#i’d like to stuff something else in that mouth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

underskz · 3 months ago

Text

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility.

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both.

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that you can’t quite sate yourself, barely sated by these comments.

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession.

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight.

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon.

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get.

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university.

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well.

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession.

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch.

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain.

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place.

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day.

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find.

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now.

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars.

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing.

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it.

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down.

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera.

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy.

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy.

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more.

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!”

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might.

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone.

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain?

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route.

You always do.

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request.

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall.

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others.

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation.

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home.

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > <

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing.

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball.

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box.

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.”

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table.

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay.

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.

“Need to charge my phone!”

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back.

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months.

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins.

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word.

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore.

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh.

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head.

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him.

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it.

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher.

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start.

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out.

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now.

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down.

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together.

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him.

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!”

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop.

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.”

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site.

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue.

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air.

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly.

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind.

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start.

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out.

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes.

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous.

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again.

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked?

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this.

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth.

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up.

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.”

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more.

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare.

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.”

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.”

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible.

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped.

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust.

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm.

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that��s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly.

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage.

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips.

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you.

“I’m still gonna stream.” The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums.

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his.

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape.

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.”

You blink.

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss.

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee.

“Okay.” You grin at him.

#mark x reader #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader #nct smut #nct 127 smut #– miki writes #– mark

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urmum-lovesme · 23 days ago

Text

Bunny (P14)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: Whelp- after 2 months of waiting here's what everyone's been longing for.... Jeez Louise, I did re-write and re-read this a few times cause it's pretty intense so I hope you all feel the same heart shattering feeling I did when I re-read this for the last time.

warnings: angst angst angst, extremely violent behaviour, abuse, broken bottles, bleeding, implication of drug abuse, alcohol, injuries, abusive father, domestic abuse, mentions of past trauma, sad!rafe, sad!bunny, soft!rafe.

(P1) (P2) (P3) (P4) (P5) (P6) (P7) (P8) (P9) (P10) (P11) (P12) (P13) (P14)

The silence clung to the walls like thick and choking smoke and the heels sat perfectly placed on the coffee table like some cruel centre piece. Her eyes couldn’t leave them. Her chest was so tight she felt like her throat was constricted as she stood frozen. It was quiet except for the low buzz of the lamp beside Luke, shadows flickering on the walls and across his face. She could hear the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen but every mundane noise around her felt too loud- like the whole house was holding its breath just like she was. Luke shifted, just slightly, a lazy movement of him casually leaning back into the couch, his eyes flicked up to her with a sick kind of amusement,

“Didn’t think I’d find out, huh?”

His voice was gravelly, thick with liquor and something else that she'd become much too familiar with- something clearly much stronger and it clung to every word. She didn’t answer right away, her mouth was too dry and her fingers were twitching at her sides, but she forced herself not to flinch. Her heart thudded against her ribs like it wanted to escape.

Run.

Hide.

She felt… small.

Small in the way she hadn’t felt in years, small like a little girl caught with something behind her back waiting for the consequence. But she vowed to herself years ago that she wasn’t a little girl anymore, so she straightened. Her spine stiff, shoulders squaring as much as she could manage under the weight pressing down on her. She made her voice as steady as she could, dragging the words up from somewhere deep inside her chest as she took a few steps away from the front the door into the house.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about...”

She hated how it sounded, too light, too rehearsed and much too defensive. Luke didn’t move- he didn’t need to. His presence was already a vice around her lungs. Instead he just gave a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head like she was the one being ridiculous.

“No?” he rasped, “Then maybe these just walked in all on their own...?”

He nodded toward the shoes with a mocking jerk of his chin and she swallowed thickly, jaw tightening,

“You went through my stuff-”

“-I live here, don’t I?”

He slurred, as if that made his actions justified. As if being under this roof gave him permission to dig into pieces of her that didn’t belong to him- that she'd worked so incredibly hard to keep a secret.

“You have no right—”

“-I have every right to know what my daughter’s doing for money.” He leaned forward now moving his elbows on his knees and even in the dim light she could see the bloodshot gleam in his eyes.

“So tell me sweetheart, how much do they pay you to walk around like a whore?”

The word hit like a slap and her whole body went stiff. There it was. No more dancing around the subject. No more fake passive tone- he’d said it out loud, and it sounded ugly. Her nails dug into her palms and the heat behind her eyes built fast, but she blinked it back.

“Don’t call me that.”

She said, voice low and he smirked like it was funny. Like she was amusing him, then he took a sip from his glass the melting ice clinking lazily around the small amount of liquid left.

“Why not? That's what you do, right? You dance for men- let ‘em stuff their dirty little bills wherever they want. Bet you like that, huh?”

She wanted to scream, to throw something at him and run. But she didn’t, she stood her ground, even though every part of her felt like it was going to collapse in on itself. She whispered out bitterly,

“You don’t know anything about me”

“Oh- I know enough.”

His words slurred at the edges a cold silence fell between them again. She looked at him- really looked at him. The man sitting on the couch wasn’t a father. Not the kind she’d spent her childhood wishing would show up to school plays or bandage her scraped knees. This was just a shell, hollowed out and rotting from the inside out, drenched and drowning in whiskey and maybe it had always been this way. She took a breath, the weight of it cutting sharp through her lungs.

“No you don't”

"Someone’s feeling brave tonight.”

Luke’s mouth twitched into something mean but she didn’t flinch- she refused to give him the satisfaction her cowering. Even when he stood up, her eyes didn’t leave the shoes on the coffee table. He stumbled slightly as he rose, and the half-empty glass he’d abandoned wobbled on the edge of the table where he'd placed it down. She took a breath, deep and slow and the floorboard beneath her creaked quietly in the otherwise suffocating silence around them.

“Where did you get those?”

She asked, voice low but clear whilst her eyes flicked up from the heels to his face, searching for confirmation of what she already knew. Luke was already pushing himself further away from the couch, movements sluggish, as he uncoordinatedly dragged his shoes against the floor. He swayed toward her, close enough now that she could smell it, cheap whiskey that clung to him.

“None of your damn business.”

Her jaw tightened, “They were under my bed,” she said slower this time, “why were you in my room....” He didn’t answer right away, just sneered. The lamp’s light hit the sharp planes of his face, deepening the shadows under his eyes, casting an eerie glow along his jaw.

"Were you looking for mone-"

“-I said,” he repeated, his voice dropping into a slurred mockery, “none of your goddamn business.”

She didn’t flinch, but she felt her pulse hammer in her throat. Her skin prickled with cold, even as heat burned in her chest. She said stiffly, crossing her arms, though her fingers trembled, “They aren’t mine” He laughed then, an ugly sound that rattled in his chest and echoed around the living room. Not amused but spiteful. “Oh, right,” he said, teeth bared in something that was definitely not a smile.

“Right. Some other girl’s little hooker heels live under your bed.”

Before she could say anything back, before the breath could even reach her lungs- he picked the heels up with one unsteady hand and hurled them. The sound was sharper than she expected, a hard clatter of plastic striking the floorboards, the left heel bouncing once before skidding to a stop at her feet. She didn’t move- stood completely still- arms at her sides, fingers trembling faintly like static was moving beneath her skin. The heels lay crooked at her feet, their rhinestones catching the warm light and glinting like they were mocking her. The other rested just beside it, half-twisted, the clear strap folded in on itself like it was ashamed. Luke’s breathing was ragged now, heavy in the quiet room. She could feel him watching her, could feel the pressure of his gaze, like it was trying to crawl under her skin, tear into whatever defences she had left. “Go on,” he muttered,

“Pick ’em up, you need ‘em for your shift tonight.”

Y/N's vision sharpened, then blurred around the edges as she kept her eyes on the shoes. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, but instead she swallowed hard and she said nothing because if she opened her mouth now, she wasn’t sure what would come out. Not even as her father narrowed his bloodshot eyes at her, studying her with the kind of loathing that seeps deeper than a blade. Her spine stayed stiff and she slowly meets his stare. She refuses to drop her gaze. Luke lets out a rough exhale, then turns, staggering back toward the couch. She watches every movement like a hawk, the weight of her heartbeat thunderous in her ears. He reaches for a bottle on the table, half-balanced between ashtrays and pill bottles. His fingers curl around the neck of it and he tips it back. Nothing. The bottle’s empty. He stares at it, eyes vacant and lips curling in disgust and then—

He turns and throws the glass bottle across the room.

The sound is sudden. It hits the wall just behind her and shatters, exploding into glittering shards like fireworks. She gasps- a small, strangled sound- and her hands instinctively fly up to shield herself as fragments rain down and clink against the floor. One shard bounces and skims across her arm, leaving a stinging trail of red. She’s still frozen, chest rising and falling too fast, breath catching in her throat. Luke’s voice cuts through the moment, “You’re just like your mother,” he spits, tone low and cruel.

“Whoring yourself out to the whole damn island.”

Her stomach drops, “Stop,” she breathes,“Stop it.” She tries to keep her voice even, but it quivers as she glances toward the hallway- toward the small, cracked door at the end... JJ’s room. She can’t- he can’t hear this. Her voice sharpens, panicked.

“Please. Just— keep your voice down or you'll wake him up.”

Luke ignores her- he smirks, “What?” he taunts. “You’re embarrassed now?” He throws his head back and laughs amused,

“You’re embarrassed aren't you-”

“-stop raising your voice!”

She snaps, quieter than before but more desperate, her words shaking, “Please stop.” He steps toward her again. Too fast. She doesn’t even have time to move as he grabs her chin- fingers digging in hard, rough- yanking her face up to meet his. The pressure sends a bolt of pain through her jaw and she lets out a quiet gasp.

“Shut the fuck up”

He growls, his breath is hot and too close flooding her senses smothering her. Her eyes sting, and her heart is thudding against her ribs so loud it might claw its way through her skin. Her breath is barely there now, shallow and trembling. She doesn’t dare look toward JJ’s door again. For a moment- just a breath- there’s stillness and Luke’s hand drops from her chin, fingers uncurling like a slow release of pressure. She exhales shakily, chest tight with dread. Her face throbs where his grip had been but he let go and maybe that means he’s don—

His arm swings.

The slap comes without warning- a violent CRACK echoing through the small living room like a gunshot. Her head whips to the side from the impact and a choked sound leaves her throat, barely a cry. Her vision goes white for a second as the sting blooms across her cheekbone. She stumbles backward- legs buckling- and she crashes down hard onto the floor. Her hip hits the edge of a chair, knocking it sideways. Wood scrapes across the floor, loud and jarring and she lands on her ass with a thud, palms hitting the ground to catch herself. She’s dazed her ears ringing and the room sways slightly.

From down the hall, there’s the creak of a door opening.

“...What the hell?”

JJ’s voice, groggy, still thick with sleep as he mumbles more to himself than anyone else. His figure rounds the corner, rubbing his eyes with the bottom of his t-shirt which is rumpled from sleep. But then he stops- freezes mid-step. His eyes drop to the scene, Y/N on the floor dazed one hand holding the side of her face, a toppled chair beside her. They hadn’t spoken since their argument and even though it cut them deep and left them both angry and raw, it didn’t matter now. Whatever was said, whatever tension hung between them, he wasn’t about to stand there and watch their father raise a hand to her. Not after all the times she’d stood up for him- shielded him, defended him when no one else would. Luke staggered forward again with his hand raised like he’s about to strike again and JJ’s whole body snaps into motion.

“Hey-!”

He grabs Luke’s wrist mid-air just before it can strike and shoves him back hard. Luke stumbles, nearly tripping over the coffee table but steadies himself with a growl, face flushed with rage and drunkenness. His eyes burn with fury as he shoves JJ right back, sending him a step back toward the wall, feet barely avoiding the broken glass on the floor by his feet. JJ doesn’t stumble far- he’s too steady for that and the second he finds his footing again, he attempts to put himself between Y/N and their father. His arm automatically moves in front of her like a shield but Luke’s chest is heaving his voice slurring with venom as he spits over JJ's shoulder to the girl on the floor,

“Get out of this house.”

The words cut through the space harshly. Y/N’s ears are still ringing, but she hears it and it's like a slap all over again. Her head lifts slowly, lips parted. “...What?” Her voice is weak, barely a whisper whilst JJ’s eyes flash with confusion,

“What?”

He echoes incredulous but Luke isn’t listening. He pushes past JJ, snarling like a wild dog. And before either of them can react, he grabs Y/N by the hair- fist twisted tight as he yanks her up from the floor like a rag doll. She lets out a sharp cry, her hands flying up to grab at his arm, fingers scrabbling and nails digging into his skin. JJ’s shout in protest breaks like thunder, hands already reaching to wrench her free, but Luke holds steadily, dragging her upward until she’s on her knees, her neck straining under the pull. The pain is blinding and her scalp screams at the pressure- vision going spotty and through it all her heart pounds. “Stop.” JJ’s voice comes low and firm, no longer confused, no longer groggy and his hands are on Luke again, trying to pry him off her.

“Dad get off of her”

He’s practically wrestling Luke now, arms locked around his to break his grip. Y/N’s face is tight with pain quiet whimpers escaping her lips involuntarily, her knees barely finding balance on the hardwood, her scalp still burning from the pull.

“JJ stop-”

She gasps out, voice cracking, because although she doesn't want to admit it she knows this can get worse. Luke snarls and shoves JJ back, catching him off balance. The blonde boy stumbles, trying to recover, but Luke follows fast and grabs him by the collar of his T-shirt, jerking him forward like he weighs nothing. Then he shoves JJ back so violently, he knocks his shin on the coffee table and flies into the couch. The cushions buckle under his weight, and he hits the backrest hard, a grunt punched out of him as the wind is knocked from his lungs. He curls forward slightly, hand on his ribs, trying to catch his breath.

“Jay—”

Y/N calls out as she pushes herself up and takes a step toward him, reaching out instinctively- but Luke catches her by the back of her top. He wrenches her to a stop like he owns her and her breath catches in her throat as she feels the fabric of her shirt pull tight around her collarbones, choking her slightly. Voice like acid Luke speaks out;

“I won’t have a prostitute in my house.”

It’s not shouted, it’s spat, full of filth and shame.

Her entire body goes still, not just frozen- but paralysed, like her soul stepped out of her skin. JJ looks up at them, finally catching enough air to sit upright again and for the first time since he appeared, he hears what this argument is even about. Every nerve in the room goes electric and the silence that follows is louder than the violence. Y/N’s face pales and her jaw tightens- but her eyes… they’re glassy. Because in that moment, her worst fear is real- JJ's looking at her eyes wide and unmoving

He's still sitting on the couch his chest rising and falling, watching. Watching frozen as Luke picks up the heels from the floor and hurls them across the room. They bounce off Y/N’s thigh with a sharp thud, then clatter uselessly to the floor by her feet again. She flinches, her lip trembling, tears gathering like stormwater.

“Dad... please”

She whispers, her voice wrecked, her hands up now palms half-raised like she’s pleading, not sure whether to defend herself or beg. Luke turns, sneering like a madman, he points at her but addresses JJ,

“Your sister here’s been slutting herself out to the whole island” His head tips mockingly, his tone acidic.

“Haven’t you sweetheart?”

She breaks- just completely breaks. “Please,” she cries, her voice ragged, barely recognizable.

"Working as a fucking stripper thinking we wouldn't find out?

“Please stop—”

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

He bellows and Y/N snaps back, trembling from head to toe. Her face is wet with tears, her eyes red and wide with disbelief.

“I pay for this house,” she chokes out, “I pay for everything-”

Luke’s arm lashes out toward the table. His hand grabs a beer bottle, half-full, sticky, and hurls it at her CRASH. It explodes on the wall next to her and JJ flinches from his spot on the couch as the glass rains down scattering near her feet the warm alcohol landing in warm splatters over her skin.

“GET OUT!”

Luke roars out again, the veins in his neck pulsing. She’s sobbing now- deep, guttural, humiliating sobs she’s never let out before, not in public, not even alone- never like this. Her gaze flicks to JJ, still slumped slightly forward on the couch. His face is blank and she can tell he's still stunned, still trying to process. Not just the violence but the truth behind his fathers words because surely this cant be true... He’s never seen his father like this. Not this bad. “JJ,” she gasps out through her sobs.

“Please I can explain…”

But he doesn’t move- he can’t. His father is standing right in front of him, tall and wild and swaying like a storm with legs, casting a shadow over JJ like he’s eight years old again hiding defensively in his bedroom whilst he listens to his sister taking the blows of his fathers anger through the cracked wooden door.

“We don’t want your dirty fucking money”

Luke snarls, he spits the words out each syllable laced with years of resentment and JJ finally starts to rise, hands bracing against the cushions but Luke is already on her. He storms over to her like a force of nature, grabbing her by the arm, yanking her toward the front door.

“Get off me”

She sobs through her tears, but it’s useless. “Y/N!?” JJ calls out, but he’s caught between the couch and Luke as the older man throws open the door like it’s nothing, pushing her onto the porch. Her feet stumble, scraping over the wood as she tries to gain footing but Luke is relentless.

JJ pushes through the doorway now protests falling from his mouth, but Luke has momentum. He manhandles her through the porch, down the steps, and shoves her hard- her knees hit the grass outside the house. She lands with a choked sob, both palms and knees scraping against the dirt, her breath punched from her lungs as she crumples in the dark yard. The porch light flickers above her like it’s ashamed and JJ follows after her, heart pounding, reaching out but Luke twists back and-

Slams a palm into JJ’s face.

“NO!”

Y/N cries out from the ground as JJ stumbles back hand flying to his cheek, eyes narrowed in pain as the sting sets in. Blood flushes to the surface, his tanned skin blooming with the red shape of a palm. Luke turns his head back towards her slowly, locking eyes with her again. His lip curling with disgust,

“Don’t fucking come back,” he growls, low and final. “You hear me?”

He turns to JJ grunting out, “Get in”

Luke mutters his voice sour, then he shoves the blonde boy one firm hand in the centre of JJ’s chest pushing him hard enough that he stumbles backward into the house, nearly tripping over the edge of the carpet. JJ barely catches himself, breath hitching in his throat. Luke doesn’t look at him again, instead, he turns back to the porch, to the night, to her. Y/N is still on her knees in the grass, chest heaving with desperate sobs, her arms limp now at her sides. The tears streak her cheeks like messy rivers and Luke sneers at the sight of her like she’s filth he stepped in and then he lifts his arm again.

Whip

The heels sail through the air- those stupid plastic heels. They hit the ground a few feet away from her with a soft thud, not nearly dramatic enough for how much they meant meerly a few moments ago. One lands upside down, the other on its side.

Pitiful.

Y/N stares at them.

Settled awkwardly in the grass like discarded trash, like they’re a symbol of everything she tried to hide, everything she gave up to survive. Luke stands there in the doorway just second longer, long enough to let the insult settle into the silence between them.

SLAM

The door crashes shut behind him, the frame trembling and Y/N is left outside alone in the dark. On her knees surrounded by the pieces of her life now scattered in the grass. She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there, could’ve been five minutes, could’ve been twenty. Time stopped making sense the moment the door slammed behind her, the moment the grass kissed her knees and refused to let go. Her legs are numb now, tingling from the way she's been sat in this kneeling position. Stiff from how she’s been folded on them like a prayer left unanswered. Her breath still hitches every so often broken, shivering sobs leaving her in empty exhales.

Eventually, with a soft whimper of effort, she drags herself forward. The grass is dry beneath her palms, dust rough against her skin as she reaches for the shoes- the stupid fucking heels. She picks them up, fingers curling around the plastic, the weight of them suddenly so heavy it makes her stomach twist and then she stands on shaky legs.

She doesn't even look back at the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N sits in her car the engine off, the world around her still. She’s in the parking lot tucked-away in their spot. Hidden from the rest of the world. Her arms rest heavy in her lap and the heels sit beside her on the passenger seat, one of the straps dangling limply. Her fingers twitch, the pads of them an angry red. Her hands sting with every shift- scraped and bruised from the way she'd hit the ground. Her knees burn too, and her cheek is swollen and hot, the imprint of Luke’s hand still burning on her skin like a brand. Her head feels like it might split open from the ache thumping behind her eyes.

It all hurts.

Inside and out

Her hands weakly fumble into her back pocket, digging through the fabric until she finds it- her phone. When she pulls it out, the screen is cracked, not enough to kill it but spiderwebbed across the top corner. It must’ve been crushed when she fell- when Luke slapped her and her whole body crumpled like it wasn’t hers. The screen lights up:

1:37 AM.

The numbers blur as her vision wavers, her thumb hovers for a second and then moves before she can stop herself. Before she can think and before she can remember all the reasons she shouldn’t. She dials the number at the top of her call-list, it rings once then twice and her breath snags in her throat.

“Y/N?”

Rafe’s voice rings out rough and confused, it can be heard the way his tone changes over the phone, like he feels her discomforting silence crawling through the line.

“What’s wrong?”

Her lips part but nothing comes out just air and pain and then- she breaks. The sob rips out of her so fast, so hard, it nearly chokes her up in the process. She curls over herself in the driver’s seat, her forehead pressing to the steering wheel, phone clutched so tight to her ear it might snap “Y/N- hey, hey,” Rafe says, instantly alert now, voice taut,

“Are you okay? What's wrong? Talk to me- speak to me please...”

She can’t get words out, just more sobs start to wrack her body, more gasps for breath as fat tears start to drip down onto her thighs as she sits hunched over.

“Where are you, baby?” he asks, voice cracking with worry. “Where are you—”

“-our spot...”

She whispers, it’s the only thing she can manage, a broken little breath between sobs. He doesn’t hesitate after her voice slips through his phone speaker.

“Okay. Okay- stay there, yeah? Stay right there”

He says already moving. You can hear it in the background through the scraping of a chair against hard wood floor followed by the shuffle of keys and a door opening and closing.

“I’m coming- I’m coming right now just hold on for me okay?”

She nods even though he can’t see it, phone still pressed against her cheek, tears spilling faster now. He doesn't put the phone down - instead keeps their call going- his hearing straining for her every little breath to have some kind of sign she's still there- she's still okay. As Rafe slid into his car, his mind flickered back to just hours before, to the words that had rooted themselves in his skull, echoing on a brutal loop no matter how hard he tried to shut them out.

“I can’t do this with you, Rafe.”

She’d said it with tears in her eyes, voice breaking as she backed away like he was something that disgusted her- something dangerous. And maybe he was. But he hadn’t expected the rejection to feel like this, like something ripping open inside him. His grip tightened around the wheel as he remembered how he’d just stood there in the lot of the country club after she drove off, his eyes fixed on the empty space her car had occupied like she might somehow reappear if he stared long enough. He didn’t even remember the drive back to Tannyhill, just the heaviness pressing in on him.

He’d gone straight into his father’s office and sat in the leather chair like a ghost. Motionless and numb. The desk drawer had remained closed, but his thoughts had locked on it all the same, on the small plastic baggie inside that he hadn’t touched in months. The urge was there gnawing at him from the inside, whispering to him.

But he never reached for it.

Because then the call came.

And now, as he pulled out of Tannyhill’s tall gates, headlights cutting through the dark, her voice still echoed in his ear, this time not distant and cold but raw and trembling. Even after everything she’d said to him, after he’d laid his heart bare and she’d begged him not to make her feel something she wasn’t ready for- he didn’t hesitate.

Not for a single second.

She’d shut him down, left him standing there with his love hanging heavy between them but this? Her voice breaking on the other end of the line- scared, small and needing him?

There’s no version of the world where he won't run to her.

Time doesn’t move the way it used to, instead it feels like it stretches, she can't even tell how much time has passed since she first dialled his number. Her phone’s still pressed against her cheek the sound of the cars's repetitive turn signal filling the phone speaker.

She’s shifted now, her feet hanging out the open door of her car, her side pressed into the back of the seat. Her knees are drawn up a little, arm which isn't holding the phone is wrapped around herself, fingers gripping onto the material of her once white work polo. Her body aches in every direction, sharp stings in her hands and knees, the throb in her cheek- it's almost unbearable, and her head?

It aches so badly.

From all the crying.

She didn’t know it was possible to cry this much, didn’t know there could still be more left to spill. She sniffles softly, wiping at her eyes, but it does nothing. The tears keep coming. Slow and silent. Her throat is raw, her breathing shallow and she’s so tired it feels like her bones are humming. She's broken out of her trance when headlights sweep across the lot and her eyes flicker up. The familiar sleek black Range Rover rolls in slow, pulling up a few yards away from her car. It cuts its engine, and for the smallest second, the world is quiet until the driver’s door flings open. Rafe is out of the car before it fully settles, rounding it quickly, shoes hitting against the cement and he doesn’t hesitate as he jogs over to her. He doesn’t say anything at first just sees her- really sees her- and his whole face drops.

Her smeared makeup.

The swelling on her cheek.

The trembling in her hands.

The way her eyes, red and puffy, meet his with so much hurt it nearly floors him.

“It’s okay.”

He exhales softly, stepping up to her and that’s all it takes because she's breaking again, crumpling forward with a soft wrecked sob, her body tipping forward her head falling against him right into his stomach as he stands in front of her. He stiffens for the briefest second, startled by the sudden contact, her body curling so small against him. But then, without a word, one of his hands comes up to her head- fingers gently running over her hair, stroking carefully, tenderly. The other hand rubs slow circles into her back. He doesn’t flinch at the sound of her sobs soaking into his t-shirt. He doesn’t push her away- doesn't dare- he just holds her, anchors her the best he can. It’s quiet, just the sound of waves in the distance and her breathing uneven against him. Eventually, he gently guides her back to lean against the car seat, crouching down to her level. One hand lifts to her face. His thumb traces over the edge of her cheekbone, featherlight over the angry red skin, his touch is heartbreakingly soft. "Talk to me hmm?” he murmurs, voice low, eyes searching hers.

“What happened?”

Her lips part and her throat works but no sound comes out- not at first. Her eyes blink slow and heavy, glassy with exhaustion and then her voice finally breaks.

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

The words come out small and fuck- he feels it in his chest like a punch, something fierce and ugly rising in his throat. His jaw clenches, heart physically aching at the way she says it- like she’s apologising for even existing. He kneels properly now, closer, palms on either side of her arms, grounding her.

"I don't know what to do I- I- dont know-"

“It’s okay- just breathe Y/N. You look like you're about to pass out just breathe baby.”

He says it again, quieter this time. As he kneels fully in front of her, his eyes flicker over her, taking in the brunt of her injuries, and for a second, everything slows. Her hands are both scraped raw, skin irritated and dirt-smeared, little pieces of gravel stuck to her palms. Her knees are red and scuffed, theres a cut on her arm, a thin slash still weeping slightly with red. Her cheek- god her cheek? It’s red and swollen, blooming with a bruised hue, the shape of a handprint faint but unmistakable. Her eyes are watery, lashes stuck together and mascara smudged from the crying. Her hair’s a mess looking like it's been tugged viciously out of place, and her whole body looks like it’s fighting just to stay upright. “C’mon,” he says, his voice quiet but urgent now, thumb brushing lightly against her arm to get her to look at him.

“We need to get you to a doctor-”

“-no.”

It comes out before he even finishes. She shakes her head hard, panicked, her body tensing.

“No Rafe. No doctors... please.”

He exhales sharply, biting down on the inside of his cheek as he runs a hand over his buzzed hair. He’s not mad at her- not at her. He’s mad at this. At everything that got her to this point. At the fact that she’s more scared of being helped than staying hurt. “Y/N,” he says, voice lower now, gentler in fear of scaring her.

“You’re hurt—”

“Please.” Her voice cracks. “No doctors Rafe- please don’t make me, they'll ask questions and I can't-.”

Her voice cracks at the end of the sentence and it makes his jaw tick, chest rising and falling in a sigh, but finally he just nods, forcing the tension out of his shoulders as he drops his hand to her knee. “Okay,” he says softly. “Okay. No doctors.” He stares at her for another moment, quiet, then says,

“...but you’re coming back with me to Tannyhill. You’re not staying out here by yourself.” She doesn’t answer right away, she looks unsure- frightened, even. “I know it’s not ideal,” he says quickly noticing her shift in expression, “but you’ll be safe- I’ll take care of you. I won’t let anything happen to you, alright?”

She bites her lip, staring down at the floor by the car, her hands clenching and unclenching slowly which makes her skin burn. She’s weighing it all, but she’s so drained—mentally, physically. She’s got nothing left in her so she nods, just once, barely there.

“Okay”

She whispers out and relief floods him. It doesn’t show on his face much, but he breathes it out, slow and quiet. He pushes himself up and gently helps her out of the car. She leans on him more than she realises, and he doesn't mind- he holds her steady, supporting her like she’s made of glass. She asks weakly as they near his Range Rover.

“What about my car?”

“I’ll come back and get it later don't worry 'bout that”

He says softly and she starts to open her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out- she just lets her eyes drop. There’s no fight left in her, certainly no energy to insist. He opens the passenger door for her and helps her in, mindful of every flinch, every wince she lets out subconsiously. Once she’s seated, her head drops slightly against the headrest, eyes glazed.

“Just one second...”

He murmurs reaching across her. Rafe's fingers find the seatbelt and he buckles her in, she doesn’t move really just stares at him silently. Rafe closes the door and rounds the front of the car, jaw clenched, hand in a tight fist as he moves because if he ever sees Luke Maybank—

He doesn’t even let himself finish the thought as he gets behind the wheel, and looks over at her again noting her eyes closed peacefully as she rests against her head against the seat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house is quiet for a place so big, just the faint creak of the old leather couch as Y/N shifts a little, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, her knees drawn up to her chest. A glass of whiskey sits in her hands which had been sipped at with shaky breaths like it was the only thing tethering her to the room. Rafe is sitting on the couch across from her, leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, a drink in his hand too- but the liquid in his glass hasn’t moved since he poured it. It’s more for her sake really, just so she wouldn’t feel alone in whatever comfort she was trying to pull from it.

He’d cleaned her up the moment they got in, didn’t even give her the space to protest against him. He'd brought out the first aid kit he roughly knew how to use from times when his words did nothing but cause harm, and he wiped at the scrapes on her hands and knees with disinfectant, quiet apologies falling from his mouth every time she flinched. He wrapped her knees in a thin gauze, not too tight but enough to provide some pressure. An old bag of frozen vegetables came out of the freezer next, and he pressed it gently to her cheek before he handed it off to her to hold for herself. If she’d asked, he would’ve stayed right there beside her, holding it to her cheek himself all night until his arm ached and went numb from how long he’d been doing it.

But she didn't ask.

So instead they'd just… sat.

An hour passed, then another, and another and neither of them said a word. She hadn’t looked at him- but he never took his eyes off her.

Not once.

Now, the bag of vegetables was melted and her thumb was brushing slowly along the rim of her glass her eyes distant, stuck somewhere far away from the safety of his home. There’s still dirt under her nails and a small piece of bandaid is peeling at the edge from where she's been picking at it unconsciously. Her voice is so soft he almost doesn’t catch it.

“You should’ve seen the way he looked at me...”

Her eyes don’t lift as she speaks out, she just keeps staring down at the floor like it might open up and swallow her whole. Rafe’s whole body stills at her voice, his fingers tightening slightly around his untouched drink.

"Who...?"

Her voice is more breath than sound as she adds but doesn't answer his question,

“He was disgusted by me.”

He wants to ask, but something in his chest already knows.

There’s only one person she’d care enough about for it to hurt this much. Only one person whose opinion could shatter her like this and it makes his jaw tense as he looks up to her, her shoulders are hunched in on themselves like she’s trying to disappear. He swallows hard and purses his lips together.

He hates that he's right.

Rafe sets his drink down on the side table with a quiet clink of glass, the only sound in the room besides the crackling of the fire. She downs the rest of the whiskey in one breath- tilts the glass back and lets it burn its way down her throat, but it's still somehow not enough to dull the sharp edges of what’s pressing down on her chest. When she places the empty glass on the table, it clinks gently the sound little in the big room.

“I should go to sleep”

She mumbles, barely above a whisper. Rafe nods from where he’s been watching her, wordless, careful not to crowd her. He stands slowly, smooth and steady, then waits for her to move. She rises on stiff legs, blanket still clutched around her shoulders, and she follows him without a word. The hallways of Tannyhill are dim, lit only by the warm lights spaced along the walls and her footsteps are quiet behind his as he ascends the stairs.

He pushes open a bedroom door, stepping aside for her. The room is something out of a magazine, the walls are soft coloured, a large four-poster bed dressed in white sheets and a comforter that looks as soft as clouds. There’s a matching dresser and wardrobe, polished and antique. A wide window is curtained off with thick drapes which pool slightly on the floor preventing any light from coming in, and to the right a door sits cracked open, leading into a private en-suite bathroom. On the foot of the bed, a neatly folded pile of clothes waits for her- his clothes. A black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants accompanied by a soft-looking towel. Rafe lingers by the door not wanting to push her boundaries as he speaks out,

“I’m a few doors down...”

He says, voice soft, hand gripping the edge of the door frame like he doesn’t want to leave her alone but knows he needs to give her space,“If you need anything just tell me. I’m not gonna close my door so you can find me”

“Okay”

She nods slowly, barely moving and he holds her gaze for a second longer, his expression unreadable, then closes her door with a quiet click. She’s left alone with the silence, her eyes flick down to the clothes. Her fingers curl around the fabric of the t-shirt first, soft from too many washes. It smells like him. Like fresh detergent and musk, it makes her chest twist. She slips out of her clothes and into the t-shirt, then pulls the sweatpants on. She looks toward the en-suite for a second and she knows she should go in to wash her face and brush her teeth. But she also knows there’s a mirror in there, and she can’t look at herself.

So, she leaves the towel on the end of the bed and climbs underneath the comforter, and exhales slowly as her aching body sinks into the mattress. The pillows are insanely soft, moulding perfectly around her head and shoulders. The sheets are crisp and cool, freshly laundered, and they feel soothing against her sore, bruised skin. Every inch of the bed smells like luxury, like money and warmth, like a place she doesn’t belong in but can finally let herself collapse inside of.

She doesn’t cry this time.

Instead she simply lies there, curled on her side and buried in the bed, inhaling the scent of his t-shirt and the linen sheets whilst trying to remember how to breathe right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dirt bike skids to a stop outside the Chateau, its roar cutting through the dead hush of 2AM. JJ doesn't bother to park it properly- just lets it tip over and crash onto the ground as he hops off, boots hitting the dirt hard. He’s at the door in seconds, flinging it open with a bang that echoes through the thin walls. Inside, it’s dark and still- until John B stumbles out of his room half-asleep, hair a mess, baseball bat gripped in his hands like he's ready to swing. “JJ ?” he blurts out, blinking in confusion.

“What the fuck, man? It’s-” he checks the clock behind him, “-two in the goddamn morning.”

"Where is she?"

JJ doesn’t even acknowledge the bat, his chest is heaving as his eyes dart around the dark house. John B lowers the bat a little, frowning,

“Sarah’s sleeping, man. What’re you—”

“No. Y/N."

JJ’s voice cracks around the name as he asks again, "Where is she?”

John B pauses confused, “She’s not here... ?”

JJ lets out a harsh exhale, running both hands through his hair before suddenly slamming his fist into the nearest thing sitting on the corner of the old table, an open cereal box. It hits the floor, scattering flakes across the dusty floorboards of the house. John B raises his brow,

“Dude- can you not trash my house please?”

“Sorry”

JJ mutters, instantly like muscle memory and his hands drop, shoulders sagging. He stumbles backward and drops into the couch, his head falling into his hands. John B hesitates, then sets the bat down by the door and walks over, sinking down onto the old raggedy cushions beside him. He glances sideways.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on or do I have to guess?”

JJ doesn’t answer just lets out a small groan at first, frustration deeply embedded in the sound. He sits there chest rising and falling a little too fast, like he’s still trying to calm down. Then, finally, he speaks his voice rough,

“My dad… he lost it. Like really lost it tonight with her.”

“With Y/N?”

JJ nods, jaw tightening. “I didn’t know it’d be that bad. I’ve seen him go off before but he…” He swallows hard, “I didn’t even do anything- I froze. I just sat there and watched while he shoved her out the door.”

There’s a beat of silence and then John B says, softer now,

“Where’d she go?”

JJ’s fingers rake down his face, “I don’t know. I thought maybe here. But- she’s not picking up. She just kept repeating my name and…” He shakes his head, “-and she was crying, man." John B exhales, sits back into the couch with a furrowed brow and JJ repeats himself,

"Like really crying.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah”

"Why did he kick her out?"

John B leans forward, elbows to his knees, hair falling into his eyes as he rubs his hands over his face. JJ doesn't answer at first. He’s biting at the skin of his thumb, anxious and raw, his leg bouncing like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Then like something inside of him just snaps, he lets out a sharp breath and tells him everything. John B’s brows pull together as he listens to his best friend, sympathy coursing through his veins.

From the dark of the bedroom, the thin crack of light from the hallway spills across Sarah’s face as she shifts in bed. Her hand reaches out groggily for John B’s side of the mattress but it’s cold, the blanket already slipped down. She frowns, eyes cracking open. The room is empty. She sits up slowly, bare feet brushing against the wooden floor as she hears something, voices, muffled and low. She moves toward the door, careful and quiet, pressing her fingers against the edge to ease it open a little more. JJ’s voice filters through, tense and tight.

"She was pregnant… and she went to him?"

Sarah freezes as JJ's voice drifts through the house once more,

"My sister went to Rafe fucking Cameron...?"

The words hit her like a gut punch- Pregnant? Y/N? And...- Rafe? Her blood runs cold as the pieces start to click together, her brain scrambling to make sense of what she’s just heard. Her cheek stays pressed firmly into the door frame in attempt to hear the rest of the story spilling past the blonde boy's lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sheets are soft, the pillows even softer, but sleep still won’t come. It’s been two and a half hours and Y/N's been tossing and turning, her body sore in all the wrong places her chest heavy with that familiar awful ache that won’t go away no matter how tightly she pulls the sheets around her.

Eventually, she gives up and sits up slowly, pushing the comforter off her legs, the cotton whispering against the mattress smoothly. Her feet touch the floor which is cold against her skin and she stands- wobbly for a second- then steadier. The guest room door looms quietly ahead and she pauses fingers brushing over the handle. Then, with a shallow breath, she opens it. The hallway outside is dark, but not completely. There’s a bluish tint filtering in from the tall windows at the end of the hall, early morning light just beginning to rise casting long shadows across the wooden floors.

She pads down the hallway barefoot, arms wrapped tightly around her own middle. Her steps falter when she sees a photo on the wall- framed in gold and hung just opposite the railing of the stairs. It’s of Rafe, much younger, standing with Sarah and Wheezie, arms slung around them, all three of them caught in time. She stares at it for a long second her lips parting just slightly. There’s something in her chest that clenches and she swallows it down before continuing on.

Rafe’s door is slightly cracked- just like he said it’d be. She stands in front of it for a moment and peers in, watching the rise and fall of his breath from across the room. He’s asleep, facing away from the door, lying on his side with one arm tucked under the pillow. Her hand brushes the door open a little wider and she slips inside moving quietly like a ghost. She stops at the edge of the bed and for a moment she doesn’t move.

Just stares at the empty space beside him.

Then- almost without thinking- she climbs under the covers. The sheets are warm where his body had heated them prior and she tucks herself into the bed, it feels so- natural. She hesitates again one breath, two... and then-

she shifts closer

Her body curls gently around his back, and her arm shakily slides over his waist, face tucking into the space between his shoulder blades. She closes her eyes and exhales against the fabric of his t-shirt clinging to the feeling of the rise and fall of his chest, like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered. His breathing is steady- peaceful.

He doesn’t stir.

And for the first time all night, she feels something close to calm. Not happy but… safe. Like maybe the pieces of her won’t completely shatter if she stays like this just a little longer. Her fingers clutch gently at the hem of the bottom of his t-shirt, her eyes fluttering closed. And then so soft it’s almost not there at all, her lips brush against the fabric at his back as she whispers- like a confession, like a secret only the night should hear.

“I love you too."

taglist: @xoxosblogsblog @moonywhisp3rs @i-love-gvf @my-name-is-baby@ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @mariamadison6-blog@rafesgurl@rafecameronswhoore @lovelytoomusic @mysticbby2009 @vanessa-rafesgirl@silkenthusiasts @partygirl14 @amterasuu @xoxo-ada @icaqttt@ivysprophecy @mauvesmax @larema121 @ggraycelynn @emeloyy @pluviophilis@slut-4-gojo @willowpains @wtfisastiles @rafecqmeronslove @pleasstory@lolasangelz @beau-dabomb @psychocitylights @constantsadness @rhianthebest@emmiesummers @sfotiegiuls @ggraycelynn @larema121 @emeloyy @pluviophilis@urgoldens @insominagirlss @urfavoritebrunette007 @mauvesmax @miniiminie@kythefangirl25 @niyalovests @scream4mami @aizawawify @prettybabyyyy@barbiefan14 @keennerdslover @rafeysslut @rafeysworldim19@jennieonline@hannieskzzz@sugak00kie03@gabrielaperez11@simonejacpbsen @bambigirl10 @prettycoochieee

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writer-freak · 19 days ago

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hii! im having suchh kpop demon hunters brainrot rn omg, could you do sfw & nsfw headcanons for baby saja please? he's my saja boys bias lol, ty!!

A/N: Baby's also my bias, and I actually wanted to write these first but I kept going back and forth on how I see him😭. So if these seem a bit messy or all over the place, that's the reason (maybe I will rewrite them in the future). Thank you though and hope you enjoy

Casually flirty in the most annoying way. Like leaning against a doorframe while you're ranting and going, “You look so hot when you're mad at me.” He says it just to fluster you and walk off before you can react.

In general he will purposefully say the most inappropriate things at the worst possible times ,whispers“Wearing that again, huh? You trying to get punished?” right as you're about to leave the house.

Calls you a very inappropriate nickname even in public one day he just called you "my lil earthquake.” You asked him what that even meant and he just smirked and went, “Cause you shake when I—” Hand over his mouth. Immediately.

Back hugs but like he’ll wrap his arms around you real sweet, then suddenly whisper the filthiest shit in your ear just to make you choke on your coffee.

His hand is either in your back pocket or riding way too high on your thigh. Doesn’t care who might see, he likes the attention. "They should know who you belong to."

His favorite thing in the world? Annoying you for fun. He hides your stuff just to watch you lose your mind over it. “You sure you checked everywhere?” he says, absolutely knowing your phone is in his pocket.

Bored easily. If he's stuck somewhere, he’ll start texting you the wildest out-of-pocket things just to pass the time. “Do you think I’d look hot in a maid costume or should I make you wear it?”

Sometimes just pokes your cheek in public until you react, or slides his cold hands under your shirt just to hear you squeal.

Doesn't help right away when you struggle with something (like reaching a high shelf or carrying a box) because he likes watching you struggle. “Oh I know you got it” he teases from the doorway. Only helps after you call him a jerk (and even then he's grinning while doing it).

He acts innocent in front of others a bit more polite, wearing a smile, quiet. But the second you're alone, his expression changes just enough for you to realize: You're in danger. The fun kind.

Cocky. So cocky. Constantly smug about how much you love him. “You’re obsessed with me, y’know that?” If you deny it, he’ll raise a brow. “Mhm. Keep lying. See what happens later.”

Lowkey possessive. If you’re giving someone else too much attention? He’ll silently pull you onto his lap and whisper, “You’re being real loud for someone who wants to walk tomorrow.” All while sipping his drink like nothing happened.

Instead of “I love you,” he says “You’d be lost without me.” But if you say it first? He’ll blink slow and go, “Yeah. I love you too” Like it was obvious.

Surprisingly affectionate. He’ll play with your hair when you’re sitting together, doodle your name on the sides of his lyric pages, send you blurry animal memes captioned “us.”

He won’t say much, but he knows when your mood drops. Doesn’t make a big deal of it, just puts on your comfort show and hands you your favorite drink without a word.

Secretly protective. He’ll tease you mercilessly, but the moment someone else even thinks about doing the same, he switches up completely. “That’s cute, but they didn’t ask for your opinion.” Cold eyes. Tight jaw. Suddenly very serious.

He can change his tone so fast. Can go from deadpan and chill to teasing in 0.2 seconds. “You really thought you were gonna win that argument?”

NSFW

Talks. So. Much. Shit. Half of it makes you want to slap him, the other half has your legs shaking. “You get like this just from my fingers? You sure you’re ready for my cock?”

Whispers the filthiest things while he’s holding you like you’re fragile. Face buried in his chest, blanket pulled up to your chin, and he’s like, “You looked so pretty choking on my cock earlier. Gonna dream about it tonight.”

Power trips like crazy when you’re a mess for him. Will literally say things like, “Look at you can’t even think straight. I did that. That’s all me.”

WANTS you to squirm. The more flustered and needy you get, the calmer and cockier he becomes. “Aww, look at you. You can’t even talk. What happened to all that attitude, hm?”

His tone of voice drops so low when he's serious. No more playful teasing, just a sharp, commanding, almost cruel tone that makes your knees go weak. “You think I’m gonna be gentle with you after the way you acted today?”

Big on control. Likes manhandling you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other is between your legs

Doesn’t let you win unless he wants you to. If you try to tease him, he’ll raise a brow like, “Cute.” And then absolutely rail you until your legs give out.

Definitely a neck-grabber. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you squirm. Especially when you talk back. “Watch your mouth. Or I’ll find better ways to keep it busy.”

Obsessed with your thighs. Bites them. Slaps them. Sleeps with his head between them like they’re his personal comfort zone. “Best pillow I’ve ever had.”

Favorite thing? When you ride him. Claims he’s letting you take control but ends up grabbing your hips and slamming you down harder, just to watch your reaction

Calls you things like “pretty thing” and “baby” in the most degrading way possible.

Possessive in the hottest way. Leaves bite marks just below where clothes cover. Grips your jaw and makes you look at him when you’re close. “Eyes on me, babe.”

Loves to drag things out. Kisses up your thighs and just stops before touching where you need him. Smirks while you beg. “Patience, sweetheart. You’ll thank me later.”

Loves hearing you beg. The more whiny and desperate, the better. He’ll edge you for hours just to hear you plead. “Say please real sweet for me and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

Gets off on making you cry from pleasure. Not sad tears the broken, shaking, can’t-take-it-anymore kind. He’ll wipe them with his thumb and chuckle. “Tears already? We just started.”

He’ll intentionally overstimulate himself just to keep up with you. Like if you're still needy after he finishes, he'll mutter, “So fuckin' greedy,” and keep going anyway, groaning while you squirm. He lives for it.

He’s mean in the moment, but afterward? You’re immediately getting cuddled, praised, fed snacks, and hes putting you into one of his shirts. “You did so good for me. C’mere, lemme hold you.”

But if you ever use your safeword? His demeanor changes instantly. “Okay, okay. You good? Talk to me, baby.” Holds your hand, kisses your forehead. Doing anything that you ask of him

Divider by: @cafekitsune

My Kpop Demon Hunters Masterlist

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batsandbirdbrains · 3 months ago

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Pls just imagine how dramatic a young justice fic would be if it was like

The one where Batman and Robin are magically de-aged to when they first started working together

So now you’ve got a very paranoid and over protective Batman who hasn’t actually met any of the other justice league members yet and an itsy bitsy Robin who looks like he’ll tear someone’s head off. The Justice League has them quarantined in the Watchtower, they’re not letting them go home to the batcave or anything, and Batman is arguing with Green Arrow while holding a flailing Robin by the scruff of his neck. He looks like a feral kitten.

Now keep in mind, no one in this scenario knows Batman and Robin’s secret identities. They’re not even really sure if they’re father and son, brothers, uncle and nephew, or maybe strange mentor and protege picked off the streets, they’ve no clue. So seeing what is now clearly a young twenty-something Batman trying to wrangle in a wriggling eight year old is both highly entertaining and totally baffling. Where the hell did these two even come from. And how has that tiny kid been around longer than some actual adult heroes.

“He bit me!” Kid Flash cries, running away from a glowering Robin.

“Don’t try to touch me next time, asshole!”

“Hey!” Batman barks, holding Robin up by an arm and dangling him in front of him. “We don’t bite super-powered strangers. Who knows what kind of radioactive germs they might have.”

“But B!” Robin’s voice is so high and whiny, Conner is starting to feel dizzy. “He tried to pick me up! He called me cute! I’m not cute I’m terrifying.”

And the two just keep bickering back and forth, Robin eventually hanging with his ankles and hands hooked around Batman’s arm. Batman is trying to shake him off like a bug. They are both still arguing with each other as this happens.

“Did Batman just accuse me of having radioactive germs?” Wally is gaping at the scene in front of him.

As is everyone else. This is a total mindfuck. Who let Batman be in charge of a kid.

The two of them do eventually, reluctantly, start to trust the league. And they’ve been told they have to stay on the Watchtower until their magic expert gets back from a mission. Four days from now.

There’s one point when most others stationed on the Watchtower are sleeping or taking a break, and Batman is holding a drowsy Robin close to his chest and looking out the windows of the observation deck. Someone brought them some casual clothes to wear during their downtime, but they both have domino masks over their eyes. Those who see them like that can’t quite comprehend just how young Batman looks without the cowl.

“The moon looks so big,” a sleepy Robin mumbles, his cheek squished against Batman’s shoulder.

“That’s ‘cause it’s so much closer here,” Batman tells him, his voice incredibly soft. “Can you see where Gotham would be?”

Robin’s head turns just slightly, looking toward the Earth, and he hums, a fist moving up to scrub at his eye.

“S’over there,” he points. “With all the clouds ‘n stuff.”

“Looks tiny from up here, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Robin mouth opens in a comically wide yawn, then he shoves his face in Batman’s neck.

“S’not gonna fall from the sky, is it?”

“Nah.” Batman shifts his arms, holding Robin a little tighter. “This place is in orbit, kinda like how the moon is. It’s not gonna fall.”

“Would you catch it if it did?”

“I’d steal us a ship from here so fast, I wouldn’t need to catch it.”

“Kay.”

Batman presses his cheek to the top of Robin’s head, stray curls tickling his nose.

“Do you wanna practice your flips and shit in the morning? I’ll spot you.”

“Yeah,” Robin mumbles, “And I wanna scare Green Lantern by poppin’ outta the vent again. He screamed like a little girl when I landed on the table.”

“Do a flip when you do it and I’ll smuggle you an ice cream bar from their kitchen.”

“Deal.”

Batman has to twist his left arm funny so he can shake Robin’s hand, his right arm occupied by holding Robin up, and they shake on it.

Batman lets out a snort of a laugh, looking at Robin with an incredibly fond look on his face.

For everyone else, it’s a very long four days of them being menaces and encouraging each other to do more and more odd shit.

When they get turned back, they act like nothing was out of the ordinary. They’re not even phased when they’re reminded of some of the things they got into.

#dick grayson #young justice #robin #bruce wayne #batman #I just love the idea of them being batshit crazy one minute and then ridiculously soft with each other the next #it would give everyone else such whiplash it would be hilarious #fic ideas

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matt-murdockk · 3 months ago

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Nine-Nine!

an extremely self indulgent brooklyn 99 and criminal minds crossover

pairing: spencer reid x reader (with a tiny bit of almost jake peralta x reader for funsies)

words: 3.0k

warnings: none, this is fluff and comedy <3

summary: Spencer Reid’s grip on sanity? Loose. (Y/n)’s patience? Tested. Jake Peralta? Accidentally in the middle of a romcom finale with no snacks. There’s banter, jealousy, a tasered vending machine, and one (1) emergency love confession.

a/n: crossover episode my beloved; this was extremely fun to write lolllllll, hope you like it <3

Spencer was already three tangents deep into the geographic profile, talking fast, hands moving like the words were trying to escape faster than his brain could handle. (Y/n) had learned years ago to just let him go. He’d loop back around eventually. Usually.

“The spacing of the disposal sites suggests he’s sticking to a routine. All within a tight radius— three miles or so. That kind of pattern almost always means it’s familiar territory. Could be work, could be home base. Most likely night shifts, given the dump times— between 2:10 and 3:30 a.m. Which means fewer witnesses, less traffic—”

“Or he just likes moonlight and solitude,” (Y/n) said absently, scribbling something in her notebook. “Creepy guys tend to romanticize the weirdest stuff.”

Spencer didn’t look up. “That’s… statistically consistent with other narcissistic or compulsive offenders, actually.”

She glanced over at him. “You know you could just say ‘you’re right.’ It won’t kill you.”

He did look at her then, quick, with the faintest smirk pulling at his mouth. “I’m not sure I’ve tested that hypothesis thoroughly enough to risk it.”

She snorted. “Tragic. I thought you loved me.”

Spencer didn’t miss a beat. “I do. But not enough to sacrifice academic integrity.”

“Wow.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Wounded. Devastated. Utterly betrayed.”

“Noted,” he murmured, turning back to his screen with an annoyingly smug look.

Derek leaned forward from his seat across the aisle. “Are y’all gonna do this the whole flight?”

JJ didn’t even look up from her file. “They’re gonna do this the whole case.”

“I’m sitting right here,” (Y/n) called over.

“And yet, you keep doing this,” Emily muttered, sipping her coffee. “Every case. Without fail.”

Spencer turned his tablet toward (Y/n), pretending not to hear them. “There are five possible buildings inside the comfort zone. Abandoned commercial spaces, all accessible. No cameras.”

She leaned closer, squinting at the screen. “That one. Tucked behind the construction site. No visibility from the road.”

He nodded. “I had that ranked third.”

“I outrank your list.”

“You outrank logic?”

“I outrank you, Reid.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Bold claim for someone who once tripped over their own shoelaces during a takedown.”

“You’re never letting that go, are you.”

“Absolutely not.”

(Y/n) sighed, grabbing her coffee and slumping back in her seat. “You’re lucky I find your chaos charming.”

Spencer, without looking up, murmured, “You’re lucky I find you charming.”

And just like that, she paused.

It wasn’t even the words— it was the way he said it. Like it was obvious. Like it wasn’t meant to land the way it did.

Her fingers stilled on the coffee cup. Just for a second. Then she shook her head, eyes narrowing. “You trying to throw me off before we hit the ground? Because that’s a dirty tactic, Reid.”

He smiled, faint. “If I wanted to throw you off, I’d bring up that time you accidentally used your taser on the vending machine.”

“That was one time.”

“I still have the video.”

Derek threw up his hands. “Okay, I need noise-canceling headphones or a fire alarm. One or the other.”

“Let them have their foreplay,” Rossi grumbled from behind his paper. “Just as long as it doesn’t slow down the case.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but she didn’t stop smiling. Not even a little.

And Spencer? He didn’t say anything else.

But his knee brushed against hers under the table.

And he didn’t move it.

——————————————————————————————————

The precinct was pure, barely-contained chaos. Phones ringing, printers jamming, someone yelling “I said decaf!” from the breakroom. (Y/n) stepped in behind the team, her eyes scanning the flurry with the kind of calm that only came from years of being thrown headfirst into crime scenes that smelled like old pizza and adrenaline.

Then— like he was summoned by the gods of caffeine and chaos— a voice cut through the noise.

“FBI? Oh thank god. Tell me you’re the FBI. If one more lieutenant hands me a case file on raccoon-related vandalism, I’m going to start speaking in riddles.”

The guy had two coffees in one hand, a folder under his arm, and the kind of face that said yes, I’m sleep-deprived, but I’ve made it part of my personality now.

“Detective Jake Peralta,” he added, stepping forward and immediately handing one of the coffees off to a passing officer. “You must be the reinforcements. Welcome to our deeply unfortunate circus.”

(Y/n) stepped forward with a polite smile. “Agent (Y/l/n), BAU.”

Jake looked at her and forgot what vowels were.

“Oh. Cool. Yeah. Wow.” He blinked. “Hi. Sorry. That was… a very professional reaction to a federal agent. I’m super normal.”

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, amused. “Totally. You look extremely normal.”

Jake pointed at her like he was confirming her existence for himself. “And funny. She’s funny, too. Great. Just awesome.”

Spencer, two steps behind her, tilted his head the tiniest bit. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough that Emily, walking next to him, noticed immediately.

“So,” Jake said, already spinning on his heel and motioning them toward the evidence board, “we’ve got three victims, matching M.O., a dump site triangle, and a ton of questions. I’d love to walk you through it. Bonus: I also know where the best snacks are hidden in this precinct. Critical intel.”

“Let me guess,” (Y/n) said, falling into step beside him, “you keep gummy bears in a murder folder?”

Jake gave her a wide-eyed, deeply serious nod. “Listen, I can’t solve murder with low blood sugar. That’s just biology. Forensics and fruit snacks— two pillars of modern justice.”

She actually laughed, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “That’s what you’re going with? Fruit snacks and felony charges?”

“Look,” he said, glancing at her with a grin, “some people have badges, some have instincts— I have a snack drawer and a vibe.”

(Y/n) shot him a look. “And a lot of confidence, apparently.”

“It’s the only thing holding me together.”

Spencer, still watching from behind, clenched his jaw and stared very intently at the murder board— as if sheer willpower would make Jake Peralta spontaneously combust.

Derek leaned over slightly. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Spencer said. Way too quickly.

“Uh-huh.”

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder, smiling. “Spencer, you coming?”

Spencer blinked. “Right behind you.”

Emily raised an eyebrow as he passed, giving him that look— the one that meant I know, and I’m about to say it out loud.

He walked faster.

Behind them, Emily whispered to JJ, “We have now entered full-blown Jealous Spencer territory.”

JJ winced sympathetically. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

——————————————————————————————————

The dump site was taped off, abandoned and eerie in the late afternoon light. A narrow alley backed by cracked concrete walls, discarded furniture, and silence— except for the occasional buzz of Spencer’s pen clicking in his pocket. Repeatedly.

Jake and (Y/n) were walking ahead of the rest of the group, ducking under the tape, their steps crunching through gravel.

“Okay,” Jake said, scanning the alley. “I know it’s not exactly a five-star view, but I promise this is the cleanest murder site we’ve had all week. That’s a weird sentence.”

(Y/n) laughed. “It’s fine. We spend half our lives in parking lots and basements. Honestly, this is kind of charming.”

Jake pointed at a tipped-over dumpster. “Ah, yes. Classic small-town ambiance.”

She crouched near a drainpipe, tilting her head. “He’s dumping at night. No cameras. But the dumpster’s too obvious— too accessible. He’s not just hiding the bodies, he’s watching them.”

Jake blinked. “Okay. That’s… both creepy and very insightful. You do this a lot?”

She looked up at him, playful. “Solve murders? Yeah. Flirt at them? Not usually.”

He smirked, a little lopsided. “Hey, I haven’t even started flirting yet. That was just me being charming.”

“Oh, just charming?” she teased.

Jake leaned against the wall, watching her. “Let me know when you’re ready for the full Peralta experience. It includes sarcasm, emotional baggage, and an impressive knowledge of Die Hard trivia.”

(Y/n) stood, brushing off her knees. “That’s a lot to take in on a first crime scene.”

He grinned. “So you’re saying there’ll be a second?”

A beat. Just a pause. She didn’t answer right away.

Spencer, across the lot with Derek and Emily, had stopped mid-sentence, his entire expression shifted from mildly focused to openly horrified.

“She’s laughing,” he said flatly.

Emily glanced up from her notes. “Yeah, that tends to happen when people are enjoying themselves.”

“With him.”

“Oh no,” Derek muttered. “We’ve lost him.”

The rest of the team returned to the SUV, but Emily stayed behind, as if she knew this wasn't done yet.

“She’s laughing at his jokes,” Spencer repeated, eyes still locked on the two figures across the alley.

“She laughs at yours,” Emily said.

“That’s different. She knows mine are objectively not funny.”

“Okay, you know what?” Emily snapped her folder shut. “We’re doing this now. Let’s go, Genius.”

Spencer blinked as she grabbed his elbow and dragged him toward the SUV.

“What? No— I’m working.”

“You’re spiraling,” she corrected. “And doing it in a crime scene, which is new.”

Behind them, (Y/n) was still talking to Jake, standing closer now, arms crossed and leaning in like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

Spencer’s voice dropped. “Emily, I’m fine.”

“You’re jealous,” she said, eyes sharp. “And for a guy who can read microexpressions from thirty feet away, you are shockingly bad at clocking your own.”

“I don’t get jealous,” he said, almost insulted.

She gave him a look.

“…Okay, I am jealous,” he admitted under his breath. “But I don’t know what to do about that.”

Emily leaned against the SUV, watching Spencer like she was trying to figure out whether she needed to slap sense into him or hug him. Maybe both. Probably both.

He was pacing. Not frantically, just… tightly. Hands in his pockets, jaw tense, doing that thing where his eyes tracked the ground like the answers were written there.

“I mean, it’s fine,” he said finally, like he was trying to convince the air. “She’s allowed to laugh at someone else’s jokes. I’m not— entitled to anything.”

Emily stayed quiet.

He glanced back at the alley where (Y/n) was standing with Jake. She was leaning on one foot, comfortable. She looked happy. And it gutted him.

“It’s just— he’s charming,” Spencer muttered. “And funny. And he’s got that whole casual swagger thing going on. I mean, who even has swagger in 2025? Apparently, Jake does. And she’s… she’s smiling.”

“You’re allowed to be upset,” Emily said, her voice soft, even.

Spencer didn’t answer. His hands were twitching in his pockets now.

“I’ve had… crushes,” he said finally, like it was painful to admit even that much. “A few. Not a lot. But some. And usually they’re easy to understand. You think someone’s cute. You like their voice. You want them to notice you.”

He shook his head.

“This isn’t that.”

Emily just watched him.

“I notice everything,” he went on, his voice quieter now. “Not because I’m profiling her. Not because I’m analyzing anything. I just… do. I know when she’s about to make a bad joke because she gets this look— like she’s proud of it already. I know she only pretends to like black coffee when we’re around local PD because she thinks it makes her look tougher.”

A pause. His voice dipped even lower.

“I know the sound of her laugh when it’s real. I know when she’s tired, even if she’s smiling. I know when she’s faking being okay. And I know when she’s actually okay. And I know that right now…” He looked up, eyes fixed on her across the lot, where she and Jake were still talking, still laughing.

“…She’s really okay. With him.”

Emily stepped closer, gentle. “Spence.”

He didn’t look at her.

“I think about her all the time,” he said, like he was just realizing it out loud. “Not in a way I… planned. Just— suddenly I’m at a bookstore and wondering if she’d like the cover of something. Or I hear a song and I can’t tell if I like it until I know if she would. It’s— constant.”

He laughed once, breathy and humorless. “And statistically, I know crushes fade. The brain adjusts. The novelty goes away. But this? This has been over a year. Maybe longer.”

Emily tilted her head. “And?”

Spencer blinked.

“…And I think I’m in love with her.”

A pause. Then—

“Oh,” he breathed. “Shit.”

Emily smiled, just barely. “Took you long enough.”

He ran both hands over his face. “I don’t— what am I supposed to do with that?”

“You tell her,” she said gently.

“What? No, I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Emily, she's quite possibly the closest friend I have. What if it ruins everything?”

Emily didn’t answer for a second. She just looked at him— really looked at him— and said, “Spencer. You're already miserable. At least ruin it with some dignity, damn it.”

He looked back at (Y/n). She was saying goodbye to Jake now, walking back toward the team, tucking her hair behind her ear like she always did when she was distracted. She looked like home.

Spencer exhaled. “Yeah. Okay. I’m completely screwed.”

Emily nodded. “Yeah. You are. Oh, and for the record, I thought I was your closest friend, and honestly, I feel so attacked right now."

"You'll live."

"Hey!" retorted Emily, followed by a smack to his arm.

——————————————————————————————————

The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the precinct lot. The case was wrapped, files turned in, media dodged. (Y/n) was leaning against the SUV, arms crossed, sipping from her now-cold coffee like it was still doing something.

Jake jogged up to her, slowing as he approached. Not suave. Just… trying.

“Hey,” he said, offering a lopsided smile. “So, weird question for the end of a triple homicide, but— any chance I could take you to dinner sometime?”

(Y/n) blinked. “Oh.”

She smiled, a little surprised. “Jake, you’re— great. I had fun working with you.”

Jake’s grin faltered just enough to be human. “But…?”

“But—”

“Wait!”

Both of them turned.

Spencer was standing about ten feet away, looking like he had sprinted here but didn’t want to show it. His hair was windswept, his shirt slightly crooked, and his expression somewhere between resolute and deeply alarmed.

(Y/n) blinked. “Spencer?”

Jake glanced between them. “Should I…? I can come back.”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly, stepping forward. “You’re fine. I mean— not fine, you’re not staying. I mean, yes, you’re staying right now, I just—”

He looked at (Y/n), all the air gone from his lungs.

“I need to say something.”

(Y/n) tilted her head, cautious now. “Okay…”

Spencer glanced at Jake. Then at her. Then back at Jake.

“This is going to be weird with him here,” he muttered.

“I can pretend to be a lamp,” Jake offered, backing up slightly. “I’m excellent at furniture-based camouflage.”

“Jake,” (Y/n) said, half-laughing, “you don’t have to—”

“I really think I do,” he said, hands raised. “There’s a lot of emotion in the air and I don’t want to get hit by it.”

Spencer ignored him. His eyes stayed on her.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said softly. “I told myself it wasn’t the right time. That we had too much to lose. That maybe I was just… projecting.”

He swallowed. “But then I watched someone else get to make you laugh. I watched you lean in, and talk like he already belonged in your world. And I realized— I’ve been pretending that I didn’t already live there.”

(Y/n)’s breath caught.

Spencer took another step closer. “I know the way you look when you’re solving a puzzle you don’t know you’ve solved yet. I know how you take your coffee differently when you’re pretending you’re fine. I know that you hum when you’re reading case files, and that you’ll always find a way to make the worst days seem funny, just to keep us all going.”

He paused, voice low. “I notice everything about you. Not because I’m profiling you. Just… because it’s you.”

Jake mouthed oh my god to himself, backing up another step.

(Y/n) stared at Spencer, wide-eyed. “You— you’ve never said any of this.”

“I didn’t know how,” Spencer admitted. “But I’m in love with you. And it took me way too long to say it. So if you’re going to say no— please do it fast, before I combust.”

Silence.

Then—

“Spencer,” she said softly, stepping toward him. “You’re an idiot.”

His face fell— until she reached out and grabbed the front of his jacket and kissed him.

It was fast. Then slow. Then somewhere in between. Like they’d been waiting for years but were still trying to catch up.

Jake, standing off to the side, made a quiet choking sound.

“I am so intruding,” he muttered. “You know what? I’m gonna go. I’m gonna walk into the woods and never come back. I’ll start a new life. Join a wolf pack. Change my name. Just... yeah.”

They didn’t hear him.

(Y/n) pulled back just slightly, forehead still resting against Spencer’s.

“You’re in love with me?”

He nodded, breathless. “Deeply. Disastrously.”

She let out a laugh— half relief, half disbelief— as her forehead rested against his. “Oh, thank God. It was killing me thinking it might just be me.”

Jake was halfway to the sidewalk when Spencer called out— without looking—

“Thank you for not asking her out.”

Jake froze. “I did. You just… intercepted mid-sentence.”

Spencer blinked. “Oh. Sorry.”

Jake clapped once. “Well, that was the best romcom finale I’ve ever witnessed. I’m gonna go cry in my car.”

He turned again, walking toward his car like a man who had just lost a bet to fate.

God, I’m never gonna hear the end of this from Rosa.

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sparklingblu · 5 months ago

Text

Infinite Impossibilities: A Pervert's Dream Journal

Day 1: Karina

You sit in the lecture hall, struggling to focus on professor Karina’s lecture. It’s not that the material is boring - you’re quite interested in the works of John Keats. But fuck, it’s nearly impossible to pay attention with a goddess like her standing at the podium.

Karina is weaning a tight-fitted blazer that hugs her curves in all the right places. The fabric stretches taut over her ample breasts, the buttons straining to contain them. Your eyes keep drifting to her deep cleavage, wondering if she’s wearing a bra and what kind. Lacy and sheer, maybe? Or something more functional and practical? Maybe she’s not wearing anything at all.

She turns to write on the whiteboard, and your gaze zeroes in on her ass. The skirt she’s wearing is just long enough to be appropriate, but it rides up enough to give you a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth, toned thighs. You imagine hiking it up even further, exposing her plump ass cheeks and giving them a firm spank.

But you shake those thoughts away quickly, feeling your cock twitch in your pants. Christ, get it together. Karina continues speaking passionately about Keat’s metaphors and symbolism, her full, glossy lips moving hypnotically as she forms each word. You picture them wrapped around your thick shaft, sucking you off with the same enthusiasm and dedication to her craft. Your erection grows, straining against the confines of your jeans.

She runs a hand through her long, silky black hair as she considers a student’s question, and you fantasize about gripping that hair, holding her head in place as you fuck her mouth. Those dark, soulful eyes of hers would look up at you pleadingly as you use her throat for your pleasure, forcing her to gag and choke on your huge cock.

Jesus, you’re in trouble. How are you going to make it through this class without jumping her right here in front of everyone? The things you’d do to her if given the chance….you bet she’d be a quick learner. Eager to please. Such a good girl, desperate for a nice, hard cock.

You imagine bending her over the podium and hiking up that prim little skirt. Ripping her panties off and rubbing your hard cock between her ass cheeks. Spanking her when she begs too loudly for it. Teasing her pussy with the tip until she’s dripping wet and aching to be filled.

Maybe you’d let her suck you off first, giving a taste of what's to come. Making her swallow every last drop before shoving your cock in her soaking cunt and pounding her until she screams. Until she forgets all about fucking Keats and only remembers the way your cock feel splitting her open.

You take a deep breath, trying to will your erection away. The thoughts of Karina naked and writhing beneath you are not helping. Fuck, you need to get a grip. Think about something else. Anything else. Like Keats’ fucking Odes. Right. Odes.

You barely register the end of the lecture, just barely picking up your stuff in time before she dismisses the class. You follow the herd of students filing out, forcing yourself not to look back at Karina. She probably doesn’t even know you exist. Why would she? You’re just another horny student. Not worth her notice.

As you reach the door, you hear your name called out in a melodic voice. Your heart stops for a moment as you turn around. She’s looking right at you, her dark eyes intense and focused.

“Mr. Raphael, could you stay after class? I’d like to have a word with you”

Fuck. You swallow hard, nodding mutely as you watch her bend over the podium, rummaging through her notes. Oh god, you’re in deep now. She’s going to realize what a pervert you are. What you’ve been thinking about doing to her hot little body.

You approach Karina’s desk, hands trembling slightly as you try to think of an excuse. You didn’t do anything wrong….right? Maybe she just wants to discuss your grade or assignment feedback.

After a while, Karina takes her seat and looks up at you with a warm smile, her dark eyes twinkling. “ Mr. Raphael, thanks for staying. I wanted to speak with you about your latest assignment on Keats’ odes.”

You nod, feeling a bit awkward. “Oh, uh, yeah. What do you think?”

She leans back in her chair, the fabric of her tight blazer stretching obscenely across her huge tits.. “I think it’s excellent work. You clearly have a deep understanding of the material and a real knack for close reading”

You feel a surge of pride at her words, but it’s tempered by the way her gaze seems to linger on you just a moment too long. Is it your imagination, or is there a hint of something more in her eyes?

“That’s great to hear,” you manage to say, shifting from foot to foot. “I really enjoy the subject matter”

“I can tell,” she says, a small smile playing at the corners of her glossy lips. “I’m glad you appreciate it. I aim to be very….hands-on with my students. “

Your mind immediately conjures images of those elegant hands all over your body, gripping your ass, stroking your cock. You shift uncomfortably, feeling yourself grow hard.

“And I couldn’t help but notice how much you seem to…admire my tits,” she continues, toying with the buttons on her shirt. “The way you stare at them during class. Like you’re aching to free them and bury your face between them.”

“Professor Karina, I….” you start to protest weakly, but she cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

“Oh please, spare me the innocent act,” she scoffs. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Like a starving man eyeing a feast.”

She stands up and walks around the desk, hips swaying hypnotically. She comes to stand right in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating off her body. Her tits brush against your chest and you bite back a moan.

“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” she whispers, her breath hot on your ear. “You want to bend me over this desk and pound my pussy until I scream.”

You whimper, your cock now rock hard and straining against your zipper. “Yes,” you admit hoarsely. “Fuck yes.”

She grins wickedly, backing up slightly to give a good look of her body. “Then why don’t you show me what you’ve got? Fuck me like the horny little cumslut I am”

Before you can react, she’s unbuttoning her shirt and shrugging it off, revealing a lacy black bra that barely contains her massive tits. You gape at them, mesmerized by their perfect roundness and softness.

She reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her tits spring free, huge and heavy and perfect. The rosy nipples are hard little peaks begging to be sucked.

“Touch them,” she demands, pushing her chest out invitingly. “Grab my fucking tits and worship them like they deserve.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You reach out and cup her massive breasts in your hands, marveling at their weight and softness. They overflow your palm, the warm flesh spilling between your fingers. You squeeze them gently, feeling the heavy globes respond to your touch.

“Mhmm, just like that,” she moans, arching into your touch. “Play with those big fucking titties.”

You pinch one of her sensitive buds between your thumb and forefinger, tugging on it and rolling it back and forth until she’s writhing against you with desire. Her other nipple is just as needy, begging for attention. You give it the same treatment, watching her face contort with pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you?” she asks, voice hoarse. “Feeling my big tits in your hands. Groping them like you’ve always dreamed of”

You lean down and capture one of her nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the rigid peak.

“Oh fuck, yes,” she cries out. “Suck my tits like a hungry baby. Suck them until I leak milk.”

You switch to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention as you palm and squeeze her breasts. The flesh is soft and pilant in your hands, yet firm with muscle beneath the surface. You could spend hours exploring those incredible tits, learning every inch of their curves and hollows.

But Karina has other ideas. She pulls your head back by your hair, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Enough playing with my tits,” she growls. “I need you to eat my cunt. Now.”

She shoves you down onto your knees and hikes up her skirt, revealing a skimpy thong already soaked through with her arousal. The scent of her pussy fills your nostrils, musky and sweet.

“Taste me,” she hisses, grinding her crotch against your face. “Shove your tongue in my fucking hole and lap up all my juices.”

You bury your face between her legs, licking and sucking at her pussy through the thin fabric of her panties. The taste of her is divine, heady and intoxicating.

“Pull my thong aside,” she pants, fisting your hair. “I want to feel your tongue on my clit.”

You comply, tugging the soaked fabric to the side and diving in with renewed fervor. You swipe your tongue along her slit, moaning at the first taste of her nectar on your tongue.

“Oh fuck yes,” she cries out, riding your face shamelessly. “Lick my cunt like a good boy. Make me cum all over that pretty mouth.”

You alternate between lapping at her folds and flicking her clit with the tip of your tongue, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves until she’s thrashing against you.

“Fuck fuck fuck I’m gonna cum!” she screams, her thighs clamping around your head. “Don’t you dare stop!”

You double your efforts, plunging two fingers as she squirts all over your face and mouth, gushing hot cum down your throat. You swallow it greedily, relishing every drop of her essence.

When she finally comes down from her high, she pushes you away and backs up, panting heavily. “Now get up and strip,” she orders, eyes dark with lust. “It’s time for me to return the favor.”

You scramble to obey, yanking your clothes off in record time. Your cock springs free, hard and ready and straining towards her.

“Mhmm, such a nice big dick,” she purrs approvingly, stroking it with one hand while unzipping her skirt with the other. She lets it pool at her feet before stepping out of it, leaving her in just her thigh high stockings.

She turns around and bends over the desk, reaching back to spread her ass cheeks apart. Her pussy glistens with juices, pink and perfect and so fucking ready for you.

“Fuck my cunt,” she demands, looking back at you over her shoulder with a challenging glare. “Pound me into this desk until I can’t walk straight.”

You grab her hips and line up your cock with her entrance, rubbing the head teasingly through her slick folds. She moans impatiently, wiggling her ass against you.

“Stop teasing and fuck me already!” she snarls. “Impale me on that huge fucking cock!”

You can’t deny her a second longer. With one hard thrust, you bury yourself balls-deep in her tight heat. She cries out in ecstasy, her walls clamping down around you like a vice.

“Oh god yes!” she wails as you start to move, sawing in and out of her with powerful strokes. “Fuck me fuck me fuck me!”

The desk creaks and shakes beneath you as you rut into her like an animal, driven by pure primal lust. She meets every thrust with the roll of her hips, slamming against you with wanton abandon.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, mingling with her high-pitched moans and your low grunts of pleasure. Your hands reach around to grab her tits, squeezing the soft mounds roughly. You pinch her nipples between your fingers, twisting and pulling on the sensitive buds.

“Ahhh! Fuck yes play with my tits!” Karina moans, arching her back to push her beasts further into your grip. You comply eagerly, kneading the pillowy flesh and rolling her nipples between your fingers until they are stiff peaks.

Your hips piston faster, driving your cock deeper into her sopping wet cunt. The head bumps against her cervix with each thrust, making her yelp and shudder. You can feel her getting tighter and tighter around you, her body tensing as she nears her peak.

“I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum!” she cries out, her voice high and breathy. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop!”

You double your efforts, pounding into her harder and faster than ever. Your balls slap against her clit with each stroke, the lewd sound making your cock throb with need. The pleasure is intense, building and building until it feels like you might explode.

“Cum inside me,” she pants, pushing back onto you with bruising force. “Fill me up with your hot seed. I want to feel you pulsing in my cunt”

Her words send you hurtling over the edge. With a roar, you bury yourself to the hilt and let go, spurting jets of cum deep into her waiting womb.

She cries out in rapture as she feels your release flooding her insides, triggering her own orgasm. Her pussy spasms around you as she comes hard, milking every last drop from your cock.

You collapse on top of her, both of you gasping for breath as the aftershocks of pleasure course through your bodies. She turns her head and captures your lips in a searing kiss, plundering your mouth with her tongue.

When you finally break apart, she smiles at you wickedly. “Mhmm, now that’s what I call a productive study session,” she purrs, giving your softening cock a squeeze. “But don’t think we are done yet. I’m going to drain those big balls of yours until you are completely empty.”

She strokes your semi-hard length, coaxing it back to full mast. You groan at the sensation, still sensitive from your recent orgasm. But your body responds eagerly to her touch, your cock hardening in her grip.

“I want you to fuck my tits,” Karina demands, pushing you down on the desk chair. She kneels before you, squeezing her breasts together. “Cum all over those perfect tits. Coat me in your juice.”

You can only nod dumbly, too turned on to form words. She takes your rigid cock and nestles it between her soft mounds, enveloping you in warm, pillowy flesh. Then she starts moving, sliding up and down your shaft with a steady rhythm.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, mesmerized by the sight of your dick disappearing between her tits over and over.

You can’t believe this is actually happening. The hottest professor on campus, the one you have fantasized about for weeks, is on her knees before you, her luscious tits wrapped around your aching cock. It’s like something out of a daydream.

As Karina works your shaft with her perfect breasts, you reach out to grab her hair, guiding her head down further. She takes the hint, hollowing her cheeks and sucking hard on the tip of your cock each time it pops out from her cleavage.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you groan, hips bucking up to meet her movements. “Suck that cock you dirty slut. Show me how much you love having my dick in your mouth.”

She moans around you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Her hands cup your balls, massaging them gently as she blows you. You are so close now, your thrusts becoming erratic and desperate.

“I’m getting close again,” you warn her, hips thrusting like a madman into her pillowy tits. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum soon!”

“Yes, do it!” she urges, squeezing her tits tighter around you. “Paint my tits with your hot cum. I want to be covered in it!”

Her dirty words push you over the edge. With a guttural moan, you explode, your cock pulsing as thick ropes of semen spurt out and splatter across her chest. She aims your cock so that each shot lands on her breasts, glazing them with your essence.

When your orgasm finally subsides, you collapse back in the chair, chest heaving. Karina releases your spent cock, admiring the mess you’ve made of her tits. She scoops some of your cum onto her fingers and licks it off with a moan.

“Mhmm, you taste even better on my tits,” she purrs, sucking the last drop from her digits. “Such a good boy, giving me exactly what I wanted.” She stands, leaning down to give you a deep passionate kiss, sharing your combined taste.

Before you can plead for more, she breaks the kiss. “Now it’s time for the main event,” she says, rolling onto her hands and knees. She looks over her shoulder at you, ass high in the air. “Come and claim your prize, tiger. Stick that big cock in my ass.”

Despite having cummed twice, your cock has already begun throbbing at the sight of her magnificent ass. You kneel behind her and rub the head on her slick folds, coating yourself in her juices. Then you notch it against her puckered hole and start to push.

“Oh fuck,” Karina gasps as you breach her tight ring of muscle, “You’re so big. Stretching me so good.”

You groan as her ass clench around you, hot and velvety soft. You grip her hips and start to move, slowly at first, letting her adjust to your size. But soon you are pounding into her, hard and fast, just the way she needs it.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Karina wails, taking your pounding like a champ. Her tits bounce and jiggle with the force of your strokes, the lewd sight spurring you on.

Unable to resist, you reach around and grab her melons, kneading the soft mounds and pinching her nipples. You use her tits to your heart’s content, tugging and twisting her sensitive peaks as you rut into her from behind. The dual stimulation has her writhing in ecstasy, her pussy clenching around nothing as her ass milks your cock.

“I’m close,” she warns, voice tight with impending release. “Fuck me harder! Make me cum on that big cock!”

Your hips snap forward like a piston, hammering into her ass with brutal force. Karina’s ass clenches even tighter around your cock as her lips spill a string of curses.

“Oh god, I’m cumming!” she screams, back arching as her orgasm overtakes her. Her ass spasms around you, her inner walls rippling along your shaft as she comes hard.

The feeling of her clenching and fluttering pushes you over the edge. With a roar, you slam into her one last time, emptying your balls into her ass.

“Fuck,” you growl as you erupt, painting her walls with your thick essence. Jet after jet of cum spurts from your slit, flooding her ass and leaking around your shaft.

You keep your cock buried in her for a moment as you catch your breath before pulling out, letting a waterfall of cum pour out from her now gaping hole.

It feels like every bone in your body has been turned to lead, your breathing ragged and shallow. You collapse, finally broken after three continuous fuck session.

As you lay there on the cold floor contemplating what the hell has just happened, Karina’s face hovered into view, looking too energetic for someone who has just gotten their asshole stretched loose.

She leans in, hinting at a kiss before pulling back with a wicked smile. “You know we are not done yet, right?”

In this series, I intend to focus purely on smut. There won't be much plot, just 99 percent smut. Some dialogues and sceneries might not even make sense. But that's the point. Because it's pure fantasy.

#kpop smut #male reader #girl group smut #karina smut #aespa smut

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