#i'm playing with dolls but with words

[ao3cubi]

I have no idea why some people are posting ship hate in the tag and honestly idgaf what their arguments are.

Look, I ship them because they look cute together, I couldn't care less what their actual relationship is or how good/evil they are in canon. My knowledge of them is limited to other fanfics, a game or two, and the movie.

I will hc the shit out of them and their relationship because it makes me happy and it's harmless.

Go be mad somewhere else 🥱

[lazzarella]

🫠🫠🫠

[bells-of-black-sunday]

Obligatory, I'm not a historian this is just what I think after reading some student papers, watching video essays by people who have credible sources and peeping those sources, listening to free recorded lectures, etc. etc. Information on q.ueer history isn't really a thing and it is never good to project modern ideals and labels onto people from the past even if they do apply and it's even harder for me to find resources on a lot of m.edieval history that isn't B.ritish centric outside of wars. Yada yada anything else I haven't mentioned, now let's get into the headcannon novel.

Throughout history in Europe gender has been very segregated by what jobs each person is supposed to do, it is a role you play in the society you live in and you are expected to play and has always been way more harsh towards women than it has men. That being said there are so notably possibly trans figures we can pull from history to get an idea of at least what being rich and trans was like. Honestly looking at those figures, even if a woman was "manish" as long as they acted and did their societal role it didn't seem like people cared beyond making them a social outcast or in a very famous case, disgracing them after they've died by referring to them as their assigned gender at birth. Granted due to the unfortunate part of the past where history was written by the rich, you do not get a view into the lives of the average person.

That being said, Tarhos being intersex meant he fell into this weird other category which varied by society. He was neither male or female, but something different. While being classed as this "third sex" he was still raises male as that's what society dictates, you get treated by whatever predominates you. While one might expect in a Christian society that they'd be seen as signs from the devil, a weird monster that should be culled, they had the same rights as anyone else just dictated by whatever gender they looked and acted the most like. Medieval society was more concerned with roles than biological sex and well it'd be hard to call Tarhos anything, but a man. He looks, sounds, and peforms his roles as such.

Though in some law writings by Peter Cantor in 1197, we can assume that the determining of Tarhos's sex wasn't a thing until after puberty when his voice depended and he started growing facial hair regardless of how he was initially raised. Truthfully I write Tarhos as been 13 or 14 when he was pulled from the body pile and thrown into mercenary slavery which meant his sex was already determined by then. He looked and acted like a boy, so that's what his societal role is. Though truth be told, I doubt someone like him got much of a childhood, but that's a whole different discussion. Which, while legally and socially he is a man, it brings us to how others may have treated him. Truthfully we don't really know how intersex individuals were treated when people knew they were, honestly if I had to guess like many individuals throughout history that fit the modern label of transness i.e assigned one gender at birth and performing in society as another while identifying with that label, it probably wasn't really found out until their death.

While I genuinely cannot find any resources on how medieval mercenary slavery existed and I honestly cannot find much on mercenaries in general even though they did exist, because we have written text of them existing from the damage they'd cause when not employed. So fully being honest, this is speculation off of what's mentioned in his lore that implies the Guardia Compaignia had a more permanent place that they lived. I honestly doubt Tarhos got the luxury of privacy, even if he wasn't a slave, people generally shared rooms. There was one room you'd sleep in as a family, so I'm guessing if they did have permanent fixtures it'd either be large tents or large bunk style buildings to sleep in with smaller ones for those important like the captain and those lower in command. That meant Tarhos was often undressing and bathing around other men, this meant his identity was very well known and honestly probably treated as more of a curiosity.

I doubt it effected much how others seen him beyond obviously insults and ways to try to dig under his skin. Maybe even telling the nobles he worked for to try and get him in trouble for something, but I doubt he was treated as a woman. He very much already had this mythical presence to him with people seeing his efficiency in battle and rallying behind his bravery and that's something to be commended. I doubt it was something he even thought about much in his every day life and he cringes every time someone does. Though the fog does permit him the privacy to keep that part of his life a secret, he doesn't really see it as particularly mattering. Why would it? He's not sleeping with them. He's a man, who cares about how he was born. He's a muzzled dog here to do one job, let him do that job in peace.

[horsemeatluvr23]

i would pay obscene amounts of money to see bdubs stream Barbie: Horse Adventures

[you-will-return]

--

(I keep telling myself that I won't post it and then I don't and then I feel annoyed with myself but I tell myself that I shouldn't post it and then I don't and-)

[umbrellajam]

sure would be nice. if people could debunk a dumb exaggerated/incorrect fanon without people immediately turning it 180° and happily hauling ass right into another dumb exaggerated/incorrect fanon. while gleefully crowing about how canon and correct this opposite take is.

sure would be nice 🙃

[debonaries]

Not here to stir the pot but genuinely why is the idea of male MCs or pairing the LIs together such a threat to people in the LADS fandom, like. Nobody is taking your toys away, all they're asking is for a seat at the table. You don't have to engage. You don't have to love it yourself. How is it so hard to just be respectful of what other people do when it doesn't impact you?

[twig---verginix]

why'd they make the neighbor rival personalities so different in rse. it's literally like

neighbor may: sweet, polite, a little awkward and shy

neighbor brendan: how did birch raise this misogynistic dweeb

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 08: Sleep Deprivation

Isolation Chamber

2565 Words; Sit Still Look Pretty

TW for forced helplessness, forced drug use, doll whump, emotional abuse, dehumanization

AO3 ver

“Annnnd.. there!” Carrie stepped back, making a frame with her fingers as she examined her work.

Dion sat still—as if he had any other choice, when he couldn’t move—as she stepped forth and back, side to side, hemming and hawing as she examined him from all angles. Tonight’s outfit was less gaudy than he expected, given how she’d gone “all out” for his dinner. If Dion getting to eat more than soup and some bread counted as “all out”, that is.

The turkey had been fine. The cranberry sauce was a little marred by the aftertaste of the drug currently running through Dion’s systems. But it was different from the soups Dion was slowly getting sick of, even if the bread was the same.

It had nothing on his mother’s cooking, though. And it probably had nothing on Dion’s cooking, either—or it wouldn’t, if he wasn’t so awfully out of practice.

Oh, yeah.

Dion would have grimaced if he could move his face at the reminder that he had been here for two months. But he couldn’t move at all, his face frozen in the soft smile Carrie had forced it into, sitting there quietly in the matching pants and jacket in autumnal dark red and gold, hair tied back loosely. Carrie had reportedly had a lot of outfits for this “late Thanksgiving”—she had been too busy for any outfits on the actual day, if she was being truthful about the dates—and had managed to narrow it down to this. Dion was glad; he didn’t want to imagine what over-decorated monstrosity he could have ended up in. Vera’s notebook flashed through his mind—that outfit had been just awful.

Not that this outfit was much fun either. Nothing about this situation—being trapped down here in this dollhouse hell—was fun.

Dion’s mind circled back to the food as Carrie moved his chair in front of a clear section of wallpaper. For all that Carrie did feed him—if he was good—it wasn’t enough. Breakfasts of oatmeal and dinners of soups and bread wasn’t enough. Not even the turkey leg and cranberry sauce were enough, Dion knew—he’d be hungry by the morning, enough to sit politely and let Carrie hand feed him a breakfast that wouldn’t last him until dinner.

He supposed it was a part of her strategy, this slow starvation. He wished the notebooks explained how to tell when she was getting tired—would the poison she fed him come after she pulled out his funeral clothes; or would it be like every meal prior, with no warning of what she was going to dress him in? All Dion knew was that Carrie buried her victims in a replica of the outfit she took them in. It would be his only warning—so what if it came too late?

But he couldn’t refuse meals—he needed every bit of strength he could get his hands on, if he wanted to get out of here. Even if he still didn’t have a plan on how he would do that.

Carrie grinned as she took the last photo, praise falling from her lips like flies buzzing around as she dragged Dion towards the washroom to clean him up and change him into jammies. Dion let his mind turn inwards, away from the humiliation of being stripped down and washed like a lifeless puppet. Homesickness squeezed at his throat as thoughts of the night’s dinner opened up memories of his mother and nona’s cooking. What Dion wouldn’t give to eat with his family again, or to work with his mother in their little kitchen in the caravan, reaching under and over and around her in the complicated dance they’d gotten used to. His mouth watered as recipes floated through his mind—

But dolls didn’t cook, and Carrie wouldn’t let him. Not that Dion would ever want to cook in a place as awful as this.

Dion wanted to go home. He wanted to flop down on the mattress he and his siblings shared in the caravan when they were traveling, or onto his creaky bedroll in his tent when they set up camp—he didn’t want to be gently tucked into the soft pillow-laden monstrosity with the blue covers and pillows while Carrie crooned to him to sleep well like he was just some doll she was done playing with for the night—

But it didn’t really matter what Dion wanted, did it?

(Esperanza. Felix. Vera. Callum. Lesley. Tobias. Alicia.

It hadn’t mattered what they wanted, either.)

At least Carrie was gone. Dion supposed he could at least be thankful for that small mercy. Ha, thankful on late-thanksgiving. What a joke.

He laid there in the gloom, waiting until he could move again. The moment he could do more than useless finger twitches, he was kicking, fighting the heavy covers until he was free, thrashing until he was off the bed entirely.

The floor was cool against Dion’s cheek. He breathed, waiting for the world to stop spinning and motion to return to him fully. And then he waited a little longer, exhaustion heavy in his bones. The hood of his pajamas—Dion was not calling it a onesie; that it was a silly pink cat was bad enough—had fallen from his head in his struggles. Dion made no effort to pull the hood back up when he stood.

The world wobbled, and Dion set his hands on the bed to steady himself. His balance had been off longer and more often, Dion had noticed—and it was no less awful than the first time.

Eventually, Dion was able to walk without feeling like the floor was about to come up to meet him and he did so with a vengeance, reveling in the ability to just move. The chain connecting him to the bed scraped the floor as he paced back and forth, but he was long used to the sound. It was a well-worn routine, this nightly pacing in the darkness until he’d worn himself out—Dion would go mad if he spent his time in this hell never moving at all. He was an acrobat, for god’s sake!

Well. Was an acrobat. Now he was just…

Dion shook his head. He passed by the vanity—though he couldn’t make out his reflection in the low light, which was why he had refrained from turning on the washroom light—and kept going. “Don’t think like that.” He muttered. He would get out of here and go back to normal life eventual—any day now—and put all of this doll bullshit behind him. He would.

(Well, he’d put it behind him once he’d made sure the notebooks came to light. Esperanza, Felix, Vera, Callum, Lesley, and Tobias didn’t deserve to be forgotten. So Dion would make sure they never were.)

In fact… Dion swallowed, as a thought crossed his mind. He still remembered how to do his basic stretches—he’d been doing them every day while Carrie was out when he wasn’t handcuffed to the bed. They’d been getting harder to do, lately, but—

But Dion was an acrobat. So what if he never had any energy these days? He was an Aquato! Two months in doll hell couldn’t change that!

Dion nodded. He walked to the washroom, flicking the light on and blinking at the sudden brightness. Once he could see, he wandered back to the half-lit gloom of his room, and bent down, planting his hands flat against the floor.

He wasn’t a doll. And he was going to prove it.

Dion lifted himself up until he was standing on his hands, the chain hanging awkwardly from his ankle. He grinned at the sudden rush, his chest light—

He wobbled dangerously, his body refusing to stay where he held it—

The floor came up to meet Dion’s back with a hard thump, knocking the wind out of him. He wheezed, lying there for a moment before he rolled over and sat up.

Okay, so his first attempt hadn’t been great. He was out of practice! A few more tries and he’d be as good as ever.

With that in mind, Dion stood up again, rolling over into a handstand with ease. He wobbled, shifting his weight to account for it—

And fell again.

No, no, he overcorrected that time, he could still do this! He got back up and tried again—

He fell to the side this time as his arm locked up on him. He stayed down a little longer, waiting for the rising bile in his throat to subside before getting up and trying again—

And fell right to the floor.

Whatever. He’d get it! It wasn’t like he’d get much sleep, anyway. He tried again—

His back was starting to dislike all this falling over.

Dion stared up at the ceiling. What was wrong with him? Was… he knew he wasn’t being fed enough—was he really so weak already?

No! So what if his balance was always screwy once the paralytic wore off, so what if Carrie didn’t feed him enough—he was an Aquato!

With a snarl, Dion moved to get back up and try again—

Only to trip on that damned chain, sprawling to the floor and slamming his face against it. Owww.

“No no no—” Dion got up more carefully, this time, kicking the chain out of the way before leaning down and planting his hands on the floor again. He breathed in, out.

“I can do this.” He muttered. “I’m an Aquato! I learned to fall before I learned to walk!” He could do this, and he would—

His back slammed against the floor.

+=+=+=+=+

“I promised I’d only do three ugly sweaters this month—but it was so tempting to do more!” Carrie was chattering as she did Dion’s makeup, talking on and on. It was the kind of noise Dion was used to, now, so he let the words wash over him in resignation. It wasn’t like he could say or do anything in response.

The ugly sweater in question was itchy, but again—Dion couldn’t move. All he could do was sit there as Carrie removed the headband holding his hair back and began to play with it, chattering to herself as she tried to style it. Eventually, a new headband came down to replace the previous one, and Carrie turned Dion towards the mirror—

Dion didn’t even have it in him to be annoyed. Of course the headband had fake antlers on it, and of course those fake antlers had lights at the tips to match the lights all over the awful sweater. The red Carrie had put on his nose was just adding insult to injury, at this point.

But Dion couldn’t scowl or grimace or say that he hated it—no, all he could do was sit there as Carrie pushed his mouth into a smile, cooing over the outfit she’d put together.

“You really are so gorgeous, doll.” She crooned, moving Dion over to the wall. She had added a cutout of a christmas tree—with lights, of course—and tinsel to that spot on the wall a few days ago, to make the backgrounds of her photos “more in line with the holiday spirit.” Dion didn’t exactly get to voice his opinion on this, but it wasn’t anything new: he thought the additions were an eyesore and awful and emblematic of the suffering Carrie constantly put him through.

But Carrie thought it was wonderful, and said as much as she lifted the camera and started snapping photos, praise pouring from her mouth like water from a faucet. After a while, she stepped back, letting the camera hang from its strap around her neck.

“Oh, don’t you just love this time of year?” Carrie sighed dreamily, clasping her hands together. “The lights, the glittery snow… decorating the tree with the coziest little fire—oh! And the way that warmth comes from the love and community in the air as families come together…” She sighed again, and Dion scoffed.

That proved to be a mistake as Carrie turned her attention to him. “Aren’t you so happy, doll? You get to spend the holidays being taken care of like you were always meant to be! No messy relatives to crowd things!” She cupped his face in her hand, brown eyes like deep pits threatening to swallow him whole. “We’ll be like one happy family, darling, isn’t that so exciting?”

It was not exciting. But Dion couldn’t move or respond at all, so he just sat there as Carrie leaned in to adjust his headband and tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

Thoughts of Dion’s real family flashed through his mind, homesickness clawing at his chest. His treacherous mind then decided to dart back to the night about a week prior, when he’d tried and failed to do a handstand—

“Shh, shh, don’t cry darling.” And there was Carrie, leaning into his space to dab at his eyes with a handkerchief. “I know, it’s so wonderful, isn’t it? You must be so happy.” She crooned.

No I’m NOT! Dion wanted to kick, he wanted to scream, he wanted to bury his face in his bed and cry until his throat was raw. He wanted to yell, to grab Carrie’s hands and force them away from him, to get away from her touch and the way it burned under his skin. He didn’t want to be here, sitting on this chair, dressed in this outfit, being cooed at by a woman who treated him like a mindless doll—

But that was what he was, wasn’t it? Because dolls didn’t do handstands. Dolls sat perfectly still as they were dressed and played with—

Dion’s eyes stung.

Dolls didn’t cry.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay,” Carrie cooed, moving to hold Dion close, his face pressed against her collarbone. Her fingers threaded into his hair, stroking gently. Dion wanted to crawl out of his own skin. “It’s okay, darling, I’m here. You’ll never have to have a holiday without your mistress again.”

Dion sobbed, even as his mouth remained frozen in a smile. He wasn’t a doll—he wasn’t! His tears were proof enough of that, weren’t they? But he barely felt like Dion Aquato at all, these days…

He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and do his chores and bicker with his siblings and be nagged by his parents. He wanted to see his Nona and sit down and mend clothes with her, he wanted to let Raz ramble about the latest dumb psychic magazine, he wanted Frazie to hit his head with a pinecone, he wanted to clean Queepie’s nasty blanket and he wanted to hear Mirtala’s bells until he was sick of the sound and he wanted to handle groceries for his mother and he wanted to see his dad come into those powers he’d never known he had. He wanted to go back and do all the things he used to hate, if only so that he could have just one more day with them—

Dion wanted to go home. He’d thought he’d never felt further from it, in this awful room. But the memory of the failed handstands—he couldn’t even imagine what would have happened if he’d tried something more—stung, raw and tender, and Dion realized he could feel even further away.

He needed to get out of here.

He didn’t have the first idea how to do that.

[quietwingsinthesky]

anon this writer has knocked up eight multiple times and made him have gay sex with other men. And it’s (hope that’s the right pronoun!!) done the same with women. I think they write sexual content about both genders pretty fucking equally well? There are some writers that are uncomfortable writing a certain gender on gender. This one isn’t. And as far as I’ve known them, idk, they’ve seemed pretty keen on treating both men and women equally when it comes to smut. One is not more enthusiastic than the other. It’s still gonna be eye opening either way, because damn. The doctor just got fucked by a snake or something something Charley fucking Grace. Just because someone seems more excited at the idea of Genderbend, doesn’t mean they’re more sexually attracted to women, this author, is not sexually attracted to men OR women because they’re ace. Just because you think, someone is more enthusiastic about women in fictional writing. Does not mean they want to fuck a woman over a man. Or even fuck at all.

Sorry, that’s all I wanted to say on it

<3 thank you, dear anon. yeah, exactly. it's quite funny to me, actually, to make any deeper assumptions about me because of either my tumblr presence or my writing because like 99% of the time this is all recreation to me. i do this for fun. it'd be a bit like psychoanalyzing someone's skyrim play style and assuming things about them because of that askdjkasjd.

[luvevee]

Idk the more bs I see about a/i the more hopeless and uninspired I get about writing anything

[karmaphone]

anyways I'd be completely fine with it if every child and baby in film and television was replaced with cg. first of all I don't believe in child labor second of all you could pay animators & VAs for that third of all fuck them kids

[awritersbro]

it's rewarding

writing is the most insane hobby it's like,

is it easy? no

is it fast? also no

but is it fun? well,

[punkbirdie]

fake dating au (part 1?)

after a unanimous result from the poll, here you go!

since it was basically all dialogue, i still had to write... everything else. so! now it looks like actual writing and not like the script of a play! it also means it's not a snippet anymore, but 2000 words💀

anyway, enjoy and happy holidays!!

After a long day of wasting his time lazing around and losing all his money at pachinko (again), Osomatsu is walking home. He’s thinking about which of his two ‘activities’ today would piss Choromatsu off the most. Or the fact that, against all odds, he has a girlfriend now for a few weeks already. A fact that he will bring up and has brought up to his brothers at every opportunity possible since they got together.

His thoughts are interrupted by someone calling for him.

“Oh-! Osomatsu! Hold up!”

Turning around, he looks up to see the brothers’ friend, Tori, jogging towards him. He had thought that was an odd name at first and voiced that thought, which got him a confused look when they first met. The two almost got into an argument right then and there, with him playful and her... slightly less so. Granted, the language barrier didn’t help much, until she got Google Translate involved and explained that her full name was Victoria. Now he occasionally likes to point out the bird theme she’s chosen to lean into since then.

He greets her casually when she comes to a stop beside him. “How you doing?”

“Eh, could be better. Say, Osomatsu...”

Seeing Osomatsu down the street alone reminded Tori about something she wanted to talk to him about. She has met his girlfriend once, and she seemed very friendly, but something about Rimi doesn’t sit quite right with her. However, discussing this matter in the middle of the street would be rather odd.

So instead she finishes with: “Wanna go to Chibita’s? My treat!”

“Are you jealous of Rimi stealing me away yesterday, Tori?” Osomatsu says, squinting his eyes in mock suspicion.

She laughs lightly at that and starts walking towards Chibita’s usual spot, Osomatsu following beside her. “I am not the jealous type, mate, you should know that by now.”

He waves his hand in dismissal. “Ahh, I’m just fucking with you. I’m not gonna pass up free food! Is it just us then or..?” He gestures between them.

She thinks for a bit. Getting his brothers involved and potentially ruining her entire relationship with them up until this point doesn’t exactly appeal to her. ...That might be an over exaggeration, but she’ll play it safe for now. “Well, I don’t think I can handle all six of you drunk-asses tonight, so it’s just us if you don’t mind.”

That’s a first. Normally she’d be all for it, but taking a closer look at her, Osomatsu understands why she’d want to keep it small this time. Tori’s hair seemed unruly and like she hadn’t combed and rebraided it for at least five days. Her eyes tired, just a smidge more sunken than usual, and make-up in spots he didn’t think she put the stuff deliberately. Carrying herself like some unknown weight was dragging her down. Due to the weather, she’d swapped her usual long-sleeved sweater for a simple tank top, which has shifted slightly askew and has scrunched up. His eyes linger on her bust for just a second too long before shooting back up to her face. Old habits die hard, it seems.

“Nah, you look like you could use a breather anyway. You look like shit.” He has the decency to look at least a little concerned, although he was still smiling.

Rolling her eyes, she said: “Thanks! I know.” Then, shrugging: “But that’s something to worry about later. It is Friday after all.”

“That’s the spirit!” Osomatsu cheers, and slaps her on the back. “Let’s procrastinate and drink!”

She shakes her head, trying to suppress a smile and failing.

They fall into casual small talk, with Osomatsu doing most of the talking, until Chibita’s oden cart comes into view.

“Hey Chibita!” Osomatsu calls out. “Damn, it’s pretty busy! Finally getting some more customers I see.”

“Oi! The hell? You should know better than to go and insult the one preparin’ your food!” He waves around a ladle to punctuate his words, nearly jabbing it in Osomatsu’s face when he finally sits down in his usual spot. “I’ll poison it someday if you don’t watch it, damn it!”

“Sorry Chibita,” Tori says, only half apologetically, “I’ll try to keep him in check.” She throws him a wink with her statement and moves to sit down as well.

“Hm. You better.”

In spite of his harsh words and protests, Chibita prepares the usual order for them anyway. Osomatsu launches into yet another story, meanwhile Tori glances at the surrounding tables. An elderly couple sits nearby, both enjoying a cold tea under a parasol. A small friend group of three is laughing, all nursing a beer to wind down from a busy work day. One man sits on his own, eating a simple noodle dish quietly, while occasionally turning the page of his newspaper that’s laid out in front of him. Not something she’d qualify as ‘busy’, as Osomatsu had put it, but if it meant the business was getting more popular, she could see why he’d mention it. Even if he did go about it in a dickish way but what else was new.

“Put it on the tab, Chibita,” Osomatsu says, before taking a big gulp of his first beer. 

The oden cook’s face immediately turns sour, furrowing his eyebrows in annoyance, wanting  to tell him off. However, before he can say anything Tori speaks up.

“Did you already forget?” She sounds genuinely surprised. “I told you, I’m paying!”

“Ah sorry,” he replies, not looking or sounding even remotely sorry. “Force of habit.” 

She then turns to Chibita and says: “So, don’t you worry, I’ll cover it for today. Again.”

“Hmph. Fine, alright. But you’re on thin ice!” He gives the oldest brother a glare.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Chibita!” Osomatsu replies easily, and raises his beer can to him.

Tori huffs in amusement and rolls her eyes at their back-and-forth, though without any irritation behind it. 

“Thanks for the food, Chibita.” She digs into her bowl of oden, before continuing with a mouthful of food. “It’s delicious as always!”  

Chibita shifts his gaze and bats her compliment away. “Flattery will get you nowhere!” he says, clearly flattered. “But uh... You alright though, idiot? You look...” 

Tori swallows her bite and drags a hand down her face, accidentally creating a small black streak of make-up from her eye down her cheek. “Like shit, yes I know.” Noticing the black mark on her hand, she takes an apathetic look at it before wiping it carelessly on her trousers. “I had a rough week. But that’s not what we’re here for.”

Osomatsu moves to take a sip but stops short and hums in confusion. “Wait, we’re not?”

“I can be sneaky sometimes too, you know? No, I wanted to talk to you about your girlfriend.” *takes a sip of her drink, while he puts his down* 

“Oh. What about her?”

“Before I answer that; Chibita, have you met her?” He answers with a nod. “What did you think of her?”

He crosses his arms and looks off into the distance for a moment. “Hmm, I couldn’t really get a read on her to be honest. She seems nice though.”

Tori appears to be a little apprehensive about her next move, but decides to go through with it anyway. “Well, sorry Oso but... I don’t trust her.”

“What!? Why?” he asks incredulously.

Might as well lay the cards on the table. “I don’t know for sure what it is. Maybe I’m just being paranoid or something, I just have a feeling something’s off.”

One of his other customers calls and Chibita excuses himself curtly out of reflex before hurrying over. 

Osomatsu doesn’t notice. His voice increases in volume the more he speaks. “What are you saying? That her standards are low? That I’m not good enough for her? That I don’t deserve to be happy? Is that what it is?” 

Not enough cards apparently. She sits up straighter at his accusations and is quick to explain herself further, hands waving around defensively: “No, that’s not it at all! You are one of my best friends; of course I want you to be happy, Osomatsu! That’s why I’m telling you what I think, okay? And I don’t want you to get hurt because I didn’t warn you in time.” She averts her eyes with a painful, almost guilty look on her face. “That’s happened once before and I don’t want that to repeat...” she says, then turns back to her friend. Her voice laced with concern and fatigue, she continues. “So... maybe I am overreacting or whatever. But I don’t want you to get robbed blind or worse while you’re watching with rose coloured glasses on.” 

Chibita is still away helping his other customers, but keeps a listening ear just in case.

“Rimi is the best thing to happen to me ever! ‘Just a feeling’ ain’t gonna cut it!" Osomatsu gestures while speaking. "Don’t say those things about her again if you have nothing to go off of anyway.”

After a few seconds of silence, she sighs softly and replies: “Alright. I won’t bring it up again, then. ...And your beer’s getting warm by the way,” she finishes, taking another sip of her can.

“Oh. Right,” he says, before draining his own beer. And with that the tension dispersed. “Chibita! Give us another one!”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, in a minute!”

Osomatsu whips around, surprised that the cook’s voice came from behind them. “When did you get all the way over there?”

“You aren’t my only customers anymore, ya know. I’m not yer personal waiter!” 

While the two old friends are continuing, Tori tunes them out to mull over her conversation with the eldest brother. It seems the topic of relationships is a rather sensitive one. Though it makes sense; why shouldn’t he, an unsuccessful NEET virgin, take a chance on someone who shows persistent interest in him? He was grabbing onto that lucky chance with both hands. Not really what she expected from the arguably least responsible one, if she had to be honest, but it is what it is.

She’s glad she decided to bring it up when he’s not with the rest of his brothers. That could have devolved into a very nasty fight and potentially endangering Chibita’s customers and future business endeavors. However, Osomatsu is right: ‘just a feeling’ is not good enough; she needs confirmation.

Tori forgoes trying to fall back into conversation and just resumes eating her food, deep in thought. Due to being tired as hell means that that last portion is not really working, so instead of beer she asks Chibita for something with more energy. After chugging that, she only has to be patient until it kicks in. When it does, she takes out a small notebook and pen from one of her pant pockets and starts to scribble down some ideas. If Osomatsu has something to say about it, she doesn’t hear him. She does notice when, a while later, he drunkenly throws an arm around her shoulders to whine why she’s not paying attention to him.

“I’m... writing something for work.”

“Laaame! Still thinking about work? Fuck that!”

“Okay, okay!” she says, closing her notebook. “And could you not yell in my ear please mate, I’m literally sitting right next to you.” Tori gently shoves Osomatsu’s face away from her. “Also Chibita, what do I owe you for tonight?” 

“Aww,” Osomatsu interjects, “are you leaving already? My best friend, with an actual job and everything, is leaving?”

“...I don’t know what kind of compliment that’s supposed to be, but it’s not working, I can tell you that.”

“Come onnn, it’s still early!”

She sighs. “No, Oso,” she stands up, “I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Paying Chibita and declining Osomatsu’s offer to stay again, Tori sets off. Not to her home, but to the Matsuno household. She has some things to discuss with the rest of the brothers.

[muntitled]

Protecting His Investment

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one gets to hurt you except him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Murder, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Voyeurism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Massive Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

This can be read as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

“Shouldn't I be blindfolded?"

If it weren't for the silence simmering between you both, in this monotonous taxi drive, he might’ve not heard you at all and perhaps you should have been more careful with your choice of wording but you were feeling a tiny bit reckless this Wednesday afternoon. He hadn't ever offered to personally fetch you from campus, and you felt incredibly juvenile when you spotted him standing there like a dad, in his grown-up suit while his briefcase hung in his hands in front of him. You'd almost convinced yourself that you were imagining things. That somehow your obsession with the man who kidnaps you every Wednesday to fulfill all his messed up fantasies was truly taking a toll on your mental health.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he was real. And he had come to pick you up and you were feeling awfully giddy as he ushered you both into a taxi while a few of your peers stood and stared.

By now he would've blindfolded you. Keeping you completely clueless to the location he brings you to every Wednesday. See, your Salesman had myriad deep rooted issues. Mania. Sociopathy. Sadism. But the issue that irked you the very most was his inability to trust. Before you know it, you're pouting up a storm as you ask him. "Why aren't we using the blindfold today?"

He slowly removes his gaze from the window, where he had been pondering like the old man he is. He quirks up an eyebrow, letting the intensity of his attention wash completely over you.

"Would you like to be blindfolded?" He asks playfully. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and his lips are quirked up like it usually is when he's being sardonic. Still, you remain cautious as you lean forward. You send one quick glance to the taxi driver, wondering if you were being led in some kind of hearse on the road to your death.

"A-Are you going to kill me?" For the first time, cold, white fear ices the warm blood rushing through your veins. Come to think of it, he did seem far chirpier than usual. Perhaps that should have been your first warning. The flags were blood red but you were wearing rose-tinted glasses.

He only snickers before placing a heavy hand on your head, patting it down.

He doesn't answer you for the duration of the taxi drive, causing you to slip more and more into your thoughts of morbidity and despair. Why else wouldn't he blindfold you if not to end your life once you got there? It seemed dreadfully logical and so on-brand for him. He'd get bored of you sooner or later and then he'd dispose of you. There'd be no need to blindfold you any longer while he took you to his place because you'd soon become a corpse and-

"Doll." The voice cuts through the chatter filling your brain. All at once, the car has stopped, and warm air rushes into the interior as he holds the door open for you. "Get out of the nice man's car." He jests politely, quickly prompting you to unbuckle your seatbelt and scramble out of the taxi.

The second you're out he walks ahead of you. The building that comes into focus before you have your brows crinkling.

You quickly catch up to him, gazing up at his monotonous face. "Why are we here? You never come to my house."

He doesn't respond as you both walk into the foyer. He walks briskly and powerfully, like a man on the move while you send a small wave to the security manning the front desk. You both enter an empty elevator and he presses a button without you ever having to tell him which floor.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

He lowers his gaze to you, one eyebrow quirked up.

"You only die when you disappoint me and as of late," he stares directly ahead, "You haven't disappointed me."

The elevator dings and he steps out. You follow him like a puppy without a leash. "In fact I'd say your work ethic as of late has been-" he blows out a long sigh as he makes it your apartment door- recalling all the weeks you two have spent together in vivid kaleidoscopic images. All the pain you let him inflict on you and pleasure he'd offer as a reward.

"-nothing short of stellar. I'm proud of you." He punches in the code to your apartment and you both enter. The curtains are drawn shut because your roommate hates sunlight. You preferred it but there was no communicating with something like her.

He kicks off his shoes at the door.

"What are we doing here?" You ask nervously, "My roommate will be back soon and she isn't very nice."

"We won't be playing at my place today." He says finally meeting your wild and nervous eyes. He seems so lax and so in control. "We'll be playing here."

"B-But my roommate."

"Is that why you were crying?" His gaze keeps you rooted to the floors, unable to move even if you wanted to, "Because of your roommate?"

"Crying? I wasn't crying-"

"Back at the university," he says, casually removing a microscopic piece of lint from his grey blazer, "Your head was beant and you looked up at me with bloodshot eyes." His eyes shine with amusement as he says, "Usually with our sessions, the crying only comes later on." Then he quirks his head and asks, "What happened?" There's a bang somewhere in the apartment and your head snaps forward. Your eyes scan over the adjoining living room and kitchen but he seems unfazed.

"It's stupid-" you shake your head, "Like who even still gets bullied in uni?"

You laugh pitifully, leaning against the nearest wall. He stands tall before you. A brick wall.

"Your roommate's threatening to kick you out of this apartment to move her boyfriend in?" He asks before adding, "Again."

Your head snaps up to him, "H-How-"

In that moment, he turns rather robotically, making his way deeper into your home. It's clean. Thank God.

"You don't realize how chatty you get when you're about to orgasm." He says before stopping right outside your closed bedroom door.

"My roommate- she... decided last night that- well- she would really like her boyfriend to live here instead-"

"Without consulting you first?" He clarifies, staring blankly ahead at the door, listening very attentively.

"Y-Yes without consulting me." You bring your hand to the doorknob, on your way to open it but he stops you with an iron grip around your wrist. You wince.

“Continue talking.” He says and you do.

"This morning they both kinda sprung on me that they'd like to be living here now. She went behind my back and already placed the deposit down our landlord, well," you clear your throat. "I might be homeless soon." You laugh but then swallow very thickly as the gravity of the situation falls onto your shoulders.

"And still you decided to have our sessions today?"

"If you'll have me," you nod.

"Remarkable." He replies. "Well I've never been very fond of my things or my toys getting dirty." He begins mysteriously as he places his hand directly over yours on the doorknob.

"Pardon?"

"I can't have my favorite toy living out on the street. Who knows what kind of animals would try to rape you or drug you or fucking stick their slimey dicks inside you-" he turns the doorknob, clicking your room open.

You're not even sure when this started happening. These 'private sessions' with your Salesman that quickly bled into something much more concerning. Before you knew it, he was seeping into your brain, polluting you with obsession. There had never ever been anyone else involved.

"What the hell did you do?" You ask, slowly entering your room to find two chairs placed directly in front of your bed. As soon as you enter, you hear the blood curdling, muffled screams being ripped from the throat of the two people strapped to those chairs.

"I'm protecting my investment," Says your Salesman as he pushes the door closed behind you.

Your feet feel like lead as you watch them and their panic-stricken eyes. There in front of you, they sit opposite one another, both with a haggard countenance and tears streaming down their cheeks.

At the sight of you, your roommate screams something horrid but it's muffled by the gag placed in her mouth, a gag the shape of a dog bone.

He's there too. The boyfriend. He's not as loud or as frantic as she is but he's significantly startled. His eyes are wild and vacant. The same gag.

"Oh my god-" you begin but he cuts in front of you, making his way to the couple seated across from each other.

"We're all gonna play a game- a quick one," He says, "Can't play for too long because I've been dying to get inside you since I saw those pretty little bloodshot eyes."

"Sir- I"

If you knew his name you might've screamed it in this moment. 'Sir' is your only point of reference to address the manic man in front of you.

This isn't right.

Right?

You're so confused, you barely register than you've thought out loud. It hits you as he slowly shrugs his blazer off.

"What isn't right is them thinking they can rape this apartment from underneath you." He says, folding it and placing it meticulously over your desk.

"I- have neighbors!?" You begin but he has a plan for that too.

"I had your room soundproofed since our first session." You're pushed into even more confusion.

"WHAT!? When did you even-"

"While you were at school-" he says before uncovering a handgun from his briefcase. A handgun and a silencer.

"Point is, Doll, I'm going to need you to play a game for me, ok?"

"DOLL!?" Comes your roommates' mortified and muffled cries.

"I need you to make one tiny decision for me." He says, screwing on the silencer onto the barrel of the revolver. It strikes you then that even when the mask is off, and the worst workings of his personality are on display for all to gaze upon, you still find him breathtakingly attractive.

"If-" tears burn the back of your throat, "If this room is soundproof why-why do you need a silencer?"

"I'm nothing if not a cautious man, you know this." Then his expression turns very grave and very dark as he says. "Don't you?"

“Yes, Sir,” you reply almost automatically. Like your need to respond to him- to please him, greatly overpowered your moral compass. “You're extremely cautious.”

Your roommate releases a shrill noise from the very back of her throat, her eyes pleading with the humanity she desperately tries to find in yours.

“Out of these two, he's my least favourite,” Your Salesman says, standing beside you. Eyes wild as he points his gun to the boyfriend's head.

“But this isn't about me,” he turns to face you, slowly dragging you gaze away from the victims that had once been your tormentors. You look up at him with a broken sob slipping through your lips. “I need you to choose.”

There it is.

His words seem to detonate what little fate you had in his humanity. There is nothing in his eyes except hedonism and violence.

"I'm going to have you to choose very quickly, baby-”

You're already shaking your head as frazzled braids tickle your shoulders. Your eyes find theirs and you immediately say, “I'm not going to do it.”

When you look at him again, you're almost horrified to find the smile that had once been on his face, completely wiped away. His face is a shadow and it strikes you way more than anything ever has. Something in you scolds you. It gnaws at you to make things right.

“Don't do that.” He says darkly. “Don't disappoint me.”

His hands -one still holding a gun- moves to cup both your cheeks. He cranes your neck further back, gazing deeply. “I can't have you living on the street.”

“You don't have to kill anyone-”

His jaw ticks, “Pick.”

“Sir…”

“You're disappointing me.”

All it takes is those three words to have your world crashing to the floor. Tears blur your vision as you raise a trembling finger.

“Him. I pick him.”

It's the first time you realized that you were brimming with codependency

Or stupidity.

Or maybe both

“That's a good girl.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The father you never had.

He lets his eyes meet that of the boyfriend who is shaking and writhing in seat.

“What a good fucking girl I have, wouldn't you agree?” He asks the boyfriend yet he only cries and cries and cries. Meanwhile, you're bathing in the warm, milky words of praise.

"I suppose you wouldn't be able to agree to much in a second-"

He raises the gun.

Wait-" but the trigger is already pulled, and the bullet slices through the air and the deed is done.

It's remarkable how fast it travels. The speed of the bullet. Like it's competing with light itself. One moment his head is there and his brain is inside it, functioning like usual and the next moment, it's splattered all across my bedroom wall, coating your stuffed animals and drenching your pink bedding.

“You killed someone…”

“We killed someone, and you did such a good job. Now we're real rich people-”

You shake your head.

“Oh my fucking god we killed someone-”

It's stupid, but the first thought that comes to mind is-

“How- How am I gonna get the stain out!?”

“I'll get you new sheets, Doll, I promise…”

Meanwhile the roommate is crying and screaming her throat hoarse. You watch gravely as vomit soaks her gag.

“That's fucking disgusting.” He says before turning back to you. A spray of blood scatters across the side of his handsome face. He'd just committed murder and yet you still describe him as handsome.

“You're not disgusting at all.” He says, “You're so clean and beautiful.” His large hands rub over your face. “And now this apartment's yours. Ours. Maybe.”

Ours.

That word somehow affects you more than the murder you'd just lay witness to. It has you staring up at him with grateful, love-filled eyes. You're still scared but, you were his. And that was a powerful feeling. You'd never belonged to anyone before. Certainly not any man as handsome or smart as this. This isn't rose-tinted glasses anymore, it's rose-tinted vision.

“We killed someone.” You say. Solidifying the fact that you were a couple.

Your heart rages in its cage when his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck yes we did,” he moans before smashing his lips down onto yours. Confusion and discomfort wage a terrific and bloody war inside you as he kisses you absolutely dizzy. Your insides are swirling and your stomach is turning at the sight of the blood drenching your walls.

he tips your head up, forcing his tongue in and he moans when you let him. Your tongues touch and coax and he pulls you in close.

“You know how good you looked when I picked you up earlier, Doll? I loved seeing those bloodshot eyes of yours.” He mumbles, “I just hated not being the one to make you cry.”

You sob something awful. The sound escapes you while your lips are still plastered to his.

“But this is all me,” he says proudly, gazing down at your watery eyes as he pins you up against the wall. “This is all me.”

Your roommate sits in a daze. Over his wide shoulder, her eyes stare blankly into yours and you almost find yourself mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'.

Almost. But you never do.

Your brain is too clouded by feelings of fear, regret, pleasure and… satisfaction. In your defense her boyfriend really fucking sucked.

"Take this off." He groans, lowering his large build to the floor to shove your shorts and underwear down. Undressing you almost formally as he lifts your one leg out followed by the other.

Your eyes are still on her.

Every vile word she's said to you. Every occasion she'd bring her equally cruel friends over and they'd gossip about you loud enough for their words to carry through the walls.

You realize very gravely that your care is waning.

That humanity that was still left inside you is thinning.

And he's pressing wet kisses against your legs, worshipping the soft cellulite at your thighs.

A man in a suit at his knees for you and she's forced to watch.

It makes you feel so-

"Fucking beautiful, fuck." He groans.

The more riled up he is, the less care he gives to how crass his language becomes. As if trapped in a daze, with your eyes still on your tormentor -your bully- you hook your fingers into his hair. Parting your legs you lead his mouth to your exposed cunt and he slurps you up for all your worth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he eats you out with vigor. He flattens his tongue and suctions his mouth against your clit, causing a deep and guttural moan to spill from your lips.

He pulls back, breathing raggedly, "Fuck my face," he commands, before placing both hands on your ass, enough to have your cunt riding his open mouth. It feels so fucking good your eyes are stinging with tears. You let them fall because you'd know he'd appreciate it. He appreciates every tear in your confidence. Every waver in your air-tight judgement. It undoes him completely to see you so fucking pathetic.

He looks up at you while you're riding him. Those morally black eyes are urging you to hump his face and you do.

At the sight of your tears falling his nails dig into your ass and you moan more. All the sounds you're able to make are in intelligible sounds of pleasure. But you force yourself to come to your senses. Just long enough to whisper

"Th-Thank you, Sir,"

He stills. Completely stunned.

You come. It crashes down on you all while your roommate tries to squeeze her crying eyes shut, shaking her head as if trying to delude herself into believing none of this is real.

"You are fucking fire, you know that?" He croaks, slowly rising. You're breathing oh so quickly and it only speeds up at the sight of your arousal casting his jaw.

“I wanna fucking hurt you so bad. I wanna eat you. I wanna fuck you. I wanna do so many unspeakable things to you- you're so perfect.”

He throws one more gaze over his shoulder. His almond eyes scan over the body, then the girl and he groans, furiously undoing his belt.

"How the fuck did I get so lucky?” he says, almost to himself.

"Answer me." He presses his body firmly against yours, until your spine is straight against the wall. "Fucking answer me when I talk to you."

He growls before bringing a hand up to your chin. It's painful the way he grabs you, but you're so used to pain. It lives here now. Between you both.

"I-I- don't know-" you really don't know and he melts at that.

"I'll tell you how, Princess. " he wraps your leg around his waist, "People like me- people we call crazy and evil-” His eyes are so wide, his smile too. -we get nice things. And people like that-" he quirks his head backwards, “The weak? Those people on the streets, they die.” He says, grinding his cock agaisnt your cunt, “And we don't die, yeah?"

"Oh fuck." You're seeing stars when his cock sinks into your cunt. It's hard and raging and he's already doing multiple shallow thrusts to force it deeper. "S-So big-" you can't talk, you hardly ever can when he's like this. Fucking you into an absolute frenzy.

"You gonna squirt for me, Doll?” he grits his teeth, hips stuttering as he ravages you against the wall. "F-Fuck." Some

“She's a really good squirter-” he turns his head to watch your roommate over his shoulder. Her head is slumped forward, she's fainted perhaps.

After weeks of trying to impress him, to show him that you were not the weak little thing he had first kidnapped- you realize it's paid off. He caveman grunts as he fucks you deeper and harder and a cry rips itself from your throat.

“Y-You want me?” You ask with trembling lips.

“Baby,” he breathes directly into your mouth. “I need you.”

"F-Fuck-" your orgasm sneaks up on you and he watches with immense gratification as you come undone on his cock.

“You're making a mess on my cock-” clear liquid streams out of hou, threatinging tk lush his cock out but he fucks you through it.

“Gonna fucking cum inside you, baby. You're gonna take it, aren't you? My good girl's gonna fucking take it,” he throws his head back as his eyes flutter closed and soon he's fucking spurts of warm cum into you.

It fills you completely until the mess is coating your thighs. Through your wave of endless euphoria you see stars, the planets and him in the very centre of it all, guiding you and coaxing you through the bountiful high.

Even when he's done, his cock is still nestled deep inside you, pushing you over the brink of stimulation.

"You're very promising.” He admits, “Always have been.”

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[gojosprettyprincess]

❝​REPAYMENT​❝

Synopsis - Oh no! What happens when the big, massive strong man that saved you during a very dangerous war, wants something from you in return for his bravery?

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!reader

Warnings - Dub-con, mentions of killing people, creampie, ass play, size kink, he stuffs his gloves in your mouth, he's possessive, mentions about keeping you with him. Dark content. this was kinda rushed so sorry for any errors!!

Art credits @umkochannart on twitter!

A/n - I NEED HIM, SOMEONE PLEASE

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Oh my— fuck! Sir, please we shouldn't be doing this, someone might see!” you stammered, legs trembling as your panties lazily pooled around your ankles. You mewled at the feeling of his hard, cold gear slapping against the mound of your ass, making the flesh ripple against his clothed pelvis. You keened as the wooden table dug into your stomach as you held onto the edge for dear life.

His cock was so thick and long—perfectly curved as it stretches open your tight, compressed walls to alter his girth. He grunts, feeling your tight little pussy eagerly fluttering around his invasive dick as you blabber on and on about your little worries about getting caught. Of course, you minded that a stranger man was destroying your pussy, but that was the least of your worries right now. The thought of getting caught and someone seeing your vulnerable self—almost naked, being pounded against a small table in the supply room by a big solider that's fully clothed, except for the crotch of his pants that's zipped down to free his aching cock, that's currently having your cunt drooling—making a mess all over his thick combat pants, made your mind hazy and your cunt throbbing in both excitement and frustration.

“Aww don't worry bout' that darling—I’ll just kill them for you so they won't say anything, will that be better?” he chuckles, his gloved hands digging into your hips as he deeply thrusts himself inside your dripping pussy relentlessly, fucking every single brain cell out of you. For someone who is “scared”, your pussy sure as hell was soaked and aroused.

He smirked under his skull mask at the feeling of your sweet pussy throbbing in tight circles around his cock to his words. “Oh? What a dirty little slut, does my talking about killing people make you horny? Such a sick little bitch, this pussy is clenching around me like it's fucking addicted to my cock, you a virgin, darling?”

Your eyebrows furred together at his sick wordings, you felt on the verge of losing your mind as the feeling of pure pleasure clouded your mind. “No, M’not!” you whimpered out, your tits grazing against the wooden table as your gushy pussy leaked all over his veiny shaft, every thrust had your pussy coating his cock even more with your filthy juices—as if you were enjoying it, or maybe you were?

“Oh yeah? Well, your cunt sure is fucking tight and warm—squeezing me so hard for someone that's a whore, whaddya say I keep you here and split open this little pussy whenever I feel like it?” he chuckles darkly, a huge palm slapping your bouncing ass as it jiggles against him, you moaned, tears prickling at your tear line as his thick, filled balls slaps against your poor clit, creating even more friction that had you seeing stars.

“No! Sir—can't, you promised you'll let me go after this!” you muttered, feeling so stuffed by the big man’s cock. “Shh, shhh I'm just joking with you doll” he laughs wickedly, perverted eyes moving down to where the two of you were lewdly connected. His eyes fixated on your other little neglected hole, which's already coated with some slick from your pussy. He eagerly pulled off one of his gloves and placed it on the table. You jolted unexpectedly when he stuffed a thumb deep into your mouth, he pressed his weighted chest onto your smaller back—getting closer to you as he whispered, “Get it all wet and lubed up, it's for your own good, darling”, you were confused and oblivious to what he'd be needing his thumb for but obeyed him anyways, not wanting to make the big man angry.

You whirled your tongue around his finger, making sure to get as much spit on it as possible. After, you hummed, letting him know that you were done. He pulled his finger out, sticky drips of spit coating him. Your eyes widen with fear when you felt his fat thumb circling your virgin asshole, he spreads the spit all over the shy, fluttering hole before sinking it in little by little. “Fuck! Sir—please be gentle, never had anything in there!” You yelled as you cried out in pain of your untouched hole getting stretched out. He quickly picked up his glove and shoved it into your mouth when there were footsteps heard thumping outside the room. “For heaven's sake, please shut the fuck up or I’ll really kill someone. I'm not joking darling. You’re mine now and I won't let other eyes see what's mine” he said in a stern tone. He hissed lowly at the feeling of your asshole swallowing his whole thumb in, all the way to the hilt.

“Such a tight little asshole, M’honored I’ll be the first one to break open this pretty ass”. Your muffled cries got louder as he pounded his hefty cock harder into your pussy, making it gushing all over him as he fucked out more and more juices out of your body. Soon the pain turned into pleasure as he started wiggling his thumb inside of you, feeling it exploring your tight walls. Your moan grew sweeter and more fucked out as you felt your orgasm washing over you—his huge cock tip nudging against your G-spot bullyingly, making your mind hazy. He felt it—felt the way your pussy grew more wetter and tighter around his length, taking him in all the way in as he pants. “Fuck darling are you gonna cum? Go on baby, you can cum, cum all over my cock, you slut”. He ordered, letting his thumb hooked into your butthole as he uses three other fingers to rub wet circles around your clit.

You moaned out, standing on your tippy toes as you clenched both holes tighter around him, making him hiss as you squirted all over him—your filthy mess splattering all over his uniform and gear as he fucks more and more juices out of your dirty pussy. He groaned loudly as you made a mess all over him—he never had someone squirting on him before, so it drove him fucking crazy. He lands slap after slap on your ass cheeks—making the flesh red as you whimpered. “Such a messy little whore, you really squirted on a random man you don't even know? You really are a little slut, I'm definitely keeping you darling” he laughs out, feeling his orgasm following him. “I’m gonna stuff this cute little pussy so full of my seed, gonna drain it so deep inside you baby, it'll come out your mouth” The whole room reeked of sex as he towered over you, his massive cock snugly engulfed by your little pussy, so tight and warm for him. He moans louder, splitting out a few curses as he pulled out his thumb out of your ass, making your little hole wink at him at the loss of his finger. He used both hands to grip your hips, holding you steady as he used your body as a little fuckdoll, manhandling your little body to meet his cock halfway as you felt his cock twitching inside of you.

“No please! Sir not insi-” Too late, hot ropes of warm sticky cum spurted into your poor hole, filling it up as your eyes roll back. “Fuckkk, ohh fuckk yesss, such a good little cumslut for me” he moaned out with ecstasy as he emptied into your warm pussy—after so long.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as he stilled himself into you. He bent over once again, his chest and gear touching your back as he whispered to you. “Don't worry sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you, will fucking kill anyone if they dare look in your direction. You'll be mine forever, pretty”.