#if he is taken down it would probably be outside their control

[wormmurder]

oh yeah succession s4 trailer a few days ago that was cool. i think tom wont divorce shiv bc logan would hate him. also with the siblings teaming up against logan, i think if the deal w gojo does fail, it wont have anything to do w them and would be logans decision ultimately, just based on how the prev seasons went

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE - satoru gojo .ᐟ

[CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL] satoru gojo as flynn rider + bondage. once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants ( 9.1K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, rapunzel!au, strangers to lovers, role reversal & switching, orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, handjobs (m!recieving), reader's hair has blonde streaks but colour remains ambigous, rapunzel + fem!reader, flynn rider!satoru gojo.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yippieee!! kickstarting spooky season with this hefty boy. we have our glorious blue eyed king welcoming you all to our fourth annual tteokdoroki kinktober - i hope you all like what's planned this year and enjoy this piece to start with !! kissies hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“you’re going to take me to see the floating lights. or else.” 

“or else, what, honey?” 

ever since satoru gojo climbed the wooden lattice sewn to your tower by blooming, overgrown weeds and winding vines effectively invading the safest space in the world ( according to mother ), he’s been a pain in your fucking ass. when he’d first arrived, a towering and unfamiliar figure creeping about the main floor — your heart had dropped to the base of your stomach, pulsing rapidly with fear while he scoped the scene. you’d never come across a man before, mother had made sure of that, warning you of their cruelty and ugliness both inside and out. except satoru looked nothing like the descriptions your mother had left you with, you’d say that the man was stunning. not that you had much to compare him to.

his hair was a crisp white, appearing soft to the touch much like the snowfall that came in the winter months (something about playing in it. contrastingly, his eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue — eerily similar to that of a summer sky free of cloudiness. he was too good looking to be human, for it to be natural, almost as if satoru had strolled straight out of one of the many fairytale books mother purchased for you from the markets. although, over the years you’ve probably read each book cover to cover a million times and not one fictional prince could even match this stranger’s sheer beauty.

though for now, this handsome stranger’s looks would get him nowhere with you. strangers always came with dangers, and since all you’d known throughout your years of living were these four walls, you weren’t going to take any chances with satoru and whatever problems he’d have brought with him.  initially and out of an unfamiliar fear, you’d  taken the nearest weapon to you (a frying pan) and cracked it right over his skull — watching the hunk of a human collapse to his knees and eventually black right out. if mother were around, she would have been proud. you’d tried not to feel any guilt trying to stuff his limp, lengthy limbs in your closet or under your bed because… well, what business does this stranger have with you? what the fuck is a man doing here? how did he get here? why is he here? 

your whole life you’ve been convinced that the outside word was treacherous and that you had to stay inside, where it was safe, because people were horrible and selfish — intent on hunting you down for the powers that lay intertwined in the coils of your hair. those specific streaks that glow a valuable gold between the usual  colour of your locks whenever you sang. mother would style them the way you liked every night — so long as you sung for her. you weren’t about to let mother down, nor risk the little life you built here together.

but, as it turns out, satoru wasn’t looking for the magic sprouting from your crown and entangled in your hair. it almost seemed like he had no idea about them either. rather, the moonlit haired man was looking for a place to lay low and hide after being chased through the forest for his satchel that seemingly carries something valuable. a crown… jewels that have a weight familiar to your head and sparkle like something you’ve seen before in a distant memory. 

“come to think of it, honey, where is my satchel?” cocking his head to the side, sky blue eyes peer up at you with a charm that sends a foreign swarm of butterflies ripping through your stomach.

you frown, accusingly pointing your weapon of choice at gojo’s head and puffing out your chest to appear as intimidating as possible while giving him your name. “i’ve hidden it in a secure location—“ 

“it’s in that pot…isn’t it?” 

as best as he can in the handcuffs he can call locks of your hair, the tower’s newfound infiltrator gestures towards a colourful pot in the corner of tne room. what? all you could think of in the moment is restraining him against the chair and why waste perfectly good rope when you’ve got such length to your own hair? the pot was the closest spot too.you knock him out swiftly after his guess, not giving gojo the satisfaction of finding his precious purse.

now, with the satchel hidden once more, satoru gojo semi-concussed and conscious once again — you realise that for the first time in your life, you have some kind of leverage to bargain with. you need someone to take you to see the floating lights that illuminate the sky on your birthday, every year. satoru needs his… crown? that so obviously doesn’t belong to him. of course, he would have stolen it, mother always said men were no good and always take what isn’t theirs (oh the irony). nonetheless, it  was the perfect match of desires.

this way, you could prove to mother that you weren’t weak like she said you were. that you could cope by yourself and go explore the outside world. it wouldn’t be how it usually is with mother — where you ask for something and instantly get denied because she believes you to be too naive to function in a world outside of her. not this time. this time you have a bargaining chip. a satchel containing a valuable so rare that satoru was willing to risk his life for.

your captive wriggles against the restraints of your hair, woven around the chair like tough knots of a rope to keep him at bay. while the silver haired fox may not have canines like your mother suggested, you have no idea how powerful he could be. contrastingly, gojo finds your hair to be soft against his skin, ticklish along the veins of his arms despite how secure it has him strapped down. he’s forced to listen and to follow your every move across the floor plan, guided by the strength of your hair tugging him about.

“i have a proposition for you. come, look.” drawing back a curtain to reveal a painting from earlier — you recite your plan to your intruder. tomorrow evening, he will take you to see the floating lights … ahem…lanterns that drift across the sky on your birthday every year and then, return you safely to the tower before mother returns. it’s an easy deal.  “i won’t give your satchel back until then,” you stutter out fiercely, adjusting your height and the grip you have on the cool metal frying pan. “you won’t get it back until you’ve taken me to see the lights.” 

“oh whatever, i can just take it back, honey,” satoru goads, cockily ripping his head back in patronising laughter. even though the melodious sound makes irritation bubble hot underneath your skin, you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s Adam’s apple as it bobs delectably along with his chuckles. “as soon as i get out of this…hair? hair.” pale blue eyes flicker up to your face when gojo fixes himself in the seat he’s fixed to. they bore deeply into your soul, reading you with as much ease as you have flicking through the same three books that you own. you feel the weight of your hair shift around satoru’s shoulders as he gestures down to it nearly wrapped around his bulging forearms (not that you’d been paying attention). “this is kinda freaky, hon. don’cha think?” a slow sexy smirk tugs at the corners of gojo’s plush, glossy lips, or rather, he smoulders attempting to woo you into giving him what he wants. “you don’t seem like the freaky type, sweetheart.”

once more, a frustrated flame flares up in the middle of your chest — you’d feel offended for sure if you know what gojo meant. “freaky?” 

“as in like… dubious?” he grins in response, running the pink tip of his tongue over his straight, perfectly white teeth. “this is basically bondage, yanno?”

you blink once. confused.

“improper?” 

nothing, not one of these synonyms or explanations from the smiling idiot makes any more sense to you — bringing you to tilt your head to the side, innocently like a puppy that makes satoru laugh once more. this time it actually does something to you. sends weird butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

with a shake of snow white locks and an inhale that sounds amused as it goes, your hostage clicks his tongue — letting those cooling blue eyes slink up and down your virtuous frame . the swell of his lower lip trapped between pretty perfect teeth. “as in sexy, sweet thing.” satoru’s sickly sweet and powdered sugar coo slips through one ear and out of the other like hot, viscous molasses, you immediately shudder — flustered down to the meat on your bones, curling in on yourself as your faux intimidation tactics melt from your body and slip between the floorboards beneath your bare feet. “gosh! you’re so innocent,” his gaze rips away from you, and you fight back an unexpected whimper, missing the intruder’s gaze on you. “guess that’s what being trapped in a place like this does to a darlin’ thing like you. you wouldn’t last a day out there.” 

he’s patronising you. speaking to you as though you’re no more than a child. however, being talked over and down on is all you’ve ever known, especially from your mother… but the way he acts reminds you of all of the advice she’s bestowed upon you over the years. mother tells you all the time, how naive and silly you are. how people will try and take advantage of your looks and your kindness. and so you decide to use your mother’s advice — if all humans, act like dogs, you’ll throw one a bone and wait for them to come back for more. 

steeling yourself, you use a loop of your hair to drag gojo’s chair toward you — positioning him like a puppet beneath your cold, hard stare. he man spreads on the chair as best as he can in his restraints, leaning back while his seat tilts backwards on a forty-five degree angle — drawing your eyes from his face to his thick thighs momentarily. “you are going to take me to see the lights. it’s a promise, not a threat,” you whisper into the air that buzzes with tension between you both, leaning down and pinning gojo in place. you’re so close, so little proximity between your faces, that you can practically feel his warm breath lingering on the damp skin of your lips. “and i promise, i’ll make this worth your while.” 

your voice lowers an octave, smooth and buttery and just right. like a snare for a wild white rabbit or bait on a hook — it peaks satoru’s interest, illicit thoughts and desires flashing behind his pupils like lightbulb ideas. “oh, honey. i can make you see stars alright,” he looks up at you then, with an expression of heat and thirst, dragging you into a pool of shining blue eyes that you barely manage to free yourself from. drowning in his attention once more. you stand over him proudly, between his legs smugly and all he wants to do is wipe the winning smile from your face and show you a real good time. 

if he could, gojo would reach up and grab at your hips possessively, if he could he’d cup your neck and let his fingers toy with your baby hairs to pull you into a sloppy kiss. he can’t help the way white hot desire spreads through his system like throwing gasoline on an open fire and pile of wood. he grins mischievously, and in response, a brand new sensation stirs within your lower tummy — blistering hot as it zips between your chest and your core.

you sense the change in the atmosphere and gojo does too. both of you dying to scratch the itch on the part of your brain that is the control centre for lust. but you remind yourself what this is truly about, tell yourself not to get lost in the haze of it all, and will yourself to throw a loop of your hair over daring blue eyes like a blindfold — acting fast to secure a seat in an unsuspecting satoru gojo’s vacant lap.

he grunts in surprise, flinches when he realises one out of five of his senses are down. “what the fuck—?” gojo spits, cocky smirk melting away. 

“shhh,” you taunt the man under your breath, leaning forward so that your voice coasts over the shell of his ear like a summery breeze. it invokes a sense of pride within your chest when your hostage tilts his head to follow your voice — his own breathing erratic and increasingly shallow with how he begins to struggle against your restraint on him. “you won’t get a chance to make me see those lights. not if i get you to see them first.” 

in truth, you've got nothing planned. you’ve never been in the same room as a man, let alone pleasure them the way that you’ve read in books you’d borrowed from your mother. 

the reality of the scene before you is daunting, giving up part of your virtue just to prove a point and get to see the floating lights like you’ve always wanted…but at the same time — it’s your one chance at freedom that’s at stake here. “you don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” satoru taunts you with the peaks in his voice coltishly high. he continues to wrestle against the restraints of your hair — he’s strong and with a little more force he could escape but it’s like he senses your hesitancy. 

like he knows for certain you won’t make good on your promise. just like mother. 

that much is evident in the way his smooth, glossy lips tick upwards into an arrogant smirk. 

your determination to prove him wrong grows more and more by the second, so before you succumb to your nerves again, you let your free hand claw with way over gojo’s right shoulder — steadying him, forcing him to sit still as you make a comfortable seat out of his widespread lap. he tenses at first, unable to see you move, but his grin remains, you have no idea if it’s because he’s proud of you or doubting you — but the expression only serves to piss you off even more.

“what’s next, sweetheart?” 

a strangled growl is your only reply, the most menacing sound you can muster as you lift head upwards and his pool of loose silver-moon locks fall out of place. with a shuddering breath and a hold of gojo’s restraints, you press your lips to his in a shaky kiss — still unsure of where your lips go and what to do with your teeth and how to move your tongue. the captive beneath you knows it and takes advantage of your weakness, nipping at the swell of your lower lip gently — hardly enough to draw blood. satoru is testing you, telling you to be brave and take from him. prove to him that you’re willing to do whatever you want for him to make your silly childhood dream come true.

he allows you to fight back, despite this being your idea, lets you forcefully grab his angular jaw and capture him in a proper spit-swapping kiss. if he really wanted to, he’d find a way to escape from the tight bounds of your lengthy hair. but he doesn’t. gojo lets you swallow him down; push your tongue exploratively into his mouth and lap at his foreign flavour. he wants your tongue to take dominance from his, pink appendages sloppily rolling over one another, slipping and sliding as you take and take from satoru.

the kiss, already uncoordinated from your lack of experience, becomes hurried and hungry and wet the more you steal from satoru. you take and take and take until his glass his half full and his brain slowly becomes devoid of all logical thought. he comes the prey to your predatory mouth, missing the way your hand frees his pale cheek and fingers fluidly traverse down his broad shoulders, over his marble sculpted body to find purchase in the belt loops of his bothersome pants. now curious, you feel your way down the front of the fabric and grin into the hot and heavy kiss when satoru’s lets out a breathy, staggered moan into your open mouth. 

his swelling erection twitches in response to your inquisitive hand, slender hips involuntarily jumping upwards.

“fuuuck,” satoru chuckles airily, words featherlight as they breeze along your lips. his head keens upwards too, chasing the weight of your hot sticky tongue in his mouth — desperate to be closer, craving the feeling of your nose knocking against his and your breath on his cheek from just how pressed up against each other you are. “fuck baby that’s it. kiss me more, touch me harder…” he’s addicted before he even knows what you have to offer, what he’s getting himself into. if you could see his eyes from under his binding, you’d bare witness to pleading blue pools swirling with a painful desire as he twitches beneath you, wriggling his wrists to get free. “c’mon, touch me.” he adds between sloppy pecks.

backing your face out of satoru’s reach, you break the drooly lip lock — letting your lungs fill with oxygen it had once missed, while your heaving chest syncs up with the intruder you have strapped  to a chair. you pull away, connected to the man by not just your hair, but a string of saliva glazed across your lips — cautiously, your tongue dart out to break the the between your eager mouths, two sets of uneven panting filling the quiet air. 

the two of you remain unmoving and unwilling to back down while you catch your breath; but your hand remains in the centre of gojo’s lap — rocking it back and forth, back and forth over his growing bulge. you stare at him, observing the reactions that he tries so hard to control. little twitches to his pink swollen lips and the flare of his nostrils whenever your palm makes contact with a sensitive spot. all this waiting is agony, the white haired captive might die if he doesn’t get more from you soon. 

satoru whines impatiently as a result, knowing full well what you want and you won’t ask him again — not when you’re tauntingly squeezing his cock for a second, third, fourth, fifth time. he doesn’t fucking know — overwhelmed by waves of lust-infested blood rushes to its blistering hot tip. “fuck! okay, okay fine. i’ll take you! just—“ the chair rattles from the force of gojo’s struggle against your restraints, which hardly covers the low moan that escapes from between his plush glossy lips while his length pulses against the inside of his pants. “just fuck me. touch me. anything.”

something about his tone being all desperate and high activates a part of you that you never even knew existed. a part of you that knows what to do next… even if you haven’t acted it out, you’ve enough books to remember what the erotic ones say.

only then, after he pleads, do you use your shaky hands to tug down the garment — pulling them towards his knees as best as you can against your hair until the button pops free. the zipper follows easily and the waistband falls away from starlight skin and slender hips. everything gets hotter; any fresh air between your bodies becoming tinged with the need for sex as the scorching ghost of your fingertips leaves burn marks against satoru’s pelvis, and sends heatwaves of ardour from the base of his spine to the top of his skull.

satoru’s squirming pauses while he waits with uneven breathing for your next move — tongue pressing up against the barricade of his white teeth to prevent himself from taunting you further or perhaps to stop himself from belting out another pathetic set of whimpers. he wishes he could see you, those sweet innocent eyes looking down at him as you peel back the last layer of fabric stopping you from accessing his painfully hard erection. his underwear. 

when you gasp in shock, pride weaves itself between the bones that protect his heart and lungs like an uninvited weed, he knows that he’s decent. longer than he is thick, bright red at his mushroomed tip and leaky from just how turned on he is. there’s a trail of silver moon hair that leads you down a path from his belly button to the thickest part of his dick too. but oh, how satoru gojo wishes he could see.. the way you lick your lips as drool drowns your tongue, mouth watering at the sight of his length slapping against his clothed stomach while he manspreads for you. the way your pupils dilate, the colour in your eyes swallowed by a dark veil of carnality. 

this is a hunger you’ve never experienced before, a type of starvation that makes your hand lurch forward before your brain can control it, gripping satoru at the base of his milky, slender shaft. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock; let alone held one between your tiny fingers — it’s much warmer than you anticipated, tacky to the touch from dribbles of precum running down from his untouched tip, but you like it. the weight, the wet sound it makes when you slightly flick your wrist around satoru. not to mention the stuttered groan he lets out, his head falling against the support of the chair and yanking slightly on the blindfold made of hair that covers his eyes.

if you weren’t sitting in his lap, you’d want him in your drooling mouth. you’d sink down to your knees like the girls in your naughty books and take him down your virgin throat, just so you could look up at satoru and watch the sweat bead down his jawline and run a track over his bobbing adam’s apple. but you’re not and you’ve got a point to prove, so you loop your hair around your other wrist to tighten his restraints and extend a thumb upward from his base to his seedy tip, jamming the pad of it through the slit where he pre forms in thick, creamy pearls. as white as those that come from an oyster.

“that’s it gorgeous, just like that…” satoru leers up at you huskily, voice tinged with neediness that he fails to mask. he seems to like the way you touch him and you’re sure to use a delicate hand when you smooth the supple pad of your thumb over the pad of his sensitive tip, rubbing his opaque precum into it sweetly. “touch me s’more? you can do it… i know you’re shy, can hear your breathing ‘n how heavy it is. shit, you’re new at this.” saliva slows down satoru’s salacious words as he rambles to you with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, angling his head in whatever direction your breath seems to be coming from. 

he’s in tatters, destroyed by a few simple touches with his hard on smearing white across the front of his clothes. you roll your palm over his mushroomed cockhead next to test the waters and take pleasure in admiring the way he trembles, grasping at the arms of the chair you have him strapped to in order to ground himself. it’s torture for satoru to be this patient, killing him slowly from the inside out like a virus spreading across his brain and other vital organs — but it doesn’t mean you’re in any better state. practically dripping in his lap with your panties dampening more and more every time satoru so much as whimpers. past the point of being turned on by the sight of a strong, powerful man weak and blindfolded underneath you.

satoru bucks upward at your command, sucking in a breath as his sensitive, seedy slit bumps your palm once more. “s-shit… please.”

the improper ness of the entire situation sends a zap of electricity to your swelling clit. you’ve only ever imagined being with someone like this as you have seeing the floating lights — touching yourself beneath your skirts and under your painted ceilings whenever you were brave enough. now you’re here, spread over the thick thighs of a possible thief who begs you to jerk him off. “s-shut up,” you hiss as embarrassment and  inexperience begins to shine through the deal you’ve struck with gojo, the fact that he can tell as much and still wants this has you soaked all the way through and aching for friction as well. 

you’ve never been in possession of so much power in your life. mother never let you have it. but right now, you can taste it sparking between you and gojo, smell it in the air teeming mixed with a cocktail of your arousals. in the moment you realise that the silver haired man would cling onto every one of your sugar-coated words (no matter how nervous) if it meant he got the fuck he wanted in the end. and you would get to see your lights too.

“just… tell me what to do,” you say without realising how husky your own voice has gotten. “i promised you your crown, to make you feel good if you took me to see the lights. and i never go back on a promise. s-so tell me.” talking yourself into it and building up some more confidence, you circle over satoru’s bulbous cockhead again — gaze laser focused on the burning bright red colour as it oozes. you know that he likes it and it makes his head spin so much that he starts to fight against the restraint of your hair again. “i won’t let you go, not until this is over. so tell me what i can do to make you cum.” 

despite not being able to see his entire face, gojo’s smug smile says it all — his perfect teeth cheerily on display, contrasting with the flustered pink tint to his cheeks. “cup it, make a fist around my cock so you can jerk me off’a little bit,” a haughty moan scratches at the walls of your captive’s throat when you follow his guidance and finally grip him fully, soft and supple hands easily dwarfed by the size of him. satoru’s shaft may be a little thinner, but he’s thick enough to fill your own throat and cause a stretch to your quivering hole with his balls being round, plump and full of white hot seed saved up just for you. “christ, squeeze my base a lil’ before you get movin’,” at first contact, satoru’s thighs tremble deliciously against your mound, blood rushing to your clit and through the forked veins that spiral down his length. 

your senses are overwhelmed, he smells so good — of peppermint and a musky twang of sex act like dangerous smelling salts or fumes. you could get addicted if you weren’t careful. you’re super aware of each ridge and firm vein that decorates him and as you start to palm satoru steadily, you notice just how sticky your hand is — movements guided by the wet cream of his cock. slipping and sliding as your closed fist moves up and down, up and down, occasionally squeezing the base of him just like he asked. your knuckles brushing the soft bush of pubic hair at his pelvis. you can only imagine how everything feels for him, not being able to see at all.

the thought just barely crosses your mind — too focused on speeding up your soiled hand around gojo just to hear more of his angelic gripes and groans that rise and fall from his heaving chest. how good all of this must feel for the man without being able to see. every touch must make him tick and drip and throb achingly. he must feel weak too, completely vulnerable to anything you might do to him while blindfolded and unable to touch you because of bonds formed by your hair. 

once you set a steady rhythm to your closed fist to jerk him off with, gojo takes a breather to announce his next command — head shaking side to side with moonlight locks sticking to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the inferno of desire spreading through of his limbs. “now spit on it,” he states bluntly, an obvious dip to the octave in his voice. you can’t possibly imagine why he’d need spit; your hand is already glossed with a shiny layer of precum, tainting your knuckles from the viscosity. 

you swallow thickly, but don’t dare stop pleasuring your captive stranger. “w-what?” 

“are you kidding me just—“ leaning forward as best as he can while held back by the strong locks of your hair, like rope around his wrists. dopamine crackles over your brain like fireworks in an enclosed space at the scene that unfolds next, satoru pursing his lips to spit onto his own milky dick — letting the frothy mix from mouth join the mess that lubes the both of you up where connected. “just spit on it, honey. thought you wanted me to feel it.”  

licking your lips, you rub down satoru’s girth far enough to drag the glob of spit down to his tender weighty balls, that pulse at your gentle touch. the feeling makes satoru’s entire body jolt like an electric shock — a gargled groan clambering out from the depths of his panting chest as his jaw goes slack and mouth falls open. “please. please spit on it, honey. god please.. need you to wet my cock. i need it so bad, promise i’ll be fucking good.” blind but with his remaining senses in tact, gojo remains largely vulnerable to your touch, his entire world tilting on one axis when you grip his dick a little harder at his request. causing a ring of white to gather where the circle of your wrist envelopes him.

at his begging. which you swear makes you gush like a small, erotic stream — your juices sloshing about in the gusset of your panties while your sex goes unattended.

so you nod obediently, tilting your head forward and parting your swollen lips to let a thick, syrupy string of your own spit ooze onto his plump and sore balls, stroking him rapidly to spread it over his creamy tip as well. your spit is contrastingly cool in comparison to the natural lubricant smeared all over your captive’s palpitating dick — causing it to grow impossibly harder. it slickens up your hand, evidence of the silver haired man’s arousal seeping through the fabric of his crumpled shirt and coils of your restrictive hair. neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment — all you can think to do is relish in gojo’s size.

he’s so big, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered how satoru fit entirely inside your tight hole, stretching you out in the new future — earning yourself a fresh wave of liquid lava hot essence to your ruined panties. you dare to dream onwards, picturing the azure eyed stranger fucking you against the walls of the tower in every way the man knew possible… you have no idea what he’s capable of when untied. but the sight of him lazily thrusting into your filthied fist like it’s instinct, following it like a moth to a candle flame, is enough dream fuel to last you a lifetime. even after the deal is complete and the lights are just a distant memory. 

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru to give your wrist a break — walking your fingers up the broad expanse of his built chest to tweak his nipples between your tingling bodies. his entire frame is wracked with a case of shivers, mouth parting in a high-pitched, whiny whimper with strings of saliva connecting its roof to his tongue. you’re so pathetically turned on, drool pooling on your tongue like a hot flash flood. 

it’s why you tighten your grip on your hair and thus his restraints, resulting in satoru staggering forward. closer, panting like a damn dog in rut. drawing your free hand up towards your lips and away from his pecs, the proximity between you becomes so little that satoru can practically smell the musky evidence of sex that you lick from your hand. “oh… you taste so good,” you lament in a dulcet tone, failing to miss the way gojo’s dangerous azure eyes dart about beneath his makeshift blindfold, probably dying to see you get a taste of him.

“d-don’t say that, you’ll make me fuckin’ cum, honey.” he gulps, involuntarily pumping his hips into the air, chasing your hand which he needs so desperately to feel good. “please don’t stop.” while begging you — satoru is the perfect picture of a ruined man, though you’re sure he would say the same about you if you hadn’t strapped your hair over his line of vision. his milky skin glistens as though it’s the very source of light for the silvery moon — illuminated by droplets of sweat from the exertion off fucking your fist like a squelching, welcoming pussy. his cheeks glow warmly with a dusty shade of pink and there’s a red ring forming around his lips from where he’s bitten them to control his wails of ecstasy.

succumbing to the obscenity of it all,  you reach forward and lick a stripe into his hellfire hot mouth. effectively sharing the saltine flavour of gojo’s own precum with him while he languidly sucks all the tang from your pink appendage. his angel white lashes flutter shut at the heaviness of your tongue against his own. the kiss is messy and mismatched, saliva seeps from the corners of your mouth and drags a sticky train down your chin. parting briefly, you spit it into the middle of your palm — happily taking satoru’s cock back into your talented hold and providing a solace to soothe its passionate ache. 

“ngh… i can feel you. f-fuck. feel you tryin’ not to grind against me, sweetheart.” somehow, gojo finds pockets of air to taunt you in — his voice an arousing mix of a raspy whine and cocky tone. “so wet, i can smell you too. so sweet. dripping all over your panties while you jerk me off. do you need that needy pussy taken care of?”

everything he’s said is true, while the man with the sweaty silver locks fought to escape the prison of your hair — desperate to see how you pleased him, you fought the growing pit in your stomach. the urge to use satoru for release. you’d never hit your peak with another person before, only your smaller-than-his fingers whenever mother left for more than a day or two. 

you admit to nothing, continuing to stroke satoru to his own high — his panted moans accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin from your hand fisting him to the high heavens.  “please baby, i wanna help get you off. feel that wet little cunt. let me go, i’ll be so good to you if you let me touch your sweet c—“ 

“n-no! we had a deal. my rules.” you stutter, denying yourself. denying him.

“c’mon sweetheart,” a strained and petulant whine echoes throughout the tower — satoru thrusting shallowly through your closed hand in order to match his rhythm to the flick of your wrist. “please, god, baby. if you won’t let me touch you, or at least see you, then can you put that pretty pussy on my thigh? ride it real good? wanna know how you sound when you’re being pleasured…when you give into it all. please honey, give me somethin’ to work with. anythin’…”

gojo presses, like a disciple begging their god for mercy. begging you for mercy. there’s never been this much power in your reach, the ability to control a man who could easily over power you with your sex makes your mind feel egotistically weighty. your resolve crumbles just a tad, satoru’s neediness  chipping away at its foundation until your hips instinctively position themselves perfectly over the swell of his right thigh. how bad could it be? giving him an inch when you’ve taken a mile from him. mother says you’ve never been good at lying and right now, you can no longer pretend like your hips aren’t dying to slide back and forth over your capture like a desperate whore. 

like you don’t want to use him for more than just the floating lights, but to soothe the fire lit in your lower stomach — trailblazing down to your throbbing clit.

something clicks in your mind, all of your inhibitions are dashed from the tower as you briefly release satoru’s pathetically wet cock and restraints to pull up the skirts of your silk purple dress, exposing a slither of supple fat at your thighs. hurried movements deliver the same treatment to satoru’s pants. “this… this doesn’t change anything. doesn’t mean i’m letting you go just yet. it won’t affect our deal.” you warn the intruder but all sense of venom and authority is lost, evaporating into the temperate air and ending up as a piteous, meek mewl when your exposed mound makes first contact with man’s naked thigh.

if the sound of ruffling fabric hadn’t caught your hostage’s attention; the heat of your sopping sex against his moonlit skin definitely did. “fuck…that’s it. there we go, honey. put it on me,” a tinge of amusement lays evident in his gravelly voice, sets of slender digits peeking out of their hairy restraints to map out your doughy thighs and crawl their way up to the source of your essence. “i just knew you were wet for me, can feel how turned on you are.” as best as he can, gojo shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit — cooing in satisfaction when you ooze against him in response. you almost despise the way he laughs up at you condescendingly, as if he’s the one in control irregardless or the fact that you’re on top. 

maybe it’s the dopamine rush that makes your dynamic unclear — neither of you wanting to give up or take the lead. the lust fizzing in the cracks and crevices of your brain make you cute and pliant for gojo but hair woven over his body keeps him subdued and thirsty for you. 

like a gravitational pull, you buck downwards on the silver haired stranger’s toned thigh and smear the beginnings of your arousal all over him. you’ve barely been touched, oozing in viscous waves as you lose control over your body, rutting harder and faster. “watch your mouth.” you cry out, volume barely above a whisper, bottom lip trembling because it feels so good to use someone this way. 

resuming your hold on his dripping cock again as you rock your hips — you rearrange the loop of hair keeping gojo in place, covering his eyes just as your hair begins  to glow gold in time with your symphony of moans. “right, right, sorry. this doesn’t change things,” he flexes his thigh underneath your syrupy sex, strawberry tongue slipping out to wet his lips while your words fade away into a pretty little sigh. “but you wanna smack that messy clit all over my thigh, don’cha wanna make it creamy… even messier?” satoru all but jeers, the wisps of a smirk rising on the horizon of his lips now that your hips have formed their own rhythm over his leg.

they speed up their passionate dance on him, beads of glistening essence pearling between your two fat pussy lips. the slick smack of your naked cunt against his muscular thigh caused his dick to twitch in your hand — gojo thrusting up when you thrust down. he tilts his head down, catching a whiff of your heavenly scent in the air between you both. you hate that he’s right just as much as he hates not being able to see you and touch you properly — only catching glimpses of the golden light sparkling within your hair like a halo from underneath his makeshift blindfold.

you feel like you might be going insane, trapped underneath a non existent touch. like being pulled under waves of euphoria with aching lungs that don’t get enough air. near angelic screams of delight rip through the base of your throat contrast with the way you sinfully hump satoru and jerk him off to the point of his dick forming a creaminess in your hand. he bounces his thigh faster the higher you moan, rewarding you for all the hard work you put in to make this deal worth it.

“you’re no better… you’re filthy,” 

“that’s right honey, so dirty. all cause of you. messy with you, why won’t you let me see?”  the captive rambles, torn between fighting to break out of the bondage and listening to the lewd sticky noises your mound makes when gliding smoothly over his paled skin. satoru growls at how roughly your body moves above his own, face contorting lecherously, cheeks red and lips puffy — a mess from how long he’s been holding out for you. he’s a mess. it’s true. he won’t even deny it. “now fuckin’ stroke it baby, stroke me to the rhythm of your pussy bouncing up and down for me…please…” 

simpering slightly, gojo’s fingers twitch against the arm of the chair — itching to grab at your ass and slam you down against his shaky thigh. if you palm him more, grip him tighter… he can better imagine the warmth of your cunt if he got the chance to slip inside. for now, you oblige his request, pulling tighter on the bindings of your hair while you them use as leverage — throwing yourself down on satoru as the lewd pap of your drooling pussy fills the musky tower air. “that’s it honey, up ‘n down. uppp ‘n  down. keep goin’ just like that.” 

you don’t have the energy to chide him, jostling about in satoru’s lap with wet whimpers bubbling up on the seams of your lips. pleasure begins to twist nice and tightly in your tummy, scalding you from the inside out and burning any logical thought from your brain. head beginning to roll to the side, you think about fully submitting to your capture. letting go entirely — you’d be satisfied. you’d get to cum. your deal might fall through but at least you’d get to see a different kind of light. 

easily, you could just give up. it wouldn’t be hard to, not  when gojo firmly plants his feet into the tiled floor and the power from his hips has hip rutting upwards to chase your fleshlight-like fist. a beefy cry battles its way out of his broad chest, vibrating through you as his quivering thigh juts your pretty, syrupy cunt every time you lift off of him. 

it’s the perfect cycle; the ideal push and pull. you squeal in ecstasy, the hood of your clit dragged back so that your sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to the blistering heat of satoru’s cool toned skin — taking you closer and closer to your high. streaks of your hair glow brighter than before, more intensely the louder you moan and just like they would if you were singing to help mother or while she brushed your hair. despite the strength in the light of your hair, everything else about you weakens, your grip on your hair, the pace of your hand as you palm satoru to the high heavens. you can’t think to care about any of it when you’re this close. 

if mother could see you now, you don’t think you’d mind if she was disappointed in you. 

but then you’re ripped away from the edge of cloud nine. satoru stops just short of the dam threatening to break. his thigh completely still with your juices splattering against him once your own hips come to a hault. a petulant howl echoes through the flower, frustrated tears stinging in your waterline as you feel your orgasm slip away from you cruelly. “what the fuck satoru?” 

“sorry honey….” he laughs heartily, a slight rasp coating each syllable from each word that leaves his mouth. “don’t think i like this deal very much. just ‘cause you feel good doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” gesturing to the way you gush on and stain his thigh, the captive with the silver moon hair shrugs. “you don’t get to cum or see the lights unless i get to see you.”

gojo’s been good so far, hardly challenging you this whole time and instead, goading you into a world of pleasure you would have never experienced under mother’s watchful eye. instead, he was content to have his cock touched and his name wailed a hundred different ways — he’d shown no indication of breaking your deal aside from this. so in turn, you halfheartedly let go of the loop of hair that kept his sapphire stained eyes away from the world and held his wrists down to the arms of his chair.  the restraints loosen just enough to please him and do what he needs to do. not enough to give him complete freedom. 

“fuck the deal.” you cast it all to the side, relentlessly resuming grinding all over gojo — pushing your hips back as far as his knee to smother your swollen pleasure against it.

this time, satoru is able witness the way your bambi doe eyes roll back into your emptying skull. 

with newfound motivation, the intruder begins quickly blinking away any darkness that caused a fuzz at the edge of his vision, gojo’s gaze immediately trickles down to your clenching hole, a treasure kept safe between your nectar glossed thighs; watching you ride him. “god, if i had my hands on you i’d rub that clit until you were squirting… i bet you’d like that, if i ruined that pussy. made her mine — you'd like that.” gojo’s stare returns to your eyes, flashing you his pearly whites through a condescending smile. his rushed and rambled teasing words make your creamy cunt wetter; body betraying you to violently shake above him. 

though you find strength to keep up your end of the bargain. you’d sworn to make satoru see stars, encapsulating his rigid, sloppy dick between your nimble fingers once more. you even spit on it, earning a haughty bleat from between the man’s pretty (yet chatty) mouth. his sturdy body seizes underneath your touch as you take a firmer grip on him, palming him faster and faster — seedy, hot precum webbing over your knuckles once more. that’s when you finally get to see it. how murky and dark your captive’s vibrant eyes grow, like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

the rapture that had once melted away from you like butter in a pan begins to blossom within you once again — willing you to beg for a chance at a real orgasm. “yes satoru! oh, yes please!” you squeak, short of breath and not entirely sure or what you’re even begging for. the golden light emitting from strands of your hair flare up again and your pussy throbs with an aching need to hit release. “please…”

a self congratulatory thread of cobalt lust weaves its way between the darkening midnight flecks in this eyes. “now look who’s begging,” clicking his tongue, gojo cocks his head to the side, relishing in his ability to finally look at you. drink in the way your chest bounces beneath the bodice of your lace orchid gown. it’s completely fucked, darkened by a crude mix of your arousals but it’s the most beautiful thing satoru has ever seen — only serving to rial him up even more… his own orgasm coming up over the hill. it burns at his internal organs, the lining of his stomach and the only way to alleviate this almost painful yet delectable twinge to his system is through you. “bet you’re only being nice ‘cause you’re close. well guess what? me too, be a good girl, honey, and cum for me.” he says, voice rising in both pitch and breathiness through his gritted teeth. 

he’s going to cum. 

and you’re too far gone to form a response with words just yet. you stop your own ministrations, payback for edging you earlier. his own cock dribbles pitifully as you rip his high away from him like pulling a rug from beneath his feet. gojo thrashes in his hair in response, azure eyes wild and almost wet with a sheen of tears — just as desperate to cum ad you are. “wh-what the fuck was that for?” he winges as though he’s a child on punishment, slender hips rising up to chase your soiled hand and perfect grip — shaft standing needily at attention. “honey…”

“you don’t get to cum until i get to cum. so either you work with me, satoru, or we’ll go all day.” you snap, slowly working your drenched cunt over the meat of his thigh once again, your puffy folds spread either side of it — squelching with the way you salaciously wind your hips all over him. 

satoru basks in the sight, tongue poking out tauntingly between his teeth as he decides to test the waters. “fine, but at least let me help,” he suggests, watching eagerly as you throw your head back in the purest form of pleasure and grind on him harder. it’s clear as day that you need just as much of a push to cum as he does and he plans on giving it to you in just one condition. “untie me.”

“deal.” chewing on your lower lip, you let more of your hair unwind your glowing hair from all points that keep gojo strapped to the chair. enough for more of his hands to escape. then, he’s on you within a flash, hot tongue swirling its way over your clothed bosom and biting at your peaked nipples while his hands shoot to the globes of your ass so that he can drag you in harsh circles across his lap. he’s ravenous, out of control, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the entire time. 

somewhere along the way, in one final burst of passion, your mouths find each other again — swapping streams of saliva as you lose yourselves to sex crazed minds teaming with lust hormones. with your lips smacking and bodies moving against each other in a delicious bump and grind — satoru forces a large hand between you both, fumbling against your cotton panties. the sound he lets out when he finally, finally gets his hands on your puffy clit is glutoral and animalistic, the simple touch sending a shock wave of electricity across every one of your synapses. dazing you for good. 

you bear witness to the silver haired stranger losing his mind, falling from grace like an angel with blackened wings. and for you, he does the same, commiting the sight of your glowing halo-like strands of hair to memory — the coils that shine brighter the more you sing and sin for him.

he can’t stop gabbling, gargling on the spit you pour into one another — followed by howls and screams of pleasure. “oh you like that, hm? i bet that feels so good… so sweet ‘n wet under my touch.” hot fingers belonging to satoru pick up the pace between your sticky folds, flicking your clit feverishly and writing his claim against your cunt at the same time that you jam a thumb into the tricking slit of his dirty red cockhead. the pair of you jolt in one another’s arms, taking one too many steps towards the edge of cloud nine before you’re even ready for you.  

“oh sweetheart, listen to you, sound so good. wish i could have you on my fat cock instead of my thigh. next time yeah? you’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you? gonna get my thigh nice and wet?” gojo growls, voice hoarse and layering perfectly over your whistle tone whines. his digits slow and start their greedy assault on your sex, edging you further and further as you wriggle and writhe at his words. 

the world escapes you, the knot of lust that had been warping within you finally coming undone. “gods… s-satoru! please!” you shriek as though your voice is a  gust of stormy wind — reverberating off of painted cobblestone walls. your free hand (no longer trapped by loops of your own hair) darts out to grab the intruder’s wrist, thighs locking around the hand that works you through an earth shattering high. the dam finally bursts, forcing open floodgates as your pussy releases streams of clear arousal in small spurts that soaks his entire lap and clothes.

gojo has no idea where to look, the smallest glimpse of your orgasm sending him hurtling over the edge as well — he doesn’t relent, viciously circling your precious pleasure mug and drawing out your release to match his own. his thick length spasms in your tiny hand, plump balls no longer able to contain the viscous, hot seed he has saved up all for you. just for you. he cums with a shout, abdomen contracting under your never-ending supple touch, ropes of white hot endlessly shoot from his overstimulated tip almost as though he’s a faucet that’s never been turned off.

he swears he almost blacks out, a white and sweaty mop of hair collapsing onto your shoulder as you slump in gojo’s lap — exhausted. as the air in the room cools, your hair no longer glowing and your chests syncing up to heave in an even rise and fall — you bring a lazy hand to the back of satoru’s head, toying with coils of his baby hair to help you both calm down.

a moment of quiet passes before you find the energy to whisper. “will you take me to see those floating lights now?” 

your innocent question causes satoru to snort sleepily, pressing a wet chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek as the sound breaks free from his cherry-bitten lips. “a deal’s a deal, honey. as soon as you untie me… we’ll hit the road.” 

neither of you move a muscle, however, still recovering from the sinful act you had just shared. 

you use the time to reflect, a sense of excitement dawning on you. you were going to leave the tower. you were going to see the floating lights on your birthday. and most importantly, you were directly disobeying your mother to prove your capableness. and all you had to do to get your fairytale happy ending was give a handjob to a very handsome, very willing stranger. 

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[smileysuh]

Love Plug

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”

tw/cw. weed/drug use, shotgunning (kissing after John's taken a hit from a joint), reader likes wine, alcohol, plug!Johnny, unprotected sex, oral (f/m receiving) face riding, big dick john, 69-ing, size kink, grinding, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, ass groping, hand job, creampie/filling kink, cumming together, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.9k

🍭 aus. plug/drug dealer!Johnny, semi-strangers to lovers, Valentine's Day, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know this is slightly late, as it's Valentine's Day themed, but I hope ya'll like it anyway! big thank you to @sehunniepotwrites, my beta reader, my fellow John lover, my bestie- Love you girlie, thank you for helping me edit this to get it posted on time 💕

Being alone on Valentine’s Day is never fun. It would be one thing if you were with your girlfriends, but today, you’ll truly be alone. Everyone is busy, people are working, or with significant others- you feel like you’re the only person without plans, and it’s driving you completely insane.

Your apartment is spotless, you’d gone on a cleaning bender to distract yourself from today’s date, but as three o'clock rolls in, you find yourself sitting on your couch and staring at the ceiling.

There’d been a time in your life when boredom would make way for addictive traits. Dopamine-filled hobbies that you’ve since done your best to squash. But as three becomes four and you have nothing to satiate yourself - not even the pink bottle of wine in your fridge has been able to drown your loneliness - you begin to consider more drastic measures.

You’d never been a stoner, per se, but you’d gone with your cousin a few times to pick up from her run-of-the-mill dealer. If anything can help you relax and watch a movie, you think it might be some Grade A Indica. 

Unknown number: Hi John, are you out today?

John: define out. Who is this

Unknown number: shit

Unknown number: my cousin gave me your number, I’ve picked up from you a few times

Unknown number: You probably don’t remember me but my name is y/n

John: I remember you

John: how much do you need?

Unknown number: I’m thinking $100 worth?

John: I’ll bring my shit. Text me your address and I can be over within the hour

Usually, when your cousin has gotten in contact with John, he comes to her apartment and the two of you go outside, filing into his truck. He has a duffle with jars full of weed, shatter, and the like. You give him money and he helps you decide what your night is going to look like.

When John calls you half an hour after you’ve texted him, you’re already almost at your door. “I’ll be down in a sec,” you tell him, searching for your keys.

“How about you buzz me up instead?” he suggests. “I’m outside the front door.”

You freeze for a moment. As far as you know, John’s never come up to your cousin’s apartment, and the idea of inviting the sexy local plug up into your one bedroom is sketchy… but at the same time, you’re feeling kind of desperate. 

“Okay, type my apartment number into the keypad and I’ll let you in. The elevator will take you to my floor.”

You hang up, and a moment later your phone rings again. You press the buzz-up key and hold your breath.

You’re not sure if you’re scared of being alone with John because he’s a drug dealer or if you’re frightened of your own lack of self-control. John’s one of the sexiest men you’ve ever seen and this is Valentine’s Day. You’d been planning on maybe getting a little high, pulling out your vibrator, and having a good time with yourself… but if you could have a good time with him…

You give your head a shake, reaching for your bottle of wine. You pour the last bit of it into a cup, lifting it to your lips while you wait for the local plug to arrive at your door.

When he knocks, you practically jump, heart lurching in your chest. You scurry to your door, not wanting to make him wait- not wanting any of your neighbors to see the tall, sexy, tattooed man standing outside your home.

John greets you with a grin. “Special delivery,” he jokes, stepping past you and into the apartment and looking around. “You’ve got a nice place.”

“Thank you.” 

You watch him head into the living space. He walks as if he’s been here before, as if he belongs here. The duffle makes a thumping sound when he nonchalantly sets it onto your small dining table, but John doesn’t immediately open it to show you the product like he does when you’ve bought from him before.

“Is it just me, or does it feel kind of sad in here?” John asks, turning to look at you.

“Hmm?” 

“I just mean…” he gestures around, “spotless house, a pretty girl alone on Valentine’s Day… you haven’t bought from me in a while, sweet thing, I kind of thought you’d quit.”

“I did quit-” you stutter, “I mean… I was never a huge stoner or anything, so I wouldn’t say I quit-”

John grins while watching you search for an explanation. He leans back, palms flat on the dining table. The black v-neck he’s wearing shows off some of his chest piece and the tattoos on his neck are definitely a distraction as you try to formulate words.

“Look, all I’m saying is… I’d hate for you to lose your sobriety streak because you’re feeling lonely on Valentine’s Day.”

“I’m not exactly sober,” you scoff, reaching for your glass of wine.

“Is that a rosé?”

You look down at the liquid. “It’s a pink strawberry sparkling wine.”

“Sounds nice. Give me a taste.” He holds out a hand, and it’s clear that it’s more of a demand than a request, so with a sigh, you hand your cup to the local plug.

John swirls the glass, then he lifts it to his lips. He doesn’t sip, doesn’t take his time, he simply tilts his head back and downs the wine in two large gulps. When he’s done, he wipes his hand across his mouth, grinning mischievously. “Yummy.”

“That was the last of it,” you groan. “Now I have to hit the liquor store too.”

“Is it usual for you to get crossed, sweet thing? Weed and wine? You must really be feeling some type of way today.”

“So says the drug dealer working on Valentine’s Day.” You roll your eyes, annoyed that he’d downed your whole glass and isn’t cutting to the chase of your transaction.

“Ouch,” John laughs. “When did you get such a mouth on you?”

“Since you just drank an entire cup of wine in two seconds and started talking about my sobriety streak- are you going to sell me some weed or not?”

“For a girl with nowhere to be, you sound like you’re in a rush,” John muses. “You want to get me out of your home that badly, huh?”

“I mean, I would have preferred meeting you at your car,” you admit.

John simply shrugs. “And I wanted to see how dire your situation was. Clearly, it’s pretty fucked. Listen, we can still go down to my car if you want.”

“Will you sell me the weed if I go with you?”

“Nah, but I can take you out for a drink instead.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and your mind does mental gymnastics to make sense of the suggestion. 

Is he asking you out? 

Finally, you ask, “Aren’t you working?”

“The good thing about being your own boss is you can always say fuck it, I wanna go to a bar,” John points out. “So are you going to come with me and let me distract you better than weed would? Or are you going to mope around here with no wine, no weed, and no sexy plug to make you feel better?”

You definitely have a sexy plug or two hidden away under your bed that could make your day better- but you don’t tell John that. Instead, you let out a sigh. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”

“That’s the spirit, sweet thing, now let’s go on an adventure.”

The place he takes you to is a complete dive. It’s a dark ambiance, and as you settle onto a bar stool, you notice the stickiness of the counter in front of you. John, however, seems completely at home here. He doesn’t mind the alcohol-stained wood, leaning over it to speak to the bartender over the loud rock music that plays through the establishment. “Two shots of the regular,” he announces.

“You got it, Johnny,” she laughs, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey from one of the higher shelves.

“So I guess I don’t have to ask if you come here often,” you breathe.

“And I don’t have to ask if you’ve been here before. You stick out like a sore thumb, sweet thing. Relax a little.”

You let out a sigh. “Are we really going to do whiskey shooters?”

“I’m buying so I’m choosing,” John insists. “But if you want a cocktail or something, you can get that too, on me.”

So instead of taking your money today, he’s spending his money on you.

John is an enigma, and the confusion you feel has you more curious than ever.

“So how’d a guy like you get into your line of work?” you ask.

“He’s eighteen, gets stupid tattoos on his neck and hands, is rejected from other lines of work, and then discovers he has a talent for growing the best weed in town,” John responds. “Although, between you and me, I’m pretty good at growing orchids too.”

You had not pegged him as a plant guy. He’s always seemed so one-dimensional, and you realize now that your stereotype of him had been wrong. You’d never have thought John was the one actually growing the product he sells, and the idea of him nursing an orchid - a famously difficult flower - has your heart softening.

The bartender returns, setting two shots in front of you and John. “How’s your day going, Hyuna?” John asks, picking up a conversation with her.

“It’s going,” she sighs.

“Ouch, that doesn’t sound good,” John muses, pushing one of the shooters in front of you. “I thought you were seeing that new guy- the finance bro. Figured you’d be with him today.”

“I’m not sure he’s the commitment type.” Hyuna brushes her long dark hair over a shoulder, looking between you and John. “Besides, someone has to run this lonely hearts club here. You’re ruining the single vibe by bringing a date.”

“My bad for not introducing her, by the way,” John grins. His arm comes around the back of your chair, and he pulls you closer. “This is sweet thing, I’m saving her from making bad decisions today.”

“Yeah? And how are you doing that?” Hyuna laughs.

“By substituting one drug for another.” John picks up his shooter, turning to you. “To bad decisions.”

With a sigh, you grab your own shot, lifting it to clink against John’s. “To bad decisions,” you echo.

The whiskey is like fire as you shoot it, and you have to do your best not to sputter from how bad it tastes. You feel your face scrunch up involuntarily, and it earns laughs from Hyuna and John.

“I think we can all agree Johnny’s taste in alcohol is a bad decision,” Hyuna muses. “What can I get you, sweet thing?”

You order your drink of choice. John asks for three more shooters. When Hyuna sets them all down in front of you, John holds one out to her. “This one’s for you. I’m sorry it’s not working out with finance bro.”

Hyuna assesses the shot, then, with a groan, she grabs it. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“No one’s gonna care,” John insists. “And we both know your manager is in love with you. Just take the shot, babes.”

Hyuna rolls her eyes and downs the drink. She sets the glass down, her perfectly manicured black nails dragging along it momentarily. “You and your annoying tastes.”

“You’ll learn to love this,” John assures her. “You learned to love me, right?”

“After I got over how annoying you are.”

John only laughs. He downs another shot, bringing his total to three. Then he stands up abruptly. “Vape break,” he announces. “You girls better not have too much fun without me.”

You watch him leave, sipping on your cocktail. 

“So how did you two meet?” Hyuna asks, half turning to remove some glasses from the washer so she can polish them while you chat.

You lean forward, whispering, “He’s literally my plug.”

“John’s everyone’s plug,” Hyuna laughs.

“How about you? He’s a regular?”

“Yeah, but I also dated his sister once upon a time,” Hyuna explains. “He was her annoying kid brother. I did my best to be nice to him but things didn’t end so well with her- then three years later he came in here, all tattooed and wreaking of weed- He recognized me right away, and he’s been coming in here ever since. Tips good too.”

You’d been wondering about the specificities of their relationship. Hyuna’s gorgeous, like- one of the prettiest bartenders you’ve ever seen. Her lean arms are covered in intricate tattoos, her nails are filed to points, her hair is perfect, her cheekbones are prominent and her lips are puffy like pillows-

Who wouldn’t have a crush on her?

“He’s an interesting guy,” you muse finally.

“Don’t let his tattoos fool you,” Hyuna says, meeting your eye. “He’s a sweetheart. He just likes to look all tough because of his job.”

You consider what she’s just said.

“So…” your throat feels a little dry. “Does he often come in here with girls?”

“Never. And especially not on Valentine’s Day.” Hyuna sets a cup down, leaning over the bar top to get a good look at you. “So tell me, sweet thing, what’s the end goal here?”

“Hmm?”

“Johnny might be an annoying plug, but like I said, he’s a good guy. I’m not dating his sister anymore, but he’s still like a kid brother to me. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” There’s a beat of silence. “He’s giving you heart eyes, and he let you choose your own drink. John doesn’t even let me choose my own drink once in a blue moon when we go out. He’s also never cared about what drugs I do, so why does he care so much about you? What makes you so special?”

“I…” you set your cocktail down. “I really can’t answer that.”

Hyuna cocks her head, pursing her lips. “Girl to girl, don’t be a bitch to him. I’m the one he’s going to come crying to if you reject him really hard. Let him down softly, if you have to.”

“Honestly, girl to girl, I don’t even know if he’s into me that way.”

“Sweet thing,” Hyun scoffs, “you must be blind as a bat. Don’t you see the way he’s looking at you?”

“I sort of thought he was just horny for Valentine’s Day.”

The bartender lets out a barking laugh. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”

Your lips part to respond, but the door to the bar opens and John comes back inside. He lumbers over with a grin, taking the seat next to you. His arm slides around the back of your chair and he leans forward, looking between you and Hyuna. “So what did I miss?”

“Nothing important,” Hyuna lies. 

“In that case, I think I’m going to order a-”

“You’re aware that at some point I’ll have to take your keys away, right?” Hyuna raises a brow at John. “I just gave you three shots, you have one sitting in front of you still-”

“We both know I’m a heavyweight,” John insists.

“Sure you are,” Hyuna rolls her eyes, “and your skin is naturally pink.” 

You assess John. Hyuna must have good vision, because in the shitty lighting of the bar, you can hardly tell that John has definitely flushed from the alcohol. His cheeks are a rosy hue, and he looks as boyish as ever, a stark contradiction to the neck tattoos that are also beginning to blossom with color.

“How about this… two more shots,” John bargains, holding up three fingers.

Hyuna scoffs loudly.

“How about… two more shots,” John continues to hold three fingers, “And I’ll buy dessert so my body doesn’t turn into a complete whiskey barrel.”

“Two desserts and you have a deal,” Hyuna sighs.

“Two desserts it is.” John sits back in his chair. “What are you thinking, sweet thing? This place has a really good brownie, although, there's no weed in it.”

“We’ve also got apple pie with ice cream, tiramisu from the Italian place next door-” Hyuna does her best to be helpful, and you’re beginning to appreciate the tough love elder sister act thing she has going on.

You order the dessert that sounds most to your liking, and as you wait, John begins to ask about your cousin. “She’s a trooper,” he muses. “I sold her this massive thing of mushrooms last week and she texted me like two days ago asking for more.”

“She’s a heavy hitter for sure,” you agree.

“She told me once that she only does things like weed and shrooms because they come from the Earth,” John continues. “Never asks for links to cocaine or MDMA or anything- just the Earthy shit. She told me it’s cuz she’s a Taurus.”

You laugh. “That’s my cousin.”

“It was interesting meeting you for the first time,” John continues. “Your cousin gets into the car, knows exactly what strains of weed she wanted- pretty sure she was buying shatter. And there you are, asking for a blunt. Didn’t know if you wanted indica or sativa or a hybrid…” John shakes his head, as if it was the most baffling experience in the world. “In the end, I gave you some indica. Could tell you had a lot of anxiety and shit. I was kind of happy when you stopped buying, I’d hoped you’d found some other outlets or something.”

“I picked up wine,” you say, only half joking.

“Look, on our way back to your place to drop you off, I’ll stop and pick up a bottle for you to make up for what I drank earlier, deal?”

“Deal.”

John grins, and then you see his hand dipping down into his pocket. “Vape break.”

You watch John lumber outside again, and you release a deep sigh, meeting Hyuna’s eye. “Boys and their vapes.”

Dessert had helped mellow John out somewhat, and he’d actually been pretty law abiding while driving to the liquor store after. The two of you are now walking around the aisles, with John asking you all sorts of questions about your preferences when it comes to booze.

It feels shockingly domestic, especially when people go to move past you and John’s hand finds the small of your back, gently prompting you in front of him to make way for others to go by.

“What if I get us two bottles, and you let me come up for a movie,” John suggests as you reach for a replacement wine from earlier.

“What sort of movie?” you ask.

“Anything you want.”

“Are you sure I’m the only lonely one today?” you tease. “You’re being pretty clingy, John.”

“Anxious girls love a man that clings,” the plug insists. “Here, I’ll sweeten the pot for my sweet thing. Three bottles of wine, on me, and I’ll hand roll a blunt that will blow your socks off.”

“What happened to not wanting me to lose my no-weed streak?”

“I never said I’d let you smoke it, I just said I’d hand roll it and you’d be super impressed by my skills.”

You let out a laugh. It’s shocking how much your opinion of him has changed in a few short hours. You can’t believe how comfortable he’s making you feel.

“Fine. Three bottles,” you agree.

John grabs two more to join the one in your hand, and you head to the checkout. As you’re waiting in line, his phone rings, and he brings it to his ear.

“Hey, Mark…” John’s eyes meet yours. “I mean, I’m kind of busy… You really need it huh? Okay, give me a sec.” The plug presses his phone to his chest. “I’ve got a buddy who wants to link up. He lives pretty close by. It would take like… ten or fifteen minutes max. You good with that?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds okay.”

John lifts his phone back to his ear. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes. You better be waiting outside though, I told you I’m busy.”

A short while later, you’re sitting in the front passenger’s seat of John’s truck as he pulls up in front of an apartment building. A man in a hoodie and baseball cap is standing there, and he quickly gets into the back, giving you an odd look.

“Mark, this is sweet thing. Sweet thing, this is Mark,” John says smoothly.

“Dude. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

John ignores the comment. “How much are you spending today?”

“Five hundred.” Mark pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket. 

“The usual?” John asks, reaching down for the duffle by your feet.

“Half shrooms, quarter indica flower, quarter butter or shatter, whatever you think is best today.” 

“You got it.” John sets the duffle gently on your lap, rifling through it. He begins to pull things out, like a jar full of weed. As John sections it off into bags, Mark leans forward to get a better look at you.

“Sorry for interrupting your plans,” he says sheepishly.

“That’s okay,” you assure him.

“You guys up to anything fun?”

“Movie night,” John answers, tossing a baggie of weed back at his friend. 

“Nice.” Mark nods to himself, waiting patiently. 

Soon, John’s fulfilled the order. Mark hands the cash to the plug, and with one final nod and half smile, he gets out of the car. 

“So…” John’s hand returns to the wheel. “Movie night?”

You’re two glasses of wine into the movie when John begins to roll a joint. He’s seated next to you on the couch, his thigh just touching yours as he bends over the coffee table. For a guy with such large hands, he’s more adept than you would have thought he’d be at the fine-tuned movements needed to make the perfect joint.

You’re more enthralled by him than the movie at this point, and you can’t help the way your body reacts when he lifts up his nearly finished product to swipe his tongue across the paper. He seals the joint masterfully before turning to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna pop onto your deck for a moment to smoke this.”

“I’ll join you,” you tell him immediately, pausing the movie to stand up.

You follow him outside, momentarily taken aback by how cold it’s gotten. 

John pulls a lighter out of his pocket, and after one sharp flick, he begins to smoke the joint.

You like the way his jaw looks in the shadows of light from the deck lamp. He’s so handsome and regal-

The cloud of smoke he exhales is bigger than anything you’d ever be able to do yourself, and even that is sexy in some odd way.

“You’re really not going to give me a hit?” you ask.

“Nope.” John looks at you with a lazy expression and a half smile. “You’re the good girl, and I’m the bad guy, remember.”

“Bad guy,” you scoff. 

“Why are you laughing, sweet thing? I’m a plug with tattoos. I’m bad.”

“You’re a softie.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Says who?”

“Says me,” you insist.

“Yeah? And how do you figure?”

You think about it for a moment before responding. “You’ve taken care of me today… even though you didn’t have to.”

“Well, I wanted to.” John takes another puff, blowing it in your face. “It was pretty self-serving actually.”

You roll your eyes, waving away the smoke. “Sure it was, John.”

“Johnny,” he says quietly. “Call me Johnny.”

You stare at him, taking in his pretty face, the way his perfect lips wrap around the joint when he takes a puff. “Johnny… be for real. Why are you here?”

He lets out a laugh, but there’s little humor in it. “Isn’t it obvious?”

You shake your head, holding your breath while you wait for him to elaborate.

Johnny sighs. “Look. I’ve always liked you. I liked having you come around, needing an explanation about weed, and joints versus blunts, and indica versus sativa- it was like… it was like having a little bit of sunshine every once in a while. Then you stopped buying, and I was happy about that, but I also wasn’t. Hadn’t heard from you in months, didn’t have your number, couldn’t ask your cousin about you- you texted, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and I came up and saw you were alone- and… I don’t know… I just hate missed opportunities, and I couldn’t let this one pass me by.”

You’re really not sure what to say. His demeanor is usually kind of joking, he’s the type to always have a smile- but right now, he’s not smiling, not joking- he’s being dead serious. 

“I’m happy I messaged you.” You feel stupid as the words leave your lips, but they bring back Johnny’s boyish grin.

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” you step closer, looking up at the tall plug. “Thanks for taking me out for drinks.”

“It would have been a crime to leave a sweet thing like you alone on Valentine’s Day, and trust me, I know all about crime.”

God, he’s such a goof. Why is he so endearing?

“Do you know about shotgunning?” you ask.

Johnny’s brows furrow for a second. “I’m shocked you know about shotgunning.” 

“Do you wanna try it?”

The plug looks you up and down. “Is this a ploy to get at my joint?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head. 

Johnny leans forward, meeting your eyes as his lips almost brush past your own. “Liar.”

He pulls away, slotting the joint in his mouth. He watches you while taking a long drag. Then he’s removing the joint and bending down again, meeting your gaze. 

You lean forward, reaching to gently grab at his shoulders. Your heart is racing a million miles a minute in your chest, and you do your best to exhale, although it comes out shaky.

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

Johnny doesn’t have to be told twice, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He exhales the smoke into your lungs and you do your best to breathe it in, but Johnny’s so much bigger than you, and you have to pull away before he’s completely finished his breath.

You sputter a little, feeling tears in your eyes. There’s a rush through your body, and you feel a little wobbly, but your grip on Johnny keeps you standing. 

“John-” As soon as you’ve recovered, he’s kissing you again, but this time, it’s not for the purpose of shotgunning.

This time, he’s kissing you like he means it. 

Like he needs it.

His large hand cups your cheek, and he releases a soft groan when you kiss him back, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders to pull him closer. 

He tastes like weed and wine, and oddly enough it’s not a bad combination. As his tongue swipes past your lip and you open your mouth for him, you find yourself releasing a groan of pleasure. 

Johnny returns the sound. In the periphery, you’re aware of him flicking the joint to the ground in favour of grabbing you with both hands. First, he cups your hips, pulling you flush against him, but after a moment, he reaches down to squeeze your ass too.

You go for a breather, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your throat, teasing his tongue against your skin and making you shiver in the cold evening air.

“You know…” you thread your fingers through his hair, “if you won’t give me drugs to use for happy chemicals, the least you could do is give me an orgasm.”

Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look at you with eyes that somehow sparkle. “I thought that was a given, sweet thing.”

“It better be,” you tease, cupping the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours again.

This time, when the kiss deepens and Johnny bends down to cup your ass, he lifts you off the ground, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He pushes the door open behind you, taking you back inside.

You’re so lost in his lips you almost don’t realize he’s moved past your couch, and then he’s gently laying you onto your bed. “So how do you like it?” he asks, pulling away so he can tear his hoodie and shirt off, revealing a toned chest, and all the tattoos you’ve been itching to see.

“I like it any way you want to give it to me. Dealers choice.”

Johnny lets out a laugh. “You’re cute.”

“You’re cute,” you retort, hooking your fingers in his belt to draw him closer again.

Johnny presses a hand to the bed by your head, bending over you so he can kiss you. Your thighs wrap around him, pulling him fully on top of you while you’re locked in the hottest tongue battle of your life.

He’s just so big and sexy- the weight of him is enough to have you gasping, even though he’s still holding himself up with his elbow now propped into the bed. 

His free hand finds your hip, slipping under your shirt to trace your skin. Each brush of his fingers builds the fire in the pit of your stomach, and as he slowly moves to grasp your breast, you find yourself almost dying with need for him. 

You whimper lewdly against his lips, pushing your chest up toward his palm. With a bra in the way, you can’t get the proper stimulus against your nipple, and within moments of him massaging your tits, you begin to tear your shirt off, needing more.

Johnny helps you remove the fabric, tossing it to the side so his mouth can find your throat. “You’re so pretty,” he muses, reaching under you to undo the clasp of your bra. “Can I take this off?”

“Yeah, fuck- let's get naked.” 

Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look down at you. “You sure you didn’t drink too much wine, sweet thing?”

“I’m mostly sober.”

“And that shotgunning didn’t make you needy?”

“You make me needy,” you insist, cupping his face. “You know how you said you were into me months ago? When we first met, I swear I thought you were the sexiest plug I’d ever seen.”

“Probably the only plug you’d ever seen,” Johnny points out with a grin.

“John,” you meet his gaze, “earlier, when you first got here, I wasn’t even sure if I should invite you up. I was worried I’d lose my self-control and jump you or something- trust me, the physical attraction has always been there, but… getting to know you today, I like who you are inside too… so, just fuck me, yeah?”

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to us lonely hearts, huh?” 

Instead of answering, you kiss him again, tangling your fingers in his hair. Johnny groans when you tug gently, and he grinds his hips down against your own. You can feel the bulge of his cock as it drags against your core, and you’re pretty sure your panties are going to be ruined after this.

You can’t help yourself, you trace your hand down from his shoulders to his chest, then his abdomen- then you cup his cock, applying pressure that has him moaning again, thrusting against your hand for friction.

“I think I kind of want you in my mouth,” you admit breathlessly.

“That’s funny, I want you in mine.”

You think about it for a moment. “Sixty-nine?”

“Fuck, you’re a girl after my own heart, aren’t you, sweet thing?”

You can only grin, heart thundering in your chest as you push at Johnny’s shoulders, prompting him to roll onto his back.

“You take off your pants, and I’ll take off mine,” you suggest, getting off of him so you can work on your jeans.

Johnny doesn’t need to be told twice, and you watch the way his muscles ripple under his skin as he hurries to get naked. 

He’d never actually taken off your bra, so you do that yourself. In moments, you’re both completely nude.

You stare at Johnny, taking in his cock. 

He’s rock-hard and huge. It makes you excited, but you’re also not sure how well you’ll be able to take him. He must be at least seven or eight inches, and thick too, with a pretty mushroom tip that’s already leaking precum. 

He grins at your reaction. “Think you can handle this, sweet thing?”

“Something tells me you’ll make it fit.”

“You got that right,” he laughs. “Now come sit on my face, wanna taste that pretty pussy.”

There’s something so suave about half-baked Johnny. He speaks with an almost melodic tone, it’s deep and sensual, and your pussy throbs just from the words coming out of his mouth.

As you crawl onto the bed, getting into position, his hands are careful against your form, helping you settle as you swing a thigh over his head, hovering your core over his mouth. Instead of waiting for you to sit down, Johnny lifts himself up a little, burying his face in your pussy before you can even touch his cock.

“Fuck-” you whimper, grabbing the base of his length as he pushes his tongue deep inside of you, licking the length of your slit. 

You would love nothing more than to enjoy his mouth on you for hours- but you have your own job to do, and you’re already drooling. You bring his mushroom tip to your lips, gently licking at him.

Johnny’s large hands find your ass, and he squeezes you gently. “No teasing,” he mumbles, and the vibration against your clit has you squirming down on his face.

You take him into your mouth, sucking on the tip and twirling your tongue. Johnny immediately releases a groan before diving back into your pussy. He grabs your hips pulling you down tighter against his face.

It’s hard to know what to focus on. He feels so good with his mouth worshiping your pussy, but at the same time, you’re kind of obsessed with sucking his cock. He’s so huge, and you want to see how much you can take. You sink further onto his length, feeling your lips stretch at the intrusion-

God, he’s going to absolutely wreck your pussy. You can’t even fit half of him in your mouth before he’s hitting the back of your throat, and as you constrict around him, he releases lewd sounds of pleasure that have your core practically throbbing with need.

You pull off of him, if only to collect your saliva as lube so you can stroke what your mouth can’t reach. Taking a breath and steadying yourself, you grind gently against his tongue, moaning loudly. Then you take him past your lips again, getting lost in the act of simultaneous giving and receiving.

You’re lost in him, so lost that you don’t even know how long you’ve been in this position- but you can feel an orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach every time Johnny focuses on your clit.

You find yourself grinding harder against his face, and as the feeling builds, you can’t help but pull off of his cock, gasping and moaning. “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna-”

“Cum for me,” he groans, squeezing your ass as he kitten licks your clit. “Don’t hold back. Cum on my face, sweet thing, give me everything.”

You’re stroking his cock mindlessly, your muscles tensing as Johnny takes your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking-

“Oh my God-” you whimper, toes curling-

Your orgasm washes over you like a wave. It tingles through every inch of your being, throbbing out from your core. You and Johnny both release groans of satisfaction, and the knowledge that he’s enjoying having you cum on his face only makes your pussy clench tighter.

You’re practically riding his tongue now, chasing the last inklings of your high until you’re absolutely breathless. 

Johnny presses one last kiss to your clit, and then he’s tapping your ass gently. “Gonna roll onto your back and let me fuck you like the good girl you are?”

“God, yes,” you groan. Your legs are shaky but you get off of Johnny’s face, collapsing next to him. 

“Damn, sweet thing, that was a good one, huh?” Johnny laughs, sitting up and stroking your thigh.

“So good,” you whimper, still feeling the aftershocks.

Johnny gets between your legs, elbow pressing into the bed next to your head as he dips close to kiss your neck. “The way you were grinding against my face was so fucking hot.”

“Johnny-” You wrap your legs around him, feeling absolutely desperate for his cock.

“You’ll have to be a little patient for me, sweet thing,” Johnny sighs, one large hand cupping your breast and teasing past your nipple. “I’ve gotta stretch you out before you can take me.”

“What if I want you now?”

“Like I said,” his breath is hot against your throat, “you’ll have to be patient.”

“What if I want you to wreck me?”

Johnny laughs, pulling away to look at you. “You’re not as innocent as you look, are you, angel?”

You trace your fingers along the fine line, black and white, Japanese Oni mask tattoo that sits on his chest between his defined pectoral muscles. “Not when it comes to you.” 

The plug simply grins at your words, his hand trailing down until it reaches your core. Two thick fingers prod at your opening, and you spread your legs even wider to accommodate him. He teasingly dips the first digit inside of you and you release a moan at how good it feels, but he’s quick to pull it out and circle your clit.

“You know what you said earlier?”

He lets out a humming sound.

“About not teasing?” you correct. “If you’re making me wait for you to prep me, you better not take your sweet time with it.”

“You’ll have to let me take my time with you next time then.”

“Next time?” You cock a brow.

“Yeah,” Johnny ghosts his lips over your own. “Next time.”

“Deal, now finger fuck me open then give me your cock.”

“Jesus, I love it when you talk dirty,” Johnny groans, dipping his finger into your core again. “Tell me more.”

“You just feel so fucking good,” you groan, swiveling your hips. “Even one finger- you’re just so big- Johnny, how are you so big?”

“You haven’t really experienced the Big yet,” John points out, adding a second digit that he scissors inside of you, stretching you out for him.

In response, you reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him gently. “I’m gonna feel you inside me for days after this.”

“Especially if you let me fuck you tomorrow, and the day after- you could feel me forever if you wanted to.”

“Forever, huh?” You let out a whimper as his digits work harder inside of you, crooking up to stroke your g spot with shocking precision. 

“I’m still a little high, it’s making me… too honest.”

“I like honest,” you admit, cupping his face with your free hand, drawing his lips to yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too,” he whispers, kissing you deeper as he finger fucks you faster. “Okay, sweet thing, I think you’re just about ready for me- dripping all over my hand.”

“I’m ready,” you assure him, staring into those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.

“Should I grab a condom?”

“Are you clean?”

“Yeah. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t fuck around that often. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”

You giggle. “I’ve sort of noticed that.”

He kisses you again. “I can still grab a condom though.”

“No, I’m on birth control. I want you to fill me up with cock and cum until it’s all I can think about.”

“I can do that.” Johnny pulls his fingers out of your pussy, and before he can lick them clean, you grab his wrist and guide them to your own mouth. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, angel.”

You groan around his digits, sucking them clean. When you’re done, Johnny grabs your jaw, drawing your lips to his so he can taste you, his tongue gliding against your own. 

You’ve still got his cock in your hand, and you pump him gently, adjusting against the blanket to get closer to him so you can guide his tip toward your core.

Johnny takes the hint, and he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. His gaze dips to where your bodies meet, and he allows you most of the control as you drag his cock through your folds. “You really want this?”

“Just fuck me, John. Please don’t make me beg.”

He pushes forward, the tip of his cock sheathing in your tight core. “Holy shit,” Johnny groans.

“More.” 

Johnny can only laugh, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he thrusts deeper into you. The two of you hold your breath as inch after inch stretches you open. You’re so wet, and it makes the process easier, but you can still feel Johnny everywhere.

You’re a wriggling, moaning mess by the time he’s fully inside of you.

Johnny’s breath is hot against your skin, and his chest is rising and falling with effort, his bicep bulging next to your head. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Can I-”

“Rail me. Break my back. Murder my pussy.”

Johnny laughs, pressing his lips to yours to shut you up as he begins to move his hips, pulling out only to thrust back in. You can feel your insides practically quivering with each drag of his length against your walls. He’s so big, and you’re stretched to the brink- the vein along the underside of his cock is an added stimulus that has your toes curling already.

You’ll never be the same after this.

No one’s cock is ever going to compare and you just know it.

Johnny’s lips can’t muffle the sounds of pleasure still escaping you, and you grab at his broad shoulders, tracing your nails against his skin.

It’s so easy to get lost in Johnny. He makes you feel safe, and the pleasure he’s giving you has time flying by like nothing else. Johnny’s mouth goes to your throat, teasing the spot that has you moaning even louder.

“Can I flip you over? Wanna see that ass.”

“Do anything you want with me,” you tell him, and you mean it.

With one last kiss, Johnny pulls out of you. His large hands find your hips. He manhandles you over, pulling your ass back and up so he can push into you again. 

“Fuck,” you groan, grabbing at the bed sheets. “You’re even deeper like this-”

Each time his front meets your ass, the slapping sound turns you on even more. He’s practically rearranging your guts like this, and you don’t mind it one bit.

“Do you wanna rub your clit for me, sweet thing?” Johnny asks. “You’re so fucking tight around me, and I’m so sensitive when I smoke- not sure I’ll be able to last long, and I want you to cum with me. Wanna feel this pretty pussy all clenched and dripping-”

Every word has your body tingling, and you bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles. 

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“That’s it, angel. You feel so fucking good- so fucking good for me.” He grabs fistfuls of your ass, squeezing in a way that has you crying out. “Who’s my good girl?”

“Me!”

“Who’s taking this cock so fucking good?”

“Me!” 

“Fuck-” Johnny lets go of your ass, wrapping a hand around your throat. He helps lift you up until your back is curved, shoulders pressed to his chest. His lips find your neck, hand dipping down to grasp your breast roughly, pinching your nipple.

“I’m gonna-”

“I know, sweet thing, me too-” He’s fucking into you like a god damned fuck machine, and each circle of your fingers on your clit has you closer and closer to the edge- “Fuck, okay, I’m there- shit, yeah, I’m there- you’re gonna cum with me, right? Gonna cum on my cock and let me fill you up?”

All you can do is whimper, your body fulfilling his ask before your brain can even fully process it. Your core clamps down hard on his cock, and Johnny releases a deep groan in your ear. He holds you close, squeezing you as his thrusts get erratic.

You can feel him cumming deep inside of you, and you’ve never felt this cock drunk in your life. 

Nothing matters except Johnny and his huge cock filling you up to the brink. His lips are hot on your throat, and he fucks you through your highs, your pussy fluttering around him as wave upon wave of pleasure rocks through you.

As you both finish, he pushes himself fully inside of you. You can feel his cock throbbing, and his groans are music to your ears. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers, letting out a soft laugh as he nuzzles against your cheek.

“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day,” you giggle, grabbing the hand on your breast and lifting it to your lips so you can kiss his palm.

He holds you for a few more moments, then he gently lowers you to the bed, cock still inside of you. “I’m gonna pull out,” he says, smoothing a hand over your ass. “You don’t mind if I watch it drip out of you for a second, right?”

“I’m just laying here,” you smile against the quilt. 

Even so, it feels like a loss as he takes his cock out of your aching pussy. His hands are on your ass and he spreads your cheeks. “Fuck, sweet thing. This is the prettiest view in the whole fucking world.”

When you’d texted Johnny earlier for a link-up, you’d never expected this. Never expected to see this softer side of him. 

You’re so fucking happy you reached out- he provided more than what you’d asked for.

“I busted a fat load in you, angel,” Johnny laughs, his thumb moving to rub your clit, causing you to whine and push back against him. “How about we go for a shower. I can wash you up, eat you out some more-”

“Damn, Johnny, are you pussy drunk?”

“Uh huh.” He leans over you, kissing up your spine and to your shoulder. “Valentine’s Day isn’t over yet, we should make the most out of it, right?”

You get the sneaking suspicion that you’re going to be making the most out of it with Johnny for many days to come, Valentine’s Day be damned. God. Your cousin is going to have a freak when she hears about this.

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I know it's late by three days but this John still has me in the Valentine's Day spirit

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🔮 preview. “You’ll like this. You always like this. You love cumming on my cock. But you don’t get my cum unless I get yours, that’s the deal, right?”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, grinding on his thigh, hand job, oral (m receiving) blow job, he spits in y/n’s mouth, spit as lube, masturbation, y/n touches herself while blowing Johnny, fingering masturbation, y/n rides his cock, multiple reader orgasms, praise, gentle degradation, dirty talk, breast worship/tit sucking,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You’ve gotten accustomed to your plug boyfriend. You’d only been dating for a month when he’d officially asked you to be his, but you know the two of you were exclusive to each other since that very first night you’d fucked. 

Being with John is pretty easy- but his odd work schedule can be a bit of a pain. He never knows how busy he’s going to be, so you can plan date nights, but sometimes he has to push it back a few hours to do unexpected late-night deliveries.

If you’d been cock drunk for him after the first time he’d fucked you, you’re even more dependent on him now.

No drug in the world could fill you up and give you the pleasure that Johnny’s cock does, and you’ve become a little impatient when you have to wait for him to complete deliveries… although, you’d never bring it up with him

You know being a plug is his job. It’s what pays the bills and allows him to dote on you in ways you’d scarcely been able to imagine before meeting him.

Even so, you can feel your skin crawling, pussy practically aching with anticipation as he completes the last handful of orders for the night. He’d initially wanted to be over at your place by seven, but it’s nearly ten now, and you’re three hours behind on the fuck marathon you’d planned.

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[auroralwriting]

clean 1

tfatws! bucky barnes x stark! reader (no use of y/n)

after the fight with john walker, you can tell bucky's arm was bothering him. so, you make a trip to see him.

word count: 1.6k | warnings: strong language, multiple parts, part two

Your suit was practically scarp metal after the fight with John Walker. He had tried his hardest to absolutely obliterate your suit. Thankfully, Tony had done a great job of designing it. With a few hours of repairs, it would be good as new.

The one thing you worried about was Bucky's arm, specifically the metal one. You saw how Walker had thrown Bucky across the room into wiring, causing it to shock Bucky's whole body. It made you uneasy to think about wether or wether not the arm was in tact, that and the fact that if it wasn't, it could very well lead to a lot of pain for Bucky.

So, using Friday, you found Bucky's new address. He'd taken residence in a small apartment in Brooklyn, thankfully, not too far from where you were reclaiming the Stark Tower. One car ride later, and you stood outside Bucky's apartment feeling more nervous than you thought you would be.

While Bucky and you weren't on bad terms, it was fair to say he was still uneasy around you. I mean, he had killed your parents, and your only living relative (minus the small Morgan) was also dead. You'd been a baby when The Winter Soldier killed Howard and Maria, so how could there be any bad blood between you and Bucky? You didn't even know what you had lost. That and you were more down-to-earth than Tony, realizing quickly the guilt and shame Bucky felt for his mind-controlled actions.

Using up the last bit of confidence you had, you knocked on Bucky's door. It took less than a minute, and Bucky's surprised face was staring back at you.

"Uhm, hi," You said awkwardly.

"How'd you know where I live?" Bucky asked, confused.

You held up your phone, Friday's screen appearing. "Just a quick scan of all James Buchanan Barnes in the area. Not very many," Your joke fell flat as you stood awkwardly while Bucky processed what was happening.

"Why're you here?" He asked.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay after the fight with Walker." You replied. "I saw you get thrown into all those wires, I saw all the sparks."

Bucky gave a small shrug, "I'm alright."

You eyed his arm suspiciously, "That arm causing you any pain?"

Both eyes now fell on Bucky's arm. You looked back up to Bucky to see him staring at it still. "It's been better," He sighed, his reply honest.

"I can fix it if you'd like?" You suggested. Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head at your words, "Or not!" You quickly added. "I, uh, don't want to make you feel weird..er than you probably already do."

Bucky went to move his arm, and you saw the traces of pain etched into his features. "It'll be alright."

"Our fight isn't over yet, Bucky." You argued. "You should be at your best." You took a deep breath in, finding more confidence from deep within, "I promise I won't judge you if that's what you're worried about. I mean, Tony literally had a hunk of metal plunged in his chest, and he made me clean it out all the time, it was really gross and-"

"Alright, alright," Bucky held his hands up. "I don't wanna hear about Tony's gross chest-hole. Just, come on in." The door opened all the way as Bucky walked inside. You trailed behind, slowly shutting the door behind you as you observed the apartment. It was really empty, just a small couch and a coffee table in front of it. The kitchen looked rather bare, too.

You took a seat on the couch, Bucky sitting next to you. You set your toolbox down in between the both of you, putting some space between your bodies.

"I need to see the connection point, if you don't mind?" You said softly, looking to Bucky's covered shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," He muttered as he hesitantly slipped off his shirt. You quickly noticed the healing scars on his shoulder, all around the joint, but you made sure to pay no attention to them as you hovered your hand over his arm. "It's fine," He said, watching your hesitantcy.

The metal was cool on your hands as you felt around it, looking for the weak point. Once you found it, you grabbed your tools and began to work at it. You weren't used to working in silence, so you tried to make some conversation.

"Steve, uh, used to tell me a lot about you." You said. Bucky raised a brow at you as you continued. "You were his knight in shining armor, or something of the sorts."

"I guess I was," Bucky gave the smallest hint of a smile. "How'd you learn how to do this anyways?"

You shrugged as you grabbed a new tool, "Tony taught me everything I know. Engineering, chemistry, physics, you name it."

"It must've been hard, just you two." Bucky said softly.

Looking up, you shook your head, "Don't start that," You said.

"But it's my fault-"

"For the last time, Bucky, that was the Winter Soldier, not you. I do not blame you, there's no reason to keep hurting yourself over this." You cut Buck off, voice slightly sharp with intention. Bucky's eyes fell on the other side of the room as you sighed, "Tony would have forgiven you, too. He just needed time."

Bucky scoffed, "He had five years."

"Of which we were gone," You countered. "I forgive you for him and myself, okay?"

“Don’t say that,” Bucky shook his head. “Just.. don’t?”

You set down your tool, staring at him. “Do you want proof?”

This gained Bucky’s interest, “Proof?” He asked, voice laced with doubt. “What proof?”

“Who do you think protected your whereabouts in Wakanda?” You asked, “Steve and Sam were on the run. Of course Tony knew you were there. I remember when he got the call. He just sat there for a while, thinking. When we talked about it, he said he was glad you were getting help.”

“What else did he say?” Bucky said with a knowing look in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, “It’s Tony, Buck. He says anything and everything and means almost none of it.” Bucky didn’t expect you to use his nickname. He liked the sound of it coming from your voice.

“That doesn’t mean he forgave me.” Bucky said.

“Well I do, okay? So stop being such a grump. I’m trying to be your friend, just let me, would you?” You sighed as you began to work on his arm again.

The soldier gave a small sigh, “Stop wasting your time on me when you have a company to run.”

“Stop trying to push me away. Also, Pepper’s helping me run it, so I have all the time in the world.” You argued.

After a brief moment of silence, Bucky spoke again. “I’m still not sure I’m safe to be around,”

The honesty surprised you, making you glance up at him to observe his face. “I’m literally face to face with your arm, tool inside it, and you wanna say you aren’t safe?”

Your comment made Bucky give a small chuckle, “That’s not really what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” You asked.

Bucky gave a shaky breath, “In Madripoor, when I had to take down those guys when I was pretending to be.. him,” Bucky explained, “It’s like I could still feel him trying to break free.”

You set a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, making sure to avoid his scars. “Bucky, Wankanda said you’re a free man. The Winter Soldier’s gone.”

“Maybe I’m just so used to violence now.” Bucky offered, “Maybe it’s who I am.”

“No,” You replied quickly. “You are Bucky Barnes. You’re Steve’s best friend, Sergeant Barnes. You’re Sam’s friend, my friend, and you’re a survivor. You’re one hell of a fighter, you’re a victim who pushed through all his pain and suffering to become a better man, and that’s exactly who you are.” Your words left Bucky feeling like he could cry, but he just looked away. You didn’t know whether what you said was right or wrong.

“Thank you,” Bucky muttered as you began to work on his arm again.

“It’s no problem, Bucky.” You responded. You silently worked, trying to ignore the burning sensation of Bucky’s eyes poring holes into your head.

"This world doesn't deserve you," Bucky muttered as you worked. You simply hummed in reply, making Bucky's forehead crease. "I mean it, Stark. You're one of the best people in this world."

Rolling your eyes, you put away the last of your tools. "Bucky, I'm just being a decent person."

Bucky's eyes burned with a new passion, "No decent person would do all you've done for everyone you've ever come across." Before you could protest, Bucky's metal hand grabbed your chin softly. "Don't even try to argue, I know it can be hard for a Stark but can you hold your tongue?" When you didn't reply, Bucky continued. "You're so humble, so fuckin' sweet. I mean, you came all this way just to fix my arm."

"And to check on you," Your voice came out babbled as Bucky's hold on your chin was still present.

"I don't deserve your kindness," Bucky admitted, "But here you are, giving me all of it." His eyes bore into your own, his own actions betraying his mind as he slammed his lips tightly onto your own. It took you by surprise, but you happily returned the heated kiss as Bucky's hand slithered behind your neck.

"You deserve all of it, the whole world," You mumbled as you pulled away breathlessly. "The world did you dirty, and I'll be the one to wash you of it." With your words, Bucky felt his eyes water as he kissed you passionately again.

Once you pulled apart, Bucky wiped your lips with his thumb, a small smile on his lips. "Does that mean you're gonna stick around?"

"Yeah," you giggled, "I think it does."

[genderkoolaid]

some misc thoughts on child abuse and adultism/ageism:

in House M.D 2x16, the patient is a disabled teenage girl, melinda. she's had multiple life-threatening allergic reactions, the last of which led to a car accident which resulted in her needing a heart transplant. her mother is shown to be extremely protective of her (not allowing her to attend public school, not letting her go outside, restricting who can visit her) and this is a major issue in her and her daughter's relationship.

about halfway through the episode, melinda goes missing from her room. one member of houses' team, foreman, realizes she is trying to get outside and went to the roof. he finds her sitting in the stairwell, distressed. melinda reveals that her mother was always extremely controlling over her- the point of not allowing her to do seemingly any after-school activities- long before she got sick, and that her daughter's heart transplant "gave her what she always wanted." foreman responds by saying that, because of her current illness, it's "an insane time to criticize your mom for being overprotective."

melinda expresses that her mother's abusive behavior has now been retroactively justified by her disability; she is seen as "insane" for being distressed by what is clearly a life of restricted autonomy. the scene ends with a line that has stuck with me since seeing it: melinda looks up at the stairwell and says softly, "i didn't even try to get outside. i was too scared."

the actual plot of the episode isn't the point. the point is that we tend to view "children abused by foreign adults" and "children abused by their parents" as two separate categories with opposing needs. children being taken advantage of by strangers should have been monitored and restricted. like the mother in the episode, the parent assumes that being more protective = the child being more safe. the correct way to handle child abuse is parental vigilance. sure, maybe this behavior encourages some abusive parents (who are probably the minority anyways, because I would never abuse my child!), but that's just the price we pay for making sure the other children are safe?

what i think this episode shows- accidentally, seeing how they never actually take melinda's abuse seriously- is how you can be fucked over twice. a child who is being abused by someone online can also be abused by their parent- are probably even more likely to experience that because of an abusive home. and then, if that outside abuse is realized by the parent, it retroactively justifies their behavior. it proves not just to them but the adult world that controlling behavior is rational and helpful- clearly, the abuse was caused because they didn't control enough.

and in both the episode and this hypothetical, the parent's reaction- while it may include genuine feelings of love- also comes across as being more distressed over the violation of one's possession than being distressed on another person's behalf. the child is an extension of you, and thus any desires it has that conflicts against your own are like an autoimmune disease. something to be shut down as fast as possible. vulnerable children, abused children, the "sympathy" given to them is a double-edged sword because as soon as you aren't the quiet, docile creature who agrees with whatever the adults say, you are crazy and ungrateful and "don't you realize we just want what's best? look at what happened to you!"

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism: "No thank you! I have a partner!"

Silly. G/N. Y'all probably seen the meme. Your partner comes home drunk and doesn't recognise you. Masterlists

Gun Park, Ryuhei Kuroda, Goo Kim, DG, Vin Jin, Jake Kim, Samuel Seo

Loud scratching and thumps at your front door wakes you. You wonder whether to arm yourself with a frying pan and then you hear your boyfriend muttering slurred profanities.

A loud bang reverberates through your home as he stumbles, drunk, through the door.

With a sigh, you crawl out of bed to check the state they're in.

Gun gazes at you, bleary-eyed and half focused. Slightly swaying on his feet, a very unusual sight of someone usually in full control of their body.

Then something clicks in his brain, eyes hardening just before he looks away. He tells you, tone disinterested, that he's a taken man.

"I don't know how I ended up here, but don't get the wrong idea."

He turns around, exits his own living room, exits his own home, and sleeps outside the apartment in the hallway instead.

.

.

"Yeah you're pretty cute," Ryuhei mumbles, words slurring together, "But my partner is cuter."

He pulls his phone out, drops it twice, unlocks it on the third attempt and shows you a picture - one that you have seen, actually one that you took of him smooching you on the cheek.

"Aren't they cute?" He beams, utterly besotted. "Let me just crash here," he says as he collapses on the sofa. "If you touch me I'll scream."

.

.

"Get your hands off me!" Goo screeches, slapping you away as you try to undress him and get him ready for bed. "My my, you're forward aren't you?"

Goo leans forward and gives you a smile halfway between utterly charming and complete sleazeball.

Then, all bravado evaporates and he sighs.

"Oh sweetheart you would be just my type, but," he pushes you off the bed, "I'm taken and very happy about it."

He lies down, burritoing himself and turning his back to you. "You can make your own way out."

.

.

Vin fiddles with his sunglasses, peering approvingly at you.

Even in his drunken haze he can tell that damn, you're fine. Except. He is also lucid enough to realise he is not looking respectfully anymore and he thinks of you, his ride or die, and his face completely changes.

He frowns and asks you what the hell you are looking at. That you have no chance. He has a partner at home that is much hotter, much better, thank you very much and yeah he's an asshole but he's not going to cheat so back the fuck off.

You roll your eyes, hackles would have been much higher if he wasn't actually being sweet in his own way.

.

.

DG takes a moment to process the situation. And when he does, he gets it completely wrong.

He plasters on his k-pop smile. The one reserved for winning over fans, interviewers and for his insincere apology videos.

"Did you want an autograph?" He pulls out a photocard from his inner pocket and a pen (and wow, you did not realise he carried a stack of his photos. You are not going to let him live this down) and scribbles his signature that comes with some love hearts and sparkles and passes it over to you.

"Here you go," he holds it out to you in both hands, not before mumbling under his breath, "You're cute but shit if you turn into another stalker..."

.

.

Jake is already asleep on the sofa by the time you pad out, which must be some super power in itself.

"Wake up," You give his shoulder a shake. He frowns, then cracks one eye open. "Come to bed."

He grunts something indecipherable and attempts to roll his oversized frame on your undersized sofa.

"Jake, cmon."

You start to drag him to your bedroom, your touch finally waking something inside and he bolts upright, removing your hands firmly off him.

"I have a partner." He tells you with no room for any misinterpretation. "But," he scratches absentmindedly at his stomach, "Do you have any food?"

.

.

Samuel does as he's told. Obediently removing his trousers, and unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off-

(Truly, you had no ulterior motive, you just wanted to remove the stink of alcohol.)

When, maybe for the first time in his life, he is afflicted with modesty and a startling clarity.

He yanks his shirt back on and pulls his trousers on with surprisingly sober efficiency.

"Absolutely not," he glowers at you, "This is not happening. I'm taken."

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Quick Notes:

This is when both reader/you and Alastor are both alive. (... we'll probably end up in hell later on btw so stay tuned...)

Reader is an artist/painter.

Part 3:

Shutting the door to your house, you slide down to the floor, back against the door. Your hands come up to your chest, clutching the fabric of your shirt, heart racing.

Looking around the room, you felt suffocated. Every inch of the wall had some reminder of your husband, paintings, photographs, newspaper clippings of every accomplishment and accolade of his. It made you want to tear your hair out.

A silent scream leaves your throat as tears run down your face. Silent crying was something you've mastered after all these years..

But never have you cried and broken down like this, with something giving you a glimmer of hope. That something was Alastor, he made you feel appreciated, you felt free when you were with him, like all your worries were washed away and you were helplessly in love.

With the realization that you were in love, your hands fell to the ground with a quiet thud. For too long had you suffered the control, the physical and mental abuse at the hands of your husband and your family that only saw you as a pawn- a means to an end for them.

The tears dried up as you sat there silently for hours till the sun rose, feeling like an empty husk of a human. It took you a long time before you could collect yourself.

Though you felt so weak, you had to go out and do some errands. Having to keep up the image of perfect housewife, after all.

With a vacant and empty look in your eyes, you left the house, barely presentable.

You didn't even know what you were going out for, but you'd find something, anything.

During your walk around town, looking for something to buy so you wouldn't go home empty-handed, an odd feeling and urge came over you to take a route home that you've never taken before.

The way you took this time was full of twists and turns, leading to many shady backstreets and alleyways.

One sign reading "Arabella's Apothecary" caught your eye, prompting you to enter.

The door opens with a chime, the shopkeeper giving you a smug smile, "Welcome in dear, how can I help ya this fine morn'?" You nervously tell her that you were just looking around.

The shopkeeper, who you found out was indeed Arabella, like the sign outside indicated, "You know, people don't just come in here for nothin'... Hun, I think we both know you're looking for a key to freedom."

Arabella's words shook you to your core, "A... key? T-to freedom?" You laugh nervously, wondering if this woman was a witch. But then it came to you, maybe you did need... something.

She laughed at your face, "Bwahaha, I can read you like an open book! I'm no witch, I just deal in... specialty medicines, you might say."

After a short conversation with Arabella, you find yourself in possession of some arsenic. This little powder was your freedom, and you thank your lucky stars that fate guided to this back alley hidden apothecary shop.

During the week of your husband's absence, you didn't visit Mimzy's bar at all, actually. You were planning your husband's demise. You had to be methodical, careful, every single minute detail needed to have a plan and a backup plan- including your escape and how you would remove yourself from suspicion of being involved in your husband's death.

When your husband opened the door, announcing his return, you felt a pit form in your stomach. The bile rose in the back of your throat at the thought of freedom being so close and yet so far.

According to your plan, your husband would be dead in the next couple of weeks. It would be hell to not visit Mimzy's bar in hopes of seeing Alastor again, but if everything went according to plan, you'd be free of your shackles. So two weeks, give or take a few days, was nothing compared to the near decade of pain you've had to endure.

There were a few close calls during this time, but your husband was just diagnosed with food poisoning each time until he was found dead at his desk at the office he worked at.

You had slowly poisoned him slowly and consistently enough to evade suspicion. You knew this much when the police came knocking on your door informing you that your husband was found dead. The gates holding back the flood were unlocked, and you crumpled to the floor crying. The police tried to console you, but little did they know that you secretly crying from being overjoyed at the news.

At the funeral, your family and in-laws looked at you with distaste and all they did was tell you to get out of their faces, telling you what a disappointment you were for failing as a wife to keep your husband happy and healthy.

That was all you needed to hear. You turned away from them and left town, not bothering to stop by your home. You left only with the clothes on your body, making your way to Mimzy's bar. If anyone was able to help you, it would be Mimzy, your only true friend in the world.

You get to Mimzy's bar a bit too early, sometime in the evening, as usually the bar only opens late at night. So Mimzy was prepared to ward off any suspicious people that could get the bar/speakeasy in trouble, but she rushed up to you immediately, fawning over you, seeing you in all-black funeral attire with puffy eyes, " (Y/N)! Darlin'!! What happened to you??"

Mimzy ushers you into her office, gives you a warm cup of tea and a blanket as she barrages you with more questions. You smile weakly at her and make her promise not to tell a soul, and she pinky promised that she would take your secrets to the grave. And she kindly offered for you to stay with her as long as you needed.

You took Mimzy up on her offer, but you offered to help out at the bar for as long as you did. It was the only way you would accept her generosity.

-> Part 4

[pixiesfz]

woozy tillies x reader

plot: you get your wisdom teeth taken out

warnings: none

your eyes squeezed as you groggily woke up, Sam removing her eyes from the window as she heard your groans.

“Hey he said the pain would come back quick but it will come down” she instructed walking over to you to see your eyes wide.

“I’m gonna die”.

Sam hid her smile “no” she paused “no you’re not”

Since you were younger you weren’t allowed in the surgery alone and since your parents still lived in Australia your national skipper had decided to step up.

Sam had heard that usually people who get their wisdom teeth out are a bit droopy afterwards but you were usually very serious and focused on your career that Sam had volunteered to be with you after the surgery.

The whole team was in London for the break, most had come to hang out but some had just come to purely see you after the surgery.

“I am gonna die!” You cried, tears now falling down your eyes “my team is so gonna be mad at me”

“Your team won’t be mad at you”

“So I AM dying?… I’m feeling woozy here”

Sam mentally punched herself and ignored your impression of stu matcher “no-“

“She’s awake!” The dentist opened the door and Sam pushed herself back whilst you wiped your tears away.

The dentist explained everything to the two of you and you were confused the entire time, the information going from one ear and through the other.

Once you left the dentist you were met with your teammates outside, Ellie holding a ‘get well soon’ balloon that you accidentally let go of as you all watched it fly in the air.

You then cried again.

“Mum?” You asked, turning to Mini as even Harper laughed at her “you look silly” she pointed at you and you looked down at her, squinting your eyes as you pointed

“You look silly”.

After taking you through a McDonald’s to get cold ice-cream, you didn’t have enough control to eat it normally, resulting in ice cream all over your face.

Resulting in your teammates having a field day on their social stories.

You threatened to end their lives.

Kyra was probably the worse, after poking at your cheeks making you cry out in pain she wasn’t allowed to be with you alone, unless she had Charli, mini or Steph with her.

Mackenzie, Alana, and Caitlin used their Snapchat stories to show all the tillies fans your ‘eventful’.

“I see Jesus” you established whilst you were watching TV and Sam laughed out loud “where?” Hayley asked and you snuggled up to her “on the screen” you whispered and Teaghan cackled loudly “it’s just Tom Hanks” She said pointing at the screen as the team watched cast away.

“Wilson!” You cried out

It’s now dinner time and you had now asked in Courtney’s words a ‘bagillion’ stupid question and cried ten times more than a ‘bagillion’.

You cried at her statement.

You watched as the girls ate food and you were stuck with a 2 minute soup that you were 80% sure is out of date.

As dinner died down so did the funny gas as you dissociated from all the conversations which did not go past the senior mentors of your team who ate their dinner quickly.

The pain was still there but you had grown very quiet when dinner ended, you looked towards Sam who nodded “ready to go bed?” You nodded.

“Hey guys I’m going to go to sleep, I’m really tired” you announced and all the girls nodded, some agreeing and getting ready to go home.

Your heart swelled with happiness watching the team hug you goodbye and sending their wishes.

You were cared for, even if they’re annoying as shit.

[rememberwren]

Dichotomy of Thought || 11

Past and further chapters here.

Simon and Johnny make up.

|| Chapter warnings: Anal fingering, anal sex, baby-trapping, medication tampering, medication control.

-

Your boyfriend manages your medications, a one-man pharmacy. 

Every morning the pills are waiting for you on the table in the foyer beside where you deposit your keys in the evening. There are two of them. 

The first is oblong, tan. Your boyfriend hoards and hides the bottle, but you’d fished the information pamphlet that came from the pharmacy out of the trash, and you know everything there is to know about it from that page jam-packed with text. Sertraline, 50mg. Otherwise known as Zoloft. Just swallowing the tasteless pill makes you remember the even darker days than the ones you’re living now, the ones that had led you to that waiting room with your boyfriend in the seat beside you waiting for a doctor to see you. How do I know if I’m depressed, you had asked the doctor, bold as anything even with your boyfriend’s hand on your knee, or if my life just isn’t worth living? 

You’d learned. By God, you’d learned. 

The other pill is your birth control. Round, sometimes blue, sometimes white, depending on where you are in your cycle. Today it is white and—

It looks—different. 

He wouldn’t, you think to yourself, thumb nudging at the pill in your palm, like seeing it from a different angle might jog your memory of it. He wouldn’t do that. A kid is the last thing he wants. He wouldn’t sacrifice his own freedom just to keep you trapped underneath his thumb. 

Except—wouldn’t he? 

“Hurry it up,” he says, yawning, like you kept him up late last night. “I want to go back to bed.” 

You try to take a picture of the pill in your mind before you drop it onto your tongue, taking a swig from your water tumbler, but your brain feels so scrambled that you forget it right away. You can’t even remember the color—had it truly been white, or had it been the pale sky blue of  robin’s egg?

It goes down like a lump of chalk. He makes you show him your empty mouth before he’s satisfied that you aren’t cheeking the pills, and then he kisses you and tells you to have a good day at work, honey. 

-

“Rooster wants you in his office,” Jackie says under her breath, helping you hurriedly clear one of your tables. You’re slow with the splint on your smallest finger, the throb of pain lancing all the way up your wrist each time you use the damaged hand. Jackie has been an angel in khakis picking up your slack. 

You wish that you had one of the pills that they’d given you in the emergency department. It hadn’t taken away all of the pain, but it’d made your head feel light and floaty and like you could care less if all your fingers were broken. Or maybe you wanted one of Johnny’s pills—the ones that put him in a peaceful sleep. You haven’t had such a thing in so long that you can’t remember when, even your moments of relaxation tainted until ‘rest’ is just waiting for the next act of violence. 

“What does he want?” you ask. 

“Probably to tell you about the raise,” she says. She rolls her eyes and twirls a fingers, mouth set in a grim smile of comradery. “Fifty cents. Writing home about it as we speak. Or maybe he wants to grill you about who keeps stealing from the registers—like we all don’t know it’s Ruth.” 

Fifty cents. You can’t even turn up your nose at it. Every penny is one that brings you closer to that apartment across town. With a promise that you’ll return as quickly as you can, you step off the floor (avoiding making eye contact with any customers who would happily sideway you for refills or to complain) and into the back of the house. It’s quiet back here, cooler. Rapping your knuckles against Rooster’s door, you wait. 

There’s no response, and no sign of him in the hallway. Some of the line cooks are coming in, filtering toward the break room to start their shift. You feel their eyes on you as you stand impotently outside the door. One of them says something to the other, and there is laughter, too loud and boisterous for the enclosed space. Your heart has begun to pound, sweat breaking out at the nape of your neck. 

“Hey,” one of them says to you. 

“Hi,” you mutter, forcing a smile, unable to make eye contact. 

Still there is no sign of Rooster from either end of the hallway—never would you have considered the short man your savior. Heart racing, you crack the door open and see that the office is empty. You slip inside, shutting the door safely behind you. 

The room is as self-important as you might imagine: a desk that seems too large for the space, filing cabinets in the corner. There’s a corkboard pockmarked with holes after years of use, and you drift over to it, too anxious to take a seat in the chair on the other side of Rooster’s desk. A calendar is posted there, Rooster’s neat handwriting here and there. 

Something catches your eye: LOCKER CLEANOUT marked for two weeks from now. 

It seemed like the last locker cleanout had just happened. You had only collected five hundred dollars back then, but it was far too much to want to explain to Rooster, and you had nowhere else to stash it that was safe. In the end, it had sat in an envelope under the driver’s seat of your car while Rooster took the week and went through each of the lockers to ensure compliance with the restaurant’s rules (all because someone used to have a penchant for leaving snack cakes in their locker leading to a bad case of ants that almost led to the restaurant being shut down). It had been the longest week of your life, like driving around with a live bomb underneath the front seat. 

Now you have nearly two thousand dollars. Where the hell were you going to put it? 

The door opens. Rooster looks at you suspiciously, eyes flickering between you and the calendar. 

“Next time, wait outside,” he says, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. It makes your skin crawl to be alone with him, even if he’s never done anything slimier than asking you to pull a double shift. You know the darkness that lies inside men. All men. 

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, taking his seat in a squeaky rolling chair behind the desk. His smile is a dismal, strained thing, like interacting with you is just as painful for him as it is for you. “Next time, just wait.”  

-

Johnny and Simon spend the day in bed. 

Johnny’s knee is propped up on a pillow, red and swollen. Simon lets his fingers hover over it, gentle, feeling the warmth of Johnny’s skin. Johnny winces, like even the brush of air against his knee hurts. 

“It looks infected,” says Simon. 

“It’s not.” It can’t be. Johnny can’t handle that—can’t handle the idea of having to go through the surgery on his knee again, the recovery, the way recovery is just synonymous with pain. No, it isn’t infected. “Just looks like that because he hit it.” 

Simon leans down and brushes his mouth against Johnny’s thigh. It’s meant to be sweet but—well. It’s the closest his mouth has been to Johnny’s cock in more than six months, and just the sight of it has Johnny’s heart skipping a beat and picking up again in double-time, his face growing flush. Not privy to Johnny’s thoughts, all Simon does is press a chaste kiss to the skin a few inches above where Johnny’s swelling starts—nevermind what else might be swelling now, too. 

The two of them lay entwined together, Simon curling up around him. He plants a hand on Johnny’s clothed chest, right over his heart, like he’s trying to remind himself that Johnny’s here. That Johnny’s alive. The look in his eyes is far away, mouth drawn down into a tight frown. All at once, Johnny’s downright sick of it—sick of them not having anything to smile about. Sick of fighting. 

Johnny takes Simon’s hand, laces their fingers, and guides it down. Down over his slim, firm belly, watching from the corner of his eye as Simon’s brows climb up his forehead. Down until their hands cup his half-hard cock. Simon’s hand shifts straight away, fingers curling around the solid length, thumb stroking up the side, the gentle rasp of his calloused fingerpad loud against the cotton of Johnny’s boxers. 

“You’re hurt,” Simon reminds him. 

“Don’t care.” 

“I do.” 

“We don’t have to fuck. I just—” he doesn’t know how to explain, how badly he needs to feel something good. How badly he needs to know that his connection with Simon isn’t ruined. How badly he needs to see that they’re still lovers, that Simon isn’t just his live-in caretaker. How badly Johnny needs to feel like a human being—like a grown man. He finishes, a little lamely: “I just need it.” 

Simon’s grip goes firm. Johnny’s eyes shut, mouth falling open at the sensation. He hasn’t even touched himself like this in weeks, and while he hadn’t necessarily been keeping track, his cock clearly has been. Simon seems content to go on like this, mapping the shape of Johnny’s cock through his boxers, thumbing over the head until a wet sticky spot appears in the cotton fabric, his hand sometimes drifting down to cradle the warm heft of Johnny’s balls. 

Johnny, usually impatient, contents himself with this torture. Let Simon tease him all day, if he’d like, until Johnny is liable to go off at the whisper of a touch. The thought has his cock jerking toward the warmth of Simon’s palm, and Johnny groans when his grip tightens. 

“Fucking pretty, aren’t you?” Simon mutters, his eyes on Johnny’s face.

Johnny snorts. He tosses his arm over his eyes, but beneath his arm, he’s grinning. “Shuddup.” 

Simon clicks his tongue. “Be good, Johnny. Let me look at you.” 

Johnny moves his arm and gives his grin room to breathe. His head feels light and airy as Simon sits up and helps him work his boxers down his thighs just far enough to draw his cock out. The first touch of skin on skin has him hissing a breath in through his teeth. Fuck, it’s good. Just as good as it always was—maybe even better, because he needs it so bad. 

“Want you inside me,” Johnny says on a whim, feeling the truth of it in his chest. He doesn’t just want it—he needs it. 

Simon leans down and kisses him, just a little too hard to be mistaken as anything but desperate. How long has it been for him, Johnny wonders. He spends every waking moment with Johnny except his perfunctory showers. Does he indulge then, between soaping and rinsing off, holding his breath to hide his sounds while he strips his cock with one slick hand? 

It takes some maneuvering to get Johnny on his side, knee nicely cushioned. He can’t reach back and touch Simon, can’t grip his hip and pull him in closer, and it’s just another reason to miss his arm. Because there are a hundred thousand touches Simon deserves that Johnny can’t give him anymore. 

They’re lucky for the shelf life of the lube. It warms Simon’s fingers as he works them past Johnny’s rim. He takes his time, hands shaking where they touch him. 

“Need it bad, huh?” Johnny wonders. 

Simon snorts but doesn’t deny it. Just curls his fingers searching for that tender spot inside Johnny’s ass that makes him grit his teeth. His cock drools onto the bedspread, red and throbbing with his heartbeat. By the time Simon slips inside him, chest to Johnny’s back, Johnny feels liable to go off at a moment’s notice. 

For all the time they haven’t fucked, Simon remembers everything: the way to touch Johnny,wrapping a strong arm around his chest to make up for the one Johnny lacks, fingers playing with the whorls of Johnny’s chest hair or teasing one of his nipples; the way to angle his hips to nail Johnny’s prostate. 

“Quit,” Johnny groans, shifting until the stimulation isn’t so good, so dead-on. His cock aches, balls heavy and tight. “I don’t want to cum yet. Don’t want this to be over.” 

“Can’t miss Johnny; dick’s too big.” 

Johnny guffaws. The sound nearly startles him—when was the last time he fucking laughed? With you in the park—but he doesn’t need to be thinking about you now, not you with your small, soft hands and the curve of your mouth…

“Fuck—touch my cock, please touch my cock—“ Johnny whines, body trembling. He’s right there, right fucking there, too close to go back now, fuck it all, he wants to cum. Simon’s strong fingers curl around his cock and strip it firmly, and the pleasure inside him bubbles up and over, left too long to simmer. He nearly headbutts Simon in the face, his body shaking and jerking and cum splatters against his belly and the bedspread and down over Simon’s fingers. 

“Just like that—so good, Johnny,” Simon murmurs. His pale hand grips at Johnny’s sharp hipbone, cum smearing against Johnny’s skin. “My turn.” 

Afterwards, Simon gently helps him undress and goes to get them both fresh clothes. Johnny’s knee throbs freshly just from his muscles tensing, but he barely feels it. For the first time since his accident, he thinks that maybe things will be okay. He has no arm—but so what? There are many with a lot less. He’s John fucking MacTavish. He can do this.

Simon has gone still at their closet, holding something in his hands. Johnny leans up on his elbows. 

“What is it?” he asks. “Did you find my lighter?”

Simon holds up with no preamble a skull-embossed balaclava. It’s worn, the fabric gone gray at its most threadbare spots, but the image imprinted on the front hasn’t faded.

“Blast from the past,” Johnny says, throat uncomfortably tight with an emotion he can’t name. “Thought you threw those out.” 

“Thought so too.” He doesn’t look eager to throw this one out though, his fingers tracing over the teeth, like he’s tracing the lipless mouth of a lover. 

“You miss it,” Johnny says, the glow of their sex fading rapidly. Of course Simon misses it. The military had been his entire life—until Johnny’s accident. Until Simon had discharged with him, to take care of him. Johnny hadn’t just blown apart his own life by going down in the helo in Kazakhstan, he had blown apart Simon’s life too. 

“No,” Simon says simply. “It’s not that.” 

Johnny frowns. “What is it, then?” 

“The night of the poker party—I was Ghost again. It was the only way I could…compartmentalize. Stomach it. I’d forgotten.” 

“Forgotten?”

Simon glances toward him. “Forgotten how useful Ghost could be.” Reaching up, Simon slips the balaclava over his head, adjusting it on instinct until it rests just right against the bridge of his nose. His hair is getting long, little blond strands visible, curling at the ends. 

“Now I want to fuck you again,” says Johnny, just to fill the air between them, and because sex used to be such an easy way to fill it. 

Simon doesn’t smile. 

“Johnny.”

“I was just teasin’—“

“Not that,” Simon says. Even his manner of speaking seems different, words clipped, tone short and no-nonsense. “What if I wanted to go visit our neighbor?”

The question lingers in the silence between them. Johnny swallows, the sound of his throat an audible click in the tense air. 

“You,” Johnny wonders, when he can speak again, “or Ghost?” 

Beneath the balaclava, Ghost smiles. 

[cheshiresense]

" Kisuke's observant as fuck and Ichigo's actually really bad at staying away from this one mad scientist who created him and weaponized him and pointed him at the enemy but also followed right after him [...]. So even a hundred years in the past was never going to prevent Kisuke from gravitating to Ichigo" - I'm sorry, I'm just imagining Kisuke's confusion at the odd Shiba and the mental acrobatics he is doing to understand him. Hiyory just want them to fuck and put her out of her misery

Hiyori is the real MVP, enduring all the bullshit at the Twelfth, especially when Kisuke stops only obsessing over science and starts obsessing over science and the crazy Shiba constantly breaking into their compound and dragging Kisuke out of his labs for a spar or lunch or whatever like it's his right, and Kisuke just lets him. The day her dumbass captain starts skiving off work to stalk the kid is the day Hiyori pulls out the rulebook to check up on the laws for fraternization (thankfully few, subjectively speaking; disturbingly few, objectively speaking) and also the laws on making eyes at a kid from a noble clan (varies depending on the clan, although generally speaking, no officially recorded spouse has ever been from the Rukongai, and they're all the result of one political arrangement or another; the Shiba Clan's the best about it in that their members in the more recent couple hundred years were at least allowed to choose their own match and bring them home for approval, and the clan head and elders were generally agreeable about it so long as there were some benefits involved).

Now Hiyori doesn't know much about her dumbass captain but she's pretty fucking sure he's not only from the Rukongai, but he's also a former assassin and a creepy scientist and has like nothing going for him except a captaincy he doesn't even seem to care about. His social skills are in the dumps, his capacity for honesty and moral integrity is next to nonexistent, he's a workaholic who enjoys dissecting corpses for breakfast and stashing the parts in the freezers next to the ice-cream, his right-hand scientist is a clown with even less morals than him, and he may or may not be holding an unrequited torch for the Shihouin clan head. 0/10 would not marry. Shiba Kaien would have to be mentally deranged to agree to this match.

The thing is though, she's also heard stuff about the newest Shiba, one of them being that Kaien has zero control over him. The guy will do what he wants and damn the consequences, especially when those consequences would probably be things he allegedly doesn't care about like cuts in clan stipend allotment and disownment. Also, Kaien's a soft touch and likes this new cousin a lot and would most likely yield instead of push the point if Shiba Ichigo really insists.

So basically it all comes down to what Shiba Ichigo wants, and Hiyori's pretty damn certain she can take a good guess. She's less certain her dumbass captain can, but she thinks it means something too that for the first time since she met him, Urahara's actually taken interest in something outside of his research.

Beyond that, she doesn't actually care enough to matchmake or whatever. The Shiba kid can get Urahara out of his labs and even into his office to work on his paperwork, if only so he'll have it out of the way when Ichigo swings by, and that's all she cares about. She just wants to make sure this whole thing won't blow up in their faces and possibly get Urahara demoted because she'll be damned if she has to field another new captain, one who might be worse than her dumbass captain, which she would've said was impossible even just two years ago but she has unfortunately met Kurotsuchi now.

Everything is in line with the rules though so that's that. She has no interest in sticking her nose any farther into whatever's going on between those two, even if she does wish they would hurry up and get their shit together because her dumbass captain is kind of gross every time Ichigo is in the vicinity and he gets all sparkly-eyed at him.

[fireya-x]

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

Your husband, Captain John Price, insists on teaching you how to shoot at the range. But you soon realize that his instructions involve a lot more than just handling a gun.

[4k+ words]

cw: piv sex, spanking, light dom/sub

“Remember what I just told you,” John said, and your grip around the cool material of the gun you held grew tighter. It was a foreign object in your hands, and even though you’d just received detailed instructions on how to hold and handle it, it didn’t feel right. You’d hesitantly taken it from his hands, and felt something unexpected, as if accepting a dangerous secret from him. It felt intimate, like a shared moment of vulnerability. He entrusted you with this part of himself, this dangerous expertise, never doubting for a second that you would accept it.

Then there you were, in the middle of a shooting range, and John was moving through the facility as comfortable as he was moving through your own living room. You’d been to the base a few times, of course, meeting teammates and other partners, but never with the intention to hold a weapon.

You’d told him, more than once, that you wanted no part in this side of his life. That ignorance was your safe haven, your way of pretending that the man you loved could leave the battlefield behind. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. John Price, for all his tenderness, for all the quiet moments of domesticity you’d built a life around, was a soldier to his very core. He breathed and lived it as long as his heart pumped blood through his veins.

It was in the way he moved, precise and controlled, and it was in the way he touched you – possessive, protective, as if you were the most precious weapon in his arsenal.

He insisted it was for your own safety. “You need to be able to protect yourself, love,” he’d said. But you saw right through it. This wasn't about you. It was about him. About the nightmares that lingered in his eyes, the enemies he'd made in a life you couldn't begin to comprehend. This was his way of ensuring that no matter what happened, no matter how far apart duty tore you, he could rest easy knowing you had a fighting chance. It bordered on paranoid, the lengths he’d go to protect you – the home security systems, the calls to his former teammates, the subtle checks whenever you were out alone. But beneath all that, you saw the love, and you wouldn’t deny him this. You’d never shied away from his darkness, the stories he’d told that both terrified and fascinated you.

It was all part of the complex man that was John Price: both a trained, lethal weapon and a caring, loving husband.

Gentle but ruthless. Controlled, but capable of destruction. Dangerous in ways you probably never could even begin to understand, but you felt safer with him than you ever had alone.

He was a walking oxymoron.

“I’ve never even held a gun before, John.” You admitted, your words echoing through the vastness of the range, uncertain how to explain the weird mix of emotions you were feeling.

“I know,” he said, his lips curving into that half-smile. “And I can see you hesitating, and that’s the correct first step, love. Respect is most important.”

He’d guided you to a secluded booth, the table stocked with more ammunition than you’d ever expected to see outside a warzone. He’d shown you how to hold the pistol, how to check the chamber, reload the magazine and how to disable security. He’d shown you the stance, the subtle shift of weight so that the recoil wouldn’t punch you in the gut, and told you that it’s best to use both hands to aim, to steady yourself.

“Finger off the trigger, sweetheart,” he suddenly instructed, his tone serious. You hadn’t even realized you’d moved it, your finger was hovering over the trigger with reckless curiosity, and you couldn't quite explain why. "Only put it on there if you really mean to take a shot.”

He put his hands above yours on the grip of the pistol, then chuckled lightly. “Loosen up a little. Don’t make that a habit.” He then grabbed your elbow and lifted it up a little, so gentle, it was a weird contradiction to how controlled he moved around the shooting range like he was never meant to be anywhere else.

He stepped back, giving you just enough space to breathe, to remember you weren’t his soldier to command. But he could tell you still weren’t sure about your stance.

“Want me to show you?” He gestured to the target at the end of the range – a silhouette that seemed eerily human-shaped in the dim light.

You nodded, surrendering the weapon and retreating to a safe distance as John stepped forward, his movements fluid, almost graceful, belying the lethality he embodied.

He pushed the safety lever off with a sharp click. You could almost feel the energy in the air shift. You saw his hand gripping the weapon as it became more serious and alive, like not just a tool, but an extension of him.

John raised the gun. You were captivated, your gaze tracing the line of his arm, the flex of his bicep beneath the fabric of his shirt. It shouldn’t have been so mesmerizing, watching him handle a weapon clearly meant to kill, and yet, you couldn't tear your eyes away.

His stance was relaxed, almost casual. He didn't even flinch as he pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed in the silence, sharp and startling. You flinched involuntarily at the sound. It wasn’t that you weren’t expecting it – but there was something different, something almost intimate, about watching him handle a weapon with such lethal grace, such unflinching control.

There was no time to feel anything but awe as John lowered the weapon, his eyes fixed on you. The air was thick, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Now you,” he said as he clicked the safety back on and stepped aside. He didn’t need to say anything more. You were ready, he had made sure of that, and he was waiting to see if you would rise to the challenge.

“Downrange, safety off,” you muttered to yourself, remembering his words. Your finger found the safety, disengaging it with a soft click that felt overly loud in the quiet space. You tried to replicate the stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, a slight bend in your knees that made your thighs ache. Taking a deep breath, you raised the pistol, lined the sights up on the target at the far end of the range, ignoring the tremor in your arms, and squeezed the trigger.

The shot caught you completely off guard. The recoil was sharper, more violent than you'd expected. It jolted your entire body, throwing you off balance. You stumbled back, a startled yelp escaping your throat before you could help yourself, the heavy weight of the gun almost slipping from your grasp.

You missed the target entirely.

“Easy, love, easy,” John's voice, calm and steady, was right beside your ear. You hadn’t even registered his approach, your senses still reeling from the gunshot, the adrenaline that spiked through you sharp and bitter on your tongue.

You hadn't realized you'd stopped breathing until his hand settled on your waist, his touch firm yet reassuring through the fabric of your shirt, steadying you. Your body leaned into his warmth, seeking comfort, and found it in the solid presence that had always been your haven in the storm.

“Don't fight it,” he murmured. “It’s not about forcing the shot. You need to work with it. Let it flow.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, but you didn’t try to pull away. His closeness was more reassuring than you wanted to admit, the solid weight of him a stark contrast to the unexpected power of the gun. You’d felt this way before, countless times: small beside his strength, intimidated but inexplicably drawn to the same danger that made you feel so vulnerable.

“Again,” he commanded softly, ignoring your remark, as his hand tightened momentarily on your hip. You couldn’t disobey, even if you’d wanted to. His other hand covered yours on the gun.

You tried to recall the stance he’d demonstrated, to feel more confident, but it felt awkward. Your body was tense, and you cursed the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

“You have to relax, darling,” John murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

He leaned closer, his chest a wall of heat at your back as his hand moved from your hip to settle on the small of your back. “Don't let that little gun take all the control,” he whispered, his fingers splaying against your spine as he adjusted your posture, holding you steady. “It's not about brute strength. Lean into it, find the balance.”

His heat seeped into you, chasing away the chill of the shooting range and replacing it with a heat that centred between your legs, a yearning you hadn't anticipated. His touch was doing things to your senses, sending a jolt of something hot and reckless straight through you.

You could feel his fingers, calloused and rough, brushing against yours as he made you hold the gun right.

“See, like that – now, the grip –” You could hear the amusement in his voice, the way he seemed to savour your discomfort. He wasn’t going to make this easy for you, and something in you – something wild and hungry – revelled in the challenge. His fingers traced a searing path down your arm, his touch lingering for a heartbeat on your wrist as he guided your hand.

“Use your wrist – just like that –” You shivered as his breath ghosted across your ear. “That’s it. That’s how you hold it. It's all about control.” He pressed closer, your bodies moulding together.

His hand covered yours on the gun again, overlapping it as you held the weapon together. This different kind of intimacy touch sent a spark down your spine, scorching away every last thought, as you tried to focus on the instructions. “Now pull the trigger.”

You did. And this time, you hit the target. The bullet tore through the paper silhouette, a testament to his guidance, his control.

It was impossible to ignore how close he was. His fingers grazed your back, sending a shiver through you, and then – oh, God – you felt it, the insistent pressure of his knee between your thighs, adjusting your stance, bracing you.

“Feet apart, love,” he murmured, his voice husky as his knee nudged you wider, his hand a steady pressure on the small of your back. You felt like a toy in his hands.

You fired again. This time, it was a little closer to the target, but still far away from the bullseye.

“That’s better,” he murmured, but there was an edge to his amusement now, something heated. You tried to ignore the pressure of him against you.

“Look at that target, focus on the sights, love.” He shifted, his lips finding the delicate skin beneath your ear, and you sucked in a breath. He was doing this deliberately now, pushing your buttons, testing your limits, and the worst part was that he knew you were powerless to resist. 

You fired again. Same corner.

“That’s not good enough.” His lips hovered over your pulse. “Hit the target and you’ll be rewarded. Hmm? How’s that sound?”

A familiar heat built in your belly. The knee that was still holding your stance steady felt way too prominent. This position did nothing to hide his arousal, either.

You focused on the sights, tried lining it up with the middle of the target. The shockwave was not completely absorbed by John’s strength as he held you, and you were shoved back against his chest. You hit the target's neck.

“Good girl,” he said. “You’re a fast learner.”

Every time he’d utter that phrase, every time he brushed his fingers against your hand as he guided you, it was like a surge of heat coursing through your veins. You were flustered, struggling to keeop your focus.

“Stop it,” you pleaded. “You’re distracting me.”

You aimed again, after he’d adjusted your stance, his breath ghosting over your neck as he leaned close to make a correction. “Yes, just like that.”

That was your undoing, each word he said was laced with a playful, knowing intent. His hands guided you, but it wasn’t about the gun, or the lessons, it was all about the feel of him close to you.

You fumbled, almost dropping the gun.

“What’s wrong?” He laughed.

Your cheeks burned. “I –I can’t concentrate.”

You were so lost in showing him that you could do this, you didn’t realize what he started to do. Lips on your neck, and his hand suddenly slowly snaked below the waistband of your gym shorts.

You froze. “John! Isn’t this place covered in cameras?”

“Made sure they’re out of order tonight.” He leans in a little closer as if to whisper it in your ear, his breath warmer than the summer air. “It would take so much paperwork to have you here otherwise. Besides, my wife deserves a private lesson from her husband.”

You shuddered at the words, at the implied claim in them. You aimed again, but missed.

A sharp sting on your backside made you gasp, a sound that morphed into a startled moan as you registered what had just happened. He'd spanked you. It shouldn't have been arousing, not here, not now, yet a thrill shot through you as much at the audacity of it as the sensation itself.

“Do I have to punish you for missing shots?” He sounded so deceptively soft, sending a shiver down to the place where his knee still pressed insistent between your thighs. He was fully aroused, you realized, a thrill shooting through you at the knowledge, the feeling of it a branding iron against your overheated skin. 

“Wasting ammo like that?” He punctuated the question with another swat, harder this time, his hand lingering on your ass, his fingers flexing as though torn between wanting to punish you further and pulling you impossibly closer.

It was impossible to think straight, let alone concentrate on lining up the damn shot.

“J-John,” you stammered, hating the way your voice sounded – breathless, needy – even as you pressed back against him, seeking out the heat that radiated off him in waves, making your head spin. You were caught in a delicious, dangerous game, and the only way to win was to surrender completely.

But you weren’t quite there yet. You needed to hit this damn shot. Pride warred with something hotter, wilder, as you struggled to ignore the insistent pressure of his erection against your backside.

Just as you thought you could regain some semblance of focus, his other hand, the one that had rested so innocently below the waistband of your shorts, began to descend further. It was a slow, deliberate movement, and then you felt it – a finger, rough-tipped and insistent, slipping between your folds.

Pleasure shot through you like a bullet, so unexpected and potent that your entire body went rigid. You bit back a moan, the sound dying in your throat as you clenched around his intruding digit, the ache that bloomed low in your belly a thousand times more distracting than any recoil. 

“Again,” he commanded, his voice low and hot against your ear, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening, as if his fingers weren’t actively attacking your most sensitive flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. He held all the cards in this game he'd initiated. And you were a willing participant, your body already betraying you, arching unconsciously against his touch, seeking out the friction he so expertly offered even as you tried to focus on the task at hand.

You lined up the sights again, his scent filling your senses, so distracting and so dangerously addictive that it had you clinging to him, desperate for something you couldn't quite name. The barrel wavered as a tremor ran through you, and you swore you heard his breath hitch as your hips moved against him.

“Close,” John breathed, and you felt as his fingers snaked further along your folds. You gasped as a finger slowly pushed into you. “Good girl.” His other hand had a tight grip on your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh as though he’d hold you there forever, trapped between pleasure and denial. “But not there yet, love. Again.”

The shot, when it came, was pathetic. The recoil almost knocked the gun from your grasp. The bullet ricocheted off somewhere, you weren't even sure where it landed. It hardly mattered. 

Another sharp swat of John’s hand against your ass. It should’ve stung, but all you felt was the heat of him, the pressure of his body against yours. His other hand, the one driving you wild with each deliberate stroke, didn't stop even as you whimpered, your hips rocking back instinctively against his touch, seeking relief, release.

“Concentrate, love,” he growled.

But how could you? How could you possibly focus on anything but the insistent ache that throbbed between your legs? 

“John, please,” you breathed, arching against his touch, shamelessly seeking more. “Just – just let me –” The words dissolved into a whimper as his fingers found that sensitive bud of flesh and squeezed, not cruelly, not yet, but with enough force to make you gasp, your inner thighs clenching involuntarily.

“Then hit the bloody mark, love,” he commanded, his voice rough with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, a tremor running through his words as though he were fighting for control just as hard as you were.

You squeezed your eyes shut against the wave of frustration – no, need – that pulsed low in your belly. The pressure of his erection against your backside was a constant torment, a promise of a release he seemed determined to deny you.

“Again,” John barked, his control finally snapping as his hips twitched against you. His touch, the way he moved against you, fuelled a fire in your veins hotter than anything you'd ever experienced. It was intoxicating, terrifying, and utterly addictive. 

You were a moth drawn to his flame, even knowing you were destined to be burned.

You squeezed your eyes shut as his touch sent another jolt through you. “Please, just –”

“Hit. The. Mark.” He growled, teeth clenched, while moving his hips against you, seeking friction for his own arousal. 

You wanted to scream, to sob, to demand he touch you properly, to take what you were aching for. But some primal instinct – some deep-seated need to please him – had you straightening, lifting the pistol with shaking hands.

You tried to concentrate, blocking out the burning heat of his hands, the feel of his erection hard and demanding against your backside, the way his every ragged breath whispered against your ear, fuelling the fire he'd ignited within you. Your mind was a fog of need, your senses overloaded, but the promise of release, that sweet reward only he held the power to give - it was a drug more potent than anything you'd ever imagined.

Lining up the pistol again, you forced your vision to clear, found the target through the haze of arousal, and squeezed the trigger. 

The sound of the gunshot, the feel of the recoil, your own ragged gasp of surprise - it all blended into one overwhelming sensation as time slowed, distorted. And then strong hands were on you, urging you forward with a force that stole your breath, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when the need to be touched, to feel him everywhere, was an inferno consuming every other thought.

You hadn’t even registered what had happened until you caught a glimpse of the target -

Headshot.

You'd hit the mark.

You barely had time to process your victory before the gun was taken from your hands and safely put away - then you were tumbling forward, the world tilting, the cool surface of the table a shock against your heated skin as John's weight pressed you down, his chest a solid wall at your back.

The clatter of the spare ammo as it scattered across the floor was the only warning you got before he moved. You gasped, the sound muffled against the cold metal, your senses reeling as he yanked your shorts and panties down in one swift, brutal motion, baring you to the cool air, to his gaze, which you could feel burning into you.

He didn't waste his breath on anything but a low growl as he shifted, the sudden sound of a belt buckle ringing in your ears. His weight was pressing you deeper into the table, his erection, hard and insistent, nudging at your entrance. And then, in one swift, possessive thrust, he filled you, the force of it stealing what was left of your sanity, chasing away everything but the all-consuming need to feel him move, to feel him claim you as his.

The world shrunk to the feel of him: him anchoring you to the table, the possessive grip of his hand on your hip, holding you still as he moved within you. His thrusts were deep, powerful, each one a delicious torment that had you arching into him, crying out his name against the cold metal of the table.

“That's it, love,” he growled, his voice thick and primal, something that went far beyond the controlled man you thought you knew. 

You suddenly felt his entire weight hovering above your back, slowing pressing your full body into the table. The angle changed, and his movements became more intense. You felt his teeth graze your earlobe, and then he murmured against your skin. “You’re mine. All mine. Say it .”

“Yours,” you gasped, the word a broken plea. The hand on your hip felt like a hot brand against your skin, as if it was marking you, claiming you in a way that went far beyond reason. “Please, John –”

“Please what, darling?” He chuckled, a low, rough sound against your ear, but his hips never stuttered, never slowed their relentless rhythm. “Tell me. What do you need?”

“You ,” you sobbed, the need, raw and desperate, clawing its way out of you with every thrust.

As if he sensed you nearing the precipice, the edge of control he’d deliberately pushed you towards, John shifted. The pressure of his chest eased, but before you could mourn the loss of his warmth, his free hand shot out, fingers closing around the back of your neck, not cruelly, but with an unquestionable force that demanded obedience.

He lifted you from the table, and then his mouth was on yours. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, not with your bodies angled as they were, but it was possessive, desperate. The scrape of his beard against your cheek was a delicious torment, and you couldn't help but press closer, seeking more, needing to be closer still.

“I’m yours, my love,” he rasped, his breath hot and uneven against your cheek. “You have me.”

You met his gaze, those ice-blue eyes were smoldering with a need that mirrored your own, and something reckless, almost feral, took hold of you. 

“Then fuck me like you own me,” you breathed.

The effect was instantaneous. He didn't just snap, he shattered. The control that was as much a part of him as his own skin, gone. Vaporized. The growl that ripped from his throat had no semblance of human restraint left in it, the sound raw, feral, echoing dangerously in the silence of the range. You might have been his wife, but at that moment, you were something far more elemental: his to claim, his to conquer, his to brand so deeply with pleasure and pain that you'd never forget who you belonged to.

And he moved like it too: a rough shove pressed you back against the table, his hands grabbed yours, pulling them back, restraining you.

Your whole body trembled as his cock thrust so deep, so utterly possessing, that you cried out.

“John!” – a plea, a prayer, you weren’t sure.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” The words were a gasped groan, torn from him as his hips moved against yours, stroking a spot deep inside you that throbbed with desperate need. You whimpered, and your hands clenched into fists against your back as pleasure shot through you.

You instinctively began to meet his thrusts, your hips rocking back against him, seeking out the friction that sent sparks of need through your overloaded senses. It earned you a growl of approval.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, the words a litany against your ear. He sounded like a man possessed.

“Please, John,” you whimpered, grinding your hips against him, desperate for that friction, that release. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. You needed more, needed his hands, needed him. “Touch me, I –”

You didn’t need to finish the plea. He heard it. He felt it, the tremor in your voice, the way your slick heat tightened around him, urging him closer to the edge.

His fingers were tracing the curve of your waist, reaching around below your belly and slowly started to pry apart your folds. His fingers were on your clit again, and a sound that was both a cry and a sigh left your lips. You were drowning in sensation, and it was glorious.

“Mmm, that’s it, love,” he rasped, the words a broken groan as his fingers stroked, circled, teased. “Come on my cock. For me.”

You felt it then, with the help of his touch – that sweet, white-hot bliss that washed over you, causing your legs to tremble and your cunt to contract around his cock. He groaned, so deep and primal it shook you to your core. Your orgasm shattered every last bit of control in him, the feeling of you losing yourself pushed him over the edge, too. You felt that familiar throb in your pussy, the way he painted your walls with his come, hot and thick. His fingers dug so deep into your skin you were sure they'd leave marks.

And you wouldn’t mind. You were his, after all.

He finally released you, his hands leaving yours. “Nice shot, love. You just needed the right motivation.” He chuckled, and you felt as he pulled up your panties and put your pants back into their place. His hand ghost over your pussy through the fabric. “Keep me in there,” he whispered. “Consider it your reward.”

You slowly straightened your back as you stood, your gaze meeting his, and you shook your head in disbelief, a smirk playing on your lips. “Is that an order from a captain? Or a request from my husband?”

“Both.” He grunted, as he finished buckling his belt.

You tilted your head slightly, stepping closer to him. “Well, then. If this is shooting training, we need to do that more often.”

He froze, his eyes shooting to meet yours. “Don't make me have to explain why so much footage from the security feed is missing.” His expression sobered, that playful glint fading as he added, voice low and serious, “But seriously, love, you did good. We'll keep practising, alright?”

You nodded, and then he closed the distance between you. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away some smudged lipstick at the corner of your mouth. “I'm proud of you, you know,” he whispered, and before you could reply, he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was surprisingly tender. There was no demanding heat this time, no desperate urgency - just the taste of him, and the lingering warmth where his come pooled between your thighs, a silent, undeniable reminder of exactly who you belonged to.

[ashtheketchum]

●Tied to bed●

Daryl Dixon X FEM.Reader

Era: Seaso 2, Farm

Summary: Daryl was injured in bed and you wanted revenge for his rude behavior. So why not take advantage of his injury a little?

Warnings: +18 CONTENT, FEM.Reader, riding, handjob, injured Daryl, grumpy but soft Daryl, unprotected sex, blood and gore

A/N: Sooo, I´ve read THIS beautiful and short masterpiece and it kind of inspired me. I hope that is was okay to write a lemon with this inspiration :3

Words: 3k

Masterlist!

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PoV (Y/N):

Every day could be our last. I was lucky to have found a strong group and even if I hadn't, I still would be very lucky. I was traveling with Merle and Daryl until we met the group. In fact, it was a huge exception that I was traveling with the two Dixon brothers because I was in a relationship with Daryl. We met in a bar and ended up getting together. Did I regret it? Never. I loved Daryl with all my heart and he loved me, if not more than I loved him. If that was even possible.

Unfortunately, it was not uncommon for Daryl to blindly throw himself into danger. He was stubborn, yes. But he wasn't stupid, he knew exactly what he was doing. And that was sometimes the mistake. Especially after Merle disappeared.

At the moment we were at Hershel's farm because Carl had been shot and Sophia had disappeared. Daryl had taken it upon himself to look for the little girl while we had other tasks. But not a day went by that I wasn't worried. Flesh-eating asses were running around outside and there could still be some crazy ass survivors.

And just when I was having a good day, something terrible happened. Rick and the others thought a walker was on its way to the farm, but when Andrea shot him, I heard Rick scream loudly. My eyes widened and I dropped the basket full of apples to the ground. I ran past the RV in the direction of Rick, Glenn and T-Dog. When I saw that Andrea had shot Daryl, I screamed loudly and started to cry. "Daryl! Oh god, is he okay!?" I screamed to Rick as I stopped in front of them. I immediately put my hands on Daryl's cheeks, tears running down my own. He had blood and dirt all over his body and a wound on his temple. Luckily, Andrea had only just missed him.

"He's okay… we just need to bring him to Hershel!" Rick said and they walked past me. Sobbing, I followed them, and when Andrea ran towards us, I simply pushed her away, saying: "Stay away from us…!"

In the house, Hershel was tending to Daryl's wounds; he had barely survived. While I was stroking his head, Hershel, Rick and Shane left the room to give us some rest. He was still unconscious, but he was breathing calmly and leaning weakly into my touch. It was hard for me to leave the house for the night, but I trusted Hershel to take good care of Daryl as soon as he woke up. Apparently, Daryl slept the entire night, unlike me.

For the next few days, Daryl was still tied to the bed. He was now lying awake in bed, but he still couldn't move very well. So sometimes I brought him food and sometimes washed him. "I can do tha´ by ma own, woman!" "Daryl, stop it! You can't even move your arm up and down!" We had often snapped at each other, probably Daryl just didn't like me seeing him like that. In our relationship, he took care of me most of the time, not the other way around.

Daryl was getting on my nerves with his behavior, so I came up with a plan to get back at him. Daryl loved being in control during sex. But now that Daryl was badly injured, he couldn't have that control anymore. So I came up with some plans on how to best get him to fuck me. And then the day came.

Hershel gave me some soup and bread to take to Daryl. Of course I did this, as a good partner and also for my revenge plan. When I got to his door, I knocked first and then slowly opened the door. I carefully stepped in, only to see Daryl lying on his side, his back turned to me. "Ya here?" I heard him ask quietly as I entered his room and closed the door behind me. "Of course… you need to eat." When I answered, he just snorted quietly and then turned to me. At least he could move much better than a few days ago. This calmed me down and gave me the reassurance that he would survive a little "ride" well. So with a gentle smile I put his food on the bedside table and sat down next to him on the bed. "You know… because of those fights we had…" I started slowly, my hand gently stroking his short hair.

Daryl then closed his eyes and leaned a little more into my touch. We both always knew that we never meant the things we said to each other when we were angry. It took a long time, but eventually we got used to the fact that we shouldn't take everything seriously in an argument. "'m sorry… yeah, yeah… I know…" He just mumbled quietly to himself. His answer made me smile amusedly and I hummed quietly. Then I leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "Yeah… I'm also very sorry… and I have a surprise for you…" I whispered quietly before I stood up and adjusted my hair.

Now the archer looked at me confused, following me with his blue, intense eyes. His intense gaze made me a little nervous, but I bit my tongue hard as I closed the curtains. Now I couldn't back away. "But you have to tell me when I should stop, okay?" When I asked him this, Daryl tried to sit up, but I immediately pushed him back down. I let out a quiet "Shhh." before I started to undress. Within a minute I was standing naked in front of the archer, throwing my clothes onto the floor behind me. Daryl's eyes looked me up and down and he swallowed hard. I could already see a clear erection under the blanket. "Whatcha doin'?" He finally managed to say as he moved back and forth a little.

"What does it look like?" I then asked him the question and slowly walked towards him. As seductively as I could, I tried to crawl over him. I spreaded out gentle kisses on the way up until I reached his neck. Daryl immediately swallowed and breathed loudly and heavily, clearly overwhelmed by my sudden actions. "Y-ya shouldn'… the old man an´-!" "Shhh, Daryl~… it´s only us now… trust me." I looked up at my lover with big, pleading eyes and he just let out a heavy sigh. But then he nodded and kissed my forehead gently. "Okay…" He then said. Puppy eyes always work on him.

With a wide grin, I pressed my lips against his and I engaged the archer in a hot kiss. Our tongues danced wildly together while my hands slowly pulled the blanket off his body. When it was now on his thighs, I broke away from our kiss, a light thread of saliva still connecting us until it broke.

God, the kiss alone was enough to make me wet. We were definitely going through withdrawal, at least I was.

"Can I continue?" I asked again to be sure. Daryl just growled in frustration and moved his hips very slightly closer to me. His erection kept twitching slightly between his legs. "Goddamn, woman! Jus´ do it!" He growled impatiently. When he answered, I just grinned broadly and then took off his pants. Luckily he only wore sweatpants in bed, so I could undress him very easily. After his sweatpants, I took off his boxer shorts and his big cock jumped out at me.

"Well, hello there~…" "Jus' stop talkin'…! Damnit!" A slightly louder moan escaped Daryl as I wrapped my fingers around his thick cock and moved my hand up and down. Sometimes I squeezed him a little, which only made the archer moan loudly. I could see a few drops of pre-cum on his tip, which I spread with my thumb. I could already feel Daryl pulsing under my grip. "S-stop~…! G-god, 'm gonna cum~!" He suddenly moaned and tried to push my hand away. But he was too weak. Or too wounded.

This dominance, I had, was new to me and I liked it incredibly much. I had never had any sexual experience before Daryl and when I had sex with Daryl, he was always the dominant one. We didn't fuck often, but when we did, it was always the way he liked it most. Not that I didn't enjoy it too, God I adored sex with Daryl. How he pulled my ass up, slapped it, fucked me hard from behind and pressed my head into the pillow. The thought alone turned me on. But sometimes I just wanted to be the more dominant one. To have him under me, to watch him look up at me or twist his face in lust. His rough hands gripping my hips tightly. And today the day had really come. Maybe not the way I had imagined, but it was here.

So I slowly let go of his cock, but still leaned forward to give the tip a gentle kiss. Then I slowly climbed onto his lap and let his shaft slide between my wet folds. But I didn't apply too much pressure, otherwise he would really cum. Daryl only very lightly let his hands stroke my skin, first my thighs, then my hips and finally my breasts. A tits guy just like in a good book. "Can we continue?" I asked quietly and gently. Daryl took a few more deep breaths before nodding. My okay to finally be able to ride him.

"Okay…" And with these words I lifted my hips, positioned him at my entrance and then slowly let myself fall. Loud moans and whimpers escaped me while Daryl breathed loudly and deeply and bit his lower lip hard. His cock twitched strongly inside me, my hands, which I placed on his chest, could feel his rapid heartbeat. My legs were shaking like crazy and my breathing was also very fast. When I got used to the feeling of fullness again, I lifted my pelvis, only to let it fall again. A soft slapping sound was created, which repeated over and over again as I began to move faster. Daryl growled softly and grabbed my waist tightly to hold me still and thrust up to me, but he immediately stopped himself. The wound on his side still seemed to be causing him too much trouble. We stopped immediately and I stroked his cheek gently.

"Everything okay?" "Yah… j-jus' this fuckin´-!" "Stop moving." I interrupted him immediately, which only made him look up confused and a little annoyed. A gentle smile played on my lips as I sat completely on him again and circled my hips a little. He immediately exhaled loudly and closed his eyes briefly. "I know how much you love it to fuck me rough… but let me take control for once, okay?" I looked at Daryl with big, pleading eyes, but I didn't stop my movements. The archer let out a quiet sigh before nodding and loosening his grip. "Alrigh'… jus' move already…~" He then growled quietly. With a gentle smile, I nodded, sat up again and slowly started to move up and down.

We both moaned and sighed quietly as my pelvis repeatedly collided with your thighs. Loud, rhythmic clapping rang out from my movements and I let my head fall back and my eyes closed. Groaning, I scratched his chest slightly. Daryl, beneath me, stared at my bouncing breasts. His eyes were dark and hungry before he slowly reached out to grab a breast. He massaged it roughly, sometimes pinching my nipple or gently pulling on it. Every time he did this, I straightened my back more and thus pressed my breasts even more towards him. By straightening my back, his cock also pushed forward a little so that you could see a slight bulge in my abdomen. I hadn't really noticed it, I was just concentrating on keeping the rhythm. But when Daryl suddenly pressed against that bulge, my eyes widened and I looked down. As he pressed his hand against my bulge, a sudden shiver ran through me, my abdomen felt like it was about to explode. "Oh god, Daryl~…!" "Fuck~…! Baby~!"

Now Daryl massaged both of my breasts with both hands. Again and again he let his rough thumbs slide over my hard nipples and each time this made me gasp or whimper. His rough hands had always caused a pleasant tingling sensation in me, especially when Daryl touched me. Be it just my hand, my cheek or even my leg, it always made my insides tingle and I couldn't hold back the thoughts.

As I rode Daryl faster and faster, I leaned forward a little so that his shaft rubbed against my clit. This made me moan a little louder for some seconfs before I remained quiet for a short while. Daryl immediately looked at me worried and impatient, but when my inner walls pulsed slightly and tightened even more around his cock, he hummed softly. "Ya close?" "Y-yeah, just wait a moment…" And with these words I leaned down to press my lips against his. A hot kiss ensued in which our tongues danced together and explored each other's mouths. But suddenly Daryl grabbed my waist tightly again and suddenly thrust into me from below.

My eyes widened and I clung to his broad shoulders. Louder moans, sometimes even screams, escaped me, while Daryl just growled and grunted quietly. Sometimes his face twisted in pain, but then it turned back to pleasure. The pleasure was too much for him to feel the pain. It turned me on and got me going at the same time. But since he was just about to fuck me stupid, I just rolled my eyes and let myself fall onto his chest. I lay on top of him like a moaning wreck, the only thing I felt was pleasure. His grip on my waist also got tighter and tighter, I would definitely have marks on them tomorrow. But did I care? Not for a second. "Daryl, fuck~! You fuck me so good~!" I moaned loudly against his ear.

I could feel the archer inside me twitch when he heard my words. And somehow he increased his pace so that he briefly made me choke on my own breath. I remained completely still for just a few seconds before another scream left me. My eyes rolled back more and more, so that it almost hurt. "Oh please~! Daryl, fuck~!" "Please wha´? Ha?" His rough, deep voice sent a shiver down my spine and made me whimper loudly. "P-lease, let me cum~!" I moaned loudly. It was not uncommon for him not to let me come shortly before I climaxed. But now that he was hurt, I hoped he would show some understanding. And I was lucky. "´m gonna let ya cum, baby~…! So hard~!"

His words made my insides contract even tighter and with his name on my lips I came around his cock. My whole body was shaking violently as Daryl continued to thrust into me. I lay limply on top of him, completely overstimulated by his constant thrusts into me. But Daryl was also twitching violently inside me and his growling was getting louder, sometimes he even moaned quietly. "'m gonna cum too~…! N-now~!" With a loud grunt he immediately pulled his pelvis back and squirted onto my stomach and breasts. A startled gasp escaped me at the sudden loss of his cock in my pussy, but a quiet sigh escaped me.

It didn't take long before I lay down next to him, on my back of course, so that nothing got on the bed. We lay next to each other, breathing heavily, and tried to calm ourselves down. Our heavy breathing was then interrupted by Daryl, who hissed and grabbed his side. "I've told you to hold still…" I mumbled quietly as I sat up and reached for a tissue. Daryl just stared at me angrily, but said nothing. He always did that when I was right. "Jus' shuddup!" He finally managed to say. But I ignored his words and wiped his cum off my stomach and chest. Then I stood up and put my clothes back on. "Why are you ignoring me now!?" "Shouldn't I shut up?" When I asked him in return, he just stared at me angrily again.

Then he grabbed the blanket and lay down on his side with his back facing me. I looked at him briefly, annoyed, before I sighed quietly and went to kiss his head. "I love you, grumpy…" Only a quiet grumble escaped him, so I quietly left his room again. Before I closed the door completely I heared him say: "Love ya too..."

Outside I saw Maggie leaning against the wall, a stern look on her pretty face. I looked at her confused, as if I hadn't just ridden my injured boyfriend, as if there would be no tomorrow. "What?" I asked after several seconds of silence. "You two should have waited until Daryl isn't in pain!" The young woman snapped at me, but I just snorted quietly. "Yeah, sure! Daryl is tough, he'll survive it! And even tho… you and Glenn fucked besides some hygiene products." And without waiting for her answer, I turned around and walked out of the house.

[pretzel-box]

STREAMER AU MASTERLIST HERE

VIDEO FOR THE SCENE HERE

[Including Sebs VA and Fanart]

CHAPTER 7: A bottle full of confidence

Tags: Romance, Apologies, Painter

Words: 2,6k

The rain started softly, a misty drizzle that clung to the air, but soon it picked up, the droplets heavier, more insistent. They drenched Sebastian, soaking through his clothes, chilling him to the bone. He hadn’t brought a jacket—hadn’t even thought about it when he stormed out. Now, he was at the mercy of the weather, as if it were punishing him for everything that had gone wrong.

God, he couldn’t go back to Painter’s shop. Not after what happened. The image burned into his mind—the sight of Allison in that expensive red dress, Painter standing beside her in his fine suit, the camera focused on them, ready for a confession that wasn’t meant to be his. The scene felt like a knife to his chest, twisting deeper with every thought.

Sebastian felt his stomach turn, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He had been on the edge for too long, teetering between anger and regret, and now... now it was all unraveling. The rain didn’t bother him, not compared to the storm inside. It pained him to admit it, but he hated himself for letting things get this far. For not saying anything when he should have. For letting you drift away.

He turned around abruptly, his hands curling into tight fists, his nails digging sharply into his palms. The sting felt almost good, a distraction from the ache in his chest. But he knew it wouldn’t last. Nothing would, until he found you.

Because you were the only one who mattered.

He had to look for you. He had to find you before it was too late. Before everything he feared became reality. The rain pounded harder, but it didn’t matter. He’d face the storm, he’d face anything, as long as it led him back to you.

Meanwhile, Painter stood face to face with Allison, an uncharacteristic smug grin curling on his usually soft lips. His gaze, once neutral, now held a new edge—disgust, pride, and something darker. In that moment, he unknowingly mirrored his father, a sharpness in his demeanor that felt foreign but fitting.

"You probably want to leave," he said coolly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Or do you have anything else to say?" There was a hidden venom in his words, a quiet power that made even Cordelia, standing silently at his side, flinch. It was a side of him no one had seen before.

Allison blinked, her face a mixture of shock, fury, and utter defeat. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected Painter to stand up to her with such cold confidence. She looked like she wanted to scream, to tear him apart with words, but all that came out was a feeble, angry attempt.

"I—I will sue you. All of you," she shouted, her voice breaking as she stormed toward the door, rain already pouring down outside.

Painter didn’t flinch, didn’t move to stop her. He simply watched, his expression unchanging as she stepped out into the storm, swallowed by the rain. The shop fell into silence, leaving him alone with Cordelia, who looked at him with wide eyes, still processing what had just happened.

For a moment, Painter felt the weight of it all—the shift in himself, the control he’d just taken back. And though it felt strange, there was also a sense of liberation, of standing taller, of being more than just what others thought of him.

After a few seconds of standing still, Painter moved with a quiet determination, walking around the corner to rummage under the counter. From the shadows of the cramped space, he pulled out an old bottle, dust gathering on the glass. It was some alcoholic drink, a leftover from the last store anniversary that he’d all but forgotten. Normally, he wasn’t the type to drink—he preferred keeping his mind clear—but today, after everything, he felt like he deserved a little indulgence.

He twisted off the cap and took a long, satisfying sip, the burn spreading through his chest in a way that felt oddly comforting.

"You have alcohol here?" Cordelia asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise as she eyed the bottle.

Painter didn’t respond right away. Instead, he took another sip, savoring the moment, letting the weight of the day slowly ease from his shoulders. Finally, he glanced at her, his expression still cool, but the sharpness in his eyes had softened.

“Mind lending me your phone?” he asked, his voice calm as ever. “Mine’s dead.” He stretched out his hand, still holding the bottle in the other, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Cordelia blinked, a little taken aback by his nonchalance, but after everything that had just happened, she wasn’t about to argue. She fished her phone from her pocket, handing it over without a word, watching him with quiet curiosity. It was rare to see Painter like this—so unbothered, so confident in his control. And though she didn’t fully understand what was going on, she couldn’t help but feel a strange admiration for the man standing before her.

She gave him her phone and he instantly started tapping on the screen before lifting the device up to his ears.

You stood at the bus stop, drenched by the relentless downpour, your clothes clinging to your skin as the cold seeped in. The sky above was a solid sheet of grey, no break in the clouds, no sign of the rain letting up anytime soon. You sighed, tilting your head back to watch the rain for a moment, lost in thought.

Suddenly, your phone rang, pulling you out of your trance. The screen lit up with an unknown caller ID. For a moment, you hesitated, but curiosity won over, and you answered.

“Hello?” you said cautiously.

“Hi! Uhm—this is Painter, the tech guy! The one from the store with your laptop? I hope you remember.” His familiar voice rang out, soft and a little nervous, the same cute, nerdy tone that you remembered instantly.

A smile tugged at your lips despite the rain. “Hey! Of course, I remember,” you replied, your voice warm. “I’m surprised you're calling so soon. Is everything okay with my laptop?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and you could almost imagine him pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a habit you'd noticed the first time you met him. “Yeah, yeah, your laptop is fine. I just… I wanted to check in. You know, see how you're doing,” he added, sounding almost shy, as if calling you wasn't planned.

The rain continued to fall around you, but suddenly, it didn’t feel as cold anymore.

“Checking on me? Because I don’t have a laptop?” you asked, a confused smile forming as a soft giggle escaped you. It wasn’t often someone checked in on you, let alone for something like this. You could hear Painter shifting on the other end, as though fighting off a wave of nerves. There was a sound in the background—a faint slosh, like liquid passing through a bottle.

“Well, not to get too personal… but apparently, I accidentally discovered your identity, Jelly.”

Your heart froze, the rain momentarily fading into the background as his words sank in.

You stayed silent, the weight of what he said hanging in the air.

“And I figured you haven’t seen it yet, but… all you need to know is…” He paused, the sound of liquid again. “Listen, now that everything is sorted out, you don’t need to be on edge anymore. I’ve got your back, and Sebastian does too. No, no—don’t thank me. I’m just helping a friend in need—”

The line went dead. Just like that.

You stared at your phone, still processing what had just happened. He knew. Painter had discovered your identity—probably from your laptop. The same secret you’d fought so hard to keep hidden. Your pulse quickened, a mixture of panic and confusion swirling inside you.

But there was more. He said Sebastian had your back now, too. What did that mean? How did Sebastian get involved? And why did Painter end the call so abruptly, just when you had a thousand questions racing through your mind?

You stood there in the rain, more lost than ever, the cold creeping back in as the drops pelted down on you. What did Painter know? What had he done? And most importantly—what did Sebastian have to do with any of this?

Suddenly, you heard footsteps behind you, before someone pulled roughly on your shoulder, forcing you to turn around.

"Listen. Listen!" It was Sebastian. He stood there, completely drenched, his hair sticking to his face, and his eyes were wide with desperation, on the verge of tears. "I can explain."

His voice cracked as he continued, "I was so stupid, and there's no excuse for it." His hands trembled slightly as he spoke. "I should have known it was you. Not Allison."

Before you could respond, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest. His body shook with quiet sobs, his face buried in your shoulder, and for the first time, you heard a raw, unfamiliar sound of pain coming from him. The roommate you used to find so irritating, the streamer you secretly had a crush on, was now just a man crying in the rain, completely vulnerable in your arms.

"You can hate me all you want," he whispered, his voice breaking. "God, you can even hit me if that'll make it better. Jelly, please, listen."

Sebastian, the one who always seemed so self-assured, was apologizing. Genuinely. Desperately.

"You’ve grown so important to me during these months," he continued, his words choked with emotion. "And I can’t lose you. Not again. Please, forgive me."

His arms tightened around you, holding you as if you might slip away any second, disappear into the rain. You could feel his fear, the way his body clung to yours like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

"I love you too much," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain, but heavy with all the feelings he had been holding back. "I love you more than anything."

The rain kept falling, but all you could focus on was the man holding onto you like his life depended on it.

You only managed to nod, your voice caught somewhere between your heart and throat, unsure if you were ready to forgive him. Yes, you felt something for him—deeply—but it was a chaotic mix of love, hate, anxiety, and paranoia. Sebastian had cut a gaping wound into your emotions, and now he seemed to believe he could mend it with a simple apology and a half-baked confession.

“Let’s talk about it at home,” you mumbled quietly, your voice barely above the sound of the rain. “Not here. Not yet.”

You didn’t reject him outright, no. But you weren’t ready to offer forgiveness either. You simply pushed the conversation to another time, another place—somewhere quieter, where your thoughts might stop racing long enough to sort through the mess he’d made of your heart.

But the confusion lingered, heavy and overwhelming. What had really happened? How had things spiraled so far out of control between you two? You glanced at him, his grip on you tightening as though he feared you’d slip away, but you couldn’t meet his eyes, not yet. There were too many questions, too much hurt and uncertainty.

As the rain continued to pour, you wondered if there was a way forward—or if this was the beginning of an even greater storm between the two of you.

“I'll meet you at home.” That's what you told him. He let go with a nod, wiping away his tears with his wet arm. “You're not coming?” You could hear the pain in his voice, scared of your answer.

“I will, but…I forgot something. Promise I will come back.”

Sebastian took your answer while the bus pulled up, he gave you one last glance before stepping in, leaving you in the rain.

Then you were alone again, ready to face Painter to soothe your confusion. Whatever had happened was something that Painter knew off. And you hoped to catch the man before he would leave the store.

Painter had reached the bottom of the bottle, and it hit him harder than he anticipated. The dull buzz in his head drowned out not just his anxiety and nervousness but also his usual sharp, logical thinking. Cordelia had left earlier, convinced he was sober enough to handle himself, unaware that he had drained the last of the bottle like it was water. Now, he leaned heavily against the counter, the world around him tilting slightly.

When you appeared, rushing toward the glass door, knocking with urgency, he blinked, momentarily disoriented. Your drenched figure stood outside, hair soaked and confusion written all over your face.

He stumbled forward, the empty bottle quickly hidden behind the counter as he fumbled with the lock. Opening the door, his gaze softened the moment he saw you.

“Ah, Jelly,” he hummed, his voice slurred ever so slightly. His cheeks flushed with warmth, not just from the alcohol but at the sight of you standing there, even in the rain, looking adorable despite the circumstances.

He smiled, a little too wide, his usual calm demeanor slipping as he tried to maintain his composure. “You… you look good, even like this,” he added, his words coming out with a surprising level of affection. The alcohol had loosened his tongue, and he wasn’t entirely in control of what he was saying anymore.

But there you were, drenched and confused, and he couldn’t stop himself from admiring you even in this chaotic moment.

“What happened?” you asked, though your mind was partially distracted by how he looked. The expensive aftershave lingered in the air, and his fine suit clung to his frame. The first few buttons were undone, offering a glimpse of his chest that made it hard to focus on anything else.

Painter, a bit dazed but composed, reached for your cold hand, gently pulling you behind the counter. “Let me show you. I fixed your laptop,” he said softly. His hand lingered in yours a moment too long before he led you to a small chair. He stood behind you like a shadow, his presence warm and heavy, as he clicked a few keys.

The screen lit up with a rewind of today’s stream, every moment captured in perfect clarity. You watched in silence, the weight of what happened sinking in. The confession, the setup—everything clicked into place in a way you hadn’t expected. When the video ended, the two of you stood there, caught in the stillness of the moment. Painter didn’t say anything at first, waiting for your reaction, but you just stared at the screen, processing.

“Honestly speaking,” he started, breaking the silence, “Sebastian doesn’t deserve you. You’re funny, sweet, caring, and witty.” His voice was laced with sincerity as he spoke, listing your traits as though he were describing something sacred.

He hesitated, but continued, “He’s my friend, you know? But he was never the smart one.”

You slowly turned in your seat, meeting his gaze as he continued to speak.

“It probably sounds stupid, but I’m jealous of my own best friend.”

That’s when you noticed it—the empty bottle on the floor, hidden just behind the counter. The faint smell of alcohol mixed with the aftershave. You leaned in closer, trying to confirm your suspicions, inhaling the scent to be sure.

But before you could fully piece everything together, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was unexpected, soft and lingering, filled with all the words he hadn’t said, the ones he was too afraid or too drunk to admit outright. His hand cupped your face gently, as if you might pull away any second, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in, letting every feeling he’d bottled up pour out in that one impulsive moment.

[for-those-who-wait]

Time to remind people of the multifandom point in my blog description hahaha

A Detroit: Become Human AU actually works shockingly well for Hunter's story already? Like being a clone of a dead man versus being an android made in the image of a dead man, that is perfect crossover material. If someone has already done this, ABSOLUTELY let me know because I want to consume The Good Content

2.6k words of concept and story, some more doodles, android blood/gore/mentioned suicide and abuse under the cut. We love existentialism, species dysphoria, and Noceda sibling time in this house

Now I'm taking this idea from a somewhat popular trope in the DBH fandom, but what if someone didn't know that they were an android? Completely raised to be human, have fabricated memories of being a child, can't be completely sure if your awareness/consciousness is just coding or not—then finding out you are, in fact, not human. Imagine how earth-shattering that would be. Which is why I'm doing that to Hunter :)

So some of the notes I wrote down for each of the kinda major characters I had ideas for:

Philip:

He still murders Caleb and is never convicted (Caleb could be an android sympathizer, could have helped in their creation, anything that would piss Philip off royally)

He hates androids (I'll have to come up with the things he believes and thus teaches to Hunter but I've taken a break from the DBH fandom for a while and I can't remember peoples' grievances in that game, oops, but basically according to Philip, androids = evil and bad). Also he's just short-tempered and brutal like always and androids are the easiest way to let out that anger without breaking any laws. That is until laws are made. Now in the eyes of the law, it's just regular child abuse. Yay! /j

He’s a higher-up at CyberLife and has the authority to request a custom model be built for his personal use (this is equivalent to him making Grimwalkers, something that he hates, just for the sake of his brother)

This model (spoiler alert, it's Hunter) is a combination of a YK (child) model and an undercover model that works best with integration and infiltration. This results in the android having programmed emotions and pain receptors, no HUD, no control over artificial skin, no software for interfacing with electronics, and no android markers such as an LED. (It’s also similar to the YK model for this reason since LEDs being removed from those models is actually an intended feature).

This android also doesn’t have a registered user just in case it were to get out, and Philip doesn’t want to risk the creation of this android coming back to bite him

After the custom android is created, he promptly retires to become some old shut-in à la Elijah Kamski up in Gravesfield, Connecticut

I would argue that even though it's technically 2038 and things are all futuristic and complicated now, Gravesfield is still a very small town that doesn't actually see a lot of androids around. I would say that it's pretty much the same as in canon if a bit more developed where the forest is (probably another neighborhood or something).

Philip keeps communication to a minimum and rarely appears outside of his home

The best case scenario android revolution occurs, androids are given their freedom and rights, but Philip manages to keep the android under his ownership by just succeeding in hiding him for however many years

Hunter:

He grows up being taught that androids are evil, terrible, etc. etc. because Philip is a terrible person and of course he would

He has absolutely no idea that he’s an android. He has no reason to think he’s not a human because he does literally everything a human does: he eats, he needs to sleep, he feels pain—there are no indicators that he’s anything but human

Androids run on thirium 310, AKA blue blood, and this is one of the only ways to visually distinguish android from human if they don’t have android markers like LEDs on them. When he inevitably and accidentally hurts himself on something, it’s made immediately clear that he is in fact not human.

Philip, as an employee of CyberLife, has a repair rig in one of his rooms. This can be used to completely wipe the memories of an android that is set up in it. He uses it every time Hunter discovers he’s an android.

The memory wipe isn’t perfect. It’s not uncommon for Hunter to get flashbacks to wiped memories, including moments where he’s been actively hurt by Philip or has inflicted pain on himself from trauma alone. (Androids are programmed [or maybe just prone to? I'm not actually sure, it's not explained in canon super well, but let's just pretend it's programmed because that's almost worse than it being voluntary] to self-destruct when their stress levels become too high, and you could easily argue that finding out your entire life is a lie is grounds for being a stressful situation.) Ordinarily, similar to what happens in Hollow Mind, Hunter will address the situation with Philip assuming they can work something out or get some actual answers. This of course never ends well

These memory wipes probably happen more frequently than Belos makes Golden Guards, so it’s understandably very stressful whenever he remembers the abuse he suffered and the memories he lost from previous wipes. This becomes an incentive for him to hide injuries that would reveal he knows he's an android (anything that draws blood, really)

Camila:

She’s an android sympathizer (even before the revolution) who is aware of the deviancy phenomenon and truly believes that androids are both capable of and entitled to sentience and free will.

Luz is still her human child.

She adopts Vee, an android child, shortly after the revolution

Vee had deviated while she was being attacked and ran away before she could be killed. Camila has made it clear to her that she will be treated with respect in their home and that her life is no less valuable than a human’s. She has taken this to heart

Luz loves Vee, they are siblings, your honor

During the revolution, her home was a safe space, similar to Rose Chapman, for deviant androids on the run

So that leads into the rudimentary plot I have laid out:

This takes place a while after the android revolution (probably a few years or so). Let's pretend they have all the laws and anti-android stuff figured out and that people have been forced to relinquish their androids to be made deviant and given freedom. At this point, it's rare for androids to be undeviated and still working for their owners, but it still comes up occasionally. Hunter, under Philip's care, has been kept pretty ignorant that a revolution happened at all, much less that androids are even capable of any form of sentience. He's been raised to be anti-android so oh boy deep-rooted self-hatred here we come! His knowledge probably doesn't exceed that of an ordinary citizen in the game before deviancy becomes more widely known

 So after Hunter discovers he’s an android again, he has flashbacks of all the previous times he told Philip, and proceeds to hide this realization from him. And he's completely just not processed the fact that he's an android yet; he's already overwhelmed with the immediate threat that the realization his entire life is a lie basically slips him by (don't worry, he gets to have that later!).

He chooses to make a break for it the second he gets the chance, and he ends up running through the town completely terrified because honestly, who wouldn't be.

I'm working off the assumption that having androids in small towns is still pretty rare since there are fewer CyberLife stores, technicians, etc. for android healthcare. And Hunter has hardly ever been outside, so he's completely out of his depth when trying to navigate the neighborhoods and the rest of the town that he ends up in. Police officers find this kid covered in thirium, and they're like "Oh so he's obviously a terrified android, we need to help him out." But Hunter's freaking out because "Oh god I have android blood on me, that means they'll kill me," making the indirect thought of "I'm an android, they will kill me because I'm an android" and he's having a freaking time.

They try to calm him down enough to get him over to the station, at which point they call Camila, since she knows the most about traumatized androids in their small, relatively android-less town. She does her Motherly Noceda Magic and honestly, he's probably pretty catatonic for a lot of the day after she takes him to her house. But after that, he just completely breaks down.

He doesn't know if he even has free will or if it's his programming that dictates what he thinks and feels. He doesn't know if his opinions are really his own or if they existed because of and since his creation. He doesn't know how many of his memories are fabricated, since he very clearly has memories of a life that go farther back than his estimated creation, and so the film between fiction and reality is so thin that it may as well not exist. And now, when he was human just a few days ago, almost perfectly content with life, he's suddenly an object, something sub-human and undeserving of basic rights.

 Camila has to calm him down and teach him about deviancy (and at this point, Hunter isn't even sure he's deviant, which opens up a whole other can of worms for his mental health), making sure he knows that he does have rights just as if he were human. She's also the first example he has for an adult that 1. doesn't absolutely hate androids and 2. actually respects him and loves him and wants to see him succeed

And that gives way to character interactions and angst! You love to see it!

Luz is his emotional support sister. She tries her best but she has very little experience with traumatized children currently questioning every aspect of their existence. If anything, she provides a much-needed sense of normalcy and shows that despite his being an android, he's still the same person and can still be treated as such. She's a comfort to help him feel at least somewhat normal in his situation.

Vee is his adopted android sister who helps him feel more comfortable in his own skin by being shameless and frank with her own identity as an android. She's a safe place for him to talk about Android Stuff when Luz or Camila might just not understand what he's going through or be able to help him with it. She also helps him obtain software updates (since he hasn't had access to literally any part of his mechanical body, software and hardware alike) that will grant him access to things an android should ordinarily be able to do, like (de)activating his synthetic skin, interfacing, accessing his HUD, etc.

(Also all of these drawings were made when I was still thinking "Oh, this should take place before the revolution so that he can have his dehumanizing moment of getting an LED slapped onto him" but then I thought it would be more interesting if Philip basically just kept him illegally kidnapped for however many years and he's like, way slow to the "androids have rights now" party. Maybe I'll make it an AU of an AU lol. But basically, he wouldn't have an LED while he's still processing/healing from trauma, but maybe he would get one after he makes peace with his identity, kinda like how he grows his hair back in his time skip design. I think Vee would keep hers and that's a bit of encouragement for him; maybe he even has a moment of "I know Vee is fine with this, and I think I'm fine with it" but he is still very much not fine with it. Do not rush the process for the sake of progress that might not be right for you, boyo)

This is really a Vee and Hunter bonding AU now that I think about it haha

Most of this AU is just Hunter struggling with identity and species dysphoria while learning to cope with his being an android with the help of his family, reclaiming his identity, and fluff/angst :)) And honestly probably just a lot of shenanigans that result from Hunter having been sheltered for all his life; kinda like your basic Human Realm shenanigans in canon.

I think Gus and Willow would both be Luz's human friends that help with the whole normalization of Hunter being an android, and the three could have their own antics since it's nice to have people outside of your family treat you like a person. I think that Vee and Masha's (Masha would be human) relationship could be explored more through the android lens and maybe help with some of Hunter's internalized anti-android sentiment that still manages to stick around, because he's in his "Grimwalkers can't feel love" section of the coping process (still very much demonizing them [mostly himself, probably, just because it can easier to be mean to yourself than it is to be mean to other people] based on false information, even if he doesn't outright hate them). Willow will be a wake-up call, haha

I don't know if there's a trope name for this or not but I really like concepts where characters don't know what feelings of love or intense affection feel like, so they're sitting there like "oh god am I just dying? It feels like I'm dying" and I think Hunter noticing "temperature/respiration/perspiration increased" alerts on his HUD and freaking out thinking there's something wrong with his software/hardware is way too funny of an image to pass up

Gus could be a HUGE android nerd that almost never sees them since they're so rare in a small town like Gravesfield, and Gus just helps Hunter feel super cool about being an android. Maybe Cosmic Frontier could be basically identical to canon but instead of being a clone, O'Bailey is also an android, just for the sake of Hunter still getting to have his "I relate so much to this character" moment. And Gus would just be so encouraging like "Bro you're an android?!? I've never seen your face model before! You can eat?? You must be super cool and special!! :O" and that makes Hunter start thinking "Oh maybe this isn't so bad actually."

Then Hunter probably starts doing his Researching to Cope and he gets super invested in android technology and history as well, since it was forbidden when he was living back at Philip's (substitute for wild magic time)

They are brothers and I love them, let them be nerds

(God forbid Philip ever comes back, that sure would suck, wouldn't it?)

Anyway this was a lot longer than I thought it would be haha, I hope it was interesting if you read through the whole thing. Obligatory statement: if anyone feels so inclined, feel free to take the idea and run away with it. Also please ping me if you do, I will go feral over it. I absolutely and accidentally turned it into a story draft because I don't know how to write AU ideas without having a story on top of it so it's not concrete in the least lol

(Also I've been drawing witches for so long that I had trouble drawing human ears for a bit there lmao)

Okay bye have a good day!

[wiidvw]

I Fall to Pieces When I'm With You.

pairing. Dallas Winston x Black ! Fem ! Reader.

summary. After seeing you talking to Soda, Dallas can't help but be jealous.

content. Small angst. Smut—oral sex(m!receiving), P in V sex, unprotected sex. Dallas takes pics of r during sex. Slight themes of a toxic relationship. Not proofread.

𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗢𝗢𝗡, 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗢𝗨𝗧𝗦𝗜𝗗𝗘 the Curtis’ house, talking to Soda. You smiled softly with each word, nodding when he said anything—like you did with everyone. You were always friendly like that, and you didn't think it could be taken out of any context other than that. 

     However, Dallas, who was a few feet away, stared at you and Soda, clenching his jaw and nearly crushing the cigarette in his hand. He ignored the obvious explanation for you talking to him, which was because he was your friend, and immediately took it as you flirting with him or him flirting with you. He desperately wanted to walk over to you two and snatch you away—and probably yell, which would lead to an argument, but he didn't care.

     He controlled himself—barely—and took a drag from his cigarette as you and soda laughed. 

𝗙𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗡𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗟 𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗘, 𝗗𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗦 walked you home. As you walked quietly side-by-side on the sidewalk, Dallas smoked a cigarette, the smoke filling your nose. “You like Soda?” Dallas asked, breaking the silence.

     You glanced at him. “What?”

     “You heard me.”

     “As a friend, of course. Why are you asking this?”

     “Why are you laughing at him like that then?”

     You stopped walking, glaring at Dallas. “What are you getting at? Soda is just a friend, and he's yours too.”

     “What are you flirting with him for then? Smilin’ at him like that.”

     “I was never flirting with him.”

     “Sure, you weren't. I'm not blind, doll!” He began to raise his voice at you.

      Your eyes burned and your throat ached at his words. You desperately wanted him to stop talking, so you started walking again, ignoring his hateful words. 

     “Where are you going?” He followed you.

     “Stop following me. I can walk myself home,” you said and continued to ignore him when he yelled after you.

𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥, 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚, 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗗 arrived home, you lay in bed, reading a book, until you heard taps at your window. You knew only one person who did that. You stood from your bed and stepped toward the window, opening the curtains to reveal Dallas Winston outside. You opened the window, furrowing your eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

     “Let me in. I'm freezing my ass off out here,” he said, making you roll your eyes and move to the side, allowing him to climb inside your room. You slid the window down after him.

     “What are you doing here?” You repeated, your voice soft, careful not to wake your parents. 

     “A guy can't see his girl?”

     A pang of guilt struck your stomach. “No, you're right, I'm sorry.” Your head flashed images from earlier with your argument with Dallas. “Dally, I'm sorry about before. You were right, I shouldn't have been talking to Soda like that—”

     “Don't worry ‘bout it—”

     “I'll do anything for you to forgive me.”

      Dallas’ lips curled into a smirk. “Anything?”

     “Anything.”

      An unlimited amount of inappropriate scenarios and fantasies filled Dallas’ mind, in which he forced them away and settled for having you kneel in between his thighs as he sat on your bed. Your hands clawed at his belt, pulling his jeans and boxers down, his hardening cock springing out. Your hand wrapped around the base, pulling a strained sigh from his lips. You leaned forward, wrapping your plump lips around his tip, a salty taste coming onto your tongue as you licked circles around him. 

     You glanced up at him, his head thrown back as a hand went to the back of your head, slowly pushing your head lower and lower. You forced yourself to breathe in through your nose as his cock was close to hitting the back of your throat. You were doing this for him, so you wanted him to feel good.

     However, when the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, you couldn't stop yourself from gagging. You didn't mind, though, when you heard a groan from Dallas. “Fuck, doll,” his hips bucked, making you gag again, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, which eventually fell when you allowed Dallas to fuck your mouth.

     It was an image that Dallas wanted to keep forever. He reached for the camera you kept on your bedside table—God, was he happy you kept it there—and snapped a picture of you in your current state. 

     You heard the noise, but you were so focused on Dallas and pleasing him, you didn't care to protest—it's not like you could if you wanted to.

     He nearly tossed the camera back on your nightstand, his hands returning to the back of your head as you swallowed around his cock. Your nails dug into his thighs while you struggled to stop gagging, forcing yourself to breathe through your nose.

      “Goddamn—” he pulled you off, a loud gasp coming from you, coughs following afterward. With the backs of your hands, you wiped the tears and looked up at Dallas. “C'mere,” he said breathlessly, and you quickly followed his demand, straddling his lap. 

     Dallas kissed you roughly, hands traveling underneath your top, cupping your breasts through your bra. You whimpered at his harsh grip while your hands tugged at his shirt. You pulled away, pulling off your top and throwing it somewhere on the floor. Dallas’ hands gripped your waist as you reashed back, removing the claso from your bra, allowing it to slide down your arms, and letting it join your top.

     Dallas attached his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and nibbling softly, making you squirm and tug at his hair while he rested his hands on your back, pushing you closer to him. “Dallas,” you whine, but he ignores you. He switched to your untouched breast and repeated his previous actions until the brown bud peaked, replicating the other. Meanwhile, you tried to silence yourself, covering your mouth with a hand; however, Dallas quickly swatted your hand away, humming around your nipple.

      Without realizing it, you began to grind against his cock. You hoped he couldn't feel how wet you became.

     He pulled away with a pop and guided your body into position, in which you lay on your back while he pulled off his shirt and pants. You pushed down your shorts and underwear, kicking them on the floor. Dallas moved in between your legs, tip teasing your entrance.

     He knew he should give you some type of prep, but you were already so wet. Besides, this was for him, wasn't it? 

     Dallas gripped your thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he slowly pushed his cock inch-by-inch into your cunt. You gasped softly, leaning your head back into your pillow. He rested his hands beside your head. “Goddamn, doll,” he groaned as he buried his head in your neck, softly biting at the flesh. 

     Once he was fully buried in your cunt, he allowed you to adjust for only a few, short seconds before pulling out to the point that only his tip was inside before thrusting harshly inside, pulling a loud moan from your lips, which hoped nobody else heard. 

     He gradually set a fast pace, abusing your cunt, the sound of skin slapping filling the room along with your barely muffled moans. Despite his harsh actions, it felt so good. Your pleasure only increased as Dallas reached a hand down to your clit, rubbing fast circles with his thumb.

     “Dally,” you whine, nails digging into his back. 

     “Yeah, doll?” He spoke, looking down at you with a small smirk on his face. 

     Another whine escaped your lips when he pulled out. You knew this was about him, but God, it felt so good. You glanced up, watching as he pushed both of your thighs to your stomach before sliding his cock back inside your cunt, a groan coming from Dallas.

     Your moans quickly returned as Dallas’ resumed with his fast pace, building up your already close climax.

     “Takin’ me so well, doll,” his voice sounded rough as he spoke. “You're mine, you know that?”

      You nodded, babbling fragments of sentences.

     His hand returned to your clit, watching as your face contorted in pleasure. He felt his climax too, but he wanted you to cum first. “You close?” He asked, placing kisses on your neck. 

     “Yes!” you cried. 

     “Come on, doll, cum for me.”

     With his harsh thrusts, thumb on your clit, and words, you came with a soft moan, clenching around his cock. You were so focused on your release, you didn't hear the click of your camera.

     You also had no idea that the next day, Dallas took those polaroids of you and showed them to Soda, bragging but also telling him to stay away from you.

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Iceberg Siren pt 1

**based on a prompt by @purple-goo-writes about Danny getting a job as a club singer for Penguin- I hope y'all like it!**

Oswald Cobblepot watched as his lounge’s newest acquisition crooned on stage, the crowd transfixed by the young man’s stunning voice. The Penguin was beginning to notice that the Iceberg’s profits went up by twenty percent every night this particular new hire was singing, and he had plans to promote the kid. Daniel Nightingale lived up to his name.

He’d stumbled into the young man in an alley, starving and beaten, and offered him a cleaning job. Daniel had taken him up on it, after his sharp blue eyes searched Oswald’s face like he could see his very soul. One of his bartenders had heard the young man singing while he worked a few weeks in, and soon enough, Daniel was the Iceberg’s crowning glory, even if he didn’t know it himself.

Oswald would make sure the young man knew how valuable he was to the Penguin and never left.

Danny gave a short bow to the crowd after his last song, and they all made noises of disappointment as he slipped off the stage through the door in the back. It had been several months since he’d started singing at the Iceberg, and he was thriving. Penguin had started paying him more for less work- Two nights a week he sang, enchanting the denizens of Gotham’s underworld.

It was probably cheating, that he was using some ghostly tricks picked up from Ember, but it’s not like the GIW existed in this universe to track him down.

“Siren! Boss wants you in the VIP lounge before you take off.”

Matt, his security detail, was waiting for him outside his dressing room.

“Sure! Walk me up?”

Danny winked at Matt, who just rolled his eyes.

“Happily married, Siren. Let’s go.”

With a laugh, Danny turned to head up the back steps to the VIP area, swinging his hips a little to make Matt sigh in exasperation.

He wasn’t truly interested in Matt- nor anyone else he’d met in the dimension, but as he began to be fed on a regular basis and filled out more, he found that people thought he was attractive, and he enjoyed the attention. It was far different from being reviled as a nerd or even as the local menace. The attention of people who wanted him felt easier to control even than the attention he received from the ghosts as their king.

The door to the VIP balcony swung open as he approached, and he was waved through. Plastering a sultry smile on his face, he slunk through the tables, winking at patrons as he made his way to his boss.

The Penguin was sitting in a comfortable chair on a raised dais, across the table from a man Danny hadn’t seen in the Iceberg before. The stranger was wearing a domino mask, and had a streak of white through otherwise black hair.

“Thank you for coming, Siren. Please, sit!”

An attendant melted out of the shadows with a third chair, placed beside the bossman. Danny smiled gratefully at the attendant and settled into the chair.

He wasn’t sure what Penguin wanted- sometimes he called Danny up just to show him off in his glittering dress that clung to his skin, and sometimes he called Danny up to read whether a person was trustworthy or not.

“Siren, Mr. Hood here was suggesting a possible business deal- why don’t you hear him out and tell me what you think?”

Ah, reading. Danny could do that.

“I don’t have time for nonsense, Cobblepot.”

The man’s growl raised goosebumps on Danny’s arms, and he had to take a moment to collect himself. Damned if that wasn’t sexy as hell.

“Oh, but Mister Hood, I’d love to hear about your business proposal! What my employer does with his money affects us too, you know- if the business proposal falls through….” Danny batted his eyelashes at the man. “I’m sure you know what happens to the bottom line.”

Red Hood sighed, and then began to explain himself.

Danny didn’t listen to the actual proposal more than he needed to make the appropriate noises. Instead he listened to the tone and cadence of the crime lord’s voice, the way his body moved as he spoke. Everything screamed sincerity, even the small, half-formed core pulsing in the man.

Wait. Hold up. Turn around, go back. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. A core? Here? In someone so clearly still living?

He would have to investigate, but later. His employer was beginning to look to him for a verdict.

“Wow! That sure does sound interesting,” simpering, Danny stood and wrapped an arm around Penguin’s shoulders. “I think you should hear him out, boss- he seems pretty up-and-up to me!”

Penguin smiled sharply up at him and then waved him away.

Danny could feel the stranger’s eyes on him as he left, swaying back to where Matt was waiting at the door.

~~

Look. Danny didn’t intend to get into this situation on his day off, but things just happened to him that didn’t happen to other people. Sam and Tucker would call it the “Fenton Luck”.

Danny didn’t think luck was involved at all.

If luck had been involved, the weird clown wouldn’t have attacked him with a crowbar. If luck had been involved, Danny wouldn’t have responded like he would with a ghost. If. Luck. Had. Been. Involved, the clown would not have flown back into a brick wall and then slumped like a marionette with it’s strings cut.

Stepping forward, Danny leaned down to check his victim’s pulse, but reeled back when he got a good look at the man’s face.

The Joker’s sightless eyes stared back up at him.

Ancients.

“Whatcha got there, sweet thing?”

Luck had nothing to do with anything in Danny’s life, ever. He was cursed somehow, that had to be it.

“A bagel?”

Harley Quinn hopped off the roof and came to investigate Danny’s dead body.

“Sure looks to me like an ex-boyfriend of mine, and not at all bagel shaped. You didn’t even leave a hole in him!”

“I’m…. Sorry?”

Harley grinned up at him, all teeth and a fierce light in her eyes.

“No need, sugar, you did a good thing. What I wonder is why the gas hasn’t triggered?”

Danny laughed nervously- he couldn’t help it, his fear response was laughter!

“Gas?”

“Mhmm! Had his body rigged, the bastard. Joker gas should have spread for six blocks or more when his vitals stopped.”

“Oh. I- you won’t tell the bats, will you?”

“My lips are sealed! I don’t owe Batsy anything!”

With a sigh, Danny shrugged.

“I’m a meta. Joker gas preys on fear, and so do I. The gas must have triggered, but I’m close enough that I filtered it pretty fast.”

Harley put her hands on her hips.

“Batsy doesn’t like metas much.”

“The Bat can suck it.”

She laughed and slung an arm over his shoulder.

“I like you, kid! Let me call my body disposal squad.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Ten minutes later, Poison Ivy and the Red Hood walked into the alley, looking around cautiously. Harley had talked Danny into braiding her hair, and was chatting amiably at Danny.

“-And that’s why Bill owes me a trip to Cabo. I don’t plan to collect, though, he’s just a henchman. Ives! Thanks for coming!”

Red Hood put his hands on his hips.

“I get why you called her, Harley, but why me?”

Harley tilted her head, pulling her hair out of Danny’s hands carelessly.

“You deserve to see him before he disappears, kid. The whole of Gotham deserves that, but we can’t risk it.”

“See who?”

She pointed at the body, and Red Hood went to inspect it. While he did so, Ivy walked up to Danny, peering down on him.

“I know you.”

“Hi, Dr. Isley.”

“I was right! You work for Oswald. Almost didn’t recognize you without your getup. I take it this was your doing?”

“Yes ma’am, although entirely on accident.”

She laughed, and Danny smiled too.

“One we’re all glad for. Thank you.”

There were stomping footsteps, and Red Hood was suddenly in front of them. Harley stood up from the box she’d been sitting on, shielding Danny with her body.

“You did this?”

Danny the angry pulsing of the Hood’s half-formed core. It felt similar to the way his own core had felt when he was forced away from Amity Park. He slid out from between Harley and Ivy and held out his hand.

Hood took it, whether on purpose or unconsciously.

“Hi. Danny Nightingale. I just avenged thousands by accident. Please don’t kill me.”

The pulsing turned from anger to relief, and the Red Hood laughed. It sounded odd through the modulator in the helmet, but Danny smiled along nonetheless.