accent.

he glared for another moment or two before rolling his eyes and chuckling slightly and muttering, “you’re such a showoff.” he once again slammed the door in my face.

a few minutes later, he came back out in pajamas. flannel pants and a big, grey pullover hoodie. oh, and the star of the show, his signature scooby doo socks.

i’d helped myself to some oreos and was sitting on his sofa before he sat next to me and grabbed the TV remote. i held in a laugh as he shivered again.

“jesus christ I’M STILL FUCKING COLD,” he groaned, throwing his head back.

“dick still frozen?” i asked.

“yes.” he sighed, looking at me with a pouting lip.

i held in a laugh and looked him up and down as his head fell back again. i don’t know if it was his clothes, his now exposed neck, his gorgeous hair, or the idea of cockwarming itself, but he looked good. really fucking good.

very few moments went by before i gently took the remote from him and asked, “want me to warm you up?”

his head snapped up and he stared at me. his eyes were wide and a disbelieving smirk crept up his cheek. “excuse me?” he laughed sheepishly.

i’d meant it. now i was embarrassed and i felt stupid.

“do you want me to help you with… that?” i asked again, quickly glancing at his crotch to reference his frozen dick.

“wh- i- how?” he stammered.

then i felt really fucking stupid. why did i ask him that? what the fuck was i thinking?

i moved barely an inch closer to him after setting the remote back onto the coffee table and stared him dead in the eyes. my voice shrunk and i said, “i could just sit on you.”

a quiet moment was shared before he broke into a laugh and broke our eye contact. he looked around at seemingly nothing and bit on the tip of his finger, before pinching the bridge of his nose and laughing some more.

“why not?” he sighed, opening up the space in his lap for me to sit like a fucking hen on a newly laid egg.

i slid carefully into his lap, every single muscle in my body locked in a tense state. he avoided eye contact as i adjusted my position and rested my hands on his shoulders to stabilize myself.

i then became fully aware of his scent as it flooded my nostrils when i got that close to him. a soft blend of cigarettes, fresh laundry, and whatever cologne-y scented shampoo or body wash he used. my body relaxed and i allowed my weight to settle on his hips.

his hands rested in the pockets of his hoodie and he sat with his head rested back and his eyes closed. his broad chest rose and fell softly but swiftly.

“where’d you get this hoodie?” i asked softly, desperately attempting to break the silence. i was ruining our friendship more and more with each passing second.

…but i kind of wanted to ruin it.

i always thought serj was really intelligent and had a great sense of humor, and i could never understand why more girls didn’t want him. in the past 7 years of knowing him he’d only been through two real relationships, and barely any smaller, less serious flings. i myself had been in and out of relationships and such, but serj and i worked so well together as friends that it was hard to imagine being anything else with him.

“goodwill,” he exhaled. “3 bucks.” serj smiled, keeping his eyes closed. i could feel him relax a bit underneath me. i smiled too and let out a soft laugh through my nose.

“do you feel any warmer?” i asked, even lower than before.

a short few moments passed by before he shook his head and answered “not really.”

in response, i adjusted my position again, earning an unexpected reaction from him. his breath hitched and he briefly opened his eyes as i seemingly hit a nerve or something. his body tensed up again and his breathing grew deeper.

i soon understood why. i squirmed slightly for the billionth time, but felt a little something poking up against me.

every single ounce of my confidence rushed back into me and a devilish smirk came upon my face.

“what’s got you so excited?” i teased.

finally he looked at me again. his cheeks were red and he swallowed hard. we both broke into a blushing laugh and he rubbed his face with his palms.

he threw his hands outward and let his arms fall defeatedly. “you’re sitting on my dick, y/n, what do you expect? it feels good,” he argued.

my heart leaped. why was i so fucking excited about this? i was making him feel good and that was more fucking empowering than any chic flick i’d ever seen.

“it feels good? want me to grind on ya a little bit? like this?” i teased him, biting my lip. i started gently rolling my hips back and forth against his and held his shoulders to stabilize myself.

“NO! no, no, oh my god, fuck, don’t do that,” he whined, covering his face with his hands as he threw his head back again. his breathing was almost rapid and he was forcing himself to inhale and exhale deeply.

i stopped moving, but left my hands on his shoulders. i watched with a contented smile as his breathing became steadier.

“serj~” i said softly, letting my hands fall to his chest so i could feel his heartbeat. it was racing.

he took a deep breath and mustered up enough strength to look at me again. he looked tired, but his eyes were doe-y and somewhat anxious. he was blushing hard and he felt really warm now.

i took a long look at his face, glancing between his eyes, his nose, his lips, his freckles. i bit my lip and leaned in slightly closer.

“i wanna make a bad decision…” i whispered, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie and staring at his lips and into his eyes.

“you already made a bad decision, y/n.” he stated, his voice deeper and softer than it previously had been.

butterflies exploded in my stomach and we stared at each other for another few, long moments. i planted my palm in his sternum and slowly leaned in, laying my lips between his.

both of our hearts were now racing respectively, and i grew lightheaded from holding my breath before we pulled away naturally, slowly.

we looked at each other for a moment, seeing how the other was reacting to what just happened. his eyes danced around my face and his lips slacked open, breathing deeply despite his racing heartrate.

i brought a hand up to softly caress his neck, and we kissed again. his lips were wet and soft and the kiss was a little on the slower side. i could feel each of his breaths cover my face as his nose brushed against my cheek. i could have sworn that i felt him grow harder each second.

every ounce of strength that was left in my body instantly vanished as i felt his hand slide gently up my thigh. i softly whimpered into our kiss and pulled away for a moment. “your hands are cold,” i giggled, out of breath.

serj smiled at me and looked down. “sorry,” he laughed.

“it’s okay.” i gently tilted his sweet head back up to face mine and kissed him again. my hand caressed his stubbly cheek and i felt his other cold hand gently graze my jaw.

he opened his mouth and licked my lips briefly. i gasped and pulled his head closer to me so i could slide my tongue into his mouth to meet his.

i adjusted my position again and he immediately let go of the kiss, letting out a low, quiet moan against my lips. “careful~” he warned with a smile as he resumed the kiss.

his hand inched closer to my hips and i let it. his hands were huge and fit perfectly on my bony hips. i felt his entire palm rest against my right hip before his thumb slid under my pants to gently stroke the outside of my underwear.

i whimpered his name and pressed myself harder against his hand and his crotch, deepening the kiss even further. my underwear was beyond soaked but i didn’t even care.

i decided to deliver some karma and let my hands sink below his chest and slip up under his shirt. i placed my hands on his warm skin of his abdomen, which immediately tensed up at my touch. his skin was smooth and i could feel a bit of hair in the center of his body moving lower. my thumb brushed over his belly button and my palms were soon met with the elastic waistband of his pants.

before i could get to work on those, he pulled away and stopped me. “wait,” he said.

i looked at him, worry building up inside me.

his hands moved to gently hold my waist and he softly asked, “what are we after this, y/n?”

i stared into his eyes, at a loss for words. i pulled my hands out from under his shirt and hoodie and rested them in our laps, fidgeting with my fingers. “i-” i started, not really knowing where i was going to go with it after the fact. “i don’t know…”

now i felt stupid again. i only got the idea as a joke, i didn’t expect it to turn into this. but i liked it, and it seems like he did too. but we couldn’t go back to what we were, our friendship was ruined.

“...pretend it never happened?” he suggested, sounding just as uncertain as me.

i shook my head, lowering it in shame. it was such a stupid idea.

serj noticed my defeated state and gently held my face. “hey,” he said softly. i looked at him with a shame-ridden face, but quickly moved my eyes away from his. his thumb stroked my cheek and he gave me a small smile. “y/n~” he sang. “look at me.”

i scoffed and looked at him. he grinned and nudged my nose with his.

“listen, no matter what we end up being, you’re still my best friend, okay? maybe we can talk about it tomorrow over- well, later today, i guess. over breakfast. i think we should sleep on it, does that sound good?” he said softly.

his little stutter was so fucking adorable, i could barely contain my grin. i nodded and pressed my forehead against his.

“good,” he whispered. a moment or two passed before he held my face with both hands and softly said, “i love you, y/n. in every way.”

i smiled wide and wrapped my arms around his neck. “i love you too, serj,” i whispered.

he grinned, dear god. his smile had never hit me so hard as it did in that moment. “one more kiss?” he offered, his voice risen in pitch with his eyebrows raised and a sheepish grin.

i nodded, and we leaned in again. it was soft, slow, but not too deep, and a little on the shorter side. it was perfect.

“get some sleep, y/n,” he told me as we pulled away and i stood up from his lap. i nodded again, completely out of words. the only thing i managed to come up with was a simple, but sweet, “good night, serj.”

he gently grabbed my hands, softly kissing each of my fingers while looking up at me. “good night, y/n,” he said, before pausing for a brief moment. he then continued and whispered;

“i don’t regret anything.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

don't play with the misfit toys, m | myg

misfit toys au continuation of misfit toys | myg (drabble)

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Min Yoongi hates his stepsister. Everything about her, from her pretty head to her elegant high heels, to the way she speaks to him, to the truths she spits out at him. She bailed him out of jail just now, and he hates that too. But, most of all, he hates it when she calls him brother.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; warning! implied, indirect sexual abuse (doesn't make it better, only specifying no direct actions are described); children of equally wealthy and shitty parents that are awful; name calling; described water torture; stepsiblings; intense smut welp, the stepsibling fact didn't stop them (fem reader, fucking with explicit, violent porn on TV, use of a knife to slice off undergarments, D/s (switches), dry humping, hair pulling, nipple play, scratching / marking, a single spit into reader's mouth, thigh riding, f and m-receiving oral, choking, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU - orange-haired!Yoongi x savage, bad bitch!reader, ft protective, security guard!Jeon Jungkook; shifts between Yoongi's and your POV

--

“Who did you fuck to get the keys to this place?”

“No one.”

He raised his eyebrows, disbelieving. She smiled, amused, tossing the keys onto the marble console table by the door. "I don't rent this condo," she continued, shrugging out of her black longline coat and placing it on the bench of the door, half-folded.

"I own it."

She leaned down and elegantly unbuckled each strap of her high heels.

He looked away immediately. 

The bent-over posture and tight pencil skirt made the prefect curve of her ass rise in the air and he was two seconds away from reaching out and sinking his fingers into it. Two seconds away from dragging it to him and yanking down that zipper and having it all to himself.

Min Yoongi was not going to do that. 

She stood back up.

His eyes slid back and followed the action, savoring every second. Almost as if in slow motion, strand by strand, his stepsister's hair cascading down her shoulders, the lift of her lashes, those beautiful eyes landing on him. 

Fuck. 

He steeled his neutral expression and carelessly kicked off his sneakers.

She smiled, pleasantly. 

Those eyes on him, slyly. 

Fuck. 

"You're lying," he said. Calm, measured, unfeeling, because that was what he was.

Her smile grew and Yoongi hated that he thought it was pretty. 

"Am I?"

Her smile hinted at a smirk. 

"Why do you say that, Yoongi?"

He hated it when she said his name like that, because she only did that when they were alone and it made him want to be alone with her. 

He cocked his head towards the floor-to-ceiling windows and the modern, monotone, minimally furnished apartment that looked more like it was for an investment broker than a wealthy socialite.

"You don't even work," Yoongi muttered. 

She chuckled. "On the contrary. I manage Mother's business when she's away."

He snorted. "The brothel?"

"Gentleman's club, yes."

She breezed past him, graceful legs and lovely perfume.

"It's a fucking brothel and you know it."

She looked over her shoulder, coy and cunning. He looked away, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets. He should have stayed in the damn jail cell. Fuck. He kept his face emotionless as she sat down on the sofa. A woman in black surrounded by black leather, resting her arms along the backside. 

Cocked two fingers ad curled them inward, beckoning him. 

Yoongi stayed where he was. 

"So, you're a whore now."

She shrugged. 

"You like to think I am." 

Locking eyes with him. 

"It's because you think I'm pretty, hm?"

Yoongi frowned and raised an eyebrow. "You're my sister."

She smirked, lowering her chin and tilting her head. Flicker of tongue and it took everything in him to not flinch or feel anything even though he was already feeling too fucking much.

"You're the only one who thinks that, you know," she hummed, crossing her legs, toes pointed elegantly. "Nobody else thinks of us as siblings except you. Not even the media."

Now he narrowed his eyes. "That's what we are."

She held his gaze for so long. 

So long that he almost forgot he hated her. 

"Did you know Papa actually asked my mother to marry me first?"

His face contorted into disgust. "You're lying."

She leaned back against the sofa and waved a hand. "Mother convinced him it would be a bit awkward if his wife was almost the same age as his son." She clicked her tongue, mulling over her nails. "Therefore, he decided she was the next best option. Just as well, because Mother was much more interested in that fat alimony than I am."

Yoongi scowled. "Would you have done it?"

She stilled, raising her gaze to look at him, making deliberate eye contact. 

Smiled, amused. 

"Sure, if I thought I couldn't get you."

He felt the bottom of his stomach churn. "You're disgust–"

Pause. 

The second half of her sentence hit him. 

Her smile grew into a smirk. 

"Stop it," he growled. 

Her head leaned back, daring him. 

"Make me."

I will if you keep looking at me like that.

He looked away and around the apartment. It seemed unlived in, almost more like a model home. Cold and empty. “What’s the point of having this place? You’re always home anyway.”

“I’m only home when I know you’ll be there. Otherwise, I have no other reason to be home.”

He avoided her gaze, keeping his eyes on the walls. The canvases hung there were strange. Almost all of them were completely black, the only variation being the thin lines of dark blood-red drawn onto them like arteries. It was somewhat unsettling and disturbing.

For some reason, he could feel the anger in them.

“I’m never home. I’m always at my music studio.”

“I know.”

He stopped in front of a canvas, black with red veins.

She sounded sad, but the paintings seemed so angry.

“You bought these?” he asked, even though he knew the answer already.

“No. I painted them.”

He had never seen them before, but, somehow, he knew. He spoke slowly, to the painting rather than to her face. He could feel her eyes on his back but he refused to turn around, more for himself than for her.

“Why do you call him ‘Papa’? He’s not your father.”

He noticed the lines of blood-red were lighter in some places and darker in others. It made the lines look alive somehow, vessels pulsing in the black.

She chuckled and it was dark.

“A marriage with my toxic waste of a mother isn’t going to last unless he has an attachment to something in the marriage, Yoongi.”

He turned his head and saw his reflection in the glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Dark, red-orange hair, slicked back and in need of a wash. Narrowed eyes, pale skin, white outfit scuffed from a moment of irritation that turned into blind rage, because why the fuck not? Outside, it was already dark, a city blanketed in dark gray and peppered in blinking yellow and red lights that were far, far away since they were high in the sky.

He saw her reflection in the glass too.

She wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at the marble coffee table.

“He’s not attached to you. He wants to fuck you,” he scoffed coldly. “He’s a colossal, self-centered dick and nothing good comes from him.”

She raised her head.

Held his gaze in the glass.

“Papa had you.”

Papa had you.

He cocked an eyebrow. “My point still stands.”

She shook her head.

Silence.

They stared at each other in the glass for so long that Yoongi forgot to look away.

Her coat buzzed.

She stood up and he jerked his head away from the window. Chest tight, lungs empty, his heartbeat rattling in his ribcage. He caught a glimpse of something sitting on a bookshelf, something silver and shiny. A chain bracelet with black glass beads. He thought he had lost that a couple months ago, around the time of…

“I’ll be right there,” he heard her say to the phone.

Her birthday.

Yoongi turned around and saw his stepsister shrugging on her coat.

“I’m not staying.”

Her hand was halfway out at his words, reaching for her keys.

A moment of stillness.

Then the elegant fingers grasped the silver keys, a small chuckle coming from the top of that sleek, longline black coat. She turned halfway, looking at him over her shoulder. Small smile, amused.

No, not amused.

“That’s probably for the best, isn’t it?”

She bent down and re-did her shoes and he stared at the curve, her frame, and felt a strong urge to march over there and push her away from those dainty straps of her heels and pin her against the front door and demand that she couldn’t leave, not until this, whatever this was, was resolved.

She stood back up.

He hadn’t moved.

“See you, Yoongi.”

It sounded more like a wish than a goodbye.

She opened the door and stepped out.

The door shut and then, silence. Time ticked by. In this age of digital, there was no analog click to accompany the passage of time. Only the hum of appliances at rest, and the rush of emotions that slowly ebbed as Yoongi stood there, in the middle of a high-rise, barely furnished condominium of his one stepsister that made him want to rip this whole place apart.

He could do it right now.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes, glaring daggers at the closed front door.

Tear the couches to shreds with the luxury knife set in the kitchen. Yank the painted canvases off the wall and smash them into the tile floor. Break every lightbulb, one by one, with the lights on to watch the sparks crack and scream in the wake of his rage. Throw the bookshelves down and watch the few trinkets smash and scatter over the ground.

His eyes shifted to the bookshelf.

A chain bracelet with black glass beads.

Yoongi exhaled, turning.

He walked from the living room to the hallway, to the back. Ceiling to floor windows, all the blinds retracted, the steel bars casting shadows over the walls. More city light than moonlight. Artificial rather than natural. There were more canvases here, the thin lines of red standing out in the dark. He cocked his head, rolling his shoulders, ignoring the icy itch slithering down his spine.

The door to the bedroom was open.

He used his knee to nudge it wider.

Black sheets, black duvet. Neatly folded and cease-free. Looked like no one had ever slept in it. He looked around. Dark gray walls with a limewash texture. No photos. Simple cylindrical nightstands with a single drawer. Marble table lamps. He flicked a switch with a knuckle. The lamps glowed from within, casting a soft, blue-white light. There was a second switch. He hit that too.

Above, three strips of red light glowed from edge-to-edge of the walls, casting darkroom shadows over the black.

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

He just raised an eyebrow and walked in.

He didn’t have anything to say about this. About her. Glanced at the large bed. It looked neat, but she surely fucked someone on it. Multiple men, probably. Women, even. Pretty people had no shortage of pathetic crawling after them. Pretty and wealthy? Forget it. He turned and saw there was a black dresser with rounded edges under a massive television. Had a hard time imagining his stepsister watching dramas while lying in bed.

Probably put porn on while she was fucking.

He looked away and saw the other side of the room, the side originally obstructed by the door.

Blackout curtains, all black. A white, canvas drop cloth sprawled out on the floor, covering it practically to the walls. It was splattered with black and red. Upon it, an easel with a blank white canvas perched on it. Buckets of paint, sealed and set up next to a simple, turned-wood stool stained the same walnut color as the easel. Paintbrushes too, of all sizes, clean and set on the ground.

He tiled his head and approached the blank canvas.

There was a pencil resting on the edge of the easel. The kind sold at hardware stores, for marking wood with thick graphite. It sat there, in its bright red, sharpened.

Yoongi let his eyes flicker to the blank canvas that he now realized was not-so-blank.

I hate this.

In the red light, it was difficult to see the pencil scrawled messily on the canvas.

What is the point of being rich if they are broke on the inside?

Yoongi had to step closer to read it.

He tries to touch me all the time. Tries to get me alone and touch me, and I have to pretend I don’t know what’s going on. He takes Mother and drags her in front of me and practically fucks her in front of my face as if that will make me jealous. She doesn’t even care. Tells me I should just try it with her. She says she’ll hold my hand the entire time. I can’t be in that fucking house. When Yoongi’s there, his attention is all on him, so I don’t have to keep my guard up.

There were so many canvases in the house.

Yoongi hates me.

All black and painted with red web-like red lines, like pulsing blood vessels.

It’s the best feeling, being hated.

All alive.

“I love you, so I act this way.”

In quotes, as if someone said it.

“You should accept love. It’s not that easy to be loved in this world.”

He couldn’t breathe.

“You can keep a secret, right?”

Yoongi backed away from the canvas as if it would burst into flames.

“Let’s make a secret.”

He wanted to throw up.

I knew you would want to read my secrets, Yoongi.

Step back, stepping back, and he was surrounded by blackout curtains and a steel cage, his ears ringing in the silence, staring at the sharpened pencil and the blank canvas that wasn’t so blank, feeling cold and hot and unbearable. Backing away, backing away, smacking the light switches with his elbow, wound too tight, walking fast, walking away, past the canvases that screamed at him underneath the layers of paint, past the minimal décor and the bookshelves, stopping.

A chain bracelet with black glass beads.

Yoongi snatched it and left the condo.

-

You cracked your neck.

“Your payment is over ninety days late.”

The security guards stood by the shivering body, caked with snot and indignity. You ticked your head and one of the security guards showered the crying man with another bucket of ice-cold water, making him squeal and simper, falling slightly, only be righted by one of the guards and put back on his knees where he belonged.

“I would have let it go, but then you showed up at the establishment again, harassing my girls.”

You hadn’t undressed him. Just left him in his full suit to soak in his filth as he would undoubtedly piss himself in fear at some point and quite frankly you didn’t need to see that. Plus, the sodden fabric would help the cold last longer.

“I’d stand here and tell you not to do that again, but inevitably shitty, desperate, small-minded idiots like you will dreg up the courage once you’ve forgotten about this moment, so I’m debating on whether or not I want to waste my time making this a continual event.”

He was crying and blubbering about how he would get the money, but quite frankly the money was not the problem. The problem was his elitist attitude thinking he could come here and harass the staff to get some sliver of what he wanted. Someone to want him, of course. Or pretend to want him. Sometimes that was good enough when one didn’t know the difference. You cocked your head and one of the security men began to fill up the bucket again.

“N-No, please…”

“Or,” you continued, licking your teeth and standing, sighing thoughtfully as security dumped another bucket of water on him and made him scream from the cold. “I could instead poke around and see what you’re doing at work. There’s been a lot of embezzling to pay for your bad habits, and, fuck, do you have more than a few.”

You let your lips caress the word fuck.

Made love to it, forming it with your red lipstick-covered lips, knowing full well the vulgar word in your calm, business-like tone sounded almost sensual. You said it in your formalwear, accompanied by the several security guards, all male, surrounding you in the stone basement with a wet, sobbing man on his knees dying in shame, not because of what he did, but because he got caught.

You leaned against one of the guards.

He stiffened.

You reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the white handkerchief there.

You heard the guard bite back a sound of surprise. You didn’t say anything. Just wanted for the man below you to lift his head, mistaking your silence as mercy, the exposed overheard bulb alighting pathetic eyes. You opened the delicate white cloth and flapped it, clearing it of its ceases.

Turned to the guard and dabbled the water droplets off the mole under his lips, making him recoil slightly, but then he stilled, accepting it as you wiped his jaw clear of sprayed water.

“By now, the cocaine in your pocket is probably soaked,” you hummed, not looking at the bound, squealing pig of a man, looking at the guard instead, who stared straight ahead, his large brown eyes quivering underneath the hat. You nodded calmly, folding the handkerchief back up and placing it in the pocket it was previously in, rebuttoning it. “It’ll be a problem for me if your body is found here with it, so it’s about time you leave.”

You turned your back and picked up your coat from another guard, nodding.

“People don’t learn lessons overnight.”

You turned your head slightly, only giving partial attention.

“For the next one, I might take an organ as payment.”

You stepped up the stairs, and security closed the door behind you, cutting off the screaming.

-

“Master.”

You were looking out at the city. Floors and floors above, surrounded by bricks containing luxury and people escaping from something. Holding a drink in a hand that you hadn’t drunk. The title was your mother’s title. Security used it when referring to both you and her. You did not bother to correct them.

You didn’t enjoy it either.

You tore your gaze away from the ants below and faced the security guard that you knew held a white handkerchief folded in his left breast pocket.

You knew a lot of things about your security guards. Probably more than you needed to know, but, in this world, everyone shot everybody, and information was ammo. Never knew when you would need it, so you had a lot of ammo. Enough to blow apart half the city if you wanted to. Holding hands could only do so much.

“You brother is looking for you,” he said gently. “Should I send him away?”

You tilted your head.

Your phone was on the table by the window. On it, the screen showed a live feed of the cameras in your condo. You saw the wide, curious brown eyes follow your eyeline. Caught him in the middle of the act, and he immediately stiffened, backing up a step and looked apologetic for the intrusion. His lips parted, about to do so.

“Send him up. I booked the room next door for you. You can rest there until the morning, Jungkook.”

You ticked your chin to the two keycards resting on the dresser by the door. The television was mounted above it, facing the king-size bed with the white hotel bedsheets and luxe pillows.

The guard paused.

You waited.

He looked at you.

The name tag on his chest read, Jeon Jungkook.

“Are you afraid Min Yoongi is going to do something?” you finally asked, giving him a half-smile. “You should know I’m not opposed to getting my hands dirty.”

The guard kept a neutral expression.

“I don’t have a good feeling about the way your brother looks at you.”

Stating his opinion clearly, which you appreciated. Encouraged, because you couldn’t keep your eyes on everything. Trust was the wrong word. You just had something he wanted. A well-paying job with not much trouble.

There was a little violence in everyone.

It could be directed if there was a veil of acceptability surrounding it.

You nodded, and turned back around.

“Me neither.”

You sipped your whiskey.

-

The guard let him in. He had asked the gentlemen’s club first, but she had left for the night. He had asked where. Security didn’t really want to tell him, but then he got out the knife. For their part, they didn’t overact. They simply told him to wait and made a call. Came back with an address and a room number.

Yoongi didn’t like it.

He liked the guard letting him in even less.

He had hand tattoos and a young face. Younger than him. Taller than him. More built than him. Silent, and without much reaction at his sudden appearance. Didn’t even bat an eye when they walked into the hotel room and Yoongi turned his head to see his stepsister in sheer, black lace lingerie and an obsidian silk robe, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Staring at the television.

Yoongi recoiled when he saw it was an adult film.

The guard said nothing. Bowed, which she acknowledged with a wave of her hand, dismissing him. The guard stepped back. An icy itch at his shoulder. Yoongi turned his head to see the guard narrowing his eyes at him, remaining mute.

That expression was pretty clear though.

I’ll break you in half if you do anything I don’t like.

Yoongi found himself narrowing his eyes back, but the security guard simply looked away and walked away, no longer concerning himself with the people in this room, but Yoongi knew better and there was this white-hot anger replacing the icy itch slithering down his spine, a feeling winding him up deep inside, turning the gears.

“Turn that shit off,” he growled.

She didn’t move for a second. The sound was off, but it was clear what was happening. A man’s hand around a gasping woman’s throat, throwing her forward into the wall and this was fucked up, all this was fucked up, from the canvases to the condo to the gentleman’s club to this hotel with this particular guard to his slut of a stepsister watching porn barely clothed and this sinking feeling eating him up inside because he wanted to pin her down onto the bed and shove her legs apart and not care.

She ticked her head and spoke to him under lowered lashes.

“Why are you here…”

He knew she should be calling him, brother.

She never did when they were alone.

Because he was not stupid and she was not stupid and he could taste the lust in the air, see her nipples hard under the black lace, the curve of her thighs waiting for his hands, I love you, so I act this way, her head rising, you can keep a secret, right, those dark beautiful eyes slowly revealed under lush lashes, mascara-covered and smoke-lined, let’s make a secret.

She locked gazes with him.

“Brother.”

Small smile, amused.

No, not amused.

Yoongi wanted to scream.

Instead, he jerked his head to the closed door behind him. “You fucking the security guard that brought me in?” Tone even, almost bored, with an edge that could cut diamonds.

The unreadable smile stayed.

“I am.”

The white-hot anger grew, growing, grown, eating everything, staring into her eyes and she looked back, unafraid, and Yoongi was not stupid, he saw what was unfolding and he was angry about it, angry at the truth and angry knowing the lies, angry knowing he was affected, wound up and gears click, click, clicking, trapped in concrete walls once again, in steel bars that was this fucked-up maze of truth and lies, stuck in this cell with her.

She cocked an eyebrow.

Yoongi kicked his sneakers off and closed the distance.

Snatched her left wrist off the bed and yanked it up, exposing it from the black silk. Staring down the expensive brasserie, black lace, and v-line of her cleavage. Shallow breath, his vision bordered with lines of orange, locks of his hair falling askew.

She looked up at him, tipping her head back.

He tightened his grip on her wrist.

She did not react.

As if this happened all the time.

He held up the bracelet. “You stole this from me.”

She nodded. “I did.”

Her eyes did not look away from his. He stilled his breathing so she couldn’t tell how erratic it was.

“Did you come punish me for it…”

Don’t.

“Brother?”

She knew. She knew he read the canvas. She knew and this was all a ploy, a plan, a scheme of web-like proportions. Maybe none of happened but maybe all of it did and maybe that was what he was afraid of, maybe it was all true and there were no lies, because the things she said to him were right, she was right and she saw right through him and he hated that, hated knowing her vision was so clear when he chose to put designer sunglasses over it all, living in frivolity and keeping the truth in his music and out of his head.

Also.

Yoongi found he hated it when she called him brother.

He held up the chain bracelet with the black glass beads.

“I own this.”

She lifted a manicured eyebrow. “And I stole it, meaning it changed ownership.”

“I stole it back.”

She hummed. “Touché.”

He turned her wrist and she visibly twitched, suddenly on high alert. The mark of one always prepared for betrayal. He wrapped the bracelet around her wrist and hooked the clasp, seeing the black glass beads against her moisturized, soft skin, well taken care of, touched by others that weren’t him, and these little thoughts acted like buckets of gasoline poured into rage aflame.

Yoongi pressed his thumb into her palm, hard, and she did not gasp.

“Don’t take it off.”

She chuckled, playful smirk. “Oh? It must be an expensive material then, if it will be able to withstand showers, br–”

He was sick of it.

His hand shot out and grabbed her chin, pulling it forward and into his face, his heavy, tense exhale leaking out of his teeth.

“You know it’s made of platinum,” Yoongi hissed, pressing his fingers into her cheeks. “And that’s not my fucking name.”

Her hair was slipping over her shoulder, curling against black silk.

Lush lips parting.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered, voice low and drawn-out, sitting in a room of open curtains and surrounded by the city, in a luxurious hotel and not the condo she owned, not the home that was not a home, all alone, no guard here, just him and his stepsister.

He breathed out her name, and his voice was strained and rough.

Small smile, amused.

“Yes, Yoongi?”

It wasn’t that Yoongi cared what was right and what was wrong.

He just didn’t want her to be right.

“You’re my sister,” he gritted out, jaw clenched.

She sat up straighter, bringing her face closer, closer, till the tips of his dark orange hair touched her face, till her shadowed eyes became even more roused with the dark, alive and glittering with intent, and he ceased his inhale, not letting it shake in her presence, not moving away because it was not her he was afraid of.

“So stop yourself,” she murmured, letting him look down her cleavage and the press of her thighs squeezing together, the dip of her joined legs barely covered in veiled lace. He heard her lick her lips, the soft parting to indicate another word about to be uttered.

Pause.

“Yoongi.”

He flinched as if shot.

Then he devoured her lips.

It was electric and explosive. Immediate grip on her hand, lacing their fingers, lips locked and his other hand shooting forward, grabbing her head and tangling his fingers in her hair, fierce taste after fierce taste, and his eyes opened to hers, immediately freezing.

She gazed back under lashes.

Accusingly.

His lips tingled, seared by her taste.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him onto the bed, throwing him down and elegantly spinning, black silk flying in an arc and then she was on top of him, interlocked grip and the other on his chest, pinning his hips down with her knees, breathing erratic and eyes alight.

Closed the distance and pressed her lips to his, just as intense. Released his hand and his chest and threw hers in his hair, curling her fingers in the gelled locks and sliding her tongue over his lower lip, catching it with her teeth and sucking on it, looking down on him.

Yoongi looked back, shuddering.

His hands found her knees and shoved them off his body, grabbing her waist and pulling her closer, her name in his throat, guttural and animalistic, and the hardness in her eyes faltered, inhale hitching as he raised his hips and pressed hardness to softness, growling deep in his chest.

“I’m not my father.”

Small smile, and it said a lot.

“I know you aren’t,” she chuckled, releasing his lip in the process. “You’re actually hard to get but, luckily for you, I’m a patient predator.”

He pressed her scarcely-covered pussy onto his erection, glaring into that fake smile.

“If this was just a game to you, look into my eyes and say my name.”

Her lips parted, swollen from kisses.

“Si–”

She cut from off with her mouth.

Sucked his breath and the word away, her fingers in his hair and pressing her body onto his, haloed by the porno playing on the large screen around her, a different one or maybe even the same one, many men surrounding a single, gasping woman, turning turns fucking her, and she licked his lips, trembling exhale and dangerous hiss.

“Don’t call me that.”

Kissed him and kissed him, making him lightheaded.

“I hate it when you call me that.”

She flung one of her hands from his hair and raised her leg, slipping her arm between them, feeling around his sides, down to his pants pocket, and yanked the switchblade with an engraved black tiger out of his right one, sliding the blade out, wicked and silver in the low light.

Grabbed his wrist and brought his hand up, pressing the handle to his palm.

Yoongi closed his fingers around it, staring up at her as she straightened, sliding out of the arms of the robe and letting it fall carelessly to the floor, black lace brassiere exposed, plush tits pushed up by the cups.

She slipped her fingers under the lower band and pulled it away from her body.

He cocked an eyebrow.

She looked down at him, saying nothing.

Yoongi turned the blade so the sharp side was facing him, and sliced up the expensive fabric, listening to the serrated sound of the lace threads easily cut. The bra fell apart, peeling away from her breasts, straps sliding down her shoulders, revealing everything, sharp clavicles and hard nipples lit up by the city below.

His eyes followed the curve and then to her face.

She smirked pleasantly.

“I knew you thought I was pretty.”

He slid the switchblade back into the sheath.

“Bitch.”

She grinned.

He dropped the knife onto the bed.

She rocked her hips on his and put his hands on her breasts, pressing his fingers into the softness, with eyes that said, you must have thought about it at least once, and Yoongi sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth, electricity at his palms as he felt her nipples rub against them. Tactile. Hard and soft, not just once, his mind whispered to him, and he told it to shut up, shut up, kneading her breasts with his fingers, surprised at the malleability and the reality of them, so many times, a small part of him enjoying it, not only the touch but the vengeance behind it.

I can get what you can’t, easily.

He slid his hands down, pushing her breasts up and squeezing her nipples between his knuckles, sucking in a breath as he covered himself in her scent and her perfume.

Her tongue slid out and snaked in the air, her hips grinding down on him.

Fuck you, Dad.

Yoongi twisted his wrists and splayed his hands over her back, rising as he reached up to her shoulders, pulling them backward as he lowered his head. As he guessed, she was flexible, back arching easily, tits up and in his face, his tongue sliding out and up the line in between her breasts, strength wound between them, her own hands on his shoulders, digging her nails in, tearing aside the collar of his jacket and exposing his collarbones.

He drew patterns with his tongue, diamonds like snakeskin scales.

A nearly silent hiss reverberating in her ribcage, heartbeat rising under his saliva.

He had one hand on her lower back and the other on her head, making out with her breasts and letting his lips explore. Kissing, licking, flicking her nipples with his tongue, closing his mouth around them, tightening his grip on that salon-done hair, pressing his fingers into that dip of her lower back, moving softly and dangerously, letting his eyes travel up her prominent collarbones and flexed neck, her eyes closed and parted lips in a wane smile.

He breathed out.

Hot and heavy, laced with her name.

Her smile grew into a smirk.

Thump.

His heartbeat so loud it drummed in his ears.

The silent pornos were still going on behind her naked body. A woman cuffed to a wooden ‘X’ and another one in a leather harness dancing an electric wand over the bound one’s skin, making her scream in silence because it was on mute. A man in a gimp suit was approaching. Yoongi grimaced and pushed her head up, bringing her lips back to him, covering his vision with her sweet-smelling hair, the taste of her nipples lingering on his tongue as he thrust it into her mouth.

“Why are you watching this vulgar shit?”  he muttered under his breath.

Small smile, amused. “Does it bother you?”

It wasn’t the content. He remembered the security guard that let him in and her answer to his question.

“No.”

Her fingers feathered over the curve of his neck, soaking his white pants with her wetness. He mirrored her motion, gripping the hair at the base of her neck, licking her lips with the tip of his tongue. Slow, cutting through their erratic breath, knowing that the first time he saw her, he hated her, not because of who she was but what he wasn’t.

The discarded toy of an overgrown irresponsible child honed by her experience instead of blunted.

He never cared about the various women his father married. Often pretended their kids didn’t exist. Pitied them for thinking he or his father had any interest in them either, but they were spoiled little fucks begging for handouts and toys, fixed reflections of their shallow parents that couldn’t be undone.

And then there was her.

He had no idea what she had seen in her time, but it was clearly some shit. Pulling him to her, sinking her body into the mattress, light kisses brushing over his face and his heavy breath, pushing his head down, down. He didn’t know but he could guess, because he could feel the power in her sex, in how she was not just pushing him around, but giving him agency, making him a part of it, her skimming touch like a shark’s fin under dark waters.

Yoongi hooked a finger on black lace and tugged it to the side.

The scent was thick, sweet, and heady. Her juices spread over his fingers, viscous and unavoidable.

Her fingers tangled in his hair and pulled, stinging him, but he was already snaking forward, tongue sliding out, slick against her slit, his switchblade rolling down and hitting her thigh and his hand gripping it, stroking her skin with his callused fingertips.

Digging his nails in.

Her gasp sliced the air.

His tongue circled around and around, licking it up, drinking her, and he didn’t know, but he knew, he knew she was forced to stay when he had the choice to wander away, pretending not to notice the things his father was doing behind ajar doors, pretending not to hear the moans and the clawing of the wallpaper. He could choose to step out onto the streets and get a concrete education, but she was not so lucky, staring into the eyes of profane sins in morose indifference, desensitized to the madness. Yoongi didn’t know, but he knew, could taste it in the way her hips locked and thrust into his face, could feel it in the tightness of her grip and the low growl in her moan, making him clutch her thighs and pull her closer, sealing his lips to that pulsing nub and curling his tongue around it, every second saturated with his expertise. Tongue, lips, measured power, soft and hard to juxtapose and coax, pouring his cloaked anger into that wet muscle, pressing his fingers into her flesh so hard he hoped to leave marks, bruises, questions.

Who did that to you?

Yoongi.

His name in her voice sounded much better than some meaningless familial title.

He looked up and she was looking down at him, grinning.

“Don’t forget to share,” she chuckled with a flick of her tongue.

He cocked a brow and reached down between his body and the mattress, unbuttoning his pants and zipping them down.

Breathed in and stroked her clit in fast, deliberate licks, staring into her eyes and her looking back, unafraid and unashamed, rolling her hips to his beat, making it no secret that she wanted him to make her cum, dripping all over his chin and winding her fingers into his messy hair, whispering his name in a husky, smokey voice, the patterned light of silenced adult films highlighting her body before him.

Yoongi drew his arm back up, pulling it out of his bomber jacket.

Gripped her waist and sucked her clit, not looking away, no longer afraid.

Arousal rippled through his body as she sighed in content, jaw tightening, head tipping back, his name an airless murmur, thighs closing in and then locking, vicious throbs shaking at the tip of his tongue and he held in there, her hips flinching in his face and his chin drenched in her cum, painting him with sex. She grasped his hair and pushed down, sliding his tongue from her clit to the lips, slippery and potent with lust. He thrust inside, greeting trembling walls and coating his tastebuds, determined, heat searing through him, smearing his lips with her orgasm that he shouldn’t be tasting.

Enjoying.

Yoongi didn’t care.

He lifted himself up, his jacket falling from his shoulders, crawling up fabric and out of his pants, panting, lungs rattling, fixated on swollen lips curved into a sharp smirk, leaning down, spitting into her mouth and then violently kissing her, forcing her to taste her own cum as he drove his thigh into her exposed pussy.

She gasped and shivered, hands flying down and holding his hips. Lifted her lower body to slide up his thigh and grind into it, puffy slick folds smearing sweet-smelling juices all over his prickling tense skin. His hand snaked between the sheets and her back, and he arched her spine more, pressing her naked chest to his barely clothed one, turning his head to thrust his tongue into her mouth and she sucked on it, hard, sending sparks of pain that elevated the high-voltage lust.

Yoongi found he liked the pain.

It made it feel more real.

He dug his fingers into her flesh and scratched down, as hard as he could.

She broke the kiss and leaned her head back, amused smile dancing on her lips. Fucking his thigh, hard and fast and rising friction. He flexed it, looking down at her and she didn’t seem to mind. Basking in it even, her thigh between his legs sliding up and pushing his rock-hard erection back, giving herself more space. Gaze under lashes sparkling at his indifferent set of his jaw, barely any sound but the obscene wet rubbing of skin-on-skin and their calculated, controlled, callous breathing, faster, slicker, orgasming while staring into his eyes, letting him see the haze of bliss that consumed them, devouring, owning this wrongness.

He shuddered, the darkness circling.

It wasn’t that he had any particular morals. All lines get blurred when covered with money. He slowly released her back, lowering her down to the bed, blood on fire. Pushing his hair back, ragged exhale, seeing her wrist decorated with black glass beads, and he picked up the knife again, sliding the blade out, shoulders shaking.

He just hated the idea of being another predicted outcome, a statistic, a number.

Yoongi gripped the elastic of his boxer briefs and sliced down, cutting them away from his legs.

Her body was in shadow, the pornographic images now lighting his back instead of her skin.

He sheathed the blade and threw it onto the pillows, crawling up with his knees and placed his hand on her forehead, pushing her head back and shoving his cock into her waiting, open mouth, feeling the girth stretch her neck muscles out, unsteady breathing and winding arousal, thrusting down.

His stepsister tipped her head back more and he breathed out slow, sliding deeper.

“You know how to do it all, huh,” Yoongi breathed, treacherously quiet.

She slid her hands up his thighs, fanning her fingers out and tracing his scars.

Ticked an eyebrow, swirling her tongue around his length.

He curled his fingers into her scalp and fucked her face. Didn’t want to think about where she learned this or why, didn’t push for punishing but instead for pleasure, for aching, immoral pleasure of her lips closing in, the rub of the head against the roof of her mouth, the tightness of her throat, her fingertips grazing his tense hips, creating a picture, a sensual image soaked in sin, his other hand hitting the mattress and creating a fist, hunched over and sliding in and out of her hot, expert mouth. His inner shirt was in the way, fuck, so he took a moment to snatch the hem and lift it, folding it and sliding his arm under so it hung around his neck and other arm, leaving it bunched up like that and back to fucking her smug, entertained expression, his fist back on the mattress and tension all over his body, back rippling with the intense desire that seemed relentless.

Yoongi turned his head. Flashes of orange from his fallen hair, seeing through the curtain of strands images of a man with a collar around his neck and a latex-clad woman stepping on his chest, stiletto digging into his sternum.

He turned back to her, seeing her eyes narrow with mirthful curiosity.

“It doesn’t turn me on,” he whispered under his breath, listening to the wet sound of his hard cock being sucked into her punishing, soft mouth.

Her tongue darted out and licked his balls as he thrusted.

Yoongi sucked in a gasp, hot shivers swarming up his spine and under his skin.

She did it again and again, and it was building up in his core, hot and winding and escalating, shredded clothes and blurred lines. Stop, he had snarled back then, not because he felt the wrongness but the rightness, wanting to curl his fingers around hers and tear that pretty blouse, locking lips between steel bars, but didn’t have the stomach for it, only enough to snarl, stop.

Air turning shallow, the high pouring into his veins, pressing deep and losing himself, closing his eyes, running his fingers through her hair, remembering those body lines, the way she moved, the knowing smile and him looking away, not wanting to face the truth.

He gritted his teeth and came down her throat, filling that tight wet hole with his cum, feeling and hearing it being swallowed, drunk without hesitation, his guttural groan thin and drawn-out, savoring it, savoring this, the slow unwinding of tension, lust rippling through him in flinches, trained by her tongue to chase them, for every twitch meant a swipe all around, cloaking him in saliva and warmth.

Yoongi opened his eyes and looked down.

Panting, chest heaving.

Her tongue curled around his balls and cradled them, shocking ecstasy created by sleight of hand.

She did not seem bothered by him looking down at her.

He backed up, slowly, still hard. Trailing spit down her chin and chest, the heightened sensitivity causing pins and needles to cut through his afterglow, pulling off his final piece of clothing. Watched her rise, the clinging liquid on her chin and neck glistening, eyes glowing from the light of the television, everything turning red.

He saw her glance at it and smirk.

Then her gaze locked back on him, backing up to the headboard.

Feeling behind her and she found the switchblade with the engraved black tiger, throwing it back to him.

Yoongi caught it with one hand, seeing her pick up a condom from the nightstand.

A muscle in his cheek tightened.

Growl in his chest.

She smiled, amused.

“Aren’t you tired of pretending?” his stepsister purred, licking the side of her lips. “Don’t be something you’re not.”

Yoongi tilted his head.

She mirrored him, looking into his eyes.

He saw the canvas before him again, cast in red with angry scrawls all over it.

Came forward on his knees, turning the blade in his hand, tracing his finger over the black tiger, that gaze in front of him narrowing in knowing, and Yoongi was tired of pretending, tired of following a distorted shadow and fumbling in that darkness, reaching down and yanking the string of her panties up, staring into her eyes as she gasped, his name on the tip of her tongue, venomous with meaning, Yoongi, and he was tired of closing his eyes to the darkness, sliding the silver blade out, thinned-out breath mixing with her heat, smelling the sex between them.

He flicked his wrist and sliced through her panties.

“Yoongi,” she breathed out, searing the reality of this into his mind.

He brought his knees closer and heard the rip of the condom wrapper as he switched sides and cut through that too, her name on his lips, every syllable reminding him that instead of standing in the distorted shadow, he could procure it from within.

She rolled the condom down his cock, the silver blade between their burning bodies.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Yoongi murmured to her, lifting the switchblade and himself, bringing his face close, the sharpened tip right next to her cheek.

She smiled.

“Neither do you.”

She wasn’t talking about herself.

He closed the distance.

Snapped the blade back into the knife and threw it aside, causing it to hit the wall and clatter onto the carpet, and his hand was around her neck, lips locked and tongues entangled, his other hand on her ass and sliding her down, hers between them and guiding his stiff length, pushing it in, and they gasped into each other’s mouths, his eyelids fluttering as she created a circle with her thumb and forefinger and locked them around the base of his cock, pinching and making his cock jerk, getting harder and swelling within her suffocating walls that pulsed around him.

Yoongi let go of her neck and fucked her into the hotel mattress.

Planted his palms onto the white sheets and their hips collided, her hands on his ass and digging her nails in, scratching up and tearing gasps from him despite clenched teeth. He didn’t close his eyes. He found hers and stayed there, hers almost closing and then catching his gaze. A standstill in the storm, fucking rough and hard, tense thighs and obscene slapping sounds, rattling the bed, hitting the wall repeatedly, so obvious what was transpiring but those were consequences for the poor who could only afford shame, the cheapest commodity available.

The coolness of the glass beads pressed against his hot skin from her wrist.

He drove his cock in deeper, gasping at the pulsing clench that surrounded him, lifting one hand and reaching back.

Taking her hand, pushing it up.

Resistance, but he persisted, in both piercing gaze and pinning her hand down to the bed, locking their fingers together, fucking her harder and deeper, her other hand flying up and smacking the headboard, angling her head so she didn’t hit it.

Her breathing was jagged, rattling lungs full of his exhale.

“Good enough for you?” he snarled out.

She smiled, open-mouthed and amused.

“It’s better than anyone else because it’s you, Yoongi.”

He missed a breath, feeling his entire body snaked with tension.

The corner of his lips twitched.

Curving upward.

Her other hand left the headboard and fitted around his neck, pressing her fingertips into the sides. He kept the smirk on his face and she tightened her grip, raising her hips to meet his, the room alight with flashes of color but they were lost in their own porn, in their carnal touch and brutal bodies. The edges of the world faded into orange and black, finding himself thinning his exhale to conserve oxygen but it was invading him slowly, the sex, the torture, the freedom, all cascading and crashing into each other, blurred lines so he had no idea where each of them began and where they ended. His windpipe skimmed the pocket of her palm, his mind now only focused on the squeezing sensation wrapped around his twitching length, forceful pressure inviting racing rapture, thrusting forward with power, holding her hand so tightly that his nails dug crescents into her knuckles.

She moaned his name, lust incarnate.

He gasped hers, not enough air to reciprocate, his chest on the cusp of bursting.

He slammed his hips down and threw his head back, tearing out of her grasp.

The air punched into his lungs and the high ricocheted through his nerves, searing sensation that ate through his vibrating muscles, feral groan clawing out of his throat, snapping his head down and seeing her head fall back, lashes lowering but not closing, locking their gazes and his peak shot higher, icy itch slithering down his spine at their eye contact, roaring heartbeat thundering in his ears.

He lowered himself.

Waves of unstoppable lust boiling through him.

The air hot and heavy, reeking of sex.

She lifted her head, lips to lips.

He let go of her hand and grabbed her head, trapped in a fierce kiss, tangling his fingers in those now unkempt locks, I knew you would want to read my secrets, Yoongi, and her fingers twisted into his hair too, kissing him deeply and without remorse, flickering tongue striking flint to the burning fire, their eyes finding each other amidst the fallen hair and shadows, shining like the painted glass orbs affixed in heads of discarded dolls.

What was a few more cracks for these misfit toys?

He broke the kiss, hissing against her lips.

“Don’t call me brother ever again.”

She chuckled, dark and foreboding.

“Not scared to be a disgraceful piece of trash anymore, Yoongi?”

He didn’t tell her to stop it.

He made her stop it with his bruising kiss.

-

continued in who's running this game?, m | myg, jjk

--

masterpost

[opossumloverr]

Hey it me again could you a headcanon rise turtles with a hyena yokai

✪TURTLE BROS X HYENA YOKAI READER ✪

Summary:

The turtle bros with a hyena yokai reader ♡

Warning(s):

None! Fluff

A/N:

Yall are bombarding me with these yokai readers, I love it, TYSM FOR REQUESTING!! Currently writing this in a car(Gender-neutral reader)

《RAPH》

Woah

You are so eye-catching, in a good way of course!

He loves your coat

Like loves loves LOVES it

Hyenas are very vocal, so he will lie down with you, hear you rant about your day, and enjoy it!

Petting your head as you yap about something you saw on the streets

He loves to hear you speak your mind

"- Can you believe that? Why would she say that, and in front of her mother too!" You continued talking to Raph about something you saw in the store today,

"Mhmm ..." Raph says dreamily, like he was hypnotized by your voice, which isn't that far from the truth

This lil goober got me on a choke hold

《LEO》

When he first met you he was scared of you

Not because you were mean or anything, it's because he was scared of the hyenas from The Lion King 💀 (I don't blame him they're scary as shit)

But he slowly got used to your presence, and now he won't leave you alone

Constantly trying to make you laugh

Cause you know, hyenas are most known for their laughter

So when that moment comes

Lord, he's never gonna let that go...

"Hey, I see that smile..." Leo says teasingly, you shook your head rapidly

"NOPE! Leo, whatever you're trying to do, it's NOT working -" You were about to finish your sentence before the joke he pulled played in your head, "PFFT-" you busted out into fits of laughter,

"Awwe see was that so bad?" He smiled cheerfully

He's obsessed with your laugh

《DONNIE》

I feel like Donnie likes Hyenas

So when he met you he was immersed

Wants to be near you 24/7

Hyenas are very social animals so when you guys go out in public you're the one to do most of the talking

Which he appreciates, so much

Hyenas are also intelligent, so sometimes you'll help with his projects, giving feedback, and compliments

But you mostly just laze around in his lab as he works, sometimes engaging in conversation, listening to the other rant about their day or something engaging

But it's mostly Donnie who does all the talking when yall are alone,

"And that is the uniqueness of this project that I am currently working on my dear [NAME]"

"Yeah, it's really cool DEE! love the shade of purple you added on it" you replied,

"Ahah... well you know me!"

《MIKEY》

Mikey definitely sees hyenas as cute little puppies

So he's gonna treat you like one

Petting you, scratching underneath your chin, patting the top of your head, y'know, all that jazz

Did you guys know that Hyenas are great mothers in the wild and very protective of their children?

So even though Mikey doesn't really like this act, he'll accept it from time to time, it makes him feel protected ♡

"Ugh! [NAME] I'll get them by myself!"

"Nonsense! Let me help you" you huffed, reaching for the spices from the high cabinet

"Hmpf! I was totally capable of doing it myself!" Mikey spoke profusely, not liking how you're currently treating him,

"I know I'm sorry, just got this random instinct to help ya, I can't help it!"

Appreciates it though

This is definitely not my best work, sorry! Writers Block is trying to beat my ass right now sooo, also I'm currently running on 2 red bull cans and about to crash, BUT OTHER than that TY FOR REQUESTING ♡

Me:

[aintgonnatakethis]

Find the word tag

Thanks for the tag, @annwayne! 😄 My words are capture, sky, abandon, and sound.

Tagging: @fortunatetragedy @wolgerrswraith @sentfromwolves @etoilesombre @the-golden-comet to find the words option, confine, drain, and attack in your WIPs!

Capture - i am a prisoner just like you 2x04 Pathogen (SGU - Vampire AU)

He backed off quickly. Too quickly as it turned out, his weakened state making him dizzy enough to overbalance, glad for a moment there wasn't actually anyone else here  to see him fall on his ass. There was a chittering from the assembled aliens, but it didn't sound as if they were laughing at him. In fact, one of them stepped forwards and crouched, just like Scott had done to offer the one they'd captured food. Telford couldn't tell if the alien in front of him was the same one - they all looked the same to him. It reached out a hand, feather-floating slow, long spindly fingers extending forwards, though it stopped short of touching him. Feeling as if he was in E.T. - or possibly some fancy religious painting - Telford mirrored the movement. His first impression was that the alien's skin was quite brittle - easy to snap, his mind supplied. His second was an image of himself overlaid in his vision, looking weak and shaky and out of it and he snatched his hand back, berating himself viciously. He'd already decided they communicated telepathically. What the hell was he doing letting one of them touch him?!

Sky - Aliens made them do it (SGU)

A blue sky coalesced in his vision, blurry and too bright by far, causing his eyes to immediately begin to water. In contrast his throat was so dry it hurt to breathe. It took far too much effort to turn his head to the side, a dull pounding permeating his skull as the unconscious form of Colonel Young swam into view. Rush had seen the man in some pretty terrible states - bruised and bloody, exhausted and driven half insane by Destiny's simulations - but he'd never been this pale before, his lips cracked to the point of bleeding from a lack of moisture. "Colonel?" His voice was barely audible, scratchy and cardboard stiff.

Abandon - Skirting The Vague Outline Of A Boundary (SGA)

Sheppard allowed his head to fall backwards until it was cushioned on the edge of the bed, wondering how close he was to losing his sanity for good. "So..." Rodney prodded. "Cuddling?" Pretty damn close, as it turned out. "Why?" he asked, resisting the urge to pull the pillow he was using as an armrest in front of his body to use as a makeshift shield. "Ummm... Why cuddle? Well..." Rodney scratched his chin in the same manner as he did when slaving over the ZPMs. "Warm. Big plus. Nice. If it's with the right person. Comfortable, relaxing, again only if it's with the right person. You can't just start cuddling with random people and expect it to go well, you know? Imagine if one day I just walked into the lab and hugged Zelenka." Sheppard snorted. "He'd think you'd finally lost it." "Or that I was dying... He always thinks I'm dying if I'm nice to him." "That's because you usually are," Sheppard teased. The further they moved away from the Kissing Incident the less panicked he became. Maybe they could just ignore it and pretend it had never happened, like Rodney had said. Sheppard was very good at pretending. "I think he's got some issues in that regard," Rodney announced snippily. "Abandonment maybe. Touch starved."

Sound - Your Own Worst Enemy (SGU)

"Do you ever think about what they did to me?" David asks suddenly. Young is so caught off guard that he answers even though the correct social response is silence, "Yes. All the time." David nods, a single jerk of his head. The man's never brought this subject up before, even though Young knows he must have been grilled about it by the shrinks back home. He wonders if he should have asked - about the Alliance, about being undercover for so long, about why David had been caught, what had happened after - but it's an unwritten military rule that you don't mention those sorts of things - torture, injuries, loss of fellows in battle - unless the person to have suffered through it brings it up first. "I think…" David says slowly, as if the words don't come easy, "It would have been better to kill me." Young inhales sharply. "Don't say that." He means for the words to sound sure and convincing. What he gets instead is pleading, trying to dress itself up as insistence. "It would have been kinder. Instead you left me like this." David sounds very far away. "And now it's happening again."

[emmett-the-luchino-lover]

And romantic Luchino x reader hcs that you wanna talk about? (Kinda like a “free prompt” for you to have fun with)

YESS!! I tried my best! (ToT) I'm sorry if it's kind of bad, I tried to make it as accurate to him as possible by studying him from his tweets on the official idv twitter account, but overall, enjoy it!! :D

(requests are open! check my rules for more info before requesting!)

LUCHINO X GN! READER ROMANTIC HCS <3 (SFW) 🦎 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗Surprisingly, he is quite the gentleman! back when he was a human, tonsss of people tried to flirt with him (though he did not quite liked the attention as he is more of a to himself type of person.)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗But, once he has been a hunter in the manor, and after he became a lizard, no body wanted to even be near him. He was incredibly closed off from everyone, in his room (or better known as his "lab") doing whatever god knows what. But, he oddly liked it that way..

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗Until you came along. During a match, he had his eyes on you, wanting to know more and study you. "What a fascinating human.." he thinks to himself.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗The way you guys met was when you both were in the manors hunter garden (its giantic btw :skull emoji:). He bumps into you, surprised of the fact that a mere human, let alone a survivor was wandering around the hunter's part of the manor

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗"Human.. why are you here? Do you even know who I am.? I am a terrifying creature… Many mortals fear me…."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗"Yea, also this is a nice garden!"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗"….Did you not hear what I just said."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗After that whole entire mess, he grew to like you more and more, both getting to know each other and you sneaking off to the hunter's part of the manor, often hanging around the garden.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗At first, he is not too fond of touch. He actually despised it. But the more you guys are around each other, he had this.. weird desire to give you lots of affection, he didn't understand why though.

-In the start of the relationship, how he shows his affection is giving you small gifts like necklaces, flowers, etc. He'd give excuses to sit beside you.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗When you give him some stuff back, he would be blushing like ALOTT this lizard boy just gets flustured easily.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗"Thank you so much, amore mio." (he'll say it camly even tho he's like freaking out on the inside.)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗he loves it when you listen to him geeking out about science stuff and all of that, it makes him feel all giddy inside and makes him fall in love with you even more.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗compliment his scales and everything. He loves the way he looks, and when you compliment him, his ego goes through the roof lol

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗He also loves chin scratches. Give him chin scratches and he purrs loudly and you can literally feel and hear the vibration from his body.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗Once the relationship has been going on for awhile, he'll easily get comfortable with hugs and cuddles, and pretty much almost everything.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗He loves to pick you up with his long ass tail, even just out of no where.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗He'd also have you watch him with his experiments in his labs. He'll sometimes allow you to join in, but that's on certain stuff. Half the reason is because he doesn't want you to get hurt if anything happens, and also he is a complete control freak, and only likes things going his way when it comes to this type of stuff, so he would go crazy if any experiments is not mostly him doing it.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗He doesn't mean it in a mean way or anything though I promise sobs on the ground

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗He loves reading some books with you with classical music in the background while you both are cuddling up on his bed.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗He'd also treat you to a romantic dinner date (Joseph and Leo would be volunteering to do the food and wine for yall considering you guys can't really go out anywhere since you are literally stuck inside a manor r.i.p)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗He also ADORES kissing with chin scratches if that makes sense, on both ends. He also loves to pull you in and hold you while you guys are kissing (real)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗Overall, a really great lizard guy 10/10 (I need him right now fr)

[americanwh0resstuff]

-Don’t pretend you don’t like it -

Blaine DeBeers

Blaine Debeers x reader oneshot

Thinking of making this into a full collection of oneshots

Best playlist:

Word count: 1,498

❤️‍🔥 smut with backstory

⚠️TW⚠️

Kidnapping, CNC (reader acts like they don’t like it, spoiler alert, they do), daddy kink, master kink, ownership, rough sex, vaginal sex, zombie reader…

-Don’t pretend you don’t like it-

I feel like I’ve been trapped in this bar for weeks, when really it’s probably only been a few days, not like I could tell, with the limited sunlight through the small basement windows.

The only “human” interaction I’ve had has been another poor girl named Candy, I guess it’s not her real name, but in Seattle, you can never really tell, some guy called Don E, who will correct you if you call him Donny, and of course, the one who caused all this, Blaine.

Crazy how one minute you can drunkly stumble into a hot and upcoming bar with your new roommate and the next you’re locked up in said bar, oh and now you’re a zombie. Not exactly how I pictured my first night out in the big city. I’d heard crazy rumours about supposed zombies roaming the streets of Seattle, but as a newbie in town, I guessed it was just people’s way of playing some sick joke to scare me.

I don’t have much memory of the night I got turned, only that I was ordering a round of shots for me and my new group of friends when a tall, blond guy, who claimed to be the owner or the club, told me it was on the house, we got to talking and the next thing I know I wake up on a small leather couch across from a desk, white streaks in my hair, and an uncomfortable hunger in my gut. Blaine then introduced himself, told me I was now a zombie, he claimed he didn’t mean to scratch me, it was a slip of his nails when I suddenly pulled my hand away from his grasp when my roommate told me it was time to leave.

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I supposed I didn’t have much choice, the doors have been locked ever since, I’ve tried escaping with the crowds at night, but the large bouncers would always hold me back, returning me to Blaine in his office, where he’d punish me in, well, unorthodox ways.

So here I am, nursing my old fashioned, extra hot, while Don E hammers on about his new business idea,

“Brains on planes! Think about it! We get out hyper rich clientele to choose a brain, and we fly it over to their fancy ass private islands.”

I rolled my eyes and went back to staring at my drink, slowly stirring it with the small red straw, about to take another sip when-

“Y/n, my office. Now.”

Blaine

I sighed at the sound of his voice, don’t get me wrong, he’s very attractive, his looks, his demeanour, yet I was still salty about the whole zombie thing, naturally. Still, I complied and made my way into the back room, drink in hand.

“Look, I know you can’t help it, but at least try to look happy, it’s a real downer, not to mention bad for business.” He teased, voice stern and menacing, looking me up and down as I sat in the chair across from his desk

“I’d be a bit happier if you’d let me go.” I tried my best to be assertive, even though I knew it pushed his buttons.

“You know, you should be a lot nicer to me! You’ve got a warm bed to sleep in, all the brains you can eat, and the best part… you get to spend all your time with dear, old, me.” He strung out those last few words, taking a step towards me each time.

His hand landed on my cheek, softly caressing it before firmly gripping my chin

“What to do with you… actually, I have an idea.”

He led me to his chair, pulling me down on his lap, one hand stroking my lower back before tightly gripping my waist, other hand playing with the hem of my dress. “Such a lucky girl, yet so ungrateful.” I felt his hand tangle in my hair before starkly pulling it, making me look at him. I wanted to spit back some snarky retort, but I restrained myself, I knew what was coming.

“Off, now.” He motioned towards my clothing, it wasn’t much, just my now wrinkled black party dress, worn from wearing it practically every day since I entered this god forsaken bar. I reluctantly stood up and pulled the fabric over my head, leaving me in just my lace panties.

“You really are a sight for sore eyes, Princess.”

I couldn’t help but blush at his pet-name, swiftly looking down before he could notice.

I felt his strong hands run down my shoulders, to my wrists, my hands, giving them a sweet yet firm grip before spinning me round and pushing my face down onto the hardwood desk, one hand pinning my wrists to my lower back while the other explored my bare torso, then to my thighs.

“Let me put a smile on your face.”

I whimpered as I heard the familiar sound of his belt unbuckling, and then him adjusting his tight black jeans. His hand then returned to my thighs, massaging and gripping them as he made his way from one leg to the other , then he pulled away, only to return with a harsh slap to my ass. I jerked from the shock and bit my lip to hide my moans. He wasn’t gonna break me that easy.

His fingers then found their way to the waistband of my underwear, pulling them down and letting them drop to my ankles, he then ghosted his fingers over my cunt, softly running a digit through my folds.

“Show daddy what a good girl you are.”

I felt his hard-on press against my skin before quickly slamming into me. I yelped in pain and tensed up.

“Easy baby, daddy’s got you” he feigned sympathy, holding still for just a second before starting up and a brutal pace, pulling out almost entirely before harshly entering me once again.

I could feel the skin on my lip break, the metallic taste of blood dotting my tongue as I held back my screams and moans, only stifled noises coming out. I wasn’t gonna give him the satisfaction of knowing how I enjoyed feeling him inside of me, how I loved when he fucked me like this, how I spent every minute of the day thinking about his cock filling my insides.

He shamelessly grunted and groaned with every thrust, throwing in curse words and whimpers of my name every time I let a cry escape.

“Come on baby, don’t pretend you don’t like it.” He moaned while pulling my head up by my hair. My mouth betrayed me, a strained “F-fuck!” Making its way out as he hit just the right spot. He released his grip making me fall back down with a thud.

“That’s it baby, tell daddy how good he makes you feel.” Pride taking over his voice. “You wanna cum for me?” I started shaking me head. “N-no no I-“ I interrupted myself with a loud moan when his free hand snaked its way down to my clit, my body going tense as I held back my orgasm.

He pulled out and I whimpered at the empty feeling.

“Oh you’re gonna cum for me princess, and I want to see your face when you do.” He turned me back around and laid me down on the desk in what felt like a millisecond before pushing his length into me once again, resuming his brutal yet intoxicating pace.

This time I made no attempt at holding back my screams, moaning with every rough movement he made.

His hands found their way to my breasts, giving them a squeeze before moving them down to my hips, grasping them so hard I was sure he’d leave bruises, which I’d later admire in the dirty bathroom mirrors.

“Shit, y/n, such a dirty whore for me, only for me…” he trailed off as he threw his head back, my walls tightening around him as my moans became higher pitched and my hand desperately grasped for something to ground me.

Fireworks exploded behind my eyes and my body went limp as I finally let go, screaming his name, back arching.

A few moments later, Blaine came too, pushing my legs up to my chest as he leaned over me, sweat dripping from his forehead.

After a minute or two of catching our breath, he pulled out.

“That’s my girl.”

I panted softly, staring at the ceiling as I felt two fingers trial towards my pussy, pushing the leaking cum back in before bringing his fingers up to my lips, parting them before making me suck his digits clean.

He then pulled my face towards his, a biting and sloppy kiss landing on my lips.

He pulled up his pants and adjusted his button up shirt.

“Clean this up-“ he motioned towards his desk.

“Can’t I at least go for a smoke first?”

“Good idea, I’ll come with you- after you clean up the mess you made.”

[spikedsoul]

maid's worst nightmare - ch 33

no i couldn't resist. this does not guarantee the writing hyperfixation will be back in place like it was! but we are getting Closer.

>;)

previous chapters

@sovereign-of-succ

Bowser was silent for a solid moment. You worked a hand up to lightly stroke his muzzle, biting your lip as you waited for his response.

"My answer gonna affect how you see me?" he finally mumbled.

"Either way, no. I just need to know, for my own sanity."

"Yeah, I killed him. His sorry ass didn't deserve to live."

The reply was grunted out without remorse, but even so a surge of emotions shot through you: excitement, relief, the remaining pain of what you'd been through, and a little fear for Bowser and the consequences he'd potentially suffer. Although you didn't know much about politics, you knew that killing a knight could potentially start a war.

But all you could do right then was hide your face against him, hand still lightly stroking his muzzle. The reality for you was that you didn't know whether to cry or kiss him.

Maybe both.

"He's really dead?" you croaked; the corners of your eyes stung a little as the tears began to well. "Like… permanently?"

He gently tilted your chin up so he could look you in the eye. "He ain't never gonna hurt you again, I made sure," he rumbled softly.

This man comforting you was a villain. A criminal. Someone who caused wanton destruction just because, and inconvenienced people for the same reason. Based on what you knew, he didn't hurt anyone - or at least, not seriously, not to the point where they needed a hospital or anything. And yet he'd killed for you. He'd murdered a dangerous man for you, to make sure you'd never be hurt by the monster again, without expecting a goddamn thing from you in return besides a visit you'd already promised. A single father of eight kids risking a potential war just to protect you, the handmaid with a thousand names…

"Hey." His deep voice cut through your reverie, and you blinked a few times to clear the tears from your eyes. His thumb gently wiped them away even as you whimpered softly. "I told ya I'd protect ya, didn't I, sweetheart?"

"Hero–" you had to clear your throat softly when your voice came out a little too rough, "you're my hero, King Bowser… even though you kept saying I wasn't special, you still went out of your way for me…"

His pupils dilated a little and you could feel his heartbeat picking up.

"Hero…" he repeated quietly, like he couldn't believe you'd said that to him. "I'm a hero? I am a hero. I'm a hero."

Although you didn't have lipstick to leave this time, you pulled his head down a bit and kissed his nose lightly. "You're my hero," you whispered. The sheets shifted as a muffled thumping sound started up - Bowser was wagging his tail, rather aggressively if the sound was anything to go by. You couldn't help a quiet little giggle that bubbled up from your chest at his reaction.

He really was like an oversized puppy. And that was helping you recover rather quickly.

Actually, that gave you an idea.

You got your other arm free, then brought both hands down under his jaw; he made a curious sound, but it quickly turned into loud purrs as you scratched at his jawline gently with your nails. You watched as his inner eyelids slid over his eyes a second before his eyes closed. When you brought your hands together under his chin, he fairly predictably leaned his head back, exposing his throat. Who were you to deny him such adorable scritches?

"So, am I still nothing special?" It was a bold question, but the wagging tail had given you a confidence boost.

"Depends," Bowser mumbled cheekily. He was still purring something fierce so that was probably as clear as he'd get.

You immediately stopped scratching. Although you couldn't see them, his eyes popped open.

"Am I still nothing special?" you repeated softly.

His throat bobbed under your hands when he swallowed. "You special, you special!" he practically whined.

"There's a good king," you cooed as condescendingly as you could, continuing to scratch his neck and jaw. He chuffed in protest, but he gave himself away when he couldn't stop the purring from getting louder again.

You were definitely playing with fire; fuck, you were potentially flirting with him, mere hours after getting beaten and nearly raped. But Bowser just made you feel so safe… you were fucking giggling and being goofy in the same day Rodney had beat you thanks to the koopa king.

Of course, it helped immensely knowing Rodney would never come back. You weren't naive enough to think you wouldn't still fear him sometimes, but for now, you were absolutely celebrating.

"Next question," you murmured, "am I still a trading piece?" After all, he'd just admitted you're special, so clearly you weren't just a trading piece now. "I mean, I still doubt she could justify trading a power star or whatever for me, but…"

Bowser suddenly tightened his arms around your middle and rolled onto his back - bringing you with him. You squeaked in surprise, face immediately flushing as your legs naturally straddled his waist. Your hands pressed against his chest for stability, your feet hooking over the tops of his thighs for balance. He was too big for your legs to just dangle comfortably. But then he did probably the worst thing: he released your torso.

You ended up sitting up a bit, staring down in shock and bewilderment at his stupid smug smirk and that adorable blush on his cheeks. And it hit you: he only got flustered when he wasn't in control, but when he was, it was all smooth talking and cocky smirks and shit.

His hands anchored on your bare thighs, big and warm, practically gripping the entire outside and back of them. Luckily, it seemed they were just there for your stability… although you realized with a small bit of horror that you were a bit disappointed by that.

"I gotta getcha home somehow, right?" Bowser rumbled up at you. "But I gotta be honest, li'l lady... I don't think I'd trade ya even for a power star."

Oh boy, that sentiment made you feel funny. Funny enough to blurt out something that really shouldn't matter: "Would you trade me for Peach?"

"Never."

The response was so quick and firm that for a moment both of you just stared at each other in shock.

He wouldn't trade you for her - for Peach, the woman he'd been trying and failing to marry for years. You were more important to him than a literal princess. Not for the first time, you were confronted with how he wanted you, the lowly, frostbitten, abused handmaid.

"I–" he started, but hesitated, his nostrils flaring a few times. Briefly, you thought he was going to retract his statement. "I really mean it. You're… I mean, you make me feel like an equal, and she… don't…"

You finally broke eye contact and laid back down, hiding your face in his chest. Not to be totally embarrassed, though, you stretched your arms out to scratch under his chin again. He mercifully went quiet; at least, he did until the purring started up, and you both visibly relaxed. It seemed neither of you were exactly ready to discuss the implications of what he'd admitted.

"So… you're coming to the race tomorrow, right?" you mumbled against his chest.

"Course I am. Not gonna fuckin' miss my sons practicing," he mumbled back. "Don't lemme forget my phone, though."

You blinked. Phone? He had a phone this whole time? Why didn't he just call Princess Peach?!

The only thing that prevented you from demanding that he explain was the hand now rubbing your right thigh; you were afraid that if you opened your mouth, you'd dig the hole you were both in deeper. As it was, you had to suppress a shiver as his hand trailed up just underneath your butt, down to the crease of your knee, and up again, gentle and slow.

"I didn't call her 'cause her phone broke." It made a little sense, you guessed. He couldn't call her without a number to call. "And with needin' Peasley to confirm you here… well, it took some time. Almost guaranteed I'll hear from her tomorrow, though, so… phone."

All you could do was hum softly, much too focused on the feeling of his hand on your bare leg to answer. It was an idle movement, soothing despite all the pain you'd experienced from Rodney. You trusted Bowser's touch.

You were perfectly okay knowing that.

You were still a little... well, wary, of your vague disappointment at where his hand stopped.

Hmm...

[silverpetrichor]

My Enchanting Girlfriend (Eddie Munson × Black!Reader)

Pull It Together Sinclair

Summary : Reader gets ready for school while trying to ignore the pit in her stomach

CW/TW: Blood Mentions

A/N: It’s been like two years since I dropped the prologue, . .oops. Life kind of kicked my ass for a bit but, I'll try to update as often as possible. Anyway, feedback is appreciated and I hope you enjoy it!)

Prologue

*****

After looking at the alarm clock that had crashed into your head, you realized—at 4:45 am—there was no point in going back to sleep. (Not that you could after that terrible nightmare)

Though, in hindsight you should've realized something was off to begin with. Not only did the sandwiches Eddie apparently made have vegetables in them. You love that boy dearly but the only time that he'll voluntarily eat vegetables without cajoling is in takeout,—like a burger or lo mien—or if it's fried. There's also the fact that the only time he'll eat most fruits without you feeding it to him is if it's in a pastry or covered in chocolate and/or frosting.

But that's besides the point, when your frenzied hacking and wheezing came to an end you decided to hop into the shower to clear your head. Slowly sitting up, you untangle yourself from your pastel pink and white sheets. You sigh as you hear your familiar Jasper complaining from beneath your messy bed.

I already have to go without the Munson boy's magnificent chin scratches because of you! Now I have to deal with you trying to murder me once more!

You look over and can somewhat make out the calico's tail peeking from beneath the bed, the already fluffy fur is noticeably raised. Wincing slightly at the somewhat shrill tone yet biting your lip as to not laugh at his dramatics and offend him further.

"Well, I'd rather have a calm talk where I ease him into the whole me being a witch thing. Not waking up to me being mere millimeters away from the ceiling and all my belongings floating," you reply, your gesticulating and voice getting increasingly more panicked as you finish your sentence.

The gnawing pit in your stomach comes back full force as you think about finally telling Eddie the truth. It's not that you didn't trust him, you trusted him completely, but he had established that he was in this for the long haul. And, you couldn't have a future together if you continued to hide something this important as your big sister had reminded you during your last Sunday brunch together. Though Jasper and your ragtag group of friends had also stressed this point to you over the two months since that serious chat with Eddie you still had reservations.

Your train of thought was interrupted by Jasper crawling into your lap and nuzzling into your shoulder. The pit in your stomach loosened as you giggled at his fur tickling you. You began to pet his fur as he replied in a serious yet gentle tone, knowing how frazzled you get after these nightmares.

I know that and I know the idea of telling your significant other about your magical heritage is nerve wracking but you have to remember that Eddie Munson is nothing like Jason Carver, Emily Jennings or any of the other shit heads you've dated in the past.

" Hey! You make it sound like I have terrible taste! They weren't all shit heads as you so elegantly put it," You chuckled into his fur at that, nuzzling him back and petting his fur. He rolled his eyes as he continued on as if he hadn't heard you despite your closeness.

I also know that means talking about how your parents actually died and you hate talking about it. But you can't let your fear hold you back, they wouldn't have wanted that for you.

"You're right, I just don't wanna lose him. I don’t ever wanna see a look of f-fear or disgust towards me on Eddie's face," you let out a shaky sigh as you tear up thinking about all your failed attempts at telling him.

You shake your head and rub your eyes, it was too early for this "Anyway! I probably smell like ram goat right now so I'm gonna shower!" You chuckle woodenly as you set Jasper down before rising from your pastel pink and white mountain of sheets.

As you stumble from the tangled mass, you survey your messy room, knickknacks, books and plants scattered over your desk, dresser, nightstand and floor. Your bed is a pastel pink and white wreck of tangled sheets, pillows and stuffed animals. You begin to raise a hand to fix it but before you can,—Wait!!—Jasper shouts as he darts between your legs. His path to your pink window seat is marked by soil paws prints. You huff glaring as he wipes his paws, further staining the fabric beneath him. Uncaring due to the knowledge that the mess will be cleared with another wave of your hand. But still, it's a matter of principle.

You make a circling motion with your index finger and your mess begins to clean itself up. Books going back on the shelves and desk, jewelry going back into dishes and its box, your alarm clock and lamp floating back onto the side table. You look over and see your plants repotting themselves, fallen soil and all. Your bed is making itself up neater than before you'd gone to bed the previous night, with expensive hotel levels of precision.

You turn to your window seat and see Jasper lounging as he practically massages the dirt into it. You smirk to yourself and with a come hither motion of your left hand the little shit is picked up by the scruff of his neck by what appears to be an invisible hand. He yowls in alarm before hissing at you, you ignore him though. Making a fist with your left head to keep him steady and flicking your right hand towards the stained window seat, the mess disappearing in a matter of moments.

You unball your fist and make a swiping motion with your index and middle fingers, Jasper is placed gently back onto the window seat.

What the hell! You know I hate when you do that!!

Jasper shouts thoroughly vexed at your actions, eyes as yellow as his namesake glaring holes into the back of your head. You're just chuckling as you walk to your ensuite bathroom and ducking out of the way of a wayward book zooming back to its shelf.

You walk into your bathroom wincing at the chill of the tile flooring before shedding your sweat soaked pajamas and turning on your cassette player, dancing as you complete your morning routine.

An hour later you decide to head downstairs and make breakfast for everyone, pulling your curls into a tight ponytail to keep it out of the way. You put on your cheer uniform, not being too concerned about potential messes since a simple cleaning spell will undo any mess you may make. Running down the stairs you turn on the lights and the coffee pot to brew yourself some coffee, refusing to do anything without it.

You hum to yourself while it brews, debating on what to make as you pour yourself a cup of coffee. As you lean back against the countertop, you decide on making muffins. Blueberry, chocolate chip, cinnamon streusel and banana nut. You set down your mug and begin to get started. You tie your apron on, hoping to clear your mind as you pull out the muffin tins.

Don’t you think you’re doing too much? I mean this can’t be healthy for you

You look up at Jasper—who’s jumped up onto the chairs at the kitchen island watching you—as you chop and whisk up ingredients at the same time, using your magic almost unconsciously.

Feigning ignorance, you respond “No, I’m merely accommodating the different palettes of my friends and family.” huffing as you whisk in flour covered blueberries to the batter.

No, you’re stress-baking because you’re on edge and refuse to say anything to anyone other than me.

You hunch your shoulders, freezing at the comment, through gritted teeth you reply “Well, you may be right about that, but—” you point a finger at him almost accusingly and state “I will tell the others just not now. I don’t wanna work them into a frenzy over nothing.”

. . .Fair enough but if you don’t say something soon I will. And that includes Munson too.

You nod your head, leaving it at that not having the energy to argue over something you knew was an empty threat. You simply sip your coffee, letting your magic continue stirring and chopping ingredients.

You put the muffin wrappers in the tins, humming to yourself before pouring the various batters into the trays. You put them in the oven, ignoring Jasper’s judgmental stare.

You sit next to him stroking his fur and watching as he practically melts, listening and chuckling to yourself as you hear the commotion of your cousins waking up. Their bedroom doors opening simultaneously before you hear a scuffle and a shout of “Erica!!!” accompanied by banging on the hallway bathroom door. Then Erica’s smug voice calling out “Don’t worry I won’t take too long since you smell like everything that’s wrong with this world” “Errrriiiiicccca!!!” “What?Just the facts.”

You snort mid sip, trying to contain your laughter as Lucas comes downstairs looking pissed off, greeting one another. He perks up when he sees the bowls full of batter, attempting to dip a finger in to taste when a spatula whacks his hand. You giggle slightly at the yelp he lets out before he whines about how it’s too early for him to be treated like this.

You called your cousins to the car as you pulled your cheer jacket on, grabbing your backpack and your two containers full of muffins. You drove to the sound of your special mixtape made especially for you by Eddie, tapping your fingers on the wheel and humming along.

You giggle at the disgruntled faces of Erica and Lucas, but otherwise pay them no mind. You’re determined to get into the school spirit and ignore the leftover anxiety from your prophetic nightmare. And by the time you’ve arrived at Hawkins High, you have for the most part, giving Lucas a parting hug. You knew he was nervous about the game later in the day despite being benched all semester.

You head to your locker to drop your two containers of muffins off, deciding to take your backpack with you to the locker room. You nod and smile to everyone that waves at you on your way into the school. You almost drop the muffins when you’re suddenly grabbed by the elbow and spun around.

“Morning pretty girl,” Eddie beamed whilst hugging you to his chest.

You roll your eyes fondly before pulling him in for a kiss, laughing into it. You grin at one another as you pull away.

“Good morning, lover boy,” you say back to him, an adoring look on your face.

“I’ll say, all of these for me?” He asked, patting the two containers of muffins.

“No, one is for you and the guys. The other is for the girls on the squad,” you giggle while shaking your head.

“Awe, well thank you gorgeous. I can't wait to dig in” Eddie said, licking his lips and rubbing his hands together as you handed him the container on top.

He began walking you to your locker, the two of you chatting excitedly about the coming events of the day.

You were honestly a little bummed that you couldn't be there for the ending of his campaign. You usually sat in on games when you could and even joined in for the occasional one shot, you were unofficially apart of Hellfire and often made them snacks. But no matter, you knew he would tell you all about it during your date tomorrow night.

As you put the muffin container away, you closed your locker. You giggled at Eddie's arms encircling your waist. He kissed your cheek and neck before turning you around once again before he pulled a single rose out of his inner jacket pocket, presenting it to you with a dramatic bow.

You bit back a grin at his antics and went to accept the rose from him. But before you could Jason Carver and his cronies came down the hall, Jason shoving Eddie out the way with a loud “Move it freak!” and a chorus of laughs accompanying the comment.

You grind your teeth and glare at him in unison with Eddie as you help him up from the floor. He frowns at the mangled rose in his grip and goes to shove him back when you grab his elbow. He turns back toward you and you place a hand on his cheek.

“Slow your roll there babe, don't pay him any attention. He's not worth your time.” you said the last part loudly with your eyes on Eddie , knowing Jason was still lurking in the area waiting for a reaction.

You watch the tension in Eddie's shoulders deflate, before pulling him in for a chaste kiss. You smile into the kiss at hearing the growl of frustration from Jason in the background. But that’s soon wiped from your mind as Eddie deepens the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You both smile into the kiss, your arms going around his neck. Your sweet moment however is ruined by the principal’s voice booming over the speaker causing the two of you to startle apart. As he announced that the pep rally was going to kick off in ten minutes, you bit your lip sheepishly at getting so carried away in the middle of the hall. You turned to run to the locker rooms, Eddie trailing behind you.

Eddie grabbed your arm once again, pulling you towards him just before you entered the girls locker room. He spun you to him before dipping you and giving you a kiss. Of which you giggled into before humming out a moan as he deepened the kiss. You both finally came up for air at the sound of wolf whistles from the girls in the locker room.

You bite your lip, feeling your cheeks flush as you and Eddie giggle before separating, you head over to the cheerleaders waiting for you.

Eddie quickly grabs your hand before you leave his reach, kissing the back of your hand as you look back at him, “Good luck out there sweetheart.” Eddie says before backing away, looking smug at your flustered face.

You give each other a final glance as you turn to your cheer squad, ushering them into the locker room with a flush on your face. You head to your locker laughing at their teasing remarks as you toss your bag in before grabbing your spare deodorant. But then suddenly the locker room goes quiet.

Your brows scrunch up in confusion as you slowly put the lid back on your deodorant and close your locker. You walk around waving your hands in front of the frozen girls around you. Poking Chrissy’s cheek and gaining no response, you sigh wondering what the fuck is going on. Until in your peripheral vision you notice a pulsing glowing coming from the bathroom area.

You walk at a snail’s pace, heading over to the aforementioned area. Wary hands raised in front of you as you make your way over to the mirrors that seem to be the source of the glowing.

You huff, letting out the breath you were holding as you realize what exactly the source of the strange glowing was. . . In the mirror instead of your own reflection you were met with the projected image of the secretary of the head of the Council, Helen Bixby. It was an old technique not often used anymore since astral projection and carrier ravens existed as well.

“You really had to freeze everyone and make a mirror ominous glow? What happened to a simple raven letter conformation?” You hissed at the mirror.

“Your message claimed that it was an urgent matter and that you needed to speak to the council as soon as possible. They wanted to let you know that the earliest they can fit you in is tonight at eleven,” Helen responded as she filed her nails.

You rolled your eyes at the casualness this woman regarded you with after nearly giving you a heart attack. Huffing indignantly, you replied “So you mean to tell me that you did all of this just to tell me sorry but they’ll talk to you later!? Look, today is already going to be long enough, they really can’t meet with me earlier? I mean this is pretty urgent.”

“Yes, yes we know. Apparently ‘the fate of the world hangs in the balance once more’ but the council is very busy and that’s their only available time slot for today unless you’d like to talk to them next week instead?” She asked in a sickly sweet yet condescending voice.

You clenched your jaw as you tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace as you responded once more “No, I need to meet with them today. Next week could be too late. I don’t think you’re grasping or conveying the gravity of the situation to them properly Helen.”

Helen blinked “Looky here kid, like I told you already, the council is very busy they have but a limited time to speak with you. Keep being fresh and they’ll have no time to speak with you. Do you understand?”

Y/n put her hands together over her face, head hung low before you turned your head to the left as you took a deep breath. Remember why you’re doing this, you repeatedly thought to yourself.

You looked up with a grimace of a smile, “ Yes, I understand. I apologize for my behavior, this is just really important and the council needs to know as soon as possible. I wouldn’t dream of taking up the council’s time if it wasn’t important. But anyway, I got a pep rally to go to though, so . . . “ you trailed off from your mini rambling at the raised brown on her face.

“Very well, I’ll put you down for eleven tonight then. Oh, and good luck with the pep rally and the big game tonight!” Helen said before snapping her fingers three times, then drawing a circle on the mirror counter clockwise.

After she did this, you ended up standing back at your locker as time resumed around you. Once again you shook your head clearing it as the noise around you resumed.

You had finally secured a meeting with the council despite your hesitation to do so. Having had your concerns about Hawkins and the Upside Down being downplayed or just straight up ignored. But this time you resolved to do whatever it took to destroy the unknown threat you could feel coming, it was only a matter of time . . .

*****

[messenger-of-stupidity]

Brain Empty, just Vega

Redacted Masterlist

1) Yes I am currently working on a ff about Cutie and Geordi, I swear. I just get random thoughts and need to throw them out there

2) Please i am on my hands and knees begging for more Vega/Warden content. I don’t have the energy to go searching for it but it needs to exist.

3) Does anyone have ideas about what Vega looks like and can I please see them?

4) Yes there’s more to this fucking list

5) Not actually this is the last one because my number OCD likes ending on multiples of five but I promise this one actually holds content. On today’s Vega brainrot, I introduce to you this situation (yes i’m going to put it in “x reader” fanfic format fight me):

Vega wrinkles his nose as he stares in the mirror hanging from your door. You don’t mind the look of disgust plastered on his expression. How could you? Not when he’s standing in your room wearing a high quality three piece suit. And tailored specifically to him? To die for. Although knowing him, you likely would for this transgression you’ve committed against him. 

“Is this your idea of being amusing?” He asks, his disdain evident in his voice. You hold back a laugh as you sit down on your bed, hands folded neatly in your lap. He turns around, eyes narrowed. Right... you forgot he could sense your emotions, therefore knew whether or not you wanted to laugh. You should probably remember that better.

“Hm... maybe just a bit? But you do look really good.” You answer, trying to keep a straight face for the sake of your survival. Unfortunately the sadistic piece of ass seems to have other ideas for you. He moved forward and you curse his otherworldliness for a heartbeat. This was why you should have just stuck to flirting with humans. Vega was sadistic and mean at times - scratch that, most of the time - but he was hot while doing it. Hence why you were still here.

“Whether or not you think I look good is none of my concern. After all, your opinions are irrelevant.” He muttered. You figured out another reason why he was hot. He was able to be rude without actually cursing you out. Although you’ve heard curses drip through your head as his head tilts back ever so slightly and his movements grow more rough. You can feel your face warm and see a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yeah yeah. Just... go away.” You mutter, unable to take much more of this. He’s hardly done anything and yet here you are. It seems he has the same realization as you. Damn him.

“Aw. Poor little thing. Here I am, just stating my stance and you’re sitting there thirsting for me. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You really should be. It’s rather pathetic. Can’t say I’m surprised though.” He hums as he drifted two fingers down your arm. You look down to follow the movement and the next thing you know he has your chin tilted up to look at him. “Mm. Shame though. Farewell little thing.” He says, his tone evidently teasing. He doesn’t give you anytime to react before he’s rifted away and you’re left alone in the room. 

You exhale slowly and hold your face in your hands. Damn him.

[woodencuffs]

a possessive daddy who likes to remind me i’m his. who put marks all over me, hickeys on my neck and chest and bruises on my waist and arms from holding me down and having his way with me. bite marks all over! scratches! growling at me “don’t you EVER forget , princess, you are MINE. keeps one hand in my hair while he’s fucking the shit out of me and the other hand around my neck and he’s whispering “fuck baby you’re so wet for me, look at the mess you’re making” … and i whimper and apologize and tell you i can’t help it and you growl again “you are MINE” and i look up at you with my puppy eyes “yes daddy i belong to you, i am yours!” except i say it slowly and messy bc im so lost in the moment and fuck, you feel so good using me. my hands are tied behind my back and my legs are shaking. “that’s daddy’s good girl” and i’m moaning and whining with each thrust “does my baby need daddy’s fingers? and you keep your one hand in my hair to remind me to behave and stuff your fingers in my mouth “shh baby , daddy needs you to take it like a good puppy”….

I keep the cuffs and rope always accessible but I like to remind you I don’t need them. I notice most the visible marks on you have faded and we can’t have that now can we? I don’t announce to you what’s about to happen I just place a hand on your head and arm patting you for a second before grabbing and arm and some hair and pulling you up out of the chair and then switching to pulling all your clothes off you whine and protest till I grab you by the throat and growl in your ear “you’re not marked” I finish stripping you down before picking you up carrying you to the bed and tossing you down. You try and sit up but I push and hold you down “be still” I command I know you won’t though I know you’re gonna squirm and whine but it doesn’t matter I’ll just hold you in place and force you into whatever position I need as I work my way around your body biting and sucking till I get to your chest where I leave a hickey of my initials once I satisfied it’s legible I pull you up by your hair and walk you to the mirror to show you my handy work and point at your chest “who’s initials are those?” You stare at it a second and I slap your ass and pull on your hair cussing you to gasp and spit out “yours daddy” “and why are they there?” “Because I’m yours” your whimper “good girl” at this point I let you go but just to drop my pants before grabbing you by the hips and pulling you back to me then lining you up till I slide inside you and hear you moan after I get a good rhythm I let go of your hips and grab you by your hair with one hand and the the chin with the other forcing you to look at your own face in the mirror “look at that puppy face you’re practically begging for more” before switching my hand to your throat making it hard to reply in any way but a moan. Now it’s time to restrain you so I can have my hands free and I carry you back to the bed before forcing your arms behind you and cuffing you before pushing you on your face and and grabbing your hair and sliding back into you from behind I ask you who you belong to and you moan “you daddy” but I slap your ass and pull harder on your hair “louder I didn’t hear you” I growl and you say it a little louder and the cycle repeats till you scream “you daddy I belong to you” I slow down and lean till I’m in your head before saying “that’s right princess you’re mine and only mine don’t ever forget it” I say before laying a gentle kiss on your cheek and then immediately grabbing and pulling on your hair again and thrusting in with all my might smiling to myself over the noise you just made. From there i demonstrate just how much you belong to me and are mine to do with as i please; switching holes as I please one hand staying wrapped in your hair the other alternating between your throat, pussy, and mouth the whole time letting you know how good it feels and what a mess you are and that you’re my mess. Finally when I’ve had enough I look down on you all red, gasping, and shaking before lifting up your chin so you’re looking at me “you’re so beautiful princess you’re gonna be my princess forever” and then kissing you gently…..

[aesteraceae]

Happy Birthday

Pairing: Chan/Everyone

Summary: Chan gets railed for his birthday. That's really it.

Tags under the cut!

Tags: gangbang, lingerie, biting, slapping, spanking, subspace, nipple play, crying, safe words, cumming untouched, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, cum play, overstimulation, degradation, mommy kink, fingering, spit roasting, face fucking, edging

AN: Yes I am very aware that Chan's birthday was like 2 weeks ago, but this fic kicked my ass so it's being posted now. It's fine, October is Chan's month anyway.

Taglist: @sunnyville36 @snow-pegasus @toastyseungmo @sstarryreads

· · ────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Are you guys sure about this?"

Chan's fidgeting on the bed, staring down at the lacy panties Jisung placed in front of him.

Felix wraps his arms around Chan's shoulders, tucking his head in his neck. "We're so sure. It's your birthday! You work so hard for us, and we want to help you feel good."

Chan can't help but melt, picking up the panties.

They're thin but nice, with decorative stitching and a little bow on the front. Chan can't imagine something so pretty on him, but he didn't have to imagine, did he?

He slides off the bed and tries not to shake under the 7 pairs of eyes staring him down as he strips to nothing, sliding the panties on.

They fit, somehow, his cock fitting nicely into the silky fabric. It feels nice, the material makes his skin tingle and the cut is high enough that he still feels naked, exposed.

He is absolutely not prepared to look up, though.

Jeongin's right in front of him, and the moment their eyes meet he's all Chan can focus on, because he's shoving him back onto the bed.

He feels the bed dip around him, and Jeongin pulls back just enough for Chan to see the others standing above him, staring down at him like he's a prime cut of steak.

"Um. Um, I- do I-"

"If you ask "do I look good?" I'm going to slap you."

Changbin's voice is already dripping with arousal, and Chan swallows hard because that didn't sound like a bad deal.

"Do I look good?" He whispers, the slightest smile in the words, and Jeongin moves over so Changbin's straddling him instead.

"You want me to slap you?"

He's so careful, and it makes Chan's heart do something so weird he can't form words. He just nods, and before he can even blink Changbin strikes him across the face, sending lovely fireworks of pain across his cheek.

It's not very hard, considering, but Chan still cries out and he still writhes, wanting to hold the flushed skin. He tries to do just that and finds that Felix and Hyunjin are holding his hands back, and kissing right above him. The sight really has no business being so hot, but his attention is stolen by another slap, from Seungmin this time.

There's a hard look in his eyes, predatory, like he was planning how best to tear Chan apart, and it's enough to make him whimper.

His hearing cuts out for a moment, already slipping into another headspace, something soft and pliable. He watches Jeongin and Seungmin bicker for a moment over who gets to straddle Chan, but they both end up on one of his thighs.

Seungmin bites at his ear and neck, harsh and almost violent. It's strange how much Chan likes it, but the idea of taking away Seungmin's usually impenetrable wall of composure is doing things to his brain.

Jeongin is scratching down his chest and pinching his nipples, the mixture of pain and pleasure dancing just on the line of maddening.

"Fuck, please," he moans, though he isn't sure what he's begging for. Someone coos next to him and kisses him, and Chan doesn't even need to look to know who it is.

Minho holds his chin, fingers fanning out on his bruised cheek, pressing against the sensitive skin every time he presses deeper into the kiss. He moves Chan like a doll, tilting his head this way and that to get a better angle. It's dizzying, all the different sensations all at once, and he doesn't realize that he's crying until Minho swipes a tear away.

All of it stops, and Chan's so outraged by this that he only cries harder. He knows this isn't exactly the way to get them to keep touching him, but the rational part of his mind has shut itself off.

"Green," He gasps out, reaching back for Felix and Hyunjin so they tighten their grip on his wrists again. "It's a lot but it's good, please don't stop."

Felix and Hyunjin are convinced, pinning his hands back down to the bed, and he sobs in relief.

"Are you sure?"

Seungmin's looking at him, the heat in his eyes replaced with worry, and Chan wants to bite him.

He does, craning his neck to bite the fleshy part of his palm. It's strangely satisfying, and he bites down a little bit harder before letting go.

The embarrassment sets in soon after, but Seungmin kisses him before he can apologize.

"Fuck."

Chan laughs into the kiss, mostly confused, but there's more lips on him, more hands, and he's not going to do anything to make them want to leave.

"You're so- fuck. I want to tear you apart."

Minho's talking, whispering filth into his ears, and Felix is sucking on his fingers, and Jeongin is sucking his nipples and Seungmin is kissing him and Chan is going insane.

None of them have even touched his dick and he's already shaking, whining, begging to cum.

Or at least he would be if Seungmin would stop kissing him long enough for him to get a word out, but still.

"You're so pretty like this, Channie. Tell us how good it feels, yeah?"

Jisung pulls Seungmin off of him by the hair, freeing his mouth, but Chan had a better chance of talking with his lips occupied, because the sight of Seungmin, arching back into Jisung's touch makes his mind go blank.

Changbin starts to bite and kiss Seungmin's neck, and Jeongin shifts just perfectly—

Chan cums with a startled shout, far louder than he intended, and everyone freezes to watch him, sobbing and writhing as a wet patch forms on the panties.

"Good answer," Jisung says, laughing, and then the panties are off and Jisung's licking up the cum and Chan physically can't handle this.

His skin is still buzzing from the first orgasm but seeing Jisung lick the panties clean almost throws him straight into another one, whining and hooking a leg over his shoulder.

Jisung takes this as an invitation and begins cleaning up his cock too, with broad strokes and absolutely filthy noises.

"Jisung, oh my god- fuck, wait wait!"

He doesn't seem to care that he's shoving his orgasm right into overstimulation, even as Chan thrashes underneath him.

Changbin puts an arm over his hips and keeps him still while Jisung works and the tears start up again, but instead of worrying they just laugh at him, now.

Minho's voice is silky smooth in his ear, just a bit too condescending to sound properly worried.

"Oh, honey. Is it too much? Being held down and forced to take what we give you? That must be so overwhelming, huh?"

He grits his teeth and tries to hold back a scream but fails miserably, only succeeding in sounding even more pathetic, if that was possible.

"Go on, scream. We all want to hear it."

What comes out is a pathetic little wail, and Jisung finally lets him go, licking his lips and sucking his fingers, like Chan's cum was a Michelin star meal.

"You're insane." He huffs, thankful for the opportunity to breathe again.

"And you taste amazing," Jisung says, with the tone of a man who regrets nothing.

Chan has absolutely nothing to say to that, so instead he shuts his eyes and tries to drag himself back to existing.

Minho has other plans, however, because he guides Jeongin off of him and coaxes Chan onto his stomach in the center of the bed.

"Minho?"

His senses are still spotty, but he's lucid enough to catch Minho's response.

"Oh, you didn't think we were done, did you? Gosh, you keep getting cuter."

There's something about how condescending Minho sounds, like Chan was nothing more than a dog.

"You're so tense. If you're going to take us, you'll need to relax a little. Hyunjin, Felix, help him out, yeah?"

There's hands on him again, but a simple glance back shows that it's Felix and Hyunjin this time. Hyunjin's massaging his thighs, squeezing and pressing into the knots there, and Felix is groping his ass, thumbs pressing against his hole every so often.

It's just the perfect amount of pressure to drag Chan back into subspace, and he's barely more than a puddle on the bed by the time Felix finally presses a finger into him.

"Fuck, I can't imagine how it'll feel to fuck you if you're this tight around a finger."

Felix's hands are small but deft, like he got a detailed manual on how to melt Chan's brain from the inside.

There are 2, then 3 fingers, and Chan isn't going to be able to handle any of their cocks, he knows, because he's already shuddering now.

He already feels like a pit of molten lava, but Felix presses the pads of his fingers down and Chan's brain goes completely offline.

He's sobbing again, because he can't get his mouth to work right to scream and Felix is evaporating his mind.

The pressure doesn't let up, Felix is just pushing and Chan doesn't even realize he's close until Felix stops and it feels like his entire body is going to explode.

He does scream this time, loud and enraged, and Felix's laughter is so infuriating that he bites down on the sheets again.

"Shh, little one. You'll be filled again soon enough, don't worry."

Hyunjin pulls him back until he's sitting on his hands and knees, settling in front of him.

Chan's not sure when he took off his pants, but he's too preoccupied with being annoyed at Felix to care.

Hyunjin guides his cock forward just as Chan feels Minho behind him, lining up with his ass.

"I might bite you." Chan rushes out, as Hyunjin's cock hits his lips.

Hyunjin just shrugs, "I don't really care."

Chan doesn't have time to process that because Hyunjin is pressing past his lips and teeth and Minho is pressing inside of him and for one blissful moment, Chan feels nothing.

And then his skin lights up in sparks and fire, like they ran an electric rod through his body and put him in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"Fuck, baby, so tight. So perfect for us, huh?"

Human bodies can't be expected to handle this much sensation at once, can they? It's hard to breathe around Hyunjin's cock but Chan can't bring himself to complain because the lack of air is making him pleasantly floaty.

"That's it, honey. Take my cock nice and deep, choke on it."

Hyunjin's voice is gravelly and warm, a fresh wave of motivation to suck harder, push deeper, even as he gags around it.

There's a hand in his hair and he thinks it's Hyunjin going to pull him in deeper, but instead it pulls him back, away, and Chan is left empty from both sides.

He can't explain how jarring it is, to be left adrift and gaping with so many eyes on him, so many people who could be touching him but aren't.

He wails, hiccuping and hyperventilating and he's moving, pressed against someone's chest, but he's empty, and it takes everything in him to force out words. "Don't stop, please don't stop. I need it, please."

Someone's talking and Chan can't even tell who, but they're lifting him onto their cock, and everything slots back into focus.

He melts against Changbin's chest, held tight in his arms, letting out soft moans while his hips rock in and out.

"We won't stop unless you tell us to, okay, love?"

Minho presses a gentle kiss against Chan's forehead and pulls him forward again until he's back on his knees, but he leaves Chan's head on his thigh instead of nestled between his legs, where he wants to be.

He whines but Minho's hand is unyielding, and soon enough he's too focused on Changbin and his punishing thrusts to really care.

His eyes are crossing in seconds, and the only reason he recognizes anything other than Changbin's cock is Minho, moving his head this way and that to make him look at the others.

Felix and Hyunjin are rutting against each other, shirts still on, and Jisung is reaching between them to grind their dicks together.

Seungmin is making a mess of Jeongin's thighs, biting and even drawing blood in some spots. Jeongin looks like he's cum a few times already, and Chan wonders how out of it he was if he missed it.

"Look, baby. Look how horny you made us all, look how jealous they are that they're not fucking you right now."

Hyunjin looks at him with desperate eyes, lips swollen and pink, and Chan is going to die if he doesn't get to kiss him now.

He reaches out an arm but Hyunjin's already turned back to Felix, kissing him instead, and that's almost better. Pink on cherry red, flushed freckles and sweat-stuck hair.

"Channie...!" Jeongin's calling for him, moaning his name as Seungmin sucks on the tip of his cock, and it's almost instinct to slide their hands together.

Jeongin's grip is almost bruising but Chan loves it, the extra point to focus on.

Changbin's thrusts grow erratic, and Minho laughs above him.

"Looks like Changbin's going to cum soon. Who wants to fuck our little whore next? We can't leave him empty."

Jeongin perks up but Seungmin sucks him a little harder and he's screaming out an orgasm. He's little more than a shaking puddle when Seungmin finally pulls away, but Hyunjin and Felix aren't much better.

Jisung started fucking Felix's face at some point, and they both seem close while Hyunjin guides Jisung's hips. It doesn't even seem like they heard Minho at all, too absorbed in their pleasure, and something about that makes Chan's insides hot.

He feels like a toy, something they can leave aside until they're ready to play with it, until they're finished with a more interesting toy.

Changbin drapes himself across Chan's back and he barely gets a groan in warning before he's pumped full of lava, with Changbin's moans in one ear and Minho's praises in the other.

"That's it, good boy. You're taking it so well, such a good little fucktoy."

His bones feel like they're melting, and his chest is heaving, and he thinks he's screaming and it's so much-

"Mommy!" He's not sure why he says it, but Minho sounds so intoxicating, so condescending and so warm that Chan can't think of anything else to say.

He's too out of it to see how Minho reacts, floating in a haze of too much and not enough.

"Mommy, please, oh my god..."

He turns his head to bite Minho's thigh, because Jisung's cumming too and he really can't handle the way they sound moaning together.

"Shh, baby boy. Mommy's got you."

Minho pulls his head up again and finally guides him down onto his cock, and the satisfied groan Minho lets put is almost enough to make Chan cum again.

It's hard to focus on anything other than Minho's cock, but he still notices Changbin's absence when he pulls out.

He isn't empty for long, as Changbin shifts out of the way and Seungmin slides behind him, nails scratching red lines into his back as he lines himself up.

Minho pulls him off to breathe and he catches a glimpse of Jeongin moving underneath him, but he doesn't put it together until he feels something hot and wet wrap around his cock.

The sound he lets out is embarrassing, high and desperate, and it only gets louder when Seungmin pushes inside of him.

Minho's laughing at him, tugging at his hair and holding him just above his cock, making him stick his tongue out like a dog to taste him.

"So cute. Seungmin, fuck him harder. I want to hear our puppy scream."

Chan chokes on his own spit as Seungmin speeds up, hips slamming against Chan's ass. It feels like they've put his brain in a blender and set it to pulse, driving him mad with steady thrusts.

He does scream, often, until his voice cracks and all he can manage are little whines.

Seungmin doesn't let up, and when he gets close he only moves faster, scratching Chan's back and thighs.

Jeongin bites at his stomach and drags his teeth along Chan's cock, teasing, dangerous, and it's maddening.

He floats in a haze of pleasure and laughter and skin against skin, only vaguely aware of Seungmin leaving, of Felix taking his place.

Felix is gentler, but he's infuriating in different ways. His thrusts are slow and he's thick and Chan is too out of it to stop himself from bucking back against him, stretched so wide and still somehow wanting more.

He's sobbing and drooling and barely aware of his own heart let alone his mouth, but Minho keeps guiding him, drags his outstretched tongue against his cock, and groans like it's the best thing he's ever felt.

Chan wants so badly to blow him properly but every time he tries someone pinches his nipples or jerks him off or bites him, and he's too busy crying or screaming to do anything useful.

Earlier everyone split off into their own thing, but now they're all focused on him.

Hyunjin's marking up his neck, sucking hickeys and drawing blood, and Changbin is whispering in his ear. He tells Chan just how good he is, how pretty he looks, and Chan nods because when he shook his head at being called perfect Changbin spanked him so hard he blacked out for a minute.

He made Felix stop and held him by the jaw until he repeated it, until he described just how perfect he was, and Chan had to choke the words out through an orgasm. It was the only time he'd been able to rest after an orgasm, but it didn't last long. Felix picked up speed and Minho started fucking his face in earnest, and Chan fell back into uninterrupted pleasure.

That is, until Minho pulls away from his mouth and Felix pulls out of him.

He's gearing up to scream, to whine, to beg them to fill him again, but Jisung quickly takes Minho's place and— oh.

Chan never understood the phrase "fucked out of your mind", but it seems like Minho is determined to teach him.

He's pressing against Chan's hole, and he somehow feels bigger now, groaning at how little resistance there was.

"Such a slutty little thing. You want momma to fuck you?"

Mercifully, Jisung pulls him up high enough to shout "Please."

Minho is huge, and he moves slow enough to let Chan feel every inch.

He's sure he's making disgusting noises, but he can't bring himself to stop. Minho fucks him like a doll, pushing in completely with every thrust. Jisung's groaning above him, fucking his mouth at the same pace as Minho's hips, and it's maddening.

Jisung comes first— he falls back and bites his hand, shouting into it and gently pulling Chan off. Seungmin kisses him before he can swallow, licking the cum directly out of his mouth, and Chan can do little more than whine against his lips.

Chan's orgasm barrels into him like a bull, and he's glad Jisung wasn't fucking his face anymore because he's sure he'd choke, now. He wails, kicking at the bedsheets, bucking up against Jeongin's mouth.

Minho thrusts into him once, twice, and then he's draping himself over Chan's back and moaning directly into his ear, like a siren dragging him down even further, punching the aftershocks out of him.

The last thing he hears before the world goes black is Minho, telling him, "Happy birthday."

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Seeya ||

Frank Castle x gn Reader

Rating: T

Tags/warnings: Established relationship, fluff, tiny angst, some swears, mostly fluff though

AO3 link

~~~

You didn't know why but you were awake. Through your bleary vision as you slowly opened your eyes, there was a shadow moving against the soft glow of the hallway light spilling into the bedroom. “Frank?” You croaked, voice scratchy from sleep, rubbing your eyes.

“Ah, shit.” Frank said softly. “Hey baby girl. S'okay, go back to sleep.”

You watched as he pulled a black t-shirt on. He rolled it down over his muscular torso, so easily hiding a multitude of scrapes, bruises and cuts from nights before.

“Frank you know it doesn't work like that.” You said. You pushed yourself up to lean your back against the headboard. Turning on the bedside lamp at your side illuminated the black duffle on the floor.

“Work?” you asked, already knowing it was.

He sighed. The bed dipped as he sat down on the edge near you, leaning over to kiss the top of your head, fingers carding gently through your messy hair.

“Yeah. Work.”

“Okay. Well I guess I'm up now so tell me about it.”

Frank shook his head. “It's nothin' you should be worrying about. Promise.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers skimming along your jaw to your chin, tipping your head up to plant a little smooch right on your lips.

You grumbled.

You knew about a lot of the things he had done in the past. Things he'd seen. It was sort of a condition of you being together, you didn't have to keep anything hidden from each other. He'd fought so hard to spare you, to lessen it somehow, but how can you possibly lessen taking a life? Even if it was a 'bad guy'? Fact stood, he didn't do that now. Wouldn't. Not since Red came into his life, kicking his sorry ass, battering all the reasons for fighting the good fight straight into Frank's skull. He was relentless but it had worked. It took some figuring out, some fucking hard to swallow pills but he wasn't the Punisher any more. Not like before anyway.

Fucking Catholics and their guilt. Jesus.

“Please be careful Frank.” You were also the reason.

“I'm always careful.”

He winced as you prodded a recent deep cut in his side with your finger. “Oh yeah?” You scowled but he just laughed at your grumpy expression, leaning into you nuzzling and nipping where your shoulder met the base of your neck, that weak point, where he knew you were the most ticklish.

“Ahh Frank, ngghh!” You squealed and wheezed with laugher, wriggling and ducking to try and get away from the scratchy feel of his scruffy jaw and playful nips of your skin. He finally relented and you pushed him back.

“I'm serious.”

“So am I. I'll be careful.” He made a little scout's honour gesture with a smirk and you shoved him again.

“Fucking hell Frank.” You sighed, running your fingers through his hair. He leaned into it, closed his eyes briefly. “Is Matt gonna be there?” You asked.

“Mm. Yeah. We uh, we look out for each other, y'know?”

You smiled, relieved. “Yeah. It's good you're working together, he's a really great guy.”

“Aww, you sweet on Murdock babe?” Frank teased.

“No, I'm just glad he found you.” The last thing you wanted was Frank out there alone if the unthinkable happened.

Frank scratched his chin, grinning at you. “Little altar boy get you hot huh?”

You grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.

“Oof! Okay okay! I take it back. I know, I know... kid probably saved me more times than I deserve.”

“Remind me to thank him properly next time he's round...” You winked. When it came to teasing Frank you gave as good as you got.

“Hey now, guy's got some sorta sixth sense for befriending beautiful women. You sayin' I need to watch my back?” Frank chuckled and shifted over to sit beside you.

“When do you have to go?” You asked, hopeful it wasn't too soon.

Fuck, he hated this part. Hated leaving you, even if it was only for a few hours. He knew you'd stay up till he got back. Waiting to check him over, put him in the shower, patch him up if need be. It wasn't till he was in your arms that it was over, that he was sure he was home.  

“We got a lil' while. C'mere.”

Frank pulled you against his side, arms draped around you. Curled against his broad chest you rose and fell with his breaths, heard the steady thump of his heart near your ear. You tapped the rhythm out on his shoulder.

A half hour must have passed when realised you'd drifted off and Frank was stroking your bare arm, saying your name, saying he had to go.

“Don't know how long I'll be...” You knew the script. He never liked to give an estimate, just in case something changed. Didn't want you fretting. He'd give you a text when he was safe and on his way, always did, and that seemed to be enough at least.

“I know.” You missed the heat of him as he got up to grab his stuff. Jacket, keys, phone. Bag stuffed full of weapons.

He dipped down, pressing his lips to yours. Warm and sweet.

“I'll seeya.” he said. That was your code for 'I love you' when he had to work. Somehow saying it outright made it seem like he wouldn't be coming back.

“See you. Say hi to Matt for me?”

He shouldered the duffle and headed for the door. If he didn't leave right now he'd never go.

Frank gave you wink and a smile. “Sure.”

[suna-reversed]

kiss me more

Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader

head empty, just soft dom! toji fucking his girl stupid in full nelson :)

minors dni!

the header is made by me, do not repost

a/n: here with another one of my shitty hub headers😀 this fic was solely inspired by the lyric “I feel like fucking something”, powered by @neeqzs and my thirst for this dilf😩

(warnings/tags): modern au, unprotected sex, oral (f.receiving), soft dom! toji, nipple play, bulge kink, daddy kink, squirting, creampie, full nelson, edging, overstimulation, orgasm denial, slight choking.

It’s 2:47 am on a Thursday when you feel the mattress shift, a small hiss accompanied by a “fuck” as something falls to the wooden floor with a thud.

There’s a guilt ridden expression on the face of the same man who’s known for his coldness and stoic demeanour amongst all.

“Is he strict?” “Doesn’t it get boring?” “Do you just stay for the money?”

It’s a string of questions you’ve heard a dozen times ever since you started dating the man who now stands in front of you, scratching the back of his head, upper body bare as he meekly stands there in nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

Your eyes still burn from the broken sleep as you lift yourself on your forearms, a small yawn escaping you as you try to get a peek over at what the giant of a man had knocked over.

“I needed a new alarm clock anyways.” You mumble groggily.

He chuckles before lifting the sheets, sliding in beside you as a tattooed arm reaches across the small of your waist to pull you into his warm chest.

“Didn’t mean to wake you up angel.” His nose is nuzzling against the top of your head as he murmurs a small “I missed you”.

All he’s met in response with is a light huff.

“What was that?”

There’s another huff, followed by a small nudge against his chest. Toji smiles to himself, slightly shaking his head before pulling away so that he can get a clear look at your face.

“What’s got you upset?”

You don’t respond, opting for a roll of your eyes instead.

“Oh?” He raises a brow, thoughtfully tapping a a finger against his chin,

“Is it because I woke you up?”

“...”

“-because of the alarm clock?”

“...”

“-because I came home late-“

“You know exactly what it is!” You whine, swatting at his chest as you attempt to roll over and away from him.

You’re halfway through doing so when you’re suddenly pulled back against his sturdy chest, the burly man easily settling you against the pillows on your back as he comes to lean above you.

“Toji!”

You gasp as his head dips into the crook of your neck, tongue licking up a stripe to the back of your ear as his other hand easily slips underneath the fabric of your shirt.

He pulls back, the wanton need in your eyes making his cock twitch as he fondles your breast, making quick work of your shirt as he pulls it off.

The sudden gust of cold air prickles your skin, contrasting with the hot mouth that comes around your nipple, sucking it with fervour as Toji’s hand pinches and twists the other.

The sleepiness in your body seems to be replaced with electrifying hunger and you wail out loud as he pulls away, only for him to shush you as he positions himself in between your legs, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

“Let me make it up to you, okay?”

It’s not until he mentions it that you remember why you had been upset in the first place. Nonetheless, the sight of his chin resting against the apex of your stomach as he waits for your response and the ache in between your legs makes you mutter out your agreement.

It barely takes less than a moment for him to have you bare and dripping in front of his mouth, one of your legs propped over his shoulder as his thumb ghosted over your clit.

Toji’s still aware of the small pout that rests upon your lips, so he decides to not tease you any longer; licking a flat stripe against your wetness, tongue exploring your folds as his nose nudges against the small nub above. He hums against your heat as your hand comes to tug on his hair, his own instinctively reaching out, scrambling around the sheets till your other one comes to intertwine with it.

Lewd slurping sounds fill the room as he suctions the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, two fingers coming to join his tongue as they easily slip inside of you. Your hips lift off the bed as you grind your cunt into his face, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a curling motion as he finds your sensitive spot, a tightness beginning to form in the pit of your stomach as his tongue continues its assault against your abused clit. Your thighs tighten around his head as you feel your release coming .

“fuck- ‘m gonna- gonna cum toji.”

Your back arches against the bed, the tension in your stomach about to snap just as he suddenly detaches his mouth from your cunt.

“No-” You cry as the waves of a half orgasm wash over you, an unsatisfying feeling crawling in your gut.

He’s panting as he regards your mewling form, glassy eyes filled with accusation as you glare at him.

“Fuck you, Toji.”

“That’s not my name, you know that doll.”

You groan in annoyance as he smirks.

“Oh? Want me to punish you more, do ya?”

There’s a smug look on his face as you shake your head in defeat, his hand reaching down to pull his hard member out of its constraints, letting it slap against his lower abs. You suck in a breath as he positions it in between your soppy folds, nudging your clit with his pre-cum covered tip.

“Please don’t tease, daddy.” You plead, jutting your bottom lip out.

“What do you want baby?”

There’s heat crawling up your face even as you lay bare and soaking in front of him, muttering out the words in a small voice as you hope he feels lenient enough to let you off the hook this once.

“What was that now?”

“Ah!”

The swift impact of the slap that comes against your cunt has you flinching in surprise.

“Need you to fuck me daddy- want you to fill me up with your cum, please-”

“There you go-” He groans at your words, the restraint snapping inside him as he slides a hand up your body to firmly grip your throat, “good girl”

You’re sure he’ll finally fill you up now, instead you’re left baffled once more as he slides his arms under you, rolling you over so that he’s on his back, reclining against the pillows with you on top of him.

“I wanna try something new, that okay doll?”

His mouth is right next to your ear as he speaks, hot breath against the side of your face as you nod.

“Turn over.” He’s lightly tapping your hip to usher you off him and turn around so that your back is pressed to his chest, cock placed right below your ass.

You’re such a pliant little thing for him, Toji feels a small burst of pride bloom in his chest as he regards how obediently you follow and listen, even though it was him who had supposedly been “making it up” to you.

“Such a pretty little slut, all for me.” He murmurs against the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there as he lines himself up with your folds once more, making a shiver run down your spine as he enters into you at the new angle.

There’s a burn in between your legs from how his massive cock stretches out your walls as you try to take as much of him as possible, your juices dripping down the length of his cock and down onto his balls. Both of you groan in unison as he finally bottoms out, your head falling back against his chest, eyes clenched shut as you feel him twitch inside of you.

“C’mon, open your eyes doll, look here.” His voice is gruff as he brings your attention to his hand that’s pressing against your belly, the outline of his cock visible in the slightest from where he’s buried deep inside of you.

“Look at you taking daddy’s cock so well.” A broken cry escapes your overstimulated body as his fingers move to flick over the sensitive bundle of nerves below, “You deserve a reward, hmm?”

“Ah, daddy! What are you-”

You yelp as he suddenly moves, his cock rubbing against your insides as he slides his arms under your knees, bringing them up till they’re pressed as close to your chest as possible, your legs left to dange in the air as his muscled arms support your form.

At this new angle, you feel like his cock’s moved in so deep that you might just feel it in your throat soon. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he starts moving his hips, bliss taking over your mind as he deeply thrusts into you, making you whimper with each stroke of his thick cock.

You let your gaze fall to where you two meet, a clear view of his slick covered cock sliding in and out of you, a clear ring of white forming at the base of his shaft as he continues to rut into you like a feral animal.

“Fuck- daddy, ‘m gonna cum- please let me cum daddy!”

Your words turn into incoherent gibberish as you go on, pleading for him to not rip away another orgasm.

“Go ahead and cum doll, show daddy how good he’s making you feel.”

You can feel his thrusts getting sloppier as he pants his words out, his pace still relentless as he pounds into you, making your legs tremble from overstimulation as your release crashes against you, gushing around his cock with a loud cry as he continues to fuck you through your high.

You hear him hiss as you squirt around him, your cunt clenching as he fills you up with his seed, balls twitching as he keeps fucking into you till both your liquids have made a mess of your cunt, not stopping until you’re rapidly tapping at his forearm.

He carefully sets your numb legs back down before pulling himself out of you, your completely spent figure near close to passing out as you slump against him.

“You did so well.” He murmurs as he pushes out the hair plastered onto your forehead, your eyes fluttering closed with exhaustion as you give him a lazy smile.

You wake up to the scent of vanilla drifting past your nostrils, warm water swishing around you as you take in the candlelit bath. You’re placed in between Toji’s legs, head resting against his chest as he massages your shoulders.

“There you are.” He whispers as you gaze up at him from beneath your lashes, “How do you feel?”

You give him a small grin, mind still a little too hazy to form a coherent answer before you realise what exactly had led up to the events a few hours ago.

“Did you really forget?”

There’s a small pout settling across your lips once more, a furrow in your brows as you look up at him, only to feel slightly annoyed as he looks back at you dumbfounded.

“It’s nothing, forget it.” You sigh, fingers tracing random shapes onto his chest as you look away.

A hand comes to your jaw, lifting it towards him again as he looks back at you with a knowing smile.

His hand is sliding through yours, something cold being pressed into your skin. You lift up your hand, opening your fist to see what lays in the center of your palm.

It’s a gleaming silver ring adorned with a diamond, and on closer inspection, you realise it has yours and Toji’s initials on the inside of the band.

Toji’s head dips down from behind you to press a kiss against your shoulder and you can feel him smile against your skin as he whispers,

“Happy birthday doll.”

tags- @sukunababy @shoto-daddy @anyway-idc @halexhydra @sunshine-alice @mikiminacch @captainmads2092 @nakachuchu @jotazinha @p-each-y-day   @deary-darling @tobidabio @sukuna5slut @instantnuma @duskamethyst @radishfern @silversatoru @gojos-mochi @sassyeahhhh @fandomwritrix @missallsundayyy @lazy10ieiri  @tete027 @kakashisthickthighs @half-baked-biscuit @iwaizumini @bakugohoex @merirukxskxs @noritoshiikamo