#insurance companies can go suck dicks

[syfja-katterdyr]

I'm sharing this across all my media platforms. Please, even if you don't donate, help get her story out. I didn't mention this in the story but our employer isn't working with her to give her the benefits they offer such as short and long term disability and sick pay. In fact, they denied her short term disability.

[worldsover]

Transcendence/Pareidolia ft. Heejin

length ✦ 10k

genres ✧ it's a lot of oral, but hey, there's plot too; friends-to-lovers!Heejin

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Your fist clenches in a tight ball.

"If I die because of you, you better feed my fish."

"Die? You're being ridiculous," Heejin says.

You have a lot you could retort in that moment. Such as, "Me, the ridiculous one?" Or, "I'm being serious, I'm gonna actually die." Or, "You're actively contributing to the degradation of the meaning of language if you're claiming my suffering as ridiculous and assuming I'm participating in the honorable but currently inapplicable trope of hyperbole." All these things you can say, and you're without audible retort. This is the fourth time today Heejin's lips encircle your shaft; you were past dry by the third, because she would not let go of your cock for five minutes after your climax (because you didn't stop her).

Heejin's eyes beg, her lashes flutter, her tongue tempts, slithering, slick, and you think maybe you can spare her one more load.

Her mouth slips smoothly from the base of your cock to the head and then, pop. One big bubble of spit. She adds more, saliva foaming up on her tongue that's sticking out and toying with your tip.

"Don't die? Pwease?"

How ridiculous—or you could transcend to immortality at her behest.

All the while, she's sucking your dick in this bathroom like it's mere leisure for her. Like cigarettes to a smoker, she's blowing you like smoke, dirtying her throat, burning you up. Far past dignity now, the only thing she has between her knees and the floor is a bunch of toilet paper. The picture of addiction she paints is unfortunate and raw honesty and vivid contrast between such an elegant woman and such an inelegant solution to hunger. Despite how cavalier and practiced she is about introducing your tip to her uvula, Heejin will never give you a tidy blowjob. She salivates, every time, her tongue a wicked beast of its own, a serpent that can't lie above its love. And on the other hand, you can grumble and grouse all you want—if Heejin says your cock is going in her mouth, then…

You should've seen this coming like how you don't see yourself cumming because your eyelids are wired shut by the pretty agony of this orgasm. When you open them, her (fake, important to make the distinction) glasses are covered in streaks, her hands still twisting, tongue still licking your underside. Determination in her eyes says that every drop will be wrung out. It's possible this isn't leisure, but rather, business, and cum margins are getting lower as damnable inflation rises. She'll squeeze you dry for every last dollar of semen, no apologies to the sperm banks.

When Heejin is done, she sips on your cockhead, then a final kiss. You slump over the toilet and she pats your shoulder, laughing; it's a mean-spirited chuckle, but your dying wish is to hear that laugh one last time, so good on her for the penny of kindness she could spare like an insurance company donating to a hospital.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

"How could anyone love sucking dick that much?" Jinsol asks.

You look at Jinsol, then look at Heejin. Then, look at Haseul, and look at Heejin again. You've never gotten used to this dynamic. How much are you supposed to interject between three drunk girls talking? Are you meant to at all? The topic has already gone off-course, and there's no captain to steer the ship back when you're six bottles down.

Your eyes fall on Heejin, then Haseul.

"Oh, man," Heejin says, downing a shot. Her hand falls around her cleavage, as she feels the warmth of the alcohol envelop her and shudders, eyes closed. "Do you really want to get into this?"

Look at Jinsol and Haseul as they laugh, and you join in laughter, and you look at Heejin again; now, she's serious, rolled up her sleeves for good measure. Let's address the whole looking at Heejin thing, because it's so apparent, even to your drunk ass, that it must be apparent to the others too—you asked her out a while ago, first year of college, rejection, but you're still friends now. Then, despite that, she started getting touchier, somehow more flirtatious. Drove and drives you fucking mad. This little hangout thing at Haseul's place is a long ways away (call it half a year) from getting four oral sessions in a day, though you remember it as being a pivotal stepping stone to the routine.

Focus. You're always putting on a performance, and the actors of the nerves of your brain are having trouble getting the script from the filing cabinets. Question: is it more or less suspicious to allocate, say, three glances toward Haseul and Jinsol each to compensate?

"Sure," Haseul says, still giggling to herself. She's been doing that ever since asked the first question. "What's so wonderful about getting your jaw sore and your mouth dry?"

Heejin makes an angry noise and says through gritted teeth, "It's not about that, obviously. There's so much more to sucking dick than the…" She gestures with her arms, unable to find a word.

"Why do you like it, Heejin?" you ask. Everyone stares at you. "Sorry, nevermind."

"No, no, it's fine," Heejin says."Lemme just, how do I put this? It's like, when you're sucking dick, you feel like you're controlling the dude. You decide when he gets hard, when he gets wet, and when he cums."

"So, you're a sadist," Jinsol says.

"Sadist, my ass," Heejin retorts. "It's… empowering. Sucking dick is empowering."

Huh. The alcohol fizzles and dies in your mind, and Heejin's deep voice echoes in your head to take the place—oh, Heejin is fucking wasted, by the way. Drank as much as the other two combined, but still standing (sitting), but barely.

"Weird," Jinsol replies.

Haseul crosses her arms, facing Jinsol. "Hey, don't kink shame."

"No, no, you don't get it. There's another reason," Heejin continues, verging mad by now. Her cheeks are turning red. "Dicks taste good. Taste amazing, even. And… dicks have faces."

Haseul spits out soju. Jinsol coughs soju. You're lucky you weren't mid-drink.

"Dicks have faces?" Jinsol and Haseul say together.

"Y-yeah," Heejin says, her face flushed. "Dicks have faces. Like, if you suck on the head a bit, you can see different expressions. If you lick the underside, you can see them smile. If you swallow deep… they cry."

Your pants tighten. Somehow, you get it.

She says quietly and quickly, "Oh and also I like the taste of cum. Alright, fine, I really like the taste of cum." She gets louder. "Fine, okay, geez, I LOVE the taste of cum! Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Everyone bursts out in laughter. Heejin sips angrily on soju.

"Alright, Heejin," you say. "That was quite an enlightening explanation."

"Shut up, you," she says, sternly.

You gulp.

Haseul and Jinsol go get snacks from the kitchen, leaving you and Heejin alone.

"Dicks have faces, huh," you say.

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Not a chance. You know, no one made you say all that."

Heejin grumbles. You try to get closer, but she puts her hand on your thigh.

"You've got a boner," she says. "Stop."

"Wha? What do you mean?"

"Stop." Heejin stares at you with a serious face, contrasting all the redness in her cheeks.

You don't know where to start with a response.

"It's just, I don't wanna make things weird"—too late—"and obviously all this girls' talk has you riled up or whatever"—by the way, Heejin's hand is slinking higher up your pants—"and I know it's not your fault, but, we're friends, and I don't wanna ruin that."

"S-sorry."

"Good boy."

Heejin had to look in your eyes while saying that one, huh?

You clear your throat, and all efforts to tame your second brain fail. Another drink. It's agonizing, waiting for Haseul and Jinsol to return. Then, Haseul and Jinsol return. Snacks. Too little, too late. There are probably other conversations as the night goes on, but your mind is already spinning from the alcohol, spinning even further at dirty thoughts incepted by Heejin. Eventually, Haseul and Jinsol conk out, and Heejin helps you carry them to Haseul's room.

"Heejin," you say. "I can carry them myself."

"Yeah, I know. Isn't it usually Jinsol who passes out last?"

You would scoff at Heejin's remark, though with your mind elsewhere, you just nod. After you lay Jinsol and Haseul delicately on the bed, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, where you jerk off furiously. You've never tugged yourself without a video in tow or some other material to assist, and you've never felt this urge drunk, but the mere concept of Heejin sucking off your cock like she needs it is enough for you to cum. Mark this as the inevitable inciting incident: the door swings open as you pump your last shot.

You make eye contact. Heejin blinks. Cum flies.

"Uh," you say.

"Woah," she says.

You say nothing.

Heejin closes the door.

"Shit," you mutter and you've used too much toilet paper wiping down where you shot and you're fumbling and you almost trip over yourself and—goddammit, what the fuck just happened. Once you clean yourself off, you go outside.

Heejin is standing there.

"It's fine. Don't sweat it," she says.

"I… I don't know if I can. You know. If I can, like, not sweat it, fuck." You sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Look, I'm gonna take the bed in her other room, you're fine with the couch right?"

You're drifting in and out of consciousness on the couch when Heejin shakes you awake.

"Huh?" you say.

"You know, I lied."

"About what?"

"Sucking dick having faces."

You blink. You rub your eyes.

"I lied. Dicks don't have faces. Cocks have personalities."

You're too tired to say anything. You just stare at Heejin. You smell a bit more alcohol on her shirt.

"Well, no, I mean, it's true, dicks have faces. But also cocks have personalities."

You think, but no words come out.

"The difference is, um, when a cock has personality, it has preferences and stuff. Like… preference for speed, depth, and tightness. When a cock has personality, you can tell when it likes and doesn't like what you're doing."

You nod off.

"Like, I could tell you would really like if I take all of you in my mouth. You definitely look more like an intimate, slow deepthroat kind of guy, you know, instead of the facefucking, gagging thing. It's like MBTI, yeah, that's it. Your cock is definitely an I, not an E. Oh, maybe a lot of tongue action? But not in the teasing the tip for the whole time sort of thing. Or, am I wrong? What kind of blowjobs do you like? Because you have the kind of cock I wanna tease, and the kind of dick I wanna kiss and why did you waste that load on a tissue, like are you kidding…"

Your eyes are closed.

A woman's deep voice. "Right. Well. Anyways, it's pretty late, and we're both drunk. So, uh. Good night. I guess."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You wake up. Sunlight. Snack wrappers. Haseul and Jinsol nowhere to be found, or awake, rather. Heejin is next to you on the couch—no, you're hugging each other—actually, she's draped over you like a blanket, and your erection is pushing against her ass.

Heejin wakes up.

"Shit," you say, getting up. "I'm sorry."

"Didn't I tell you to... ugh, whatever."

You sit on Haseul's couch, rubbing the sleep and hangover out of your face, crust out of your eyes. You stretch, hearing creaks in your bones. Heejin sits up, looks forward.

"Last night," she starts. "I might have said some, uh, crazy things."

You snort.

Looking at you, she frowns. She doesn't seem hungover at all, not a bead of sweat on her forehead. Her hair is perfect, as are her pouty lips.

Your brow upturned, you scoff. "Like, crazy? That's one way to put…"

There's a twist in those lips now, like she's running it back in her head; now you are too.

"I mean—yeah, that's the right word, but..."

She's still staring at you, and your mind's really running in circles and sure she laid out the track herself but you could just run off it at any time.

Oh, you're following the track still? "It's, just, I'm, I'm sorry for, what I was, you know, doing. Last night."

Heejin sighs. "I told you. Stop apologizing. It's fine."

"Okay," you say.

You make an excuse to Heejin about getting home, despite wanting nothing more than to spend time with her. What's the point of hanging out when it's just going to make your crush on her worse.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

When you get home, you end up jerking off three times in a row in your own bathroom, but at least you aren't interrupted any of those times. 

A few days after the party, you've been thinking about Heejin's joke a lot more than you should.

The worst thing is that Heejin is being all chummy with you again like nothing happened. You wonder if she's doing that on purpose. Either way, you've learned that you need to distance yourself. You've been avoiding group hangouts. You haven't answered your texts in a couple days. You've avoided the pet store the both of you always visit, instead opting to support local businesses like—insert large delivery corporation here (no free advertising)—for your fish food. This goes on for a week.

The week ends when Jungeun comes to your house.

"What?" you say, lounging, staring at air bubbles floating to the top of your little aquarium.

"Don't 'what' me," Jungeun replies through the closed door. "Open up."

"No."

"Look, I'm here because Heejin is really sad, and so Haseul wanted to know why you're not talking to Heejin, and I volunteered because I could tell Heejin really wants to see you and not just talk to you."

"Jungeun, I don't know."

"Listen. I'm not leaving."

Ten minutes later, Jungeun is eating potato chips in your room.

"So… why are you avoiding her?" Jungeun asks.

"What does she want to say to me?" you ask.

Jungeun pauses. "She… told me to tell you to go see her."

You sit on your sofa next to Jungeun, grabbing chips out of the bag. They're your chips.

"She didn't tell me to tell you what exactly it is, but it's important," Jungeun continues. "But honestly, what's been up with you?"

"Nothing's been up with me. I'm the same guy."

"That sounds like someone who has not been the same guy."

You eat more chips. "And how are things going with you and Jinsol," you say.

Jungeun stops slouching. "Hey, don't try and change the subject. For the record, it's been going fine, thank you very much."

"Sounds like you're still in the friendzone."

"You're the last person I want to hear that from."

"Me, the last person? I'd assume Jinsol would be the last person you want to hear that from."

"Fine! Just stop being a dumbass, okay? Heejin really, really wants to talk to you."

You put your hands up. "Okay. You win. I'll talk to her."

"Awesome." Jungeun looks down at her phone, then looking back up, she smiles. "Oh, by the way, Yerim just texted me, she finally finished exams for the semester. What if Heejin and Yerim both come over? We can get everything out of the way, two for one deal."

You sigh. "Yeah, I guess."

She pats you on the shoulder.

You feel no less comforted.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Two for one deal, your ass. You're pacing around your bedroom. Yerim and Jungeun are playing Smash in the living room, and Heejin is… somewhere, probably. The door is shut. All the noise in the world is muffled. You don't know what to expect. Obviously, Heejin needs to talk to you; you're her friend, one of her best friends, and you've been ignoring her for the past week. You sit down. Take a deep breath.

Knock, knock.

"Come in," you say.

You sit on your bed. So does Heejin. You look away. Look down. She smells really, really good, sweet and warm. You've missed her, a lot.

"Hey," Heejin says.

So she's talking first. "Hey," you respond.

You were already loosening up your tense shoulders, but Heejin says "So, Mr. Dickface" and you laugh and you look at Heejin, casually stunning in a simple outfit, a white tee, black shorts.

"Heejin, come on. It's been a week. I swear I would've forgotten if you didn't bring it up."

She pouts.

"Okay," you say, "alright, I would have not forgotten, fine. I still can't believe you. Dicks having faces."

She laughs now.

There's a lull in the conversation. The sound of Yerim shouting and buttons mashing is barely audible. You turn to face Heejin, and she's still looking at you. Her eyes are… soft, vulnerable. She's holding herself.

"Listen," Heejin says. "I'm sorry if I've been weird these past... mmm, months? I know you're not dumb, and I guess, I've been treating you like you are."

You whisper, "I am dumb though."

"No, you're not." She scoffs. "I'm sorry, seriously. We're friends. And friends don't lead each other on and play games"—the sound of a cheer coming from outside the room, definitely Jungeun—"okay, well, they do, but friends don't keep their friends wondering."

"Wondering?"

Heejin sighs. "Let me just get this off my chest. So, yeah, I like you. A lot. Obviously, you've liked me since the beginning. Or, well, loved. When you asked me out, I was excited and nervous and confused, but I... You know me. I've got a million things going on at the same time. Dating as a possibility didn't even cross my mind."

"Yeah. I get it. I don't blame you for that. I guess if we're both laying it all out, I get it. I swear I do. It's that dynamic that always fucks up a friendship between guy and a girl, and I think it's good we got that question out of the way early. But like, I was shocked, obviously, when you started touching me so much, holding hands, sitting on my lap, hugging me." You pause and look away. "It felt good, but it also felt wrong. Like you were playing with my feelings."

Heejin reaches out and takes your hand. "I wasn’t playing with you," she says softly. “I was playing with myself"—half a giggle comes out of you, adding some levity, and she smacks your shoulder—"No, not like that. What was I saying? Right, I guess I was trying to figure out what I wanted."

"Right." Your head hangs again. "So what? I'm just a bystander? A side effect?"

"Yes."

She laughs, squeezing your hand. You pout.

"I'm kidding. You're more than that. Way more. I've learned that much by now."

Heejin takes a long pause.

You can hear breathing, neither exhalations nor inhalations matching pace. It's tense.

"You know what else I learned? Because there's something else on my mind right now. Sort of, sparking in my head, shouting. I know we're having this whole heartfelt thing and I'm sorry for ruining it, but I have to say this because you have a boner and it's springing in your pants and I might be drooling or something—fuck. I've learned that I love sucking dick. A lot. Okay?"

This is the first time you've seen Heejin get so flustered, so bothered. So are you.

She isn't looking at you, yet she continues anyway: "Well. I have to be honest. That's all hypothetical. You know, I've never actually done it. I've just thought about it. A lot. And, obviously, you know, cucumbers turn to dildos and other toys and stuff. And then I saw your dick. And now I've thought about your dick and keep thinking about it."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Yeah." Heejin starts nodding, gaining confidence. "Yeah. I'm certain now. And please, don't think you're taking advantage of me or something, because you're not. In fact, I want you to take advantage of me."

Your breath stays in your lungs.

"How about this," Heejin says, leaning in more. "Do you wanna… fuck around? Or, well, I mean, that's a crass way of putting it. Be my partner in crime. Suckbuddy. Fuckfriend. Whatever you call it. No strings attached. You want a blowjob? You'll get a blowjob. That kind of thing. Even if it's not dating or whatever, we just do what we want to do and we can figure it out later."

Your smile grows slowly. "You know what? Sounds good to me."

"That's it? I drop all that in front of you and you're just, 'sounds good to me'?"

"Okay, fine. Here. I forgive you. That good?"

"Actually, that helps." Heejin exhales, a sigh of relief. "Great."

Silence. Cleared throats. The both of you sit closer now. Her knees bump into yours, and she giggles. She holds your hand. Your eyes meet. You're holding her gaze and her body heat is emanating from her skin and you want her, badly.

"You look handsome today," Heejin whispers. "Have I told you that lately?"

"No," you say, quieter, feeling meek. "You haven't. Thank you."

Her free hand brushes strands of hair.

"Your hair, so cute," she says, happily humming.

Heejin scoots even closer as her knee nudges between your legs.

"Nothing to say? Mm… okay. I have a question."

"What is it?"

Heejin kisses you, immediately catching your lips before you can breath, a taste of chocolate-tinged lip gloss, as her tongue mingles with yours. Her hand lays over your bulge, and her leg is still bumping into your crotch. She pulls away.

"Wow. You're kissing good," she says, flustered.

"No, you're better at it. Amazing. You're amazing."

"God, you're sweet." She laughs.

Your mouths are together again. You pull her into a hug, and she squeals.

"Woah there," she says.

"Sorry. Got a little excited."

"It's fine." Heejin looks away. 

You squeeze her harder, and she squeezes you harder. You break the hug.

"Hey. How far," Heejin starts, "do you think we want to go?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, right now. In the moment. If I'm reading this right, and I think I am, you really, really want me. So how far? Are we just gonna kiss this time? Or do you wanna go a bit further? A lot further."

You freeze. "Honestly, you decide."

"You sure? Because, if I had it my way, I, um, I don't think I'll stop sucking your dick until Yerim finally wins a round and they wonder where the fuck we've been."

Your eyes are wide. "Y-you're really picturing that, aren't you? The two of them barging in while my cock is down your throat."

She does not reply.

"You are unbelievable."

"I can't help it," she says, almost whining. "You have the sort of cock I really want to play with."

You pull Heejin back into another hug, kissing her. She pushes you onto the bed and straddles your thighs. Her body heat, her scent, her hands caressing you. This is the first time you're feeling this much of her body against your own, and it's incredible. Even better—much, much better—is when she lifts up her shirt, revealing a simple, black bra. She takes her shirt off completely, and your hands grab at her stomach. How many times have you watched her do ab workouts for an ungodly amount of time, hoping one day you could feel her six-pack for yourself? Your hands then trail up higher, until you're grabbing at her tits, still ensconced within the confines of a bra, but her breasts are heavenly, perky, waiting to be squished and bounced on your hands.

Heejin has other designs for you: she grabs both of your wrists and pins them to the bed above your head. Your pants are tenting, and she grinds against your cock. You moan.

"I love seeing you like this," Heejin says. She lowers her torso onto yours, breasts spilling out of her bra a bit. She grinds harder, and you moan again. "You're so hot, and you're all for me. God, I wanna… fuck around so much."

She backs up, dragging her crotch down your leg as she descends. When she reaches your foot, she sits and puts it between her legs.

"Shit, Heejin," you say.

She bends over to kiss your neck.

"Your foot… feels good. I'll never say that again, so don't you dare make fun of me."

"Wouldn't dream of it. You can always tell me what you like."

She's rubbing her crotch against your ankle and taking your shirt off. Her lips move down to your nipple, licking circles around it.

"Your cock… feels big," she says. She grabs at it through your pants. "I'm so fucking excited for the real thing."

You've imagined this moment so many times. You'd fantasized about being pinned to a bed, about being teased by Heejin, of course, but you didn't expect, couldn't ever picture how she'd really sound, how she'd actually feel, how it would feel to be touched, licked, kissed by her. And yet here she is, biting on your nipple, moaning herself as she uses your foot.

She lets go. "Your… chest is so nice."

"Uh, thanks."

Heejin smiles and returns to biting, but on your other nipple instead. Her next pecks and licks are on your own abs, tracing over your six pack, following the ridges and dips with her tongue. She takes your waistband in her mouth. Slowly, she pulls down. You lift your hips, and then your pants are off. Heejin drags her cheek against your cock through your underwear, eyes closed.

"Your scent… is amazing." She licks the fabric along your length, where it bulges. "Mmm, this is what I'm talking about."

Your cockhead is poking out of your waistband. She kisses it, and then sucks on it through your underwear.

"Heejin, take it… off."

She stops, eyes wide. She pulls your waistband with her mouth, and you lift your hips again. She tugs it down, your cock sprinting out.

"Oh, wow," she says.

"W-what is it?"

"Your cock… is really, really gorgeous."

You gulp. "Thanks."

Heejin takes your cockhead in her mouth. You close your eyes. She swirls her tongue around the tip. She bobs down, lips wrapped around your shaft. Then, pop. She takes your cock out of her mouth, holding it in her hand.

"Is this… okay?" she asks.

"More than okay. Really, really, really okay."

"Good." She jerks you off, her spit easing the friction.

"Shit, Heejin."

"God, I love hearing you say my name."

She moves faster, your cock slick in her palm. She alternates between fast and slow. One second, she's going quick, and the next, her hand is barely moving, and your cock is twitching in her grasp. Her thumb strokes your underside.

"I… love teasing you," Heejin says. "I love making you beg for me to go faster."

"Please, go faster, then."

"You're so cute." She goes slower. You groan.

Heejin moves her grip to your balls, stroking your underside with her thumb again. Her other hand grabs the base of your cock. Her mouth returns, sucking on your balls. She's pumping up and down.

"Fuck, Heejin, please… go faster."

"Again."

You gulp. "Please, Heejin, go faster."

"Good boy."

Her hand speeds up. Your balls are getting sucked, her tongue licking around them, and her other hand is jerking, and it's like she's milking you. Your climax is imminent. You warn her.

"You're gonna make me cum."

Heejin pops off your balls and takes your cock out of her hand. She lowers her torso.

"I've been waiting so long for this," she says.

She swallows you.

Her tongue is slathering your shaft, and she's bobbing down, and her lips are tight around you. The tip of your cock bumps into the back of her throat. Her hand is caressing your balls. Her other hand is pumping the rest of your shaft. She comes up, taking a deep breath, and her eyes are watering. You wipe the tears away. She smiles, as if she's satisfied with having gagged on your shaft, as if she believes with her heart of hearts her own doctrine, and in such resolve of her mouth returning, you can't deny it.

Maybe her jaw hurts. Maybe her throat's dry. But you sense none of it. Deeper, you hit the back of her throat again, and her lips still curl up into a smile even through more tears. She's still pumping, and her other hand is pinching her nipples. Heejin moans. Her moan vibrates your cock, and her moan vibrates her throat, and her moan vibrates her tongue, like, holy shit, you've never felt anything better. And then…

"Heejin, I'm… cumming."

She stays down. You shoot. Her eyes widen. Another shot, and her eyes are closed. Another shot, and you're groaning, and her throat is swallowing. More shots. You're pumping Heejin full of your cum, and she's pumping you empty. Heejin, relentless, keeps sucking. You try and push her off, meteors dancing in your mind, but she won't budge. She stays down, her eyes still closed.

"Heejin, wait, wait, I'm so, so sensitive."

Heejin shakes her head. With her mouth still full, she says, "Wah, want… ahll."

You collapse. Heejin keeps sucking. Your cock is twitching in her mouth, and you try backing up in your mattress until you hit the headboard. You grip the sheets. You can't stop cumming. Every suck Heejin takes is another shot down her throat, each one joined by a satisfied "mm, mm", and swallowed without hesitation. You lose track of how many shots you pump into her. Even when you stop spurting semen into her mouth, and your orgasm is subsiding, Heejin stays down. She moves her lips from the base of your cock up to your tip, and she sticks her tongue out to cushion the underside of your shaft. You're shaking. You can't stop shaking.

"Heejin," you say—no, you gasp it; you croak it out; you despair for the name, "wait."

She does just that. Wait. With your cock in her lips like a popsicle, and she's waiting for you to melt. She breathes through her nose, humming to herself. You shudder. Your cock is still sensitive.

"Please… wait."

Heejin listens. She doesn't suck, and she doesn't bob. She waits. Your orgasm is over. Your mind is fading.

Pop.

She sucks the tip. Pop. She takes your cock out of her mouth, holding it in her hand again. Her tongue sticks out and licks up your shaft, where all the leftover cum and spit and saliva has gathered.

"Ahh." Her tongue is covered in white cream. A gulp. "Ahh." Her tongue is clean.

If you need a few more breaths, unfortunately you've used up all the air already, and you're just running on whatever other fumes now. "You… are insane," you say.

She giggles. "Was it that bad?"

"No, no, no, it was… the best. And the worst. A-are you gonna do that every time?"

"Do what?"

"Never mind."

Heejin crawls on top of your body. Your cock is nestled between her thighs. She lies on top of you.

"Did you like it?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Do you wanna… keep being fuckfriends with me? Suckbuddies? While I talked all the game about blowjobs, I wouldn't mind if you gave me a little oral service once in a while too." She says quietly, like she's felt bashfulness for the first time in her life, "And, I, um, am down to do more too. A little later. Or something."

"Of course. Yeah."

You wrap your arms around her.

"Good," Heejin says.

She kisses you. Your cum is on her lips, and she's sharing the taste with you. You taste yourself. It's nothing terrible, but she did gulp your load down without stopping, so, you can't fully empathize with her enthusiasm. Still, you reciprocate, savoring Heejin instead.

You hear cheering from outside the room.

"Think Jungeun won," Heejin says.

You snort. "Should we… go out? Pretend like nothing's changed?"

"I'm sure we'll figure something out."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You and Heejin end up deciding not to hide anything, but not telling the girls either. They'd find out sooner or later, and besides, you'd both want to brag about it, eventually.

After the three of them say their goodbyes and leave your house, you head straight to your bathroom. You thought Heejin's lips fully drained you dry, but apparently not, because you shoot more loads thinking of how her throat swallowed you.

You receive a text from her.

> miss you already ;)

You smile.

> Miss you too. can't wait for next time.

Heejin sends a photo. A strand of spit falls from her lips, down to her cleavage. Your heart skips a beat.

> neither can i <3

You save the photo.

Your phone buzzes again.

> don't jack off to it though

> Too late.

You send your fingers and shaft covered in cum.

She sends a photo again, of her frowning.

> wtf!! that was my load! i'm gonna kill you!!!

You laugh and send a text with your other hand. 

> Love you.

> lol yeah yeah whatever

You send another photo of your cock.

> another pic. As my apology

> wait.... didn't you say you just jerked off

> yeah?

> and you're still hard?

You gulp.

> guess so.

> you're such a stud. come over. i'll help you with that

You can't get dressed fast enough.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You meet halfway. A park, late at night. Fastest option, you're both too horny. You and Heejin are behind a building, some sort of community center, too late to be open or for the sun to shine down on the two of you being so daring outdoors.

Heejin's lips are on your neck, bound to leave marks, but you can't find yourself caring. Her hand is massaging your balls over your shorts, her other hand is down your underwear pumping your shaft, and her thigh is grinding against your cock. She kisses you.

You grab her jaw and pull her off you. "Um, I'm sorry. I, um, I think we might wanna establish some ground rules or something."

She stares at you, wide-eyed. "Ground rules? Like, safewords and stuff?"

"Uh, I guess, yeah. I just… I don't know, it'd make me feel more comfortable if, you know, we had some boundaries."

Heejin sighs. "Fine. Fair. Makes sense, I guess. I'm not a huge fan of… talking about feelings and stuff, but, I get it."

"Right, so, um, obviously, no feelings, and, I dunno, no dating?"

"Yep. You can see other girls. I'll see other dudes. Nothing serious."

"Sure. Yeah. Okay."

Heejin continues pumping your cock. "Anything… else?"

You gulp. "Safeword, I guess. And, like, is there anything you're… not okay with?"

"Um, not sure. Never thought about it."

"Okay, well, what's a word you hate?"

"Hmm… dick."

You blink.

Heejin giggles. "Just kidding. Um, I dunno, uh, penis? Cock? Uhh… sausage."

"Sausage?"

"Yeah. Sausage."

You pause. "And if, you know, I can't speak?"

"Tap three times on me or whatever. Three for sausage. Sounds good?"

"Yep. Three for sausage."

"Great. Anything else?"

"There was one thing in particular I was thinking about. So like, one time, I nutted seven times in a day."

Her mouth starts to water. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Heejin pumps faster. "That's… amazing."

"No, but that's the thing. I gotta set limits, Heejin. Even this, third time, it's, it's a lot. Too much."

She frowns. "What, so… no multiple nut sessions?"

"Once a week. Maybe."

"Fine, fine, okay. Once a week."

"Okay, cool. Ground rules established. Sausage as the safeword. No dating, seeing other people. Three times for sausage. One nut session a week."

"Got it." Heejin resumes pumping your shaft.

"Hey, Heejin, um, what do you want me to… do, when you're blowing me?  Anything you want? Because it feels like I'm just"—she gets on her knees—"kinda doing nothing and"—she pulls your shorts and underwear down—"you're doing"—she puts your cockhead in her mouth—everything, see!"

Pop. "Yeah. I dunno. Don't worry about me. Focus on yourself."

"Wait, Heejin, but, aren't we partners in crime, fuckbuddies, whatever, I wanna, like, make you feel good too."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Dickface." She jerks your shaft, and your knees buckle. You figure you might as well sit on the concrete floor, your back slumped on the brick wall. It's a makeshift position that you'll learn to get used to. She lowers her face to your crotch, then continues, "But don't worry. Feeling your cock cum is enough to make me feel good."

Heejin licks circles around your shaft, where the precum has gathered. Her hand is pumping the rest. Your cock is already twitching.

"Besides," she continues, "if you focus on me… we'd never get anywhere."

Pop.

She swallows you.

"Heejin, shit."

Her bobbing is relentless. She's pumping your shaft and massaging your balls, and she's deepthroating your shaft. Her spit is drenching your cock, and her lips are tight, and her tongue is slathering. Heejin's bobbing up and down, and your cockhead bumps into the back of her throat. Your balls clench. You shoot.

Pop.

Heejin takes your cockhead out of her mouth. Her hand is jerking, and the first shot hits her lips. The second, she opens her mouth to catch. The third, she closes her lips. The fourth, she catches in her mouth again. The fifth, she swipes up with her tongue. The sixth, she catches. The seventh, she misses, and your cum lands on her cheek. The eighth, she misses again, and your cum lands on her chin. The ninth, Heejin opens her mouth, and your cum falls right in. She gulps. The tenth, she misses again, and your cum lands on her neck. Heejin's pumping slows.

"That… was… amazing," you say.

Pop. "Yeah."

"Fuck. I'm just saying. Next time, I'm going to get a taste of your pussy." You open your mouth. "See, my mouth's watering just thinking about it."

"Yeah?" She jerks your shaft. Another shot lands on her neck. She wipes your cum and sticks her finger in your mouth. "You're adorable. But you're right. Next time."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

The two of you had ramyeon at a convenience store after, then said bye. Like friends. Just friends.

The next time is two days later, at night again. This time, you finally go to Heejin's apartment. You haven't been here in a long time, not since she moved in. It's cleaner than you remember.

"Make yourself at home," Heejin says.

You sit on her couch. She sits next to you. You kiss. Your hands are groping her breasts, and her hand is pumping your shaft. You lift her shirt, and her tits are freed from her bra. Her nipples are hard. You pinch them.

"Hey, wait, stop, stop," she says.

"Sausage?"

"N-no, I'm… fine, just, wait."

"What is it?"

"Um, so… I kinda… made a mess. Earlier."

"What… kind of mess?"

She giggles. "On my bed. You'll see."

Heejin leads you to her room.

"Holy shit," you say.

"Surprise?"

She's made a mess, alright. Sheets stained white, spots and splotches, streaks and trails, the whole nine yards. Your cock twitches, even if you're confused how one woman could make such a mess on her own.

"I was, um, thinking about sucking your cock all day yesterday. I didn't wanna touch myself, but I couldn't help it."

"I'm glad."

Heejin lies on her bed, pulling her shorts and underwear off. Her pussy is glistening. She spreads her legs.

"Come. Lick it."

"I've been waiting for this." You crawl on top of Heejin's body and put your face between her legs. You lick circles around her slit. You lick up and down her folds. "I don't exactly have toys to practice on like you... so I'm gonna need to do plenty of catching up."

"Don't worry. Practice away."

You lick circles again, and Heejin's quiet. You lick up and down, and she's quiet. You flick her clit, and Heejin's quiet. Your tongue is slathering her slit, and she's quiet.

"Wait, Heejin, is… everything okay?"

"Yeah. It's fine."

"What is it? Is my tongue rough or something?"

She looks at you. "Oh, no, no, not at all! No, it's, um, your technique's, uh, kinda lacking."

"Ah. Yeah, see."

"Here, I'll show you."

Heejin sits up and pushes you down. She's straddling your face.

"First," she says, "spread my… my lips. Like this."

She spreads her labia.

"Then, you wanna, kinda, stick your tongue inside, like, deep."

Heejin uses her finger to spread herself wider. You stick your tongue inside her hole.

"Now… use your thumb to, like, rub my clit, and move your tongue around. Like, you're, um, writing, something, with your tongue, I guess. Inside me. Like, a, um, circle. Shit, I dunno."

You rub her clit. Heejin moans. You lick circles inside her hole.

"And, uh, yeah, that's… about it. Oh, and, move your, your finger and thumb. Not at the same time. And I'll grab your hair and move you around and I guess just tell you what to do. And then you can figure it out after that, right?"

"Yeah. Got it."

Heejin lies back down. You spread her lips. You stick your tongue inside her hole. You rub her clit. You lick circles inside her hole.

"A little lower. And, and, like, lick, not circles, but, a, like, a line. But not a straight line. An, um, I dunno, a diagonal one. But not a diagonal one. A, uh, a curve, but not a curve. Um."

You lick lower. You lick diagonally, but not a diagonal. You lick a curve, but not a curve.

"There. Yeah. That's… good. Keep going."

You lick diagonally, but not a diagonal. You lick a curve, but not a curve. Heejin moans. Your tongue is still licking, and she moans, and her hand is on top of your head.

"Use your, your thumb, and, and, like, stick your index finger inside. Like, curl your finger and, and, find my, my, um, g-spot."

You rub her clit. You stick your index finger inside. You curl your finger. Heejin moans. Your tongue is licking diagonally, but not a diagonal. Your index finger is curling, searching, and you find her g-spot, a soft patch inside her walls. Your tongue is licking curves, but not a curve. Heejin moans again.

"Add… another finger."

You stick your middle finger inside.

"Curve both, both your, your fingers. Both fingers."

You curl both your fingers.

"And, and, like, twist. But not twist. Rotate. But not rotate. Uh, fuck, um, shit, I dunno, uh, fuck, whatever, just, um, fuck, uh, wait."

You lick diagonally, but not a diagonal. You curl both fingers. You rotate, but not rotate. While you're going through advanced mathematics under a tutor under a slightly lust-drunk stupor, you're starting to understand both sides more. On the one hand, your mouth is indeed going dry, and your jaw is starting to hurt. On the other hand, you're drooling. Whatever taste Heejin's pussy has is starting to get really addicting, enough for your cock to stay hard the entire time, enough for you to ignore the fatigue.

"Add… another finger."

You stick your ring finger inside, which immediately earns a moan from Heejin. Your tongue is licking curves, but not a curve. Your fingers are curled, rotated, twisted, whatever. Heejin moans again. You're rubbing her clit.

"Fuck, more, more. Rub my, my, rub my clit faster. Fuck, lick faster."

You speed up. You curl your fingers. You rotate them. You twist them. Heejin moans again. Her hand is tight on top of your head. Her body is trembling. You move your free hand and press it onto her stomach to keep her still. Your three fingers are thrusting in and out of Heejin's pussy, and her hips are buckling. Her walls are clenching. She moans, a final time.

Heejin lets go. You lick. Your fingers are thrusting. Your thumb is rubbing her clit. Heejin shudders. More gushes of cum coat your tongue and fingers. She's going to drown you. You understand how she made that mess. Your three fingers are pistoning in and out of Heejin's pussy as her climax subsides. More gushes. More. Less. Some.

"Wait," she says. "Hold… hold it. My spot."

You stop rotating, twisting, and whatever-ing. Her walls are fluttering. Your three fingers are still. Her girl cum is trickling out of her hole.

You take your face off Heejin's crotch.

"Holy… fucking shit," she says.

"Wild ride?"

"That was… amazing."

You flex your fingers. "Yeah. Didn't know you could squirt like that."

"Neither did… I."

Heejin props herself up. You stick your three cum-soaked fingers in her mouth. She sucks. She moans. You stick them deeper down her throat, and her lips are wrapping. Her eyes are closing.

"Thanks for… teaching me," you say.

Pop. "Mmm. Of course."

Your three fingers return to her pussy. You pump, and her girl cum is slicking your fingers. Heejin lies back down. Your three fingers are pistoning again. She moans.

"Wait, wait, sausage, sausage!"

You stop. "Shit, sorry."

"It's fine, it's fine. Just, sensitive."

"Got it."

Heejin giggles. "Sorry. Sometimes… I squirt a lot. Um. Overstimulated."

"Well, at least you know how I feel."

"Wait, was that a sausage moment, because I feel so bad and—"

You interrupt Heejin with a kiss. "No, it's fine. In fact, it was really fucking hot, and besides, I already told you about how much I can cum. Oh yeah, by the way—" another kiss, because there is no such thing as too many with Heejin "—I kinda wanna see the toys you were talking about."

"Really?"

"Yeah. If that's… cool."

She smiles. "Sure. Lemme, lemme clean up first."

"Alright."

Heejin cleans her bed with tissues, and you help her wipe up. Then, you head to her closet. She opens it, and… holy shit. There's an assortment of vibrators and dildos and g-spot stimulators and other contraptions and tools, almost an entire shelf dedicated to sex toys.

"This is… incredible," you say.

"Hey, um, by the way, could you, um, close your eyes?" she asks. "I, um, dunno, it'd… feel less embarrassing."

"Sure."

You close your eyes.

"And, like, turn around."

You turn around.

"Okay, okay, so, um, these ones"—you hear plastic tapping against plastic—"are just the vibrators. These ones"—plastic tapping again—"are the dildos. And then… um, these ones are for g-spots, and, and then there's more for anal, and then… um, I dunno, basically, um, the rest is stuff I've gotten on impulse because it looked fun."

You snort. "Impulse, huh?"

"Shut up. Um… open your eyes."

You turn back around. Heejin's holding a Hitachi wand.

"Okay, so, like, this, this is probably my favorite. Wand. Magic wand. And then"—she puts it back and holds a simple, white vibrator—"this is the, um, the next one." She puts it back and holds a curved, purple toy—"then this. Um… this is, this is the biggest"—she puts it back and holds a monster of a dildo—"um, and then, this is the smallest." She points to a cute, pink bullet vibe.

So many questions flood your mind, but the only thing you can blurt out is, "Impulse purchases, huh?"

Heejin shoves you. "Shut up! Um… and then, this"—black anal beads—"and, um, this"—clear, pink butt plug—"are for anal. Obviously. And then, um, basically, I've, um, experimented. A lot."

"Experimented, huh?"

She shoves you again. "Stop… saying huh!"

You wrap Heejin in a hug. "I'll say huh as much as I want."

"Whatever. Um… anything you wanna… try?"

You gulp. "C-could I watch you use them?"

Heejin steps away. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. I mean, if you're comfortable. Like, right now. Or something."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

Heejin sighs. "You… absolute pervert."

"You're the one with"—you point to her shelf—"all that."

"Fine, fine. Um, sure. Which… do you wanna see me use?"

You gulp again. "So, um. You said you practiced sucking dick on one of them right? Imagined it was me?"

She rubs her thighs together. "Y-yeah."

"Which… was it?"

Heejin reaches for one. She holds a flesh-colored dildo, about the length and girth of your own cock.

"This one," she says.

"Then, that one, please."

She nods. "Okay… sit on the bed. Get comfy."

Heejin puts the dildo on her bed and closes the closet door. She undresses completely, tossing her clothes to the side. Your cock is tenting. She returns, picks the dildo, and then she lies on her bed next to you.

"So… you, you just wanna watch me use this? Suck on it and stuff?"

You nod. "Yeah. Please."

Heejin bends her legs and spreads her thighs. Your cock twitches. Her free hand rubs her slit. She's spreading her lips.

"Shit, Heejin, you're so hot."

"Thanks… pervert."

She sticks the dildo inside her hole, and you love watching how her pussy stretches for it. Especially knowing your cock will be doing the same soon. That image makes you harder, enough for you to pull down your pants and start jerking.

"Heejin, would, would you… talk? Your voice is so pretty."

Heejin blushes. "Thank you. What do you want me to say?"

"Just, like, anything. Tell me… what you're imagining. What you're feeling.. Your fantasies."

Heejin gulps. "Um, o-okay."

Her free hand is rubbing circles around her clit. The dildo is slowly pumping in and out of her hole.

"Sometimes, um," she starts, "sometimes I imagine… it's you. Inside me. Your cock. And, um, usually, we're, we're doing missionary, and, um, your hands are on my tits. Pinching my nipples. Wait, come here. Pinch my nipples."

You follow her command, sitting closer to her so you can grab a nipple with one hand while your other jerks faster. Heejin moans. You jerk faster.

"Oh, god, mmm. If I could keep your gorgeous fucking dick in my mouth all day I would. I'd suck it every second. God, I'd, I'd wake up to it. I'd go to sleep sucking on it. Hnnh. Your hands… are making me feel really good. Or we could cuddle and watch a movie, and the whole time you'd be... fuck, you'd be slowly sliding your cock in and out of my asshole. Mmnh. God, and, maybe we'd have friends over, and you'd fuck me from behind, and no one would know. Shit, especially when we're at Yerim's, you could take me to her really nice bathroom and rail me in her really nice shower. Mmm."

The dildo speeds up, and her clit rubbing is speeding up. Your jerking is speeding up too.

"Or we'd go out to eat, and, fuck, you'd finger me under the table, and then, and then you'd order dessert, and instead of eating the real thing, you'd feed me your cock, and I'd cream myself. God, shit, your hands. Mmfh. Or, or, sometimes I imagine, we're on the couch, and Jungeun and Jinsol and Haseul are hanging out, and they're just chatting away, and I'm sucking your dick, or you're fingering me, or I'm warming your cock in my pussy, and no one would know. Shit. Or they do know, and they pretend like I'm not even there on my knees sucking you off. Fuck."

You're about to cum. "Shit, Heejin, keep going, I'm so, so, so, so close."

"Nngh. And I'd even—wait, d-don't waste that cum yet." She takes the dildo out and moves closer to you. "Feed me. Put it in my mouth."

You do. Heejin's jerking the rest of your shaft, and your tip is in her lips, and she's pumping, and her spit is slathering. You groan, and she moans, and a shot fires into her throat. Her jerking doesn't stop. Another shot, and your mind is fading. Another.

Pop. She's gasping for air, trying not to spill the load as she speaks. "Ahh, waih, feed me, hah, some cum, wifh your hand."

You take your cock out of her mouth, masturbating some cum onto your palm. Once your climax eventually subsides, you offer your hand to Heejin, and she makes eye contact as she slurps up your seed and licks every joint of your fingers.

After she has every drop she can get in her mouth, she looks up, gargles, and then gulps. "Thank you for the meal."

You sigh. "Jesus, you're crazy."

"Only for you."

You kiss. "I'm honored."

"Um, by the way, can I finish?"

"Yeah, of course."

Heejin lies back down and picks the dildo. Her free hand is rubbing her clit again, and the dildo is pumping in and out of her hole.

"Hold on," you say. "Could I… use the wand on you?"

She stops. "Really?"

"Yeah. Unless it's sausage time."

Heejin giggles. "No, no, it's fine, just, um, lemme… get comfy again." She gets on all fours, and you move to a squat, holding the wand in one hand and the dildo in the other. "And, um, don't turn it on the highest setting. Not yet."

"Got it."

You stick the dildo inside Heejin's pussy and move the wand to her clit. You turn the wand on, and the sound of buzzing fills her room, followed by a moan from Heejin.

"Tell me more fantasies," you say.

She tries her best to give you everything she's thinking about, from bending her over the kitchen counter to tying her up and edging her, from fucking her mouth blindfolded to having a whole day where you fuck her whenever you want, free-use style. You're glad that she trusts you enough to share her kinks. You're looking forward to experiencing them someday.

Her dirty talking devolves into incomprehensible moans, and her doggystyle position is faltering, her face in the mattress. You stick the dildo deeper, and you turn the wand to a higher setting. She screams.

"Shit, sausage, sausage!"

You immediately stop everything. Heejin's trembling.

"Oh, god," she says.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just, too much."

"Fuck, I'm so sorry."

"No, no, it's fine, just, sensitive. But you owe me."

"What do you mean?"

"Turn the wand off and give me the dildo. I'm going to cum with your cock in my mouth because that's where it belongs."

You comply, handing her the dildo and turning the wand off. Then, Heejin lies back down on the bed. You're uncertain about where to go, until she grabs your ass, pulling you to mount on top of her chest.

"There we go."

You look back and see Heejin starting to dildo-fuck herself again, and before you can look at Heejin's face again, she's already captured your cockhead in her lips.

"Oh, fuck," you say.

She moans. You jerk off the rest of your shaft, and she's moaning hungrily around you. Heejin's free hand massages your balls, and she pistons the dildo at a hearty pace, a loud, sloppy pace. As if she were imitating what your cock would sound like, if it were pounding her hole. Having painted a million pictures in your mind, and having heard her talk about so many fantasies, your mind can't help but fill in the blanks. The biggest blank is her throat.

"Heejin," you say.

Pop. "Mmm. Yeah?"

"Could I… choke you with my cock?"

She giggles. "Go for it, stud. Shoot it straight down. I don't care. It'll make me cum harder. I wanna feel my throat bruise."

You gulp. "A-are you sure?"

"Mmm. Totally. I'm gonna keep fucking myself and sucking you off and if I tap three times on you, then it's sausage time, and you stop choking me. Deal?"

"Deal."

Heejin takes your cockhead back in her mouth and moans. Her free hand goes back to your balls, and you place both your hands on the sides of her head. Slowly, carefully, you force her lips to travel past your tip, and to reach halfway down your shaft. Her cheeks are concave and your palms can feel her slobbering. Once she reaches your base, her eyes are watering. She looks up at you, her dildo fucking faster, her lips tight. You pull on Heejin's hair to move her head up. She moans. Her whole body is trembling again. You slam her head back down.

"Heejin, I'm"—she moans—"about to"—she gags, a broken vibration around your cock, and she moans—"cum!"

Her gagging, however, only urges you more to fuck her throat with your cock. Heejin gags again, and her throat walls are clenching, and a whole bunch of spit comes out, drenching your balls. The last thing you feel before your mind fades is her final whine, lost to the whole of her universe. Your spasms return, your hips shake, and this time, you see her whole body tense up—finally you and Heejin cum together, with her dildo ramming her hole and your cock ramming her throat. She's squealing and squeaking while taking your cock down to her base again, her gagging more persistent. After all her fantasies, the real thing is so much hotter than your imagination, and your brain starts painting new pictures on instinct.

Pop.

"Holy. Fucking. Shit," she says.

Your cock twitches out spurts of your seed, coating her face. Her dildo has disappeared from her pussy.

"I'm, I'm sorry, about, um, being… a bit too rough," you say.

"Are you fucking stupid?" she asks. "Do you have, do you have any idea how fucking hard I came? God, and the cum you're firing in my throat, thank you, thank you, thank you. Your cum is what gives life purpose."

You grin. "I'm glad you think that way. My cum was only alive because of your pretty little mouth, though."

Heejin licks up every streak and spurt.

You lie back down on her bed next to her. "Hey, uh, you… still owe me though."

"True," she says. "What do you want? Another oral service tomorrow?"

"Can't tomorrow. It's already one in the morning."

"Ah, fuck. Morning."

"It's fine." Your voice is meek. "Let's not do anything. For a while."

"What?"

"This is fun. And I'm sure we could come up with a million ways to jerk each other off with our hands and mouths and words. But, you were thinking it too, right? When you had that, that dildo inside of you. Fucking you. I mean, I don't, I really don't wanna pressure you, but I thought it'd be fun. You know. If we just held off of anything, sex, cumming, masturbating, all of that, and we just… wait. How about until your birthday?"

"What?! That's like, twenty days away."

"Exactly, once in a while we could do other stuff. Wouldn't it be fun to just get edged every day until then, waiting, anticipating, and when we finally do fuck, it'll be the best sex of our lives, the perfect present. I mean, you got yourself off plenty of times already. I bet you could go without a nut for a while."

"Oh, no. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"And vice versa, I guess."

Heejin grumbles. "Fuck. Fine. Deal. But no matter how much I tempt you, no matter how much you tempt me, we're not going to cum. We're gonna edge each other. No matter how hard I suck. No matter how hard you thrust."

"Deal."

You shake hands.

"Um, by the way," she says.

"What?"

"You, um, you're a pervert."

You sigh. "I know."

"But you're, um, you're a pretty nice guy. And smart. And hot. Okay, that's enough for your ego, goddammit."

"Keep going, you're gonna make me cum."

Heejin grins. "Oh, that's all it'll take, huh?"

You kiss.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You wake up on Saturday morning, having stayed the night at Heejin's place. The two of you have a breakfast of leftover ramyun, and you say goodbye at the door.

"Wait," she says. "Hold on. I forgot something."

You turn around. "What?"

Heejin kisses you. "Bye."

You return the kiss. "Bye."

You go home, and on Sunday, you wake up to a text from Heejin.

> morning. :)

You smile.

> Good morning.

You send her a picture of your cock, already hard in the morning. She sends a photo of her own pussy, spread open with her fingers. It's scintillating, dewy. Your cock twitches.

> morning wood?

> Yep.

> you know how bad i wanna suck that dick right now

> Yeah. I'm thinking about fucking your throat.

> godddddddd i love it when you say that shit

> Do you think you're gonna nut today?

> probably not. if i can't even last a weekend without cumming, i srsly need to reexamine my life

> lol. true. well, good luck.

> you too

You send a photo of your cock, with a drop of cum at your tip. It only took a token effort of stimulation to get a bead of pre-cum.

> wait were you fapping just now

> Yeah. Just a bit

> godddddd youre so bad

> Don't worry. I don't plan on cumming until it's inside you on your birthday :)

> fuck you

> I thought we were gonna save that for your birthday too :(

> shut up

You smile. 

> I miss you.

> me too

> Next week. We can meet up. See how we're feeling about this whole thing. Maybe get dinner or something.

> like a date?

> Well, no dating. Obviously. Ground rules and all.

> "k fine. sounds good

> See you then <3

> yeah yeah whatever <3

You laugh. This is going to be fun.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Happy birthday to the best girl! Once again, this falls under my time-honored tradition of incomplete-but-complete-enough stories to post for some deadline, so I'm not bothering with crossposting (okay fine I am just too lazy).

[newkiqx]

Nearly every single modern computer utilizes cobalt, a mineral whose supply chain is so heavily dominated by slave labor that it's practically impossible to ethically source. Ignoring AI, it is even ethical to do digital art at all? The production of a drawing tablet is not a victimless crime.

I feel you when you want to reduce this to something as simple as a comparison. But bear with me (or alternatively, I put a tl;dr/conclusion at the end).

Much of capitalism is unethical - yes. I agree with this point completely. It's impossible to completely avoid unethical consumption in the world we live in. But it's good to be thoughtful of it and I think businesses and governments responsible for bad practice should be held accountable. Sadly I can't change the world on my own in any meaningful way, but i'll do my part where I can & vote people into power that care about this too.

Taking your comparison for a second, I feel like the art project of that OP was asking a much more direct "I bought cobalt I didn't need and then turned into a children's toy, could this be art?". And my reply was basically yeah sure it could be art, but was it worth it? My point is that I'm not sure on that last part, and leaning towards a 'no'. They specifically sourced it unethically and made that the center piece, which is distinct from the utilitarian nature of consumer electronics we need to get through our lives. Unethical sourcing of art can be a goal or statement (like here cw dead pets) but will then of course still be a part of it. I don't think ethics were considered for the post we're discussing though and it instead only discussed the very unproductive 'is it art' discourse. This, of course, matters about as much as my "dick" being objectively "long" or not.

Maybe getting a little sidetracked, but I also want to mention that cobalt is an extremely useful metal, whereas AI.. well.. i've mentioned the very human cost of mturk and the wholesale theft of the entire internet. There's also:

the power required

the jobs in art it threatens and therefore the skilled labor we stand to lose if we're not careful

the inevitable price hike and betrayal of the public as soon as alternatives are out competed (this will happen)

the risks of biases (racism, ableism, sexism) in an opaque weighted system like AI & the fact we cannot deal with this except for slapping some extra prompts in front

AI poisoning our actual collective knowledge with untrue shit. Recent cases in point being the hilarious fake mouse dick science being published and the ai generated inaccurate servals on google, but there's a lot more going on

the risks of companies and people in power using AI to more efficiently screw everybody over and hide behind 'machine told me so' accountability loopholes

the risks of AI being used in all sorts of malinformed use cases

But what are the gains? What do we stand to win? Call me cynical, but we already had an infinite amount of pictures at our fingertips, as well as all the mediocre writing you could ever want (but actually much better because someone loved writing it). I feel like all these general AI's are good for is filling the pockets of some very rich robber barons and grifters, as well as diluting everything that's beautiful and true in the world.

Quick sidenote - Some specialist AI have genuinely already improved the world, like with medical screenings, but even then it's hard to really call it a win because reverse engineering the reasoning of an AI is so fucking hard. And again, they're a slippery slope with insurance companies wanting a piece of that pie badly, just so they can apply their 'justified' penalties to people not even sick yet.

tl/dr; So in conclusion, no, I don't think your comparison holds up. I agree that it sucks that so much of necessary consumption is unethical in ways we can't easily fix as consumers. But one thing bad does not equate other thing good. If anything, it should inspire you to do better where you can make a difference and hold the ones responsible for the exploitation in this world accountable.

Don't let it eat you up though. I'm not even saying you can't use it for inspiration ever. But any art based on these generated pictures cannot be divorced from the ugly side we'd rather not see: the underpaid army of technically not slaves and the wholesale theft of everything.

also sorry but i couldn't not include this (source: matt bors)

[stingslikeabee]

❛ Should I use ShinRa's dental to replace my teeth with silver fangs? ❜

unscripted asks . always accepting

A diamond was a girl's best friend - a timeless saying that was preserved among upperplate ladies for one engagement after the other. Melissa, while not a topside resident (and arguably not even a lady, in the views of many), had to disagree on that front despite the incredible size of the rock on the finger of her left hand - she happened to have two best friends, then.

The second one was the redhead Turk lounging just behind her - Reno had finished his shower and personal care routine, dressed in a ridiculously expensive fluffy robe and turned on the TV to the most trashy content available (a reality show with couples fighting each other to remain on some little island close to Costa, if the madame heard it right). Melissa was on the table nearby, eyes inspect one page after the other from a series of leaflets and booklets that Reno had never really paused to consider.

The materials of his benefit package - sent by Shinra's human resources department and which he had no use for. In addition to the actual cash he got from the company and the very comfortable lifestyle it offered, the Turk didn't have any other pressing needs. But that changed after their marriage of convenience - as Reno's lawfully wedded wife, Melissa was now entitled to all these incredible little things.

Discounted fares for Costa del Sol if boarding the company's vessel; two pairs of tickets for any spectacles sponsored by Shinra at Loveless avenue per month; a series of vouchers to be cashed out restaurants that had been favorably regarded by top company management; priority when making reservation at the best Junon inns, particularly during celebrations of the military. The company even went as far as selecting employees through a lottery process for an all-paid vacation of five days at the Gold Saucer to boost morale!

Melissa was living for the benefits - nothing short of a privilege that people like her had never been afforded and could never dream of unless they married into the company, apparently. The fact that Reno was free to continue his life (including his sexual one) as he saw fit did not represent a breach of any terms - all Shinra required was for a paper saying they were wedded... Which was a bulletproof arrangement for the brunette, too.

(Who would be insane to fuck with her establishment or her girls knowing she was married to a Turk? One of the most dangerous jobs within Shinra, and the reason they were also paid so well?)

So when the question came from behind her, Melissa actually paused everything and turned around in the chair, craning her body to look at the redhead. They had discussed the dental insurance earlier - one of the few things Reno did recommend, and which made a lot of difference for a slum kid like him to fit in (the woman could see why, of course). The joke, however, didn't have his wife laughing - but instead removing the reading glasses off her face very seriously, folding it in a classical pensive move.

"Well. There is nothing in the rules saying you couldn't do it. Personally, I do think it matches your brand," the brunette smiled, then regarded Reno with a pointed look that was the prelude of her own comeback, "But if you want honest advice from your darling wife? Don't do it. Can see that being a problem if you feel like sucking dick and the guy is distracted," Melissa then outright grinned, obviously finding the idea hilarious in her head, "It's not that I don't think you give awesome head, my dear. It's just that I'm sure some men out there won't be able to handle you."

Leaning back, the smirk faded - but not entirely, and the madame's honeyed eyes were still sparkling with humor. "Unless you like it bloody, then go for it. Be happy, bite a dick."

[cognitiveleague]

Cut for work venting / length / sleep deprived ADHD run-on sentences. Basically just using Tumblr as a journal for stress relief since I’m awake

Goddddd it’s past 3 AM on a damn Saturday and I’m trying so hard not to spend half the weekend trying figure out any response to an upset client’s most recent email other than like.

“Hon, I think you may have mistaken my polite tone and commitment to engaging with you in good faith with decency and transparency for some kind of inclination to bend over backwards if a client is not happy for any reason? But I think my colleague and I have both been pretty straightforward with you about what kind of help we can and can’t offer in this situation and Karen-ing about it at this stage isn’t going to change that, especially since we have legal obligations to your insurance company to actually charge you what they have put toward your deductible costs for this year, so instead of stamping your feet about not being happy with the cost (which I *understand* is a lot and we’re all broke and tired and it hurts, and which I fundamentally believe a just world shouldn’t place on the patient, but we live in the world and the country we live in for now and you are older than my thoroughly grown ass so we are both going to have to be adults and deal with that part) please fucking work with me here so Incan at least give you all the patience you need and the assurance that your credit won’t be affected as long as you stick to some type of payment plan or at least keep in communication with us about any issues with the plan, or it WILL become my job to send your case to a collections agency, which exists to try and get your money without giving any kind of a fuck and will ABSOLUTELY both add 20% to your already difficult to bear balance and immediately report the debt to credit agencies without batting one goddamn eyelash, and under no circumstances do I want to have to do that any more than you want me to so please help me have another choice in the matter”

Or, less charitably, “oh my god I’m so sorry, I thought you told my coworker you were upset to receive a bill for [pre-expected write off amount] because you were confused, but if you ‘already know how to read a statement and know the actual balance is [much smaller amount] and that’s what [you’re] upset about’ then you must just have been trying to intimidate the entry-level worker with the wrong number on purpose to see if you could guilt her into doing her job wrong and getting in trouble for you, my bad!” or “look, it sucks, but management is not going to view the one mistake that was made on our end as one on the scale where it would be appropriate to respond by lowering the balance significantly, like if I stuck my neck out even further than I already have for you there’s a slim chance I could get you a small courtesy write off but it’s not too damn likely and would be small enough to feel like more of a slap in the face than just saying ‘no, the balance is correct and I’m afraid it isn’t something that’s negotiable at this point’ , and since you’ve been sort of a dick to my colleague and me so far (because you seem like the kind of person who thinks it’s appropriate to throw a fit at underpaid employees until someone kisses your ass and pretends the client is always right, but unfortunately for you my instinctive reaction to rudeness is not to kiss ass, it’s ‘oh that’s how you want to play? Let’s fucking dance, then, asshole’), I’m not sure why I should waste more of my limited time and annoy my bosses for the slim chance of a small change that would still leave you furious and dissatisfied anyway”

or “I think there may be some kind of error on the alleged list of practices your surgeon gave you for the mental health clearance, because if the other practices can actually provide this evaluation at the out of pocket price point you insist were on that list, I will eat my fucking hat. Like at this point it’s cost our practice more than that much to buy the blank forms needed for your evaluation, submit them for you, and pay me personally (even at the mildly insulting rate I get paid) for the amount of work hours I’ve spent reviewing your case, talking to office management to see where I could get them to compromise for you out of the goodness o my heart, and making sure my colleague’s and my own responses to you have all had the right balance of ‘compassionate and polite but setting clear expectations for what’s realistic to be asking at this point’ and you haven’t even paid us a damn cent of it yet?”

Or “look, I owned up to the one small contributing mistake on our end in the interest of being decent and honest to you and being able to grant you SOME ground in compensation, and I really do get where you’re coming from, but in total fairness here, even the least competent member of our billing team on a bad day would have easily caught that and cleared it up for you before services took place if you had made any attempt to ask *us* (the people whose job it is to know jack shit about insurance) what it was going to cost prior to your appointment, but what you did was wait until you were already in session and then ask the guy who, I cannot stress this enough, is a wonderful person who is great at the things that are his job but has a doctorate and decades of relevant experience in *psychotherapy and psychiatric testing*, not any sort of financial field, and works for a practice where someone else handles the accounting and insurance stuff for him, so why the fuck would *he* have been able to instinctively notice that the numbers looked wrong the way we would have in the 5 seconds of your appointment time he could spare to check on them for you???????? How was asking *him*, during the appointment, ‘doing your due diligence to research the costs in advance and make an informed decision’, you absolute turnip?????”

[crazyunsexycool]

Can you imagine reader and Bucky sitting at a dinner table or something with friends and Dot or someone come in and start saying shit to Bucky/reader. Bucky smirks because he knows reader so well and knows she's not going to react well to this and he's like "you better watch out" to whoever it going off on them. Sorry idk how best to explain this

Fuck around and find out

It was supposed to be a nice relaxing dinner amongst friends. Sam and Sarah Wilson, Bucky, Steve, Becca and the rest of your group were seated at the back of a very back of the restaurant. The conversation and the company was pleasant. Every so often you or Bucky would lean into each other and share a quick kiss or spoke low into each other’s ear about the things you were to do to each other once you left for the night.

It was all quickly ruined as a short blonde woman stomped her way toward your table. She glared daggers at you and crossed her arms over her chest. You looked in Jake’s direction and he quickly took out his phone.

“May we help you?” You asked from across the table as you sat up straighter. Bucky drapes his arm over the back of your chair.

“No but maybe you can help yourself, slut.”

Nebula and Gamora quickly stood from their respective seats with the intention of removing her from your area. You waved them down and they went back to their seats.

“Please enlighten me.. I’m sorry what’s your name?”

“It’s Daisy Gibbons.”

“Daisy,” Bucky spoke up. “You really don’t wanna do this, why don’t you go back to your date?”

She narrowed her eyes in Bucky’s direction before turning to look at you. Your phone buzzed and you pulled it out, looking over the message, you smirk.

“So how can I help myself?”

“You should find a man that is single. You’re nothing more than a whore.”

“You must be one of Dot’s friends.”

“Yes I am. She doesn’t deserve this. Why can’t you leave Bucky alone. He’s in a very happy relationship and you’re ruining it.”

You gasp and put a hand on your chest as you turn to Bucky. “You’re in a happy relationship and didn’t tell me?”

Bucky chuckles as he sits back.

“Listen here Daisy,” you look back at her. “Why don’t you go back to your table and leave us alone. I really don’t want to get into this with someone I don’t know.”

“Someone has to put you in your place. You should be ashamed of yourself, home wrecker.”

“You really should have gone back to your table Daisy.” Bucky says and the others at the table snicker.

“It’s really bold of you to call me a home wrecker when you’re here on a date with your boss. The man who’s married with two kids and one on the way. What’s his name? Oh that’s right, Jeff Peterson. I’m sure you wouldn’t want his wife Donna to know that you’ve been sucking her husband’s dick since the second week of you working there.”

“How did you know?” She looked at you slightly horrified.

“Know what? That he promised to leave his wife for you or that you have a sex tape of the two of you as an insurance policy?” You smirk. “It’s my business to know the weakness of the people that try to come and mess with me. Now go back to your date and keep your mouth shut. If I see you again Mrs. Peterson is getting everything I have on you. Got it?”

She nods frantically and practically runs back to her table.

“Kind of harsh don’t you think?” Becca asked.

“Nah, if you fuck around you should be prepared to find out.”

[anachrosims]

downloads pipeline incoming: fireplace recolors, many rugs, carpeted flooring

but before that: more pics and also, me getting more sleep

I really, really can’t afford to/don’t want to take a half day off work but considering what’s been going on irl for me I may need to, for my mental health.

[izayoizuki]

Deserving

Pairing: Cyclone x wife!reader

PWP, 18+

Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, cockwarming/soaking, praise kink, housewife kink (if you squint), spitting, unbetaed, no word count because written in phone

You were both watching TV when you feel him shift under you, jarring you from playing with the hair on his chest. "Where're you going?" You mumbled.

He reached over to the side table where a stack of various paperwork, from tax forms and insurance policies to credit card statements and utility bills that had been exponentially accumulating. "Need to take care of some paperwork, sweetheart." He chuckled and wore his glasses as you pouted ever so slightly. But your heart wasn't really in it, because your husband was just so good. Beau took care of everything so that you barely had to lift a finger, not because he liked doing any of it, but because he loved you and knew exactly how much you hated doing it.

And for that, you decided spontaneously, he needed to be rewarded.

You started gently, nibbling at the edge of the jaw, softly sucking on that spot behind his ear before licking into it, as he filled in the forms. He smiled ever so slightly but made no comment. But your eyes caught sight of his writing, the strong, steady script, the way he was filling in your name with his last name, the way he knew all your details without having to look up or confirm anything, and it drove you wild.

You left his neck and pulled down his sweats just enough to free his dick, and you noted the way your husband held his breath, shuddering. He was already half-hard, and you nearly preened at the visible evidence of your prowess. His cock was thick and long, and your mouth watered at the sight. You nuzzled at him before licking a long stripe, and a groan escaped Beau's mouth before he could stop it.

"Princess," he ground out, "what are you doing?"

Instead of answering him immediately, you sweetly kissed the weeping tip. "Keeping you company." you smiled before you swallowed him down as much as possible, resting your head in his lap, looking up at him with smiling eyes. His face softened at the gesture, and he stroked the side of your face gently, thumb rubbing under your eyes, making you hum contentedly, before he let out a soft sigh and focused on the papers again.

You kept his hot length in your mouth, body angled on your side, having to shift every few minutes so that your jaw didn't ache more than it had to, especially since Beau was so big; a fact that had you dripping. Every time you shifted you could see his abs and traps contract, see him hold his breath, and you felt him twitch in your mouth as you drooled over him, the saliva dripping, staining the grey sweatpants. You let your tongue swirl over his tip, loving the way he tasted, like nothing else you ever had, feeling every ridge and vein throb under your tongue.

You had wanted to reward your man, but hadn't realised it would be coming at the cost of your own sanity as you clenched your thighs, your pussy clenching and fluttering over nothing again as again. Beau smelt so good, like lavender and bergamot and musk and leather, and you couldn't help but moan as you took him deep enough that your nose was buried in his curls. But it was worth it because of the hoarse chuckle it pulled from Beau, as he petted your hair. "Your intentions were wonderful, Princess, but I think the execution is leaving you wanting, hm?"

His deep voice only served to make you squirm some more, but you wanted to do this, you were determined. You shifted some more until you were satisfied, looking up at Beau as he continued filling in various boxes. You were wondering how you had managed to get lucky enough to land him when you felt his fingers ghost over your wet heat and your whole body shuddered as you keened around him, involuntarily bucking your hips to chase him. "Shh, it's ok sweetheart, you just keep being good for me, can you do that princess?" You nodded what little you could while choking on his cock, and he smiled beatifically, tweaking your nipples. "You're such a perfect little wife, aren't you?" His praise was accompanied by his fingers which ever so briefly rubbed your clit, his fingertips dipping and catching into and at your opening before withdrawing, and you saw stars as your eyes crossed. "Just a little more, darling, just a bit more, only one more form to finish up, then I'll take care of you." You hummed in agreement even as tears sprung into your eyes from sheer need.

After what seemed like an age, Beau finally put his pen down and took off his glasses, before roughly grabbing the top of your head and pulling you off. Your mouth came away with a "pop" from the suction. Your lips were swollen and glistening from a combination of your spit and his precum, and your eyes were glazed over something fierce. Beau was instantly grabbing you, manhandling you so that you were straddling him, your thong the only thing between your dripping cunt and his erection. He ground his hips into you, laughing when you keened over the stimulation before casually ripping off the undergarment and thrusting up into you in one smooth move. You gasped at the fullness of him, feeling every ridge and vein of his filling you, stuffing you so that you could swear you could feel him in your throat, and you didn't even realise that he'd whipped off your sleep shirt, which has once been his.

He carefully licked at your lips before drawing away and spitting into your mouth, his eyes darkening when you swallowed open-mouthed. "Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?" He pulled your head back so that he had greater access to your throat, peppering kisses as he pulled your body back further and further so that you were arched over his thighs, your body an offering to him, a sacrifice to a pagan god. He bit lovebites down your throat, your collarbone, the valley of your chest, before zeroing in on a nipple as you moaned with pleasure. He carefully let the focused tip of his tongue draw torturous circles around your areolae until your hands shifted from his shoulders to his hair, trying to move him even as your walls fluttered around his hard cock. He lifted his head at that. "Something you want, princess?"

"Beau, don't torture me, please." You were trying to talk, but you could only manage a whisper.

"Like when I was trying to work, and you kept distracting me with your gorgeous body?" He licked over the nipple he had been worrying, and your nearly came off your seat. He then pushed two fingers past your lips, and you suckled instinctively, swirling your tongue along their calloused length.

"Was only trying to make you feel good." You whined back, muffled.

"I know baby, I know. Just let me have my way, you trust me, don't you?" He nuzzled your cheek, and you didn't know it was possible to melt any further, but your body was managing it.

"Yeah." Your voice was barely a breath around his digits, but it was enough, spurring something in your husband. He moved so that he took a nipple in his mouth, suckling and lapping, deep moans causing vibrations to run through you as he picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom, to your bed. Each step of his jolted his cock into you, and you could barely breathe by the time he laid you both on the bed, tangling his arms under your knees so that you were bent in half as he pressed forward, hitting deeper and deeper into you, until he finally hit your sweet spot that had you nearly blacking out.

"Not yet princess, not yet." He canted your hips and his so that his pubic bone was hitting your clit with every thrust.

"There," you gasped out, "right there, please, please Beau, more, faster, please" you begged as he kept up his punishingly steady pace, "Husband, please." It was then that his hips stuttered. Something about the phrase whipped him into a frenzy, and he pushed his weight onto you even further, as he starting railing you like a man possessed, his every stroke hitting your spot in a way that had your toes curling.

"You're close, aren't you princess? That's it, let go baby, it's ok, you're such a good girl aren't you, bearing it for so long," his voice was rough, animalistic. "Come for me. Now."

And you did. You gushed around him on a wordless screaming, your back arching and legs shaking till your whole body felt like it was being torn, shattered into a million pieces. "Just like that, baby," his praise barely coherent as he rutted into you, "Come on, one more," he ordered, untangling an arm to bring it to your clit, rubbing frenzied circles on the little button, and your walls were clenching wildly again at the overstimulation, "One more baby, one more." He spit into your open mouth before giving you a sloppy kiss, moving barely enough to say "Now."

And once again you came, your hips bucking wildly as he rode out your orgasm with you, not stopping his thrusts nor his ministrations to your nub as he pushed into you once, twice, thrice, four times before he came on a roar, painting your walls with his seed til you were leaking it, not stopping his thrusts even as he pumped you full of his cum. Finally he slumped over you. "Give me a second, darling, and I'll get up off you."

You carded your fingers through his hair while crossing your ankles behind his thighs so that he was locked in on you, his cock still nestled deep, plugging you. "No honey," you purred, rubbing your body against his, "stay."

[ozarkthedog]

Reparations

Summary: Andy takes what he’s owed.

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber x Fem!Reader 

Word Count: 1,519

Warnings: Power Play. Noncon. Swearing. Rough Oral Sex (Male Receiving). Asphyxiation. 

Author’s Note: I had way too much fun writing this little fic. No Beta. Feel free to Join the Tag List in my Bio. 💙

📖 Master list  

Reblogs and Likes are amazing! Feedback and Comments are encouraged!

Grinding metal and shattering glass jolt your body awake as you instinctively try to right the wheel that slipped from your grip. Swerving to side of the dirt road, you park in front of the Black Audi that you just sideswiped. You will your heart to calm as you lay your head on the steering wheel.

Warily, you peer up at the rearview mirror, watching as a man flings open the driver’s side door with a force.

“What the hell!” The stranger shouts getting out of his car, leaving his door wide open and marches around the Audi.  

You hear him shouting obscenities as he surveys the damage. Other than the obvious destruction to your car, you had made it through the fender bender unscathed.

“Fuck.” You mutter, quickly exiting your vehicle.

You don’t bother checking the front of your busted-up car as you made your way over to the fuming stranger. The summer heat swelters even though dusk had set in covering the quiet back road with shadows as the sun slowly disappeared.

“How did you not see me?!” He bellows, eyes still trained on the broken taillight and scratched bumper. Broken pieces of glass crunched under his shoes as he inspected the carnage.

His eyes exploding with anger as he whips his head towards you. “Well?!”

“I don’t know! All I can remember is that I was driving one moment and then the next…I’m sorry!” You choke back a sob not wanting to cry in front of a stranger.

You stare at the irate man as he kicks the shattered bits of glass to the side of the dirt road. His dark blue suit and expensive car said he was well off and that’d he wouldn’t just let this slide.

You were totally screwed.

“Are you high?” He asks, reaching for your face as he stalks closer. You back away swatting at his hands nervously.

“No, I am not! I’m just exhausted! I obviously fell asleep at the wheel. It was an accident.” You yell before rubbing your hands over your face. Your heart pounded harshly against your ribs.

“Uh, so what do we do?” You ponder, wanting to rip the band aid off and be done with this nightmare.

The man stands with his hands on his hips looking at you with exasperation. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath trying to calm himself. After a few seconds, his eyes whip open and narrow in on your anxious frame.

“We’ve got to exchange info. What’s your name and number?” He asks with a controlled voice, taking out his cell.

You answered him while copying his actions, trying to look like you knew what you were doing.

“What’s your insurance companies’ info?” Andy asked, flicking his eyes to yours.

“Uh… well…” You voice trails off knowing you don’t have any.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” His face falls flat. “You don’t have insurance?”

“Hey man, I can’t afford it right now.” Your voice raises, arguing back.

“It’s illegal to drive without it you know.” He scolds, tucking his cell back into his suit coat.

“I know. I’ve been saving up for it. I just didn’t think this would happen.” You wave your arms around like a game show host towards the cars.

It sets you on edge the way he huffed out a dark laugh and rubbed his beard.

“Ok, let’s make this quick. I’ve got to be home in 20 minutes.” He peers at his watch before his hands fall to his slacks.

You jolt when you notice his belt coming loose. “Whoa! What the fuck are you doing?”

“Well, since you can’t pay me, how else were you going to make amends?” His tone heavy with impatience.  

You step back until your legs hit the bumper of his Audi. “Uh, I don’t know. But I’m sure there’s a way.” You try to reason with him as he walks towards you with a menacing aura.

He unbuttons his pants, “The only way you’re getting out of this without the cops getting involved is if you suck my cock. I’m a high-profile lawyer. I know exactly what to do to have someone put away for a very long time.” He states with an eerie calmness, almost like he’d done this before.

You shake your head, pleading, “No, there has to be something else I can do.”

He grinds his teeth with annoyance. “Come on, you’re just wasting time.”

His warm breath fans over your face adding to the sweat already dampening your skin. “Don’t fight me.”

You scream as his hands shove you down to your knees, trapping you against the hot metal of his car, his legs caging you in. Fear racks your body sending you into fight mode regardless of his previous statement.

You push against his legs hard, but he growls down at you, “What did I just say?”

He traps both your hands high above your head with his left hand, before grabbing your neck with his right. “If you bite me, I swear to god you will never see the light of day again.” His ominous threat sent chills down your spine.

You whimpered and closed your eyes. The stressful tears finally falling as your shoulders shake with hopelessness.

Something soft yet solid nudges against your lips, “Open up.” He pries your jaw open with a hand squeezing against your face.

You painfully moan as he succeeds and shoved his thick cock inside your mouth. He hits the back of your throat causing your head to thump against the car with an ‘-oof”. He stuffs your lips wide with a low, raspy groan forcing you to choke around him.

Saliva saturates your tongue as Andy thrusts in and out with a steady pace, ���Yeah, get my cock nice and wet.” His eyes narrow on you when he feels your tongue move underneath his aching member.

Dirt scrapes your knees as he bucks into your face, letting out sinful moans. “Fuck, that’s it. Make me feel good.”

Your eyes slam shut hating the way he spoke to you. Your lips quivered around his length as he plunged into your mouth with quick jabs. Your throat tightens when he bottoms out, pushing hard against the back of your mouth.

“Let me feel that throat.” He purrs.

A sly yet crude smile meets your eyes when they open. It was like looking at the devil. The handsome beast finally showing his true form.

You gag forcefully as his right hand holds your head against the trunk by your scalp and thrusts vigorously over your tongue.

“You’re gonna to give me that throat or else.” He demands, eyes hardening with a darkness you’d never seen before.

Tears slip down your cheeks as you gag under his ministrations. His girthy cock cutting off your air supply with every thrust. “Come on, give me it.” He grits, shoving his hips harder into your face.

You dismally acquiesce and relax your throat allowing him to slide down your gullet. His lewd moans fill the air as your throat convulses around cock.

“Fuck, that’s tight.” He recants his hips letting you breath for a spell before slipping back into your warm channel with a pounding force.

Spit runs down your chin and ruins your shirt making you feel filthy as he stared down at you, grinning. “Your mouth was made to suck dick.” He slammed his right hand on the trunk of his car as the pleasure consumed him.

He pants, bucking into your face harder and harder before his hips stall and he lodges his cock in your throat.

You frantically try to shake him off while he explodes his releases down your throat, but his grip is back on your scalp holding you still as he coats your esophagus with his thick seed.

Your heart lurches and lungs burn as he stays put, “I can feel you trying to breath. Your throat is milking my dick, it feels fucking amazing.”

Then suddenly he steps back, ripping his cock from your mouth as you fall into a heap on the dirt road coughing heavily. Cum, dust and spit cover your jaw line and tongue as you suck in desperate breaths.

Andy fixes his clothing and peers around, surprised that not a single car drove by chalking it up to good luck.

He gazes over your pitiful form as you push yourself onto all fours and cautiously look at him through water eyes. His temper seemed to have faded, an orgasmic hue radiating from him now.

“Don’t worry about the cops. That mouth of yours saved you.” He said with a smirk.

You sighed with relief as you watched him walk to the driver’s side before he turned around with a malevolent smirk.

“I’ll be reaching out soon for another payment. But next time it’ll be with interest.” He winked and adjusted his cock in his slacks before getting into his car and driving away.

You swallowed thickly knowing you’d have to see him again before stumbling back to your run-down car to head home for another sleepless night.

[x-stephanie-sinnz-x]

My brother wanted to use my ass

My husband, myself, my brother and his girlfriend have been planning a trip, so last night he was supposed to come by so we can secure our flight tickets. My husband and I where expecting him, his kids (our neice and 2 nephews) and his girlfriend.

My husband and I where in are gaming room in the back of the house when my brother showed up.

My husband stayed in the gaming room while I went to greet our company.

It ended up that my brother showed up alone. I asked what happened to everyone one and he said his girlfriend was just getting off work and the kids where with their moms today.

I grabbed my laptop and was showing my brother the prices, times etc

His girlfriend sent a picture of her driver's license to him so I could make sure and get her name correctly on the tickets.

Afterwards, we started discussing a rental car, then it lead into imagining how nice vacation is going to be, which then lead into a discussion about his girlfriend.

His girlfriend works at an adult book store, and she basically resembles me about 10 years ago.

My husband has his theories as to why my brother is with someone that resembles me so closely, and I kinda agree with him.

Anyways, I know my brother very well and I knew he was horny.

I could sense that he had a need to fuck something. Both of them (my brother and his girlfriend) have been really busy lately and their schedules haven't beeen ideal, not to mention when they are together,  they usually have his kids around. So jacking off just couldn't cut it for my poor little brother.

What I was wearing caught his eye (typically a short skirt and a tank top with no bra). Whatever it was, I was headed to the game room to check on my husband and I noticed him staring at me. It was some mix of hopeful and hungry.

I guess my slut sense was tingling, because my instinctive reaction was to give him a sort of knowing grin, even though I had no way of knowing for sure what he was thinking. Regardless, I could feel I was being looked at like a prospective piece of meat, and my pussy moistened and responded immediately. Pulling my skirt up and showing him my ass in some sort of pre-fuck, slut courting ritual, I looked at him, grinned, and said,

"Hey little brother"

Apparently that was all I had to say and do, because the first words out of his mouth were,

"Hey Steph... Um, do you think we could fuck?"

I sort of lightly giggled and I said,

"Yeah, sure. Where do you want to?"

My husband was still in the gaming room and I wanted to insure that it would remain that way, so I continued to the gaming room and told him that my brother was here, we already booked the tickets, and we are probably just going to hang out and smoke (weed).

My husband was still into his game and was like "okay, that's cool, this game doesn't really have a pause anyway".

So I went back to my waiting brother and was wondering how we where going to do this, because my husband knows about us , but my brother doesn't really know that my husband knows. Lol .

Either way i didn't care because my body was committed to making it happen because I'm a slut that needs dick, plus a loving sister, so I should just make it as easy as possible on him.

"How about our room?", I said.

We headed towards our bedroom, maybe a bit too eagerly, and immediately just removed what little clothing I had on and said, "how do you want me?". 

"can we do doggy?".

Fuck yes, my favorite position.

So I turned away from him, climbed on the bed, bent over, and just spread my holes open for him to look at and admire. I've been told I have very "tiny" and adorable holes, so I love keeping them shaved and showing them off to people. I was in this position for about 3 seconds before I realized he might have wanted his dick sucked before just ramming it in, and he had yet to make a move towards me, so I flipped back around real quick and got on my knees to give him the option and show him that I wanted to please him in whatever way he felt like.

He didn't say anything, as I could only guess by the look on his face,  he took a step towards me and just pulled his shorts down below his obviously hard dick and looked at me expectantly. I immediately just took the whole thing in my mouth and he sort of gasped quietly and flinched. I got the impression that he was definitely over excited.

(Thinking your doing something your not supposed to be doing always makes it more exciting)

So I tried to pay attention to his body to make sure I wasn't going to accidently make him cum immediately.

I'm pretty proud of my dick sucking skills, and I love giving pornstar-style blowjobs, but I could tell this probably wasn't the time for that, so I basically just tried to do what I thought he wanted me to, which was get his dick wet and let him feel my warm mouth and tongue for a minute or two - basically just give him a blowjob experience without any intent to make him cum. It definitely had the desired effect, as he seemed to relax and find himself a bit - settling into the moment and just enjoying the feeling of my tongue repeatedly flexing and relaxing against the bottom of his shaft, slowly milking his now noticeably throbbing cock. He definitely enjoyed the view too, as I made sure to stick my ass out and look up at him with eager and hungry eyes.

After a minute or two he suddenly pulled his dick out of my mouth, took a step back and offered his hand out to me. Assuming this was the sign it was time to start fucking, I took his hand to stand back up and resume my doggy position, my now dripping pussy basically cramping for something to fill it. Honestly, my holes have minds of their own, and when they are hungry it's quite literally like an actual hunger pain - kinda hard to describe, but I just feel painfully empty and wanting, and it doesn't take me much to get there. If my body knows a dick is about to be forced inside of me, it prepares accordingly.

I spread my holes open for him again and this time there was no waiting. I immediately felt him move up behind me and aggressively drag the head of his spit-soaked cock from the top of my butthole, all the way down to my clit, then back up to my pussy, where he pretty forcefully shoved it in balls deep in one stroke. Right before he pushed into me I thought to myself, "oh, was he about to go for my asshole instead?". My thoughts were cut off though once I felt him bottom out in my pussy and immediately start taking long strokes, replacing my hands with his, and spreading my ass cheeks open so he could admire the view.

Getting into a steady rhythm and spreading me with a firm grasp and a clear intention to make me feel like I was his slut to use, pumping his desperate married sister full of his cum. He was definitely in the moment now, and I could feel it. His pace started to increase a bit and I was expecting him to cum soon, until he suddenly slowed down and readjusted his hands so that his thumbs were right next to my asshole, spreading it open with a clear intent to get as good a view of it as possible as he slowly thrust in and out of me. The thought popped back in my head, "is he thinking about fucking my ass? God I hope so".

My slut instincts are pretty good, because only a few seconds later he paused and said, "you like anal right?". 

Anal is pretty much a guarantee whenever I fuck as long as the guy makes it known he wants to. I cum insanely hard from it and I often prefer it to vaginal, so I pretty much never turn it down, and few things turn me on more than a guy who wants to use my asshole to cum. It's just so primal and naughty. It's like, you desire me so much you want to force your cock into my tight little butt where it doesn't belong and just blast my insides with cum.

In response to his question regarding whether I like anal I said, "yes of course?", obviously knowing lol.

"how do you want me?".

He immediately had me stand up against the wall, ass out, hands spreading my cute little asshole open for him. I had some lube ready because my husband always keeps some in his night stand. He put some on himself, but being the anal pro I am, I reached out for some of my own and slipped a few fingers inside my ass. I don't need long to prepare, which is a huge plus for someone who loves anal as much as I do, and as soon as my fingers got inside of me I could tell I was ready. Like I said, when my holes are hungry, they do what needs to be done.

I resumed my position and felt him come up behind me, rubbing the head of his dick on my tight and eager asshole. He seemed a bit hesitant to actually go in though, maybe he thought id moan loudly and alert my husband, but I'm a fuck toy and you don't need to take your time with me, please just use my asshole so I can feel like the good slut that I am. I inched my ass back, making it as obvious as possible that I needed him to just fill my ass at this point and not worry so much about hurting me, or alerting my husband, and he got the point. Again, in one long stroke, he just buried his cock balls deep, almost like he was testing me to see if my gesture of moving my ass back to get him inside of me as soon as possible was sincere. I think he expected to prove me wrong and make me maon loudly, but instead he got a low groan from me that was unmistakably the signal to keep going, and to make it count.

He quickly picked up a rhythm similar to how he had been fucking my pussy, but I think he could tell by the sounds I was making that I was dying for him to just slam into my asshole as hard as he wanted, and so he did just that. I don't know how long it lasted, as I tend to almost blackout from pleasure when my ass is being railed hard like this, and I was basically just trying to stay standing up against the wall instead of collapse to the floor. My legs tend to go weak when I cum this hard, which I always do from some good buttfucking. He was just hammering into me in a frenzy, spreading my ass hard himself, as my hands were now dedicated to holding myself against the wall. He must have really enjoyed the view of my little asshole gripping his cock as it convulsed with my nonstop orgasm, because he started breathing heavy and almost grunting as he gripped and spread my ass cheeks almost painfully hard. He made a final thrust into me and just unloaded into my guts. The feeling of hot cum flooding the inside of my asshole is one of my all time favorite things. It's sort of indescribable for me, but it gives me goosebumps every time. I've also literally trained my asshole to squeeze in rhythm with a guy as he cums, basically milking him as much as possible. I've been told it's a pretty amazing feeling lol.

After he finishes, he pulls out of me and I could tell he thoroughly enjoyed himself.

He left quickly,  and after locking the door behind him, I headed to the gaming room where my husband sat in his gaming chair and started sucking his dick.

My panties off and my skirt still lifted up he reached over to my ass and pussy, checking for any signs of use, which he happily found.

After sucking his dick I rode him while he sat in the gaming chair.

As I rode his dick, I would push out some of my brother's cum out my ass and on to my husband's dick as it made its way into my pussy.

Stephanie Sinnz 💋

[thatesqcrush]

The Trip

Bryan Kneef x Reader. CW: NSFW. Oral sex (male & female receiving), p in v sex, some roughish sex, incl. choking, hair pulling, and spanking, some daddy! references & of course, language. Bryan being his usual asshole self. For holiday bingo: silver & gold. Dedicated to @beccabarba who is a super awesome person, writer, and friend. If you haven’t read her stuff - DO IT (after you read my story though, ha! JK, JK).

WC: 3.5k

--

You sighed in annoyance, fanning yourself with the pamphlet that you had been given. It was the annual ERISA Litigation Conference, taking place in Palm Beach, Florida. It was not how you had exactly planned spending your Christmas. Your parents extended their vacation in Europe and your sister had the flu. When your boss, Gavin Firth announced he needed a volunteer to attend the conference, you leaped at the chance. Spending a week in Florida, even for work, sounded like a vacation – something you not had in five years. Chicago at Christmas was brutally cold. No thank you.

You were stuck for the entire day at the Tideline Hotel and Spa, in “Conference Room B.” The luxurious hotel had gone all out with elaborate holiday decorations. Silver and gold reindeers and dark green garland with red holly berries flanked the hotel. Multiple Christmas trees adorned the lobby. The hotel added a menorah and a kinara for good measure as well.

There was an issue with the air conditioner in your conference room and all the other conference rooms were filled. You were sweltering. There was a small bar and you were waiting on a refill of a peach bellini when you noticed him walking in.

It was Bryan fucking Kneef.

The head of STR Laurie’s litigation department sauntered in, wearing a two-button linen suit with pick stitching and flat front trousers. The top button of the white shirt he wore under was unbuttoned, with a tuft of chest hair sticking out. He recognized you immediately and he made way, pausing briefly to greet to other litigators.

As Bryan approached you, he took off his sunglasses, revealing his bright green eyes. “Hello Y/N.”

“Hello Bryan; what are you doing here? I thought you had court this week.” You replied, as you took your drink from the bartender.

“Passed it off to Caleb. When I heard the conference was here in sunny Florida, I jumped at the chance.” Bryan made a jack off motion with his fist which earned a raised brow from you. “What a perfect way to blow off some steam on the firm’s dime?”

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning Bryan.” You replied, as he ordered a scotch from the bartender. “You need Jesus.” You rolled your eyes.

When he turned his attention away from you, you glanced back at him and eyed him carefully – he did look good. More than good as evidenced by the pool of desire that was growing between your legs. It was safe to say that you had a crush on him – how could you not with how attractive he was. And he was intelligent and a smart ass, with the sharpest of tongues. But his acrid attitude turned you off. He, however, loved to goad and hound you – ever since you joined the firm years ago. Before Caleb became his associate, you were his associate. There were countless nights where you would burn the midnight oil finishing his briefs while he was galivanting around Chicago sowing his seed. Aside from being worked to the bone, you learned a lot from him. Eventually, you worked your way out and were fast-tracked to junior partner.

Bryan felt as if he was being watched and he turned, catching you staring, which caused your cheeks to flush. You sure had grown up from being his associate. You were more beautiful than he remembered, with shapely hips and perky breasts encased in mint sleeveless sheath dress. Your lips appeared soft and lush and he zoned in on them as you chided him on his choice drink. He wondered how your lips would feel around his cock.

“Where are you sitting?” Bryan asked, shifting his stance as he felt his cock twitch.

“By the window, it’s too damn hot in here.” You replied. When he replied he would join you, you felt your heart race. You both settled and gave your breakfast orders to the hotel staff. Bryan removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

You squirmed in your seat – how could someone even make rolling up their sleeves sexy? You fanned yourself some more and chugged your drink.

The first day of conference went well overall. There were various speakers discussing issues such as fraudulent claims, insurance companies acting capriciously and how to be more effective with settlement demands. You took copious notes while Bryan dicked around on his phone.

The day ended in the early afternoon and you decided to use your time at the hotel pool. Purchasing a swimsuit in December had been a bit more difficult than you had imagined and the only thing you found at the last minute was a black single strap suit with a silver and gold diagonal stripe.  The back was dangerously low and the swimsuit bottoms were cheeky, showing an ample amount of your ass. You wore a lace cover-up that had a very boho-chic feel to it. You paired it an oversized floppy hat and black sunglasses.

You made your way to the pool, armed with a book and a drink in another. You found a lounge chair and took off your cover-up. You laid on your stomach and read a few pages, feeling the warm sun on your skin. You felt your eyes begin to droop and you were about to give in to sleep when a voice spoke, causing you to jump. You saw Bryan standing over you.  Your eyes trailed over his chest hair which was neatly trimmed and followed the vertical trail all the way down from his navel down to his short swim trunks which left nothing to the imagination. Bryan Kneef definitely was packing.

“Your ass is better than Memo 618.” Bryan licked his lips and you sat up, covering yourself. “This seat taken?” Bryan did not wait for you to answer, instead sitting at the edge of your chair.

You scooted up more in the chair and crossed your legs and arms, pushing up your tits further. Through his sunglasses, Bryan appreciated the view, noting if he just tugged the top a little, your tits would be exposed.

Two women in bikinis that left very little to the imagination walked by and Bryan peered up, taking off his sunglasses to leer at them. “Hi ladies.” The two women smirked at him and Bryan watched them walk away. You watch the scene before you and you suddenly feel self-conscious – you were still carrying some holiday weight – and holiday weight from years prior.

“I’m getting a new chair.” You announce loudly. “Nice seeing you Bry.” You gather your belongings and move to leave when Bryan grips your arm.

“Stay, come on. I figured we could catch up since I hardly see you around in the office and maybe tonight we could grab dinner.” Bryan replied. To your surprise, he seemed sincere.

“Are you asking me out?” You asked. “What – can’t get the Barbie bimbos?”

Bryan rolled his eyes. “It’s dinner – come on, we’re colleagues, we’re friends.” You gave him a look. “Okay, we’re colleagues.”

“Fine.” You acquiesce. “Go sit over there. You’re going to ruin my tan.” Bryan chuckled as he moved to the empty lounge chair. You roll back onto your stomach once more and start to dive into your book when you feel a pair of hands on you.

“What in the actual fucking fuck?” You swore and look over to see Bryan squeezing lotion onto his hand. He rubbed his large hands together. “You’re going to burn. Let me put some lotion on you.” His hands began to rub your back and you felt your desire skyrocket. He may have been an asshole, but the man’s touch… was something else.

As his hands moved lower and lower, you let your mind wander on what else his hands could do. You couldn’t help but let out a very soft moan in response as his hands moved up the backs of your thighs.

The chair creaked as Bryan stood. He crouched beside you, and pushed your hair back. “Just say the word and we can do much more than just dinner.” His fingers scraped gently along the back of your neck and you shivered. You stared at him, mouth agape as he sat back on the other chair, his arms behind his head, with a very smug and sure look on his face.

**

You met Bryan for dinner at the hotel restaurant, which had a 5 star Michelin rating. Bryan wore another linen suit and you wore a cream colored off the shoulder fitted dress with a sweetheart neckline. Large hoop earrings hung off your ears and you kept your makeup light and your hair loose. Bryan was ever the gentleman, helping you into your seat.

Dinner was going well, with drinks flowing a bit too easily. You could see why Bryan was the way he was, expecting things the way he did. The man was charming and suave. When not being a pissed off asshole, he was actually really easy to get along with. You discussed old cases and the merger with Reddick, Boseman & Lockhart and found you both had a mutual dislike for Diane Lockhart.

When the check arrived, Bryan insisted on paying, which you let him. Bryan watched as you knocked back the rest of your wine. You wiped your mouth on the napkin and met his eyes, which were blown with lust. Your brain screamed no, but the throb in your pussy said YES.

“Does your offer still stand?” You asked. Bryan noted the twinge in your voice.

Bryan grinned like the cat who caught the canary. “You bet your sweet ass it does.”

**

“When we get back to the office, not a word.” You moaned as Bryan sucked on your neck.

“When we get back to the office, I am going to fuck you there too.” Bryan murmured as he worked the back of your dress zipper. You turned around so he could unzip it fully. You pushed your dress down, until it pooled at your feet. You turned slowly and stepped out. You weren’t wearing a bra – just a tiny piece of fabric that dared called itself a thong. Bryan had quickly shed himself of his own clothes, just clad in boxers with a very sizeable tent evident.

“Do you have condoms?” You ask, drinking his near nude form in.

“No worries; I’m snipped.” Your brow arched, pleased with this information.

“Just as well. I’m on birth control.” You shrugged.

“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?” Bryan growled. He pulled you to him closely, kissing you deeply once more. His hands went to your ass, grabbing and squeezing the meaty flesh of your ass. You let out a moan and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, exploring. He tasted like mint and something else that was very much uniquely him and you wondered if he tasted the same below. Bryan picked you up easily by the backs of your thighs and carried you to the bed. You both fell onto the bed, a mess of tangled limbs. The two of you continued your heavy make out session, hands touching everywhere. Bryan sat up and took one of your breasts into his mouth. You threw your head back as his tongue licked one nipple while he firmly rolled and pinched the other. You writhed in his lap, feeling his cock grow even harder beneath you, if that was even possible. Bryan switched breasts and repeated his actions. His beard burned you in the best of ways, leaving red marks along your skin.

“Oh God!” You groaned as he suckled on your tit harder and then nipped you.

“Not God.” Bryan chuckled darkly. “Just me.”

You entwined your hands into Bryan’s dark hair, keeping him in place. “Do that again. That felt so fucking good.” Bryan smiled and did as you requested which earned another moan from you. Bryan licked the space between your breasts and then placed wet kisses along your abdomen. You momentarily felt self conscious of your stomach but that thought was quickly forgotten as Bryan pulled your thong to the side and buried his face into your hot needy cunt.

Bryan ate you out like a man possessed, his tongue mimicking what he planned to do you later. He was relentless in his actions, gripping you tightly to his face. You hips undulated against his mouth as he alternated between burying his tongue into you and lapping at your folds. He snaked two fingers into you and began to finger fuck you, while his tongue found your swollen bundle of nerves and stayed there. The sounds that emanated – helpless and uncontrolled sighs and wails which go straight to Bryan’s cock. As he stroked the sweet spot inside of you, you let a deep guttural groan. You came hard, your thighs gripping the sides of his face tightly. Bryan continued to lap at you through your orgasm and your second orgasm approached fairly quickly.

Bryan takes a moment to remove his mouth from you, but he continues to rub haphazard circles on your clit. It’s beautiful when you come. Your back is arched towards the ceiling, your thighs tremble and shake. A light sheen of sweated coated your skin.

You threw your hands over your face as you let out a giggle. You had never experienced oral sex like this before. The man’s tongue was clearly sharp both in and out of the bedroom. “Holy shit!” You panted.

Bryan climbed over you, kissing the space between your breasts once more and then covered his body with yours, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on him and it just spurred your desire.

“Let me return the favor.” You murmured and Bryan was quick to roll himself over, shedding himself of his boxers. His massive cock sprung, falling back on his taut belly, with a heavy smack. Your eyes widen slightly as you take his size and girth in with an equally proportionate sack.

You spat into your hand and reached up to jerk his cock. His cock feels thick, hot and heavy in your hand. Your fingers graze the ridges and veins of his engorged cock before taking him into your mouth. Bryan hissed and he wrapped both of his hands into your hair, guiding your mouth on his cock. He had to will himself to not just fuck your mouth and completely unload. ‘No, no’ Bryan thinks to himself, deciding to save that idea for another day.

“You’re such a good little cocksucker.” Bryan praised and you squealed in response, though the sound was muffled because your mouth was full. The taste of his pre-cum flooded your mouth. You pulled away to take a brief breather, a strand of saliva connected you to him. You continued to use your hand to help you before taking more of his length into your mouth, triggering your gag reflex. The sounds of your mouth slobbering all over his cock drove Bryan crazy. You didn’t ease up. You reached up and gently cradled his balls, massaging them softly. Bryan let out a grunt of surprise as you dipped your head down and sucked gently on his balls, using your hand to jerk him.

“Enough.” Bryan barked. “I want to fuck that pussy.” He climbs off the bed, reaching over to grab the hotel bed pillows and stacks them one on top of the other. “All fours.”

You realize what he is doing and you climb into position. Your ass was up in the air, the rest of your bod diagonal, with your head to the side. You let out a squeal as Bryan smacks your ass, the sting burning your skin briefly.

Bryan positions himself behind you and runs his cock along your soaked pussy. You push against him, eager to feel him inside of you. Again, teasingly, Bryan rubbed his cock against your folds, barely just slipping in. You whimpered in protest.

“Please.” You desperately begged. “Fucking fill me up with that big fat cock of yours.”

In one movement, Bryan slid his cock into you. You gasped at the fullness. You gripped the sheets as you felt his balls nestle at your pussy. He filled you so completely that it took your breath right out of you. Bryan began to slowly piston in and out of you, watching as his cock disappeared into your warm sheath. He rotated his hips, before coming to a still causing you to mewl and whimper.

You were close to the precipice and not in the mood for niceties. “Come on, I’m not gonna break,” you gritted. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

That earned two spanks in succession as Bryan growled in response quickening his tempo. The headboard of the bed banged against the wall as he fucked you hard. His hands gripped your hips tightly; you were certain there would be bruises in the morning.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight and wet.” Bryan grunted, spanking you some more.

“All for you.” You whined, pushing back and meeting his thrusts. “Give it to me Bry. I want to come!”

“This is my pussy.” Bryan grunted, leaning his weight over you and twisting your hair into his palm. He pulled you back hard, the pain of it should have alarmed you, instead, you gave into it, craving more. You were flush against him, your back to his chest and he fucked up into you. Your mouth grew slack and your eyes fluttered close as he wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing. His other hand found your clit and began to rub again.

“I… I…” you babbled incoherently, your mind was going fuzzy with the pleasure you were feeling. Without warning, Bryan pulled out of you, rolling onto his back.

He held his cock straight up and looked at you expectantly. You felt your self-consciousness rear its ugly head at the idea of riding him.

“I can’t.” You replied weakly. Bryan gave you a look that could only be described as ‘what the fuck.’ His eyes turned dark and stony and his face hardened.

“You can and you will.” Bryan replied with confidence.

“I’m too heavy.” You bemoaned.

Bryan let go of his cock and slapped the outside of his thigh. “I’m a grown fucking man. Come on and ride daddy’s cock like a good girl.”

You nodded and Bryan reached for you, pulling you on top of him. You followed his lead, reaching down to grab his cock. You noticed your essence all over his cock and you groaned internally before you climbed onto him and sunk into his cock. You began to roll your hips. Bryan’s own eyes fluttered close and his hands were on your hips, guiding you.

“Fuuuck.” Bryan growled, thrusting his hips up to meet you. He leaned you down and took a breast into his mouth, as he jack-hammered into you. You cried out again and reached down to rub your swollen nub.

“Are you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

“I am going to… oh Bryan, fuck! Just like that.” You gasped.

“Come for me.” He commanded with a grunt, gripping your hips tightly as he pounded into you. “Cream on daddy’s cock.”

You wailed Bryan’s name as you came completely undone. Feeling your walls flutter around his cock, seeing your wrecked face - it was all too much for Bryan and he came, stiffening as he emptied his hot creamy load into you. Murmurs of “let my pussy milk that cock,” left your lips.

“That’s it, take it like a good girl.” Bryan rumbled, deep and low. Your eyes were squeezed shut and you could feel his load drip out of your pussy and pool in between your bodies.

You collapsed against Bryan, falling into a heap as you came down back to reality. Bryan pressed a kiss to your head, before gently lifting your face to give you a soft kiss. eventually peeled your sweaty body off of him. You laid next to each other, your chests heaving, each trying to catch your breath.

You rolled onto your side, facing Bryan. You ran your hand through his chest hair. “That was … wow.”

Bryan gave you a shit-eating grin. “Can’t wait to do that again.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips and climbed over him, one leg over each side of his face. Bryan smirked as he realized what you were doing. “Why wait?” You asked, your voice dripped with lust.

“I hope you don’t suffocate me.” He teased with a wink. You rolled your eyes and went to make a smart remark when he surprised you by pulling you down onto his face, his tongue doing all sorts of wonderful things. You let out a surprised ‘fuck!’ and looked down at him. Bryan looked up at you, his mouth left you briefly. “Oh but what a way to go - you will need to take over my caseload when we go back.” He replied before devouring you once more.

FIN.

--

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader @rachelxwayne @prurientpuddlejumper @lv7867 @permanentlydizzy @bisexual-dreamer02 @madamsnape921 @averyhotchner @teamsladsandgents  

[aizawaskittenwhore]

  𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭

words:3.7k

pairing: aizawa x fem!reader

warnings: tw mention of blood, tw mentions of death, mentions of drugs in case you forgot this is a cartel au, murder, swearing, keigo being a cocky lil fucker, sexual harassment towards the end cause yakuza men suck

rating: 18+ cause shit gets real this chapter

a/n: i FINALLY FINISHED IT FUCK YES chapter two mothafuckas!!! i’ve been having so much fun brainstorming everything to come, and here you’re gonna really get a feel for how big this cartel is. player two, f/n l/n, you’re up! <3

all rights reserved ©️aizawaskittenwhore. do not copy, repost, or modify.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 ↳ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

September 13th, 2181

2:56pm

Musutafu, Japan

“Hold the fuck up. This doesn’t make any sense, I mean—these are Pros. Well known and well respected Pros, at that. The hell would they be tryna’ run a fucking cartel for?!?” Ken Takagi (more commonly known as Rock Lock) rubbed the bridge of his nose in confusion, not understanding the motive or correlation. “I mean think about it. These motherfuckers got more money than they know what to do with. Endeavor is a shareholder in goddamn Nintendo, Hawks owns his own fucking agency and line of sports cars, and I could’ve sworn I saw Eraser getting Shinsou fitted for a fucking Cuban on his birthday a few months ago. It’s not like they’re strapped for cash these days.” Ken huffed, the agent’s arms crossed as he leaned back in the conference chair.

In an attempt to try and broaden the range on your current investigation, your department recruited the help of several Pros to provide reinforcements in Japan, the States, and wherever else sales were being made. Going undercover was already plenty dangerous, and going alone was the equivalent of signing your own death warrant. Enlisting the help of Rock Lock, Ryukyu, Miruko, Fatgum, Edgeshot and plenty of others was relatively easy; these were Heroes that had experience with smugglers and narcotics-based operations, so when you’d approached them with the task at hand, they’d happily agreed.

However, some needed more convincing than others.

“Takagi. Think about it. Sure, they may not be living paycheck to paycheck, but look at the timeline.” You state, looking over your shoulder towards the holographic board displaying an interactive timeline of the investigation, including photos, invoices and even audio recordings pulled from surveillance cameras. “Two years ago, we seized a truck containing approximately 78 kilograms of crack cocaine. When we questioned the driver on where he was taking it and where he got it from, he didn’t budge. Luckily for us, the dumbass wasn’t smart enough to avoid a paper trail, leaving the insurance documents in the glove compartment when we’d taken him into custody. The insurance company was under the name “Target Lance”, but after doing some digging on the name we found out the corporation went bankrupt six months before and was eventually bought out by Chevrolet.” Pausing to return to the screen welded to the wall behind you, your hands swiped as you searched for the file reading December 5th, 2178: A live video feed of a towering skyscraper being built, the building’s name reading “Chevrolet Corvette Inc.” as it hovered above tens of stories above each worker.

“But you all haven’t heard the name Chevy in a while right? That’s because two weeks after that building was built, the hundred-million dollar company was bought out by Takami Corporate-”

“-who owns Takami Motors. Which is the brand associated with the Peregrine Speedsters, Hawks’ damned sports car line.” Ken finished for you, brown spheres twinkling in sudden clarity. “Now you’re speaking my language.” You nod, hands waving as you continue to brief the room of Pros.

“The Todoroki and Nintendo console collaboration didn’t happen until about earlier this year, March to be specific. Which is quite convenient..since around that time the price of cocaine per gram stabilized in both America and Japan, rising from $112 to $138 bucks a pop. I’m nobody to speak on looks either, but for as long as we’ve known of him, Eraser has dressed like a depressed college student with insomnia that doesn’t understand the concept of soap or a pair of clippers. Now he’s got his wife in Cartier bracelets and getting his shirts tailored because the collar “doesn’t allow him enough room for his capture weapon”?!? Bullshit.” You huff, stifling a smile as you watch Miruko and Edgeshot snicker in their seats at your...blunt observation.

“It makes sense. Three years ago all our agencies, including those overseas, started cutting our checks down by half. They can barely afford to pay us a quarter of what we used to make, and these guys are making these lavish purchases while we all starve?? No way. Something’s fishy, and it’s damn sure not this takoyaki.” Fatgum spat, hands quivering with rage as he struggled to grasp the food with his chopsticks.

“Fatgum’s right. Hero unemployment is at a staggering 8.7 percent. Meanwhile, these men are spending money like it’s going out of style. It makes no sense.” Miruko pondered, Ryukyu folding her hands in her lap as she voiced her approval for immediate action. Edgeshot nodded in agreement, brows furrowed in frustration at this blatant disregard for the law. “So we’re all in agreement that our own people have resorted to breaking the law. Cool, got it. Question is, why? And what the hell are we gonna do about it?” Ken demanded, his patience having worn thin from all this speculation.

“Good question. I think they’re trying to take advantage of the tough spot the Hero Commission is in right now, manipulate that vulnerability and use it for their own gain. They’re not invulnerable to the tough times Pros are facing in the workforce. So they’ve gotten together to try and make it work for them, even if it means breaking the law.” You query, hands typing furiously at the virtual screen to pull up the files of each Hero, displaying all the current information on them from their blood type to each known family member. “These three banding together though? Along with other people? There’s no way. They hate each other. Or at the very least couldn’t get anything done even if they did have a common goal in mind.” Edgeshot murmured lowly.

“I thought so too. But then it hit me: it’s not just some flimsy group project. Sure, crime has gone up since the formation of this cartel, but nobody who holds any rank has been murdered or harmed in any way. No no no, these guys are singing in tune for now...which means there’s a damn good choir director among them. So I’ve volunteered to go undercover, work my way through this organization and figure out just how high up this goes.” You assert, shoulders rigid and chin aloft as the harnesses of your costume frame your figure.

“Alone?? Are you outta your goddamn mind? Let me go, you’ll need back up-” Rock Lock sputters, hands fanning out in shock.

“No way. What about your wife, your kid?! This isn’t just some average drug bust, we’re dealing with powerful men in possession of superhuman abilities that have the game on lockdown. You’ve got too much to lose, more than any of us anyway. Edgeshot and I will go, we’ve seen the other side of the law before, and our quirks are better suited for stealth should anything go wrong.” You fire, eyes narrowing into slits. “The rest of you will be working in tandem with the DEA and our resources, and we’ll report back to you with all future developments. We’ll also need you to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice, if we need it.”

A thick silence clogged the air, Ken settling back into his seat across the table. His amber eyes flickered in irritation before huffing in acceptance, the situation being out of his hands. All the conference participants’ gazes fixed in determination, some with anger. The tense aura weighed on everyone present before Miruko cleared her throat, ivory teeth gleaming in a smirk.

“Well we’ve got a solid plan. So all I wanna know is...when do we start?

June 2nd, 2182

In all honesty...you thought the nickname was just a sad attempt to stroke his ego. But seeing the way over seventy commercial-size planes and approximately 30 seaplanes sat aloft balmy concrete in the Guadalajara sun showed you exactly why they called Hawks “Lord of The Skies”. Arrays of laborers with avian-oriented quirks loaded kilo after kilo of coke on to each and every plane, some by hand and others by forklift. Welders were personally hand selected by Keigo himself to eliminate the issue of utilizing every available inch of space; each vessel having been stripped of everything from the seats to the built in mini-bars (much to Keigo’s chagrin). From where you stood in the scalding hot beams, the runway seemed to extend for miles as it brimmed with visible heat-waves.

Dressed in a simple black tank top, black biker type shorts, aluminum plated gauntlets, steel toed combat boots and harnesses that encapsulated the curves of your body before coming to a stop at your thighs, you silently rejoiced in the airflow your gear allowed you in spite of the color. The bandanna atop your hairline helped to absorb some of the sweat, which was a bonus.

“Not bad for a starter fleet huh? The wingspan on these babies almost makes me jealous.” A rich and decadent voice called from your left. Sleek carmine appendages and brassy blond hair entered your peripheral vision, giving way to the man who ran the show: Keigo Takami. Adorned in a pair of low rise denim jeans that were so incomprehensibly tight they accentuated every bit of his dick (which was likely intentional), a plain white tee and ebony cowboy boots that looked like they cost three times what you make in a week; he most definitely looked the part of the People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive” and Playboy’s “Player of the Month” titles he’d earned. Luminous olive skin glistened with sweat, droplets sliding down the deep v neck of his shirt with ease; the way the daisy-hued fabric stuck to his crafted abdomen leaving nothing to the imagination. Tourmaline and Argentium piercings dangled effortlessly from both ears, and if you weren’t so hell-bent on putting the motherfucker in jail you would’ve had no problem admitting how attractive he really was.

“Starter fleet? You’re about to put Delta out of business, look at this shit!” You guffaw, arms folded, an eyebrow raised in astonishment at his “humble” admission. “Flattery will get you everywhere, and then some.” Keigo chuckles, breath hot against your ear the instant he bends at the waist, hands settled in his pockets with that cocky aura about him.

“-And having your damn breath against my ear in 107 degree weather will, respectfully, get you my foot up your ass. I didn’t fly down here to get treated like one of your poor interns. I came here to make money, so let’s talk it.” You lash, the climbing tempature slicing your tolerance for bullshit to shreds.

“Shit. Straight to the point huh? I like it. You wanna talk shop, say no more. Over lunch though, I’m starving out here.” Keigo clicks his teeth with a grin, escorting the two of you towards the very jet he’d arrived in. “A little unknown fact about me, usually I hate flying ”conventionally”. Gives me anxiety, and I’m awful company when I’m nervous.”

Settling into the light taupe hued cabin, you observe the not-so-subtle elements of class. Ivory shochu bottles with intricate crystalline glasses to match, the bar fully stocked with gold accents along the upholstery. Plates of costly Kobe style beef rested atop spotless porcelain, romaine lettuce coupled with grilled applewood bacon, chicken, avocado and buttermilk dressing settled into envy-inducing black marble bowls. The plane was spacious, and certainly cost a pretty penny or two. “You’re upfront, so I’ll be honest with you. As of right now, this plane is the last thing I’m worried about-” Hawks mutters lowly, dijon eyelets tapering into thin slivers.

“-It’s the Shie Hassaikai making their encore appearance, and with the Colombians at that.”

You choke on a sip of Vega Sicilia, pupils dilating at the thought. 

“Now you spoke about wanting to make some money, right?” You nod, heart rate steadily rising. 

“What if I could offer you something more? Something of...extensive value.” Keigo drawled, dark undertone flooding the air like a thick smoke.  “Like what, Takami?” You inquire.

“A seat at the table.” He shrugs, like one would if they were discussing something as trivial as ice cream flavors or Friday night plans, not the reorganization of a crime syndicate. “You’ve been workin’ for me shy of a year now right? Somethin’ like that? Anyway..”

He takes a deep, contemplative swig of the chestnut liquid, eyes boring into yours. 

“You’re efficient, and you don’t take anyone’s shit. Good help’s hard to find in our line of work, and before you know it, this little hierarchy is gonna go under some..reorganization. Only the people who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty will have a place in the new order, so I want you there.”

“What’s the catch? I’m not dumb enough to just assume this is some promotion for busting my ass.” You tread, brain working double-time to try and decipher just what Keigo’s getting at. “Clever girl. It’s a simple task, in and out.” He assures, middle and ring finger sliding a matte-finish photo across the mahogany. Displayed was Kinan Zango, a member of the Shie Hassaikai’s middle rankings shaking hands with Joaquin Fuentes, a Columbia native known for having a body count in the double digits. 

“Another fact about me: Only one thing heightens my anxiety more than planes...people who fuck with my money. This asshole Kinan’s been selling my routes to the fucking Columbians and pocketing the profits, and getting 20% of the product as a little “thank you” when he knows nobody moves coke through the Gulf other than Takami fucking Keigo. He’s becoming a problem, and I don't like those.” Kei growls, left eye twitching minutely. His nails are sinking into the polish of the wood, his energy vehemently furious.

“Take care of this for me, and you’ll be my plus one to Guadalajara tomorrow.”

The general public often made the mistake of writing Keigo off as just your average “pretty boy”. Whereas a trained eye could see that while he may be pretty, he was nobody to be tested. The sheer intellect he possesses to seek, hand-craft each and every route, assign planes to their designated locations along with alternatives should there ever be an issue? He just didn’t get enough credit. 

So he took major offense when someone had the audacity to treat his hard work as though it was theirs.

Besides.. you got a man with looks, money and bloodlust? Tch. You’ve just created a monster.

You weren’t necessarily opposed to the idea of ridding the world of another drug-dealing degenerate, but the idea of casually committing a murder as a DEA agent in a foreign country just didn't sit right with you. Undercover agents weren’t permitted a “license to kill” should the investigation call for it either, so it was between committing a murder as government agent, or declining Keigo’s request and missing out on a front row seat to the cartel’s entire operation.

The silence that followed his sentence was deafening. Ice cubes chimed loftily as they swirled around inside his glass, clear liquid sloshing around while he awaited an answer.

Your jaw sets, eyes piercing into his. 

“Consider it done.”

Blood spattered onto the pale concrete, moonlight illuminating the scarlet hues. Your knuckles throbbed with pain, the sensation blossoming through your hand as your lips curled back in a snarl, vigorously ridding your hands of the other man’s bodily fluids. 

“ If you really think coming after me for that bird brained motherfucker is gonna change anything, you got another thing fucking coming.” Kinan spat, nose steadily flowing with red. His lip was busted, face splotched with yellowing purple bruises. Tugging at his restraints he thrashed, mouth spewing white-hot venom.

“You’re talking a lot of shit for a middle-ranking yakuza who thinks some new coke routes is gonna keep the Hassaikai from dumping your body on the side of some road in Zacatecas.” You observe, sending a harsh kick between the mans ribs, steel toed boots making an audible crack. “The Japanese are like Dixie Cups to them...”‘use em’ once, then throw em’ away”, right? You’re a fool if you think your days aren't numbered once you wear out your welcome.”

“Fuck you. You’re little boy toy threw a temper tantrum, so he sent you to “take care of things”, isn’t that right?” Kinan coos, eyes softening in a mocking pout. 

“Trust me, you're not the first slut Takami’s been sticking it in that he’s sent to kill me. Only difference between you and the rest of those bitches-” He huffs, head craning back against the metal chair to let our a soft breath of laughter. “-is that you’re gonna put up a fight.”

Suddenly his bones began to shift, popping and snapping as his skin began to pool below him; you recoiled in fear watching his body slowly slip from his imprisonment like gelatin exits a mold.

“I’ve got elastic bones kid! Whatever breaks just snaps right back into place.”

Skin stretching and pulling as he regained his original form, legs sprinting towards you. Before you could fire off your Quirk’s sonic blast his grip seized the back of your neck, a blade taking residence just below your left eye; it’s tip pressing uncomfortably into your water line. 

“Now, if you're good, I’ll make it quick. Though I’m known for being pretty... through with my toys.” Kinan leers, a hand slowly slithering down your sides to reach for the muscle of your ass. 

“Go to hell, and die there while you’re at it!” You shout.

Bile creeping into your throat, you seize the momentary shift in energy, generating a small sound wave that sent Kinan a few feet to your left; giving the two of you some distance. Your Quirk allowed you to absorb sound to power-up your physical movements, or send it out in the form of sonic blasts or sound waves, so the louder the sound, the more power it gave you. Readying your fists in anticipation for combat, you silently willed for a sudden disruption in the deafening silence as he rushed back to your rigid body. 

What you didn’t anticipate was that the sudden bang that filled the air, and the lifeless body of Kinan dropping to your feet with a thud, his head...

excavated, for lack of a better word.

“Don’t you know the entire point of having backup while under cover is to... call for backup?” Edgeshot snarked, striding towards you, gun settled back into it’s holster. His foot carelessly nudged the bleeding man before removing a Polaroid camera from his knapsack and snapping a photo of the carnage.

“W-what the fuck?! Look, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful when I say this, but what the absolute fuck did you just do??? We’re government agents, in a foreign country, we can’t just fucking murder these assholes nor do we have the license to-” You sputter, brows arching in frustration.

“This was your ticket into Guadalajara. I just secured you box seats when you were this close to getting stuck in the damned nosebleeds. I believe the correct words you’re looking for are thank you.” Kamihara snaps, shoving the photo into your hand. 

“We’re in a world completely different from our own. It’s forgiveness first, and permission later down here. I don’t like it either...but it’s just the way things are.” He sighs, hanging his head while his shoulders settled like the solar system rested on them. 

“I’ll take care of this. Now take that to Hawks, and don’t you dare fuck it up. Don’t let me have killed this poor asshole in vain.” 

You nod, stepping over Kinan’s body. 

Good riddance.

“Thank you, by the way.” You putter. Kamihara returns the sentiment with a nod, before turning to the corpse before him, phone raised to his ear as he spoke with whoever was on the opposite line, eyes that were once grey now swam with deep scarlet.

“Excellent work! I won’t lie, I had a feeling you were hardcore, but damn, this is some seamless shit! You deserve my praise.” Keigo beams, pearly teeth sparkling in the light of the cabin. Nodding in acceptance you grasped his hand upon his offering, permitting him to escort you towards your respective aircraft.

“Well, a promise is a promise. And if nothing else, I’m most certainly a man of my word. Meet me at this airstrip same time tomorrow, 8am. Pack light, Mexico’s a bitch in the summer, though you already know that.”

“Got it. Pleasure doing business with you, Hawks.”

“Call me Keigo, if you want. I hate all the formal shit, long as we got respect, that's all I need.” He shrugs.

“Understood. See you tomorrow, Keigo.” You affirm, climbing the ladder to your jet, body visibly relaxing at the thought of rest.

“Wait--before you go, I wanted to ask ya. What’s with the whole ancient hieroglyphics tat you got goin on, on your spine? It just looks familiar, is all.” He queries.

Home.

November 12th, 2174.

“Y/N! I found somethin’! It’s this super cool protection rune I found in grandma’s things. Check it out! It wards off all evil, and whoever’s in possession of it can, like, balance their energy with the divine power.”

“You’re such a hippie, I swear to god.” You grin.

“Don’t hate because my chakras are balanced and yours aren’t, bitch.” She grinned, index and thumb coming together to flick your forehead. 

“At least take it with you for your exam, for good luck! Pleaseeeee! I think it’ll really help.” Her doe eyes melting your steely resolve. You could never deny her, those eyes constantly solidifying her role as the younger sister. 

“...Only if you’ll clean my room for me when I come back for Christmas.” You demand, an eyebrow raised in mirth.

“Deal.”

And even though you never did admit it to her, that tiny piece of paper tucked into your bra did more for you during that exam than any late night cram session ever could’ve.

“It’s a protection rune. To ward off all evil energies, spirits and all that shit.” You mutter.

“Hm. Looks like it works, seeing how well tonight panned out for ya. Could use me one, would probably keep old man Todoroki out my fuckin’ hair.” He chuckles, hands releasing from the railing as he threw you a wave.

“But I wouldn’t worry too much about tomorrow, anyway. I got a feeling you’re gonna fit in just fine with us.” He smirked.

Ah.

If only that were true, Keigo.

taglist! : @liliesoftherainmain @therealwalmartjesus

[listentothelittlebird]

TW: dissociative episode

This was a whole scrapped oneshot, mostly because I couldn’t fit it in properly... I misread something on a wikipedia page and somehow ended up with “Jason revisited Ethiopia sometime during the Red Hood and the Outlaws, and had major PTSD”. I’m fairly sure I was sleep deprived at the time... (I’m honestly happy with how this one turned out, but it was just out-of-place with the rest of the other oneshots)

This is a “deleted scene” from my series on ao3, Code Bat! 

It was a quiet, peaceful night, until the comms crackled to life.

“N,” Oracle called, “RH entered Gotham an hour ago. The new Super he befriended brought him in, but he hasn’t moved from his location since. Can you go check on him?”

Nightwing frowned. Jason was in town? 

He was happy to have a chance to see his Little Wing, of course, but this was an unplanned visit. Usually he would at least radio in ahead, and dramatically announce his return by searching for them during patrol time.

Something was wrong.

“R and I are still dealing with the drug ring,” Batman grunted, “We’ll be with you as soon as we can.”

It seemed even the Bat himself was getting worried.

“I’m turning in for the night. BG’s headed towards RH right now. Let me know how he is, alright?” Spoiler paused, before adding, “I can pull an extra patrol or two, if he needs you guys for company. I’m not an official fam’ member, but I’m more than ready to help.”

Nightwing would have hugged Spoiler if she was standing next to him.

Batgirl was already at the rooftop when Nightwing arrived. She was crouched directly in front of Jason - in his Red Hood outfit, skull-like helmet still on his head - and staring. Nightwing had learnt to read Cass’ body language, and right now she was practically screaming concern. She straightened when Nightwing touched down.

“Unresponsive,” she signed, “Alive, but not there. Like the victims we saw last week.”

Nightwing sighed, a rush of air escaping his chest. It was relief mixed in with new pain, because something had happened to his brother for him to shut down. Something had triggered this.

“RH is dissociating,” Nightwing reported to the comms, “BG says he’s unresponsive. B, once you and R are done, get the Batmobile here.”

“We’re on our way,” came Robin’s tight response, crisp and serious but betraying the slightest of quivers.

In the meantime, Nightwing busied himself with removing Jason’s helmet. His face was blank, devoid of his usual snarky grin or unimpressed eye-roll. His chest was rising and falling in slow, mechanical breaths.

“We’ll take care of you, Little Wing,” Nightwing laid a hand gently on his brother’s shoulder, smiling warmly, “Take all the time you need, okay? We’ll be here.”

There was not so much as a twitch to acknowledge his words. Dick’s gut clenched tighter, even having expected the lack of response.

Batgirl had drifted away, standing several steps back. At Nightwing’s questioning glance, she murmured haltingly, “Scary.” She raised her hands to elaborate.

“No body messages. Nothing. Cannot tell what he is thinking, or if he is thinking. I’m scared for him. With other victims, it’s bad. With family...” the next motion was not proper sign language - she made a heart with her hands, then split it. 

It hurt to see family like this.

Nightwing gave a sad, quiet smile in response, and the way he turned back to eye Jason was enough to convey his agreement.

-

Jason came back to himself slowly.

He was never truly gone, not quite. Not for a while, he thinks. 

He’s… not sure about much. Just that he had been able to tell Artemis and Bizarro that he was going to pull a few strings in Gotham to get them a permanent base. 

He remembered fumbling out an address for a safe house that he had, which would be able to last his two teammates for more than a week. He remembered Biz dropping him off in Gotham. He remembered sitting down on the filthy rooftop.

He thinks Batgirl came, then Nightwing. He thinks they helped him into the Batmobile, and he thinks he saw Batman and Robin. 

He… can’t quite recall what happened next. It was like his memories were grinded to a pulp and then drained of substance, leaving behind the crusts of barely-coherent scenes. Flashes of what had happened.

He was in the Batcave, then he was being walked up the stairs to the Manor, one large arm wrapped around his shoulders, one large hand gripping firmly onto his elbow. 

There was the rustling of old paperbacks, distant and distorted, like hearing through water. 

There was Bruce, blue eyes focused on him, gazing at him and murmuring something soft.

“...here for you. You’re safe, Jaylad.”

He felt a sliver of pressure on his face.

Jason blinked. His hand rose to the spot, to where the mildest of pressures were, a calloused hand cupped against his cheek. He blinked two, three times, Bruce’s face morphing into the most genuine of smiles, even as the smell of the library and faint tightness of hunger greeted him.

“B?” Jason croaked, his voice hoarse from something more than dryness. Bruce was still quick to supply him a cup of water. The hand had yet to leave his cheek. Jason, still thrown off and trying to piece together his scattered mind, leaned into the hand even as he downed the glass.

There was a reason his throat felt scratchy. He had been screaming. Screaming at…

By the time Bruce had plucked his empty glass from his hand and set it down, Jason had jolted violently, as the realisation of how he got here, on exactly why he had returned back to Gotham, hit him like a train.

Ethiopia. The rebuilt warehouse. The living nightmare of his latest Outlaws mission.

“B?” Jason’s voice was desperate now. Logically, he knew Bruce was right there. Trying to convince his tortured mind though, as it finally came to terms with what had happened, was not as simple. 

“Dad? Dad…” Jason’s hands reached blindly for Bruce’s arms, scrambling to tighten clenched fists into the fabric of the man’s sweater. Bruce pulled Jason into his chest.

While Jason tried and failed to quell his breakdown, Bruce had maneuvered himself back onto the couch, Jason sat half in his lap and half on the couch. Jason’s arms, tight around his father’s shoulders, loosened as he let out a shaky gasp.

“We - we had a mission,” Jason rambled before he could stop himself, “Artemis was looking for something, and we were helping her look, and-“

“Jay,” Bruce cut in gently, “Don’t force yourself. Please, son.”

Jason, his forehead pressed to Bruce’s shoulder, shook his head even as he barreled on. He had to get this out before his walls went up again, before it became too blissfully peaceful to even broach the subject.

“I- fuck. We went to Ethiopia,” Jason gave a hollow laugh, even as Bruce sucked in a sharp breath of air, “It was fucking hell, B. Pretty sure they were just doing the generic torture shit on me, but they didn’t even need to do anything, really. The location was enough to…to-“ Jason’s voice cracked. There was something wet leaking out of his eyes.

“It looked exactly the same, B. I checked after - it was the same place. It was-“ Jason’s voice gave out for real, then. 

Bruce pulled him tighter, holding his son close as he cried himself dry. Bruce was just glad that Jason had been able to come back to Gotham, that his son was here for him to comfort - was willing to accept that comfort from him still, even after everything that had happened.

“You’re here,” Bruce hushes, when Jason’s sobs had died down to sniffles. He gave the boy - he would forever be a boy in his eyes - a squeeze around his broad shoulders. “You’re here.”

Jason sniffed again, and squeezed back, tight and desperate.

Later, Alfred would enter, guided by his butler senses to bring a meal for Jason. Later, his siblings would check in on him, and Dick would pile everyone into the living room with a movie marathon and a sleepover. Later, Jason would figure out a permanent base of operations for the Outlaws.

For now, it was just a father holding his son, both undeniably grateful to be alive.

-

Jason led Biz and Artemis to an underground bunker at the outskirts of Metropolis. They were right under Superman’s nose, which was both exhilarating and concerning.

He did not fancy meeting any one of Bruce’s colleagues. 

On the other hand, if Superman did stumble upon them someday soon, Bizarro would finally get to meet someone like him. Well, someone who might see him as family, at least. Jason had heard from Tim that Superman was a big-hearted family man that had taken in Kon-El the moment he had trusted the clone.

He hoped Superman would take Bizarro in. The big guy deserved someone else besides him and Artemis.

Speaking of…

“Say, since we’re gonna be working with each other a lot more from now on, can I get insurance that you won’t take a swing at Wonder Woman while I’m in the collateral damage zone?” 

Artemis glared at him, but Jason had weathered Bat-glares, and this was nothing compared to the man. His helmet was off, so she could see his smirk, his red domino stretching as he raised an eyebrow. 

“I’d have thought you’d be on better terms with the lady. I mean, she’d gladly offer you any support you need,” Jason pointed out.

Artemis huffed, “Themyscira should have done more to aid my tribe. They still have yet to do more to aid my tribe. As Diana is a representative of her people, my grudge is against her tribe, and not her personally. Truthfully, Diana saved my life, and I am grateful for that.”

Jason hummed contemplatively. “Well, you should be a bridge between the two tribes,” Jason thought aloud, “Just saying, you basically became your tribe’s champion by getting back the Bow of Ra. If anyone could get them more aid, it’d be you.”

He could tell that the Amazonian needed time to think on his words, so instead of continuing. Jason splayed his arms, “Besides, sweet-talking gets you places!” 

It was implied that such was how he had gotten their base, but the circumstances were probably far from what Artemis assumed. All Jason had needed to do was talk over conversations during dinner and Bruce was showing him possible locations even before patrol rotations had begun.

Artemis latched onto the new topic, regarding their new base with a satisfied tilt to her head, “What were those connections that you managed to find? Gotham is one place in Man’s World that I have yet to understand.”

“Eh, you learn to deal with the city’s fuckery. Like I said, I just had some old strings that I could pull to get us here,” Jason shrugged, and paused for a moment. Everything had been moving a mile and minute, from when Jason had first met Artemis to when they and Bizarro became a team.

He had neglected to tell them his name. Not that Bizarro needed his name, since he even called Artemis Red Her, but Artemis herself had always referred to Jason as Red Hood or Red.

“Jay.” 

At Artemis’ questioning glance, Jason huffed, “It’s my name, I guess. Close enough.”

It was the name the Titans, Roy and Kori, knew him by. Artemis and Bizarro were shaping up to be his second round of Outlaws, and he wanted them to have his trust, too.

There was a weighty glint in Artemis’ eyes. “It is an honour to work with you, Jay,” she stated solemnly.

Jason cracked a grin, “Aw, c’mon, don’t go all mushy on me. Let’s go get Biz before he ransacks the whole pantry.”

He turned to head in Bizarro’s direction, his loud rummaging making Jason glad he had chosen to put them significantly low underground. Artemis trailed behind with a warm smile.

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

The New Nihilism

It feels increasingly difficult to tell the difference between—on one hand—being old, sick, and defeated, and—on the other hand—living in a time-&-place that is itself senile, tired, and defeated. Sometimes I think it’s just me—but then I find that some younger, healthier people seem to be undergoing similar sensations of ennui, despair, and impotent anger. Maybe it’s not just me.

A friend of mine attributed the turn to disillusion with “everything”, including old-fashioned radical/activist positions, to disappointment over the present political regime in the US, which was somehow expected to usher in a turn away from the reactionary decades since the 1980s, or even a “progress” toward some sort of democratic socialism. Although I myself didn’t share this optimism (I always assume that anyone who even wants to be President of the US must be a psychopathic murderer) I can see that “youth” suffered a powerful disillusionment at the utter failure of Liberalism to turn the tide against Capitalism Triumphalism. The disillusion gave rise to OCCUPY and the failure of OCCUPY led to a move toward sheer negation.

However I think this merely political analysis of the “new nothing” may be too two-dimensional to do justice to the extent to which all hope of “change” has died under Kognitive Kapital and the technopathocracy. Despite my remnant hippy flower- power sentiments I too feel this “terminal” condition (as Nietzsche called it), which I express by saying, only half-jokingly, that we have at last reached the Future, and that the truly horrible truth of the End of the World is that it doesn’t end.

One big J.G. Ballard/Philip K. Dick shopping mall from now till eternity, basically.

This IS the future—how do you like it so far? Life in the Ruins: not so bad for the bourgeoisie, the loyal servants of the One Percent. Air-conditioned ruins! No Ragnarok, no Rapture, no dramatic closure: just an endless re-run of reality TV cop shows. 2012 has come and gone, and we’re still in debt to some faceless bank, still chained to our screens.

Most people—in order to live at all—seem to need around themselves a penumbra of “illusion” (to quote Nietzsche again):—that the world is just rolling along as usual, some good days some bad, but in essence no different now than in 10000 BC or 1492 AD or next year. Some even need to believe in Progress, that the Future will solve all our problems, and even that life is much better for us now than for (say) people in the 5th century AD. We live longer thanx to Modern Science—of course our extra years are largely spent as “medical objects”—sick and worn out but kept ticking by Machines & Pills that spin huge profits for a few megacorporations & insurance companies. Nation of Struldbugs.

True, we’re suffocating in the mire generated by our rule of sick machines under the Numisphere of Money. At least ten times as much money now exists than it would take to buy the whole world—and yet species are vanishing space itself is vanishing, icecaps melting, air and water grown toxic, culture grown toxic, landscape sacrificed to fracking and megamalls, noise-fascism, etc, etc. But Science will cure all that ills that Science has created—in the Future (in the “long run”, when we’re all dead, as Lord Keynes put it); so meanwhile we’ll carry on consuming the world and shitting it out as waste—because it’s convenient & efficient & profitable to do so, and because we like it.

Well, this is all a bunch of whiney left-liberal cliches, no? Heard it before a million times. Yawn. How boring, how infantile, how useless. Even if it were all true... what can we do about it? If our Anointed Leaders can’t or won’t stop it, who will? God? Satan? The “People”?

All the fashionable “solutions” to the “crisis”, from electronic democracy to revolutionary violence, from locavorism to solar-powered dingbats, from financial market regulation to the General Strike—all of them, however ridiculous or sublime, depend on one preliminary radical change—a seismic shift in human consciousness. Without such a change all the hope of reform is futile. And if such a change were somehow to occur, no “reform” would be necessary. The world would simply change. The whales would be saved. War no more. And so on.

What force could (even in theory) bring about such a shift? Religion? In 6,000 years of organized religion matters have only gotten worse. Psychedelic drugs in the reservoirs? The Mayan calendar? Nostalgia? Terror?

If catastrophic disaster is now inevitable, perhaps the “Survivalist” scenario will ensue, and a few brave millions will create a green utopia in the smoking waste. But won’t Capitalism find a way to profit even from the End of the World? Some would claim that it’s doing so already. The true catastrophe may be the final apotheosis of commodity fetishism.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that this paradise of power tools and back-up alarms is all we’ve got & all we’re going to get. Capitalism can deal with global warming—it can sell water-wings and disaster insurance. So it’s all over, let’s say—but we’ve still got television & Twitter. Childhood’s End—i.e. the child as ultimate consumer, eager for the brand. Terrorism or home shopping network—take yr pick (democracy means choice).

Since the death of the Historical Movement of the Social in 1989 (last gasp of the hideous “short” XXth century that started in 1914) the only “alternative” to Capitalist Neo-Liberal totalitarianism that seems to have emerged is religious neo-fascism. I understand why someone would want to be a violent fundamentalist bigot—I even sympathize—but just because I feel sorry for lepers doesn’t mean I want to be one.

When I attempt to retain some shreds of my former antipessimism I fantasize that History may not be over, that some sort of Populist Green Social Democracy might yet emerge to challenge the obscene smugness of “Money Interests”—something along the lines of 1970s Scandinavian monarcho-socialism—which in retrospect now looks the most humane form of the State ever to have emerged from the putrid suck-hole of Civilization. (Think of Amsterdam in its heyday.) Of course as an anarchist I’d still have to oppose it—but at least I’d have the luxury of believing that, in such a situation, anarchy might actually stand some chance of success. Even if such a movement were to emerge, however, we can rest damn-well assured it won’t happen in the USA. Or anywhere in the ghost-realm of dead Marxism, either. Maybe Scotland!

It would seem quite pointless to wait around for such a rebirth of the Social. Years ago many radicals gave up all hope of The Revolution, and the few who still adhere to it remind me of religious fanatics. It might be soothing to lapse into such doctrinaire revolutionism, just as it might be soothing to sink into mystical religion—but for me at least both options have lost their savor. Again, I sympathize with those true believers (although not so much when they lapse into authoritarian leftism or fascism)— nevertheless, frankly, I’m too depressed to embrace their Illusions.

If the End-Time scenario sketched above be considered actually true, what alternatives might exist besides suicidal despair? After much thought I’ve come up with three basic strategies.

1) Passive Escapism. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Capitalism permits all sorts of “lifestyles” (I hate that word)—just pick one & try to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to live as a dirt farmer without electricity & infernal combustion, like a sort of secular Amish refusnik. Well, maybe not. But at least you could flirt with such a life. “Smoke Pot, Eat Chicken, Drink Tea,” as we used to say in the 60s in the Moorish Church of America, our psychedelic cult. Hope they don’t catch you. Fit yourself into some Permitted Category such as Neo-Hippy or even Anabaptist.

2) Active Escapism. In this scenario you attempt to create the optimal conditions for the emergence of Autonomous Zones, whether temporary, periodic or even (semi)permanent. In 1984 when I first coined the term Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ)

I envisioned it as a complement to The Revolution—although I was already, to be truthful, tired of waiting for a moment that seemed to have failed in 1968. The TAZ would give a taste or premonition of real liberties: in effect you would attempt to live as if the Revolution had already occurred, so as not to die without ever having experienced “free freedom” (as Rimbaud called it, liberte libre). Create your own pirate utopia.

Of course the TAZ can be as brief & simple as a really good dinner party, but the true autonomist will want to maximize the potential for longer & deeper experiences of authentic lived life. Almost inevitably this will involve crime, so it’s necessary to think like a criminal, not a victim. A “Johnson” as Burroughs used to say—not a “mark”. How else can one live (and live well) without Work. Work, the curse of the thinking class. Wage slavery. If you’re lucky enough to be a successful artist, you can perhaps achieve relative autonomy without breaking any obvious laws (except the laws of good taste, perhaps). Or you could inherit a million. (More than a million would be a curse.) Forget revolutionary morality—the question is, can you afford your taste of freedom? For most of us, crime will be not only a pleasure but a necessity. The old anarcho-Illegalists showed the way: individual expropriation. Getting caught of course spoils the whole thing—but risk is an aspect of self-authenticity.

One scenario I’ve imagined for active Escapism would be to move to a remote rural area along with several hundred other libertarian socialists—enough to take over the local government (municipal or even county) and elect or control the sheriffs & judges, the parent/teacher association, volunteer fire department and even the water authority. Fund the venture with cultivation of illegal phantastice and carry on a discreet trade. Organize as a “Union of Egoists” for mutual benefit & ecstatic pleasures—perhaps under the guise of “communes” or even monasteries, who cares. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.

I know for a fact that this plan is being worked on in several places in America—but of course I’m not going to say where.

Another possible model for individual escapists might be the nomadic adventurer. Given that the whole world seems to be turning into a giant parking lot or social network, I don’t know if this option remains open, but I suspect that it might. The trick would be to travel in places where tourists don’t—if such places still exist—and to involve oneself in fascinating and dangerous situations. For example if I were young and healthy I’d’ve gone to France to take part in the TAZ that grew around resistance to the new airport—or to Greece—or Mexico—wherever the perverse spirit of rebellion crops up. The problem here is of course funding. (Sending back statues stuffed with hash is no longer a good idea.) How to pay for yr life of adventure? Love will find a way. It doesn’t matter so much if one agrees with the ideals of Tahrir Square or Zucotti Park—the point is just to be there.

3. Revenge. I call it Zarathustra’s Revenge because as Nietzsche said, revenge may be second rate but it’s not nothing. One might enjoy the satisfaction of terrifying the bastards for at least a few moments. Formerly I advocated “Poetic Terrorism” rather than actual violence, the idea being that art could be wielded as a weapon. Now I’ve rather come to doubt it. But perhaps weapons might be wielded as art. From the sledgehammer of the Luddites to the black bomb of the attentat, destruction could serve as a form of creativity, for its own sake, or for purely aesthetic reasons, without any illusions about revolution. Oscar Wilde meets the acte gratuit: a dandyism of despair.

What troubles me about this idea is that it seems impossible to distinguish here between the action of post-leftist anarcho-nihilists and the action of post-rightist neo-traditionalist reactionaries. For that matter, a bomb may as well be detonated by fundamentalist fanatics—what difference would it make to the victims or the “innocent bystanders”? Blowing up a nanotechnology lab—why shouldn’t this be the act of a desperate monarchist as easily as that of a Nietzschean anarchist?

In a recent book by Tiqqun (Theory of Bloom), it was fascinating to come suddenly across the constellation of Nietzsche, Rene Guenon, Julius Evola, et al. as examples of a sharp and just critique of the Bloom syndrome—i.e., of progress-as-illusion. Of course the “beyond left and right” position has two sides—one approaching from the left, the other from the right. The European New Right (Alain de Benoist & his gang) are big admirers of Guy Debord, for a similar reason (his critique, not his proposals).

The post-left can now appreciate Traditionalism as a reaction against modernity just as the neo-traditionalists can appreciate Situationism. But this doesn’t mean that post-anarchist anarchists are identical with post-fascism fascists!

I’m reminded of the situation in fin-de-siecle France that gave rise to the strange alliance between anarchists and monarchists; for example the Cerce Proudhon. This surreal conjunction came about for two reasons: a) both factions hated liberal democracy, and b) the monarchists had money. The marriage gave birth to weird progeny, such as Georges Sorel. And Mussolini famously began his career as an Individualist anarchist!

Another link between left & right could be analyzed as a kind of existentialism; once again Nietzsche is the founding parent here, I think. On the left there were thinkers like Gide or Camus. On the right, that illuminated villain Baron Julius Evola used to tell his little ultra-right groupuscules in Rome to attack the Modern World—even though the restoraton of tradition was a hopeless dream—if only as an act of magical self-creation. Being trumps essence. One must cherish no attachment to mere results. Surely Tiqqun’s advocacy of the “perfect Surrealist act” (firing a revolver at random into a crowd of “innocent by-standers”) partakes of this form of action-as-despair. (Incidentally I have to confess that this is the sort of thing that has always—to my regret—prevented my embracing Surrealism: it’s just too cruel. I don’t admire de Sade, either.)

Of course, as we know, the problem with the Traditionalists is that they were never traditional enough. They looked back at a lost civilization as their “goal” (religion, mysticism, monarchism, arts-&-crafts, etc.) whereas they should have realized that the real tradition is the “primordial anarchy” of the Stone Age, tribalism, hunting/gathering, animism—what I call the Neanderthal Liberation Front. Paul Goodman used the term “Neolithic Conservatism” to describe his brand of anarchism—but “Paleolithic Reaction” might be more appropriate!

The other major problem with the Traditionalist Right is that the entire emotional tone of the movement is rooted in self-repression. Here a rough Reichean analysis suffices to demonstrate that the authoritarian body reflects a damaged soul, and that only anarchy is compatible with real self-realization.

The European New Right that arose in the 90s still carries on its propaganda—and these chaps are not just vulgar nationalist chauvenist anti-semitic homophobic thugs—they’re intellectuals & artists. I think they’re evil, but that doesn’t mean I find them boring. Or even wrong on certain points. They also hate the nanotechnologists!

Although I attempted to set off a few bombs back in the 1960s (against the war in Vietnam) I’m glad, on the whole, that they failed to detonate (technology was never my metier). It saves me from wondering if I would’ve experienced “moral qualms”. Instead I chose the path of the propagandist and remained an activist in anarchist media from 1984 to about 2004. I collaborated with the Autonomedia publishing collective, the IWW, the John Henry Mackay Society (Left Stirnerites) and the old NYC Libertarian Book Club (founded by comrades of Emma Goldman, some of whom I knew, & who are now all dead). I had a radio show on WBAI (Pacifica) for 18 years. I lectured all over Europe and East Europe in the 90s. I had a very nice time, thank you. But anarchism seems even farther off now than it looked in 1984, or indeed in 1958, when I first became an anarchist by reading George Harriman’s Krazy Kat. Well, being an existentialist means you never have to say you’re sorry.

In the last few years in anarchist circles there’s appeared a trend “back” to Stirner/Nietzsche Individualism—because after all, who can take revolutionary anarcho-communism or syndicalism seriously anymore? Since I’ve adhered to this Individualist position for decades (although tempered by admiration for Charles Fourier and certain “spiritual anarchists” like Gustave Landauer) I naturally find this trend agreeable.

“Green anarchists” & AntiCivilization Neo-primitivists seem (some of them) to be moving toward a new pole of attraction, nihilism. Perhaps neo-nihilism would serve as a better label, since this tendency is not simply replicating the nihilism of the Russian narodniks or the French attentatists of circa 1890 to 1912, however much the new nihilists look to the old ones as precursors. I share their critique—in fact I think I’ve been mirroring it to a large extent in this essay: creative despair, let’s call it. What I do not understand however is their proposal—if any. “What is to be done?” was originally a nihilist slogan, after all, before Lenin appropriated it. I presume that my option #1, passive escape, would not suit the agenda. As for Active Escapism, to use the suffix “ism” implies some form not only of ideology but also some action. What is the logical outcome of this train of thought?

As an animist I experience the world (outside Civilization) as essentially sentient. The death of God means the rebirth of the gods, as Nietzsche implied in his last “mad” letters from Turin— the resurrection of the great god PAN—chaos, Eros, Gaia, & Old Night, as Hesiod put it—Ontological anarchy, Desire, Life itself, & the Darkness of revolt & negation—all seem to me as real as they need to be.

I still adhere to a certain kind of spiritual anarchism—but only as heresy and paganism, not as orthodoxy and monotheism. I have great respect for Dorothy Day—her writing influenced me in the 60s—and Ivan Illich, whom I knew personally—but in the end I cannot deal with the cognitive dissonance between anarchism and the Pope! Nevertheless I can believe in the re-paganaziation of monotheism. I hold to this pagan tradition because I sense the universe as alive, not as “dead matter.” As a life-long psychedelicist I have always thought that matter & spirit are identical, and that this fact alone legitimizes what Theory calls “desire”.

From this p.o.v. the phrase “revolution of everyday life” still seems to have some validity—if only in terms of the second proposal, Active Escapism or the TAZ. As for the third possibility— Zarathustra’s Revenge—this seems like a possible path for the new nihilism, at least from a philosophical perspective. But since I am unable personally to advocate it, I leave the question open.

But here—I think—is the point at which I both meet with & diverge from the new nihilism. I too seem to believe that Predatory Capitalism has won and that no revolution is possible in the classical sense of that term. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be “against everything.” Within the Temporary Autonomous Zone there still seems to persist the possibility of “authentic life,” if only for a moment—and if this position amounts to mere Escapism, then let us become Houdini. The new surge of interest in Individualism is obviously a response to the Death of the Social. But does the new nihilism imply the death even of the individual and the “union of egoists” or Nietzschean free spirits? On my good days, I like to think not.

No matter which of the three paths one takes (or others I can’t yet imagine) it seems to me that the essential thing is not to collapse into mere apathy. Depression we may have to accept, impotent rage we may have to accept, revolutionary pessimism we may have to accept. But as e.e. cummings (anarchist poet) said, there is some shit we will not take, lest we simply become the enemy by default. Can’t go on, must go on. Cultivate rosebuds, even selfish pleasures, as long as a few birds & flowers still remain. Even love may not be impossible...

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Buy In

Chapter 3: Puzzle Wrapped in an Enigma 

by @dracusfyre

On the way back home after the brothel closed, Bucky logged into Discord and dropped into a channel labeled only with random numbers and letters. First day of work was :thumbs up:  but there were two dudebros who tried to jam up my shit. Wish they would back off, he wrote. The channel was monitored 24/7 in case of emergency or actionable intel.

He waited as the dots danced, then his police handler wrote, that sucks. who are they?

Bucky typed the last four of Rumlow and Rollins’ badge numbers and put his phone back in his pocket. This operation was way more important than those two swinging dicks; between the video from tonight, which was going to be a PR nightmare for the department, and his request, Rumlow and Rollins better be manning a desk for the foreseeable future.

He was pulling out his keys to his apartment building when he heard a car door opening nearby. His head whipped around and his other hand was already on the pistol in the holster at the small of his back when he heard, “Whoa there Blue Eyes,” in a familiar voice. The figure that stepped out of the car held his hands up and stepped into the light.  “Hard day at the office?”

“I’ve had worse,” Bucky said warily.

“How’d everything go today?” Stark shoved his hands in his pocket and leaned against his car, the streetlight casting harsh shadows on his face.

“Fine. Didn’t KT give you a debrief?”

“Yeah, I heard his side. I wanna hear your side.”

Bucky thought about it, wondering if he should put a shine on it or be honest. “KT and Hawkeye’s play tonight was clever and would have worked perfectly against a different set of cops. But I think those two won’t give up until they get back at the person who embarrassed them. Might have made more problems than they solved.”

“Yeah?” Stark tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “You sure about that? KT's been on the job for a few years now and thought it was a good call. It's your first day and you saw the cops for all of fifteen minutes.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve met guys like them before. Don't strike me as the type to know when they're beat. Best thing would be for them to be encouraged to take a long walk off a short pier.”

Stark made a thoughtful noise. “But KT explained office policy on that?”

“Yeah. Only as a last resort.” Bucky tried to sound neutral, but something of his skepticism must have bled through.

“You don’t agree?”

The note in Stark’s voice put Bucky on high alert. Higher alert, since his heart was still racing from before. “I get the logic, it’s just…different,” Bucky said. “Makes sense though. Bodies attract attention.”

“Is that the only reason you think it's a good policy?” Stark asked neutrally.

Bucky hesitated. He got the feeling there was a right and wrong answer to this and wished this conversation had happened six hours ago when he was less tired. “Killing people changes things,” he said finally - honestly - hoping he wasn’t about to touchy-feely himself out of this operation. Between the military, the police, and then undercover work with organized crime, he had been so steeped in machismo that it had become second nature – to those guys, life was one big dick measuring contest - but Stark didn’t seem to work like that. Or at least, he didn't want people to think he worked like that. “Not just changes people, but like…it sends a message to everyone else. ‘This is what a life is worth.’” Bucky took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with Stark.  “People respond to that. Makes them…mean. Hard. So if you can avoid that...” He ran a hand over the back of his neck, feeling like an idiot. He probably sounded ridiculous. “So, yeah. Anyway. Guess if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, right? Seems to be working for you.”

“We do alright,” Stark said slowly, and Bucky figured he must have said the right thing because he straightened and held out a hand for Bucky to shake. Bucky looked at it with surprise and took it, feeling acutely aware of the strength of Stark’s grip and the callouses on his palms. “Welcome aboard.”

                                               ***

Tony got back in his car as Blue Eyes continued into his building, cranking it and pulling away from the curb on autopilot. If Blue Eyes hadn’t been a cop, Tony would have told himself that he was too good to be true; as it was, Tony wondered if it was possible that the police or feds or whoever had profiled him well enough to give “Brooks” a gold plated script to work from. But it hadn’t felt like the new guy was playing him tonight; his comments had been too rambling and inarticulate to have been prepared in advance. Rhodey was going to think he was an idiot, but he really though Brooks was being honest with him tonight, which had the potential to change things.

At the first stoplight, he pulled out his phone and texted Rhodey.

I like him.

Rhodey sent a rolling eyes emoji almost immediately. Blue Eyes?

Yeah I want to keep him. he’s wasted as a cop.

The three dots must have started and stopped a dozen times; Tony was almost back to his own place when he finally got a response. You’re playing with fire.

Tony smirked. I know, he wrote back. It’s what I do.

Yeah, but this time, if you get burnt, we all do. Tony pulled into his private garage and turned off the car, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. Rhodey was right. As much as he was intrigued by Blue Eyes, he couldn’t put his people at risk by tugging on that thread. “Dammit,” he said out loud, scowling as he got out of the car. “Ten years ago I wouldn't have thought twice.”

                                             ***

A few weeks into the operation Bucky and KT were making the rounds, checking in with the businesses and people on their beat, and Bucky was suddenly struck by two things: one, just how much this gig felt like being a street cop, walking the sidewalks just observing the neighborhood; and two, how no one was ever this happy to see him when he was a street cop. People saw KT and more often than not, they were smiling, chatty about business and local gossip. Most of them greeted Bucky (“Oh, this must be Blue Eyes,” which had yet to stop making Bucky’s ears burn) and were happy to introduce themselves. The ones that weren’t smiling were the ones that had something to complain about: permit not going through, shipment delayed, broken equipment that insurance wasn’t paying out for. KT took notes, nodded and commiserated, and when they left almost everyone looked at least mollified, if not cheered.

“You know, for us playing the bag men today, we sure aren’t picking up any money,” Bucky commented. A couple of times KT had taken a store owner to the side and Bucky, straining his ears, heard something about loans; these people always had the look of someone explaining why they couldn’t pay but it wasn’t their fault, honest. Like everything else, KT made notes and listened politely.

“That’s not what we’re doing,” KT said. “This is check in. We do it every two weeks or so. Money stuff is all handled online.”

“Yeah?” Bucky knew for a fact that the FBI had been working with the Treasury to trace Stark’s money, and, failing to find any signs of dirty money or money laundering, had concluded he must be operating with cash only.

“Yeah. Boss didn’t want to tempt anyone or make them a target.” That was smart, Bucky reflected. Ripping off other gangs was an art form in organized crime. Still, he had to wonder how Stark kept the money transfers so well hidden from the best financial analysts in the US government.

“No targets except his accountant,” Bucky joked, fishing for info. “Like with Al Capone.”

KT just shrugged at that, like he didn’t know and didn’t care, so Bucky left it alone. “So what do we do with that stuff?” Bucky said, gesturing at the notebook KT had been writing in all morning.

“We take care of it.” He took the notebook out and flipped through it. “Not too much stuff this time.”

Bucky turned that over in his head. “So under the Mechanic, fixers actually…fix things,” he said. “You’re really going to call a shipping company and an insurance office and everything?”

“Yep. Well, we are.”

Made sense; if businesses were paying Stark for protection, he could also throw in other services to sweeten the pot and keep people from rolling on him. Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and was lost in thought while he mostly followed KT around the neighborhood. Granted he’d only been here for less than a week, but so far nothing was adding up to what he’d read in the case files on Stark and his organization. It was making him uneasy. He’d come here with a picture in his head, and a goal of filling in the holes so they could make a case against an organized crime boss; but now he was increasingly realizing that something was wrong with the picture. So when KT told him one night that they had the next two days off, Bucky sent another message on the Discord channel and when he got a confirmation, he went to the New York Library, the big one with the stone lions and millions of tourists. He went to the adult services desk and asked for a laptop. The librarian studied his ID, went to a safe, and handed him a laptop from inside. Bucky found a study carrell in a quiet spot and logged on with an 8 character name and 16 character password, established and memorized before he’d started this operation, and opened up the case files on Stark.

Scrolling through, Bucky felt some of his disquiet ease as he re-read the laundry list of crimes Stark was reportedly involved in: racketeering, tax fraud, illegal gambling, high-end car theft. Armed obberies; he opened up the file on robberies and realized with morbid amusement that even while Stark protected his own people from being targeted, he had no problem targeting bagmen from other gangs, making off with hundreds of thousands of dollars at a time. Tax fraud, obviously; if Tony was hiding all of his income from the FBI, he was definitely hiding it from the IRS. Though as he opened up Stark’s tax statements, gotten from a subpoena to the IRS, and noticed that the document for just one year was hundreds of pages long, Bucky reflected that a good accountant could hide a lot of money in his legitimate businesses and all the assets that Stark had inherited from his parents.

At the back of the file was sex trafficking, which was based on a handful of reports that said that prostitutes were disappearing from other parts of the city and showing up working for Stark. Bucky put a note next to that one recommending the line of investigation be dropped. After spending hours and hours at the brothel chatting to the Widow and the ladies there, waiting to see if Rumlow returned, he knew none of the men or women there were being forced to stay, not even for lack of other work. Widow recruited from all around the city, helping people get out of the business if they wanted to and offering others a chance to work for her. Turns out, most of that building was devoted to the people who worked in the brothel: everyone got their own apartment, which was separate from the suites they entertained clients, and there was an in-house doctor and even childcare in the basement. All the money went straight back to the sex workers, except for this mysterious buy-in that no one had explained yet, and they were using it for a bewildering array of side projects that the women were more than happy to talk about during their down time.

After a few hours, which included writing up his reports from the past few weeks of working for Stark, Bucky sat back and closed the laptop. It was his first month, he reminded himself. No one was going to let him close to the real work of the organization after just a few weeks. He sent another message to his handler on Discord, and when he got a confirmation back, he stood up and walked away from the carrell; when he was about twenty feet away, he saw his police contact, dressed like a soccer mom, come by and spirit the laptop away.

His next stop was the gym; by the time he was done, shirt soaked wet with sweat and muscles aching, his head felt clearer.  He didn’t know why Stark was trying so hard to seem like a good guy, but if Bucky was patient enough he’d scrape past all the pseudo-philanthropy and get to the real man underneath. Stark wasn’t the first guy to be handsome and charming and charismatic while hiding a dark side.

[copias-thrall]

Areas of Interest

An upsetting piece of mail arrives, and Suey opens up more than the letter.

⬅️ Previous

*hard sex; mentions of past cancer; mentions of oral*

It’s such an innocuous thing. A plain-letter envelope. White. You get a handful of them a week—everything from credit card offers and random insurance quotes, to politicians asking for money. You often wish there was a no-mail registry.

When Mary tosses it onto your lap with a, “This one looks important, babe,” it doesn’t even occur to you to be wary of the contents therein. You don’t even look at the return address, so convinced are you of it being so much trash.

As your finger slips under the flap to rip the envelope open at the top, you can hear Mary banging around your apartment—no doubt tossing his backpack into your room, washing his face in the bathroom, and digging for gold in your fridge. When part of the paper slices the side of your index finger, you curse and suck your finger into your mouth, then you half rend the envelope in two in your irritation that this missive should mar you such.

Tossing the ripped paper in the direction of the coffee table, you unfold the single sheet of paper, expecting it to be the updated privacy terms of your bank, or your credit card company reminding you to activate the new card no doubt still buried in mail mountain.

When you read the actual contents, you blink a few times, your brain trying to decide if you’re reading English or not in your confusion. It’s as if you expected to be eating lemon custard and it turned out to be banana pudding. A tiny spark of frustrated anger ignites in your stomach, but you push it down and breathe through your nose.

Fucking typical.

You’re still staring at the words on the page—not really seeing them—when Mary plops down on your couch hard enough that the liquid in his beer bottle splashes out and onto his black, long-sleeved shirt.

“Shit,” he hisses as he pulls the wet spot into his mouth and sucks. He half giggles, his head turning to you, “I—” he starts, but cuts off when he sees you staring at the paper. “Suey?” He puts down the bottle and scoots closer to you. One of his hands lands on your leg. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Your burning eyes flick up to meet his gaze. Mary’s face is still glowing from your face scrub, and loose tufts of his hair are still plastered to the damp sides of his hairline. Forcefully exhaling air out your nose—before you really have time to think about the consequences—you flick the paper at him and turn your head to look out at the darkness of your tiny window.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mary take up the letter, the paper rustling as he adjusts the folds. His lips move as he reads, and his brows furrow the further he gets. It’s not a long correspondence, so when he doesn’t immediately say anything, you know the gears in his head must be spinning.

Finally, he says, “Suey, what is this?”

“It’s not obvious?” you say as you make a plaintive gesture.

He folds the letter and holds it out back to you. “I mean, I understand what it’s saying, but … uh … I don’t understand why it’s giving you poop face. I’ve never had a loan in my life. I sold my blood plasma once. Ok, more than once.”

Taking the paper—only to set it on the coffee table—you huff out a half laugh at Mary.

“Jesus, Mare.”

He shrugs. “Needs must, as mum would say.” He rubs your thigh. “But, what’s got you so upset?”

You look down into your lap. It’s not that you don’t want Mary to know. You just don’t want to have to tell him. If you hadn’t been in a fit of pique, you’d’ve thought better of inviting him into this particular aspect of your life.

Since you’re worrying at the afghan, you’re startled when he crawls over into your space and insinuates himself between your legs. He noses into your neck, and you tilt your head so he can press his lips into your skin.

“You need a happiness injection?” he rumbles as he twitches his hips into you.

And yeah.

Yeah, you do.

Leaning back, you spread your legs so Mary has more room. He sucks at your neck as his hand paws the afghan away so he can slip under your layers to grope your breasts and pinch at your nipples.

Letting out an Ah, you relax into the couch. Reaching down, you grab handfuls of Mary’s ass and push him into you. He rumbles and presses his hard-on in between your legs. When you lock your ankles around his waist, he begins to rut into you, and his mouth leaves your neck to find your lips. Your hands fly up to sink into his hair, and the two of you grind against each other while exchanging sloppy kisses. Every time Mary’s thumb flicks your nipple just right, you jolt into him with a gasp and he bites into your bottom lip.

“Do you really want me to fuck you?” he growls in his lower register.

“Oh god, yes, Mare—please fuck the shit of me.”

He jolts up, yanking off his shirt as he goes, blown eyes still focused on you. You squirm to kick off your sleep pants, twisting around until you’re half lying on the armrest as Mary fumbles to get his pants open. He starts pushing your layers up off your back, but you jerk away from him.

“No, cold,” you whine.

“Just fucking do it,” he snaps, and you let him shuck off your hoodie and t-shirt.

And he’s like a furnace when his back drapes over yours. One arm supports him as the other comes up to fondle clumsily at your hanging tits, his teeth scraping across the nape of your neck. You moan in encouragement and arch into him.

His hand leaves your tits, and you lean forward to rest your forehead on the armrest. His fingers dip in between your lips, and you gasp at the sudden feeling of his fingers on your pulsing clit—but he doesn’t linger; he’s satisfied that you’re wet enough, so he uses his hand to guide his dick into you. His tip has barely breached you before you’re pushing back into his pelvis.

“Shit,” he hisses, both hands flying to your love handles to steady you.

Eagerly, you start rocking back into him forcefully. He slaps your ass, and you gasp in surprise.

“Hey. Just who’s fucking who here?”

“Then make me cum!”

He tangles his hand into your hair, forcing your head back so he can growl in your ear. “You know I’m good for it.”

Mary lets go, and you fall down onto your forearms. He punches into you—slow at first, then picking up speed as he slams his hips into the meat of your ass. You squirm around until he’s hitting your G-spot, and then you let his fingers dig into flesh as he fucks you hard.

Despite the chill, you’re sweating, so when Mary’s chest connects with your back, they slip-slide against each other. He presses you down flat into the couch—growling at you to close your legs together—as his hips continue to pound into you. Your cunt throbs, and you squeeze your thighs together while you grind into the couch as Mary grunts into your ear. It’s not enough pressure to get you there, and you whine Mary’s name.

It takes a bit of fumbling, but Mary gets you both up onto your haunches so he can swipe at your clit while you bounce on his cock. You have one arm awkwardly draped around his neck behind you as he worries his teeth into your neck.

“That’s right, baby doll—” he huffs, “—cum on my cock. Wanna feel you tight around me … wanna cum so deep in you my jizz can’t drip out.”

Panting, you ground down into his lap, the teeth of his zipper biting into your soft flesh. You press your hand into the one of his on your cunt.

“Harder … circles,” you gasp out.

His finger adjusts to your direction.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah …”

Between the stretch of his cock filling you, the press on your clit, and the grind into his lap, you feel your pussy pulsate, and you know your orgasm is a foregone conclusion. Your nails dig into his neck, and you let out a little moan of exquisite distress. He grunts into your neck, his hips trying to work double time.

It’s not quite intense enough to make you squirt, but you bear down like you’re going to and cum hard.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck,” you chant as your body locks right before you jerk and twist in time to the waves of your orgasm. Mary’s arm holds fast around your waist as you thrash.

Like a champ who isn’t desperate to cum himself, he fucks you clean and steady through your climax. You’ve barely even begun to slump when Mary’s leaning you back down into the couch. The fabric of the cushion presses hard into your cheek, and one of your arms flops off the side, but you just let yourself meld into the couch as Mary positions you to his liking.

His nails are hard in your flesh, and his hips smack forcefully into your ass as he chases his climax. He’s always hard—wild—when he’s been holding off until you cum; his lust-drunk brain sees it as his right, and you don’t dissuade him, often encouraging him with purred words and subtle movements.

“That’s right, baby,” you say breathily, “you fuck that thick cock into me.” Mary grunts, never slowing down. “I want it in me so far I’ll be able to taste your jizz.”

His fingers move to shove into your mouth. “I’ll make you fucking taste it. Shove my dick in your mouth when I’m done.”

You suck on his fingers, running your tongue around them. Mary snarls, yanking his hand away so he can pull your hips back onto his dick. As he thrusts deep into you, he pulls with such force on your waist that he accidentally hits your cervix; you let out a little mewl of surprise as his hips twitch with little abortive thrusts into you. Still grunting in pleasure, his grip loosens a bit, and one hand strokes down your belly as if in apology. When he finally relaxes, he spends a few moments catching his breath as his hands rove over your curves, softly caressing them.

“Mare,” you say, squirming under him, impatient to get back under the afghan now that neither of you are creating an excess of body heat.

He lets out one final huff before falling down onto you. You grunt out in surprise, but he just chuckles as his hands wiggle under you to grab your tits.

“Sorry, no escape. You’re at my mercy.”

He kisses the nape of your neck, and you roll your eyes even though he can’t see. You clench hard around his cock, and he yelps.

“Jesus Christ, Suey,” he grumbles as he flinches away from you. “I give you the best dicking of your life and this is how I’m repaid?”

You giggle and turn your head so he can see you stick your tongue out at him. “I’m a bitch.”

He gives you Burt Face as he tucks his dick back into his boxers and shifts to shuck off his jeans.

“I’m gonna pee,” you announce as you slide off the couch. You take the afghan with you, and Mary flails a little as the action almost jostles him off.

“Christ, woman!” he calls after you.

When you come back, Mary’s still on the couch, and he’s curled into a ball. He pulls you down onto him with a, “Fuck it’s cold,” before the two of you tumble into a prone position. You wiggle into his big spoon as he tries to arrange the afghan to its best advantage over you both.

Once he’s settled, you say, “You hungry?” and he snorts.

“Mebbe.” His one hand runs down the hills of your body. “But I just got comfy. Could nap first.”

“Ok.”

It’s not even that late, but it’s been dark since the early afternoon, and your eyes slip shut easily, content in this cocoon of warmth with Mary’s evening breath hot on your neck.

You don’t sleep so much as lie quietly with your eyes closed, but Mary lets out little snuffled snores now and then. It’s only when his hands start roving again do you know he’s back awake. You expect him to jokingly bitch about making his belly full now that his balls are empty, but he just sighs and pulls you closer—which surprises you because he knows he’s risking your biting his arms off to get free.

His lips graze your neck—more of a rub than a kiss—before he starts to speak. “You know. Mum wasn’t even that sick. I mean—you think cancer, and it’s like. Years of chemo and shit, right? Maybe remission in between? headscarves and weight loss?” You fumble to find his hand to fold into yours. “But mum … she had this cough that didn’t go away. She thought maybe bronchitis or walking pneumonia. But it was lung cancer. They gave her four years with an aggressive treatment plan. She was gone 8 months later.”

You wiggle around to face him. His gaze is far away, but his eyes are dry.

“That’s terrible, Mare.” You kiss the tip of his nose and run your fingers through his hair. He kisses your knuckles.

“Fuck. I was 19, and I didn’t know anything about anything. My mom had just fucking died and all of a sudden there were lawyers and medical bills, utility bills and funeral costs, and I just wanted it all to go away. Second mortgage? What the fuck was that? I barely graduated high school, and that was just for mum.”

“What about your … family?” You’re a little embarrassed that you don’t know about any aunts or uncles he has out there. Grandparents?

“What family? If the sperm donor had any, they were never around. Mum … well. That’s a bit of a sordid history.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She was always told she was an oops baby by her parents—her brother and sister were already out of the house by the time she was in preschool—but I guess after they died it came out that she was actually the kid of a second sister. Teenage pregnancy and all that. Died in a car crash from her boyfriend driving drunk.”

“Jesus, Mare.”

“I guess there was always some bad feeling about mum ‘replacing’ their sister that kept them from really connecting. I have vague memories of visiting them and being blown off by much older cousins, but then Aunt Celia died when her appendix burst, and I guess her husband didn’t really see us as family. I could pass my cousins on the street and I wouldn’t know them from Adam. Uncle David got divorced and moved to Florida, where he lived in assisted care because of a stroke.”

You pull him closer. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like I knew them. Mum had a pretty good found family, anyway. Some of them tried to help but … they had their own shit, you know? Even if they did more, maybe it would’ve all went to shit, anyway. Or maybe if I’d known anything about financial shit or loans or whatever, I wouldn’t’ve been out on the street.”

You wait for him to go on. But he doesn’t.

It’s apparently your turn to speak.

“It’s not … I’m not going to be out of the street, Mare.”

“But it must be bad. It upset you.”

You sigh. “It’s not bad … it’s just a fucking slap in the face, is all.”

“Why is it a slap in the face?”

“It’s really not worth getting into. It’s … it’s fine.”

You hope he’ll just drop it—he usually does if you’re insistent enough—but instead Mary huffs out a heavy sigh. “That’s it? I open a vein for you, and you still gotta be Fort Fucking Knox?”

“It’s not like that, Mare Bear,” you rush to say pressing your forehead into his. “It just…” You can’t quite seem to be able to articulate the issue. There’s too much background involved—if you open a vein, you know you’ll bleed all over him.

He pulls you tighter. “I just want you to fucking tell me shit. I think I’ve been pretty fucking patient.”

You would really rather not—you don’t look back on your girlhood with fondness, and if you could, you would like people to just accept you sprung fully formed as a person at 20. And maybe you’re even a little trepidatious that Mary may view you differently. You like how he sees you now.

You feel him start to shift away from you as he mutters, “Whatever,” so you throw your leg over him. He’s still pouting at you (and not in the cute way), but he’s stopped trying to wrangle free. You run your fingers through his hair.

Taking a deep breath, you say, “How about the elevator pitch?”

He thinks about it. “It’s a start.”

Your mind whirs, trying to find the best way to succinctly explain the situation.

“I owe my parents a lot of money because they’re dicks and punishing me for leaving.”

When you don’t go on, Mary blinks at you. “Ok, so that’s super fucking vague.”

“That’s the elevator pitch.”

He rolls his eyes at you.

“Gimme the long story then.”

You bury your face into his neck.

“Do I have to?”

Mary sighs, one hand coming to rub down your back. “I mean. I’m not gonna make you, but I wish you would.” He traces the chain of your necklace absently. “…If that even matters.”

You make a petulant noise and squirm back around.

“Of course it matters, Mare.”

When you don’t get off the couch (like he’s clearing expecting), Mary’s arms come back around you, one hand traveling down to rest on your belly. It brings him joy to always have a handful of you anywhere, so you tolerate the touch.

“Then tell me.”

“Jesus fuck, Mary, you’re persistent. Fucking fine.”

He kisses the back of your neck, and you roll your shoulders at him to convey your irritation.

“Look. First, you have to know that I was supposed to be exceptional. My parents had this whole … plan. I attended this college prep school where I was pushed to take a shit ton of AP classes. I think the aspiration was Harvard, but I was a mediocre kid in a program full of really smart ones (and that was a lot of fun, let me tell you), so I didn’t quite manage Ivy League. My parents saw it as quite the moral failing on my part, but I did get accepted into NYU. Their goal for me was a B.A. in 2 years followed immediately by law school, so I spent that spring studying to test out of my gen eds. Had to make my parents look good, you know.”

“Wow.”

“Yep. And college was like … a full load. In addition to my regular courses, I was also taking accelerated online classes. I didn’t party, I didn’t join ‘fun’ clubs, I was buying Adderall from the kids in my dorm so I could snort it to focus, and I certainly didn’t date. I mean, I still had plenty of sex—” Mary chuckles at this, and you huff at him. “Look, a girl’s gotta let off steam somehow.”

“Yes, I know, baby doll. I’ve been your stress reliever for a while now.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mary,” you say, but it’s without heat, and Mary just presses his face into your hair. “Anyway, occasionally the friends I somehow retained got me out of the dorm, but my only real goal was graduating early on time. With the addition of full summer classes, I did graduate in 2 years, but it certainly wasn’t at the top of my class or with any honors, much to my parent’s horror.”

You drift off, thinking of that screaming match.

“Suey?”

Shaking the memory off, you continue.

“Well. They were extremely displeased I’d cost them bragging rights, especially after the whole Ivy League debacle, but at that point I barely cared. I needed a fucking break, you know? Instead, they forced me to take the LSAT immediately—can’t deviate from The Plan!—and, shocker: I bombed. I mean, maybe if I’d had some time off I could have passed, but I was also pretty sure the law wasn’t for me, so maybe it would have always worked out that way. All I knew was I hated debating, I hated mock trials, and I was always shit at application. Look, I can memorize the hell out of lists and stats … but I can never seem to apply them creatively.”

At some point, Mary had interlocked your fingers, and now he squeezes them.

“I thought my parents would finally fucking let up, but: nope. They said all I lacked was focus, that clearly it was my ‘partying’ that was the issue. Partying. As if I’d even had the time! But they’d completely rewritten history to support their claims. They even said they had proof from the college staff! Like, what? What possible proof could they have had?! And of course they couldn’t show me this ‘evidence’ because they said they didn’t want to betray confidences.”

“Fuck. Gaslighting much?” spits Mary.

“Yes, exactly. It became like DEFCON 1. They were outlining how I was going to stay home, how they were going to monitor me while I studied to take the LSAT again, and how—once I passed—I would have to pick a law school close to home so I could live with them to make sure I stayed ‘focused’.”

“Jesus, what the fuck,” says Mary softly.

You wiggle back around to face him.

“And I just couldn’t do it anymore, Mare. I couldn’t.” Mary’s arms tighten around you, and you realize it’s because you’re trembling. “The thought of one more month, forget another three years …? I was burnt out as fuck, and I basically told them to fuck off. They gave me an ultimatum: our way or the highway. And fuck, that felt so freeing. Like, why hadn’t I considered that sooner? I packed a bag as they screamed at me about respect and obedience and owing them for the roof over my head. They gave me the whole ‘if you leave, don’t come back’ speech and the ‘you’re no longer part of this family’ song and dance. I walked to the station and took the bus to my friend’s—that’s Arry—apartment in the city with literally everything I owned in my backpack and duffel. My parents told me that I’d ‘regret’ my choice, but I just … I don’t know what I thought they meant, but it didn’t seem like anything I’d miss.”

Mary nuzzles you. “That’s my girl.” You relax into him.

“I had the best two weeks of my life where I finally felt free. I had no idea what I was going to do, but it was my decision to make, you know? I’d get a job—any job—and save up for an apartment. I’d live with 12 people if I had to. Maybe I’d take night classes. But … then I got a notice from their lawyers.”

“Christ.”

“My parents were claiming that I triggered a breach of contract or something. Apparently I signed something saying the money they spent on my schooling was conditional on me becoming a lawyer. I honestly don’t remember any such thing, and Arry has maintained they forged my signature … but fuck—maybe I did. God knows I filled out so much paperwork applying to schools while I was burnt out from studying. I just wanted out of that house—I’d’ve signed anything in front of me if I thought it’d help.”

Mary kisses your forehead.

“At first I ignored it—like how could they make me, you know? I just slept on Arry’s couch and applied to jobs. I was a waitress for a week until I got fired for being bad at it. I couldn’t get a retail job because I had no prior retail experience. I thought I was pretty ok at the neighborhood theater box office, but apparently subscribers thought I was rude, so.”

You detect Mary trying to swallow a snort, and you give him a warning poke.

“I even tried those jobs where you stand outside the subway and try to get signatures for world peace or something, but after someone spit in my face and I threw a rock at them, that was out.”

“Oh my god, Suey.”

“Look. I’m bad at dealing with people. We know this,” you grumble. “I thought maybe I could be a SuicideGirl, but apparently ‘alternative’ doesn’t mean chubby.”

“They’re a shitty company, anyway. I’ve known a few—”

“Not the point, Mary” you snap, irritated that of course Mary knows SuicideGirls.

“Sorry.”

You grunt at him, but soften it by smoothing his eyebrow with your thumb.

“I had finally seemed to settle in doing filing for a realty company that didn’t care about how I looked as long as I did my job and stayed in the back—which was fine by me—when the debt collectors started calling. They called nonstop and sent letter after letter. They even phoned the office! I finally reached out to a former professor who ran the mock trial club, and he said there was some precedent for their claims, but even an ok lawyer could probably get it voided. He gave me a list of recs, but it was so hard getting in touch with them. Those that called me back basically told me their cut wouldn’t be worth it for them to take on. It was so much money to me and so little to them; it was so fucking frustrating. I eventually contacted an organization that did pro-bono work, but they said my situation really wasn’t what they were there for.”

“Wait—so, what are they there for then?!”

“I didn’t really ask.” You shrug, remembering how you’d hung up before you could truly start blubbering.

“There was finally one guy who felt really bad, and he said he could send them a strongly worded letter on his stationary—but that was all he could do because of billable hours or whatever—and I said fine. The calls stopped, and I thought maybe, maybe his letter had done the trick … but then I got another missive from their lawyers. This one was an itemized list of everything they’d paid for: the private school education; the exams; the tutoring; undergrad. The paper said that they had concluded my primary school expenses were a ‘gift’, but any cost related to my secondary schooling fell under the agreement I ‘signed’.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “And it’s so clearly bullshit, but I was so tired, Mare. Half a win seemed like better than nothing at the time, and I just wanted to move on with my life, you know? That’s when Arry suggested getting certified as a paralegal. The peanuts I made at the relator wasn’t going to be enough to make my payment plan and save up for first and last and just fucking live in general.”

You huff out a bitter laugh, and Mary strokes your hair.

“In a sense, they got their way. I’m not a lawyer, but.” You shrug, willing him to fill in the blanks.

“That’s fucking awful, Suey. My head is … I can’t even comprehend.” After a beat he says, “Don’t you fucking work for lawyers, can’t you—”

You cut him off, irritated that you’re going to have to explain this again to another person.

“I have tried, Mary. Apparently, because I’d been paying them for years, I strengthened their claim or whatever. Like, paying them back means I acknowledged the validity of the contract. I did try and push for more, but I’m just a freelance paralegal hired to work by the case. I don’t know any one attorney well enough for them to risk getting pinged by their bosses for doing me a favor.”

“No, I can’t believe that. There has to be—”

“Mary. It’s done. I tried, it didn’t work out, and I put that chapter behind me. I … I made peace with it a long time ago. My freedom came with a price. I’m willing to pay it.”

When you don’t say more, the two of you lay there for a time. Mary strokes up and down your sides, and you almost doze off until he speaks again.

“So can I ask about The Letter, or will you eat my face?”

“Oh … yeah.” You sigh again. “So, I’m not just repaying them, I’m repaying them with interest. The letter is to inform me that, due to inflation, the interest rate of my ‘loan’ is going up.” Your head tilts back, and you look up at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t be so upset about it. I’m gonna be paying it off ‘til I’m like 47, anyway. What’s another year or so? It just feels like salt in the wound, is all.” You close your eyes and press your fingertips into your sockets. “Like it just sucks, you know? They’re my parents. The whole fucking thing seems excessive, but whatever. Do they have to make it even harder out of nowhere?”

You hadn’t even realized you were leaking until Mary swipes away your tears with his thumb.

“Want me to fuck ’em up?”

“…what?”

Mary crowds into you further, if that’s even possible. “Want me to fuck ‘em up for you?”

You laugh.

“It’s fine, Mare.”

“Is it?”

You bury your face into his neck and breathe in his pungent musk.

“Can it be both?”

He nudges your head until you’re nose to nose.

“I guess I’ll allow that. For now.”

“Oh, you’ll allow it, will you?”

“Yep.”

His mouth meets yours, and you let him kiss you, his lips hot on your own.

When he breaks away, he says, “But I have a limit, Suey. You’re my girl. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything in Snooty McSnootsville, but where I’m from, we don’t take that kind of shit. You’ll have to hold my earrings.”

You laugh. “Don’t you mean your beer?”

“I said what I said.”

“Don’t be weird.”

“I do what I want, as you say.”

You roll your eyes at him good naturedly.

“Does that include making us dinner?”

Mary fake groans at you. “What? I gotta do all the work tonight?”

You stick your bottom lip out at him. “I’m naked.”

He bites his lip as his eyes flick down to where you’re covered by the blanket. Mary seems on the verge of starting round 2—and you’re almost convinced you’ll let him—but then your stomach growls loudly, and he blows out a laugh.

“See?! I hunger.”

“Fuck, all right, all right. Hope you wanted pasta, cuz that’s what you're getting.”

“With chicken.”

“Do you have chicken?”

“There’s the leftover Kung Pow.”

“Fine, but I ain’t picking that shit out. You’re getting Kung Pow over spaghetti.”

You beam up at him as he extracts himself from your joint cocoon. “Thank you, Mare Bear.”

He waves away your sentiment. “I’m already doing it, you can stop laying in on thick.”

You bat your eyelashes at him and receive an eye roll in return.

“That shit don’t work on me.”

(It does.)

He starts pulling his jeans back on, hissing at their coldness, and you sit up, wrapping the afghan around you further. When he’s all zipped up and re-shirted, he turns and—catching your eyes on him—gives you a soft look.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Thanks.”

“Whatever.”

Mary smirks, and—only because you’re encumbered by the wrap—you fail to stop him from licking his finger and sticking it in your ear.

“Gah! Mary! Stahp.”

Giggling, he sprints away from you into your kitchen area.

“You’ll rue this day, mister!” you call after him, but he just gives you the finger behind his back.

As Mary half sings, half growls, and intermittently makes drum noises as he bustles around your kitchen, you fish around the couch—and surrounding areas—for your clothes. You watch as he swings his hips in an ungainly manner and beats a tempo on your pots, and a thought that had previously been an errant musing starts to take root.

“Hey, baby?”

His motion stops, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a “who me?” look on his face.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Do you have access to a vehicle?”

He furrows his brows.

“Kinda…?”

“Kinda?”

There’s a hiss of water, and Mary turns to lower the burner to medium heat.

“Um, the band has a van—well, it’s a 70s Mitsubishi Minicab, but we call it a van—for hauling our equipment and shit. Why?”

Smirking, you drawl, “Because I dig a guy with his own wheels.” At the last moment, you shoot him a replica of one of his finger guns.

He narrows his eyes at you.

“Suey … what are you up to?”

You shrug as you adjust the lay of your hoodie. “Just making sure you’re worth it.”

Mary jabs the fork he’s holding in your direction. “I will eat this all myself just to spite you.”

Grabbing his warm beer, you skip over and bite his shoulder. “Just try it, mister.” Mary yanks the bottle from your hold, taking a big swig before setting it down with a thunk on the counter.

While he wipes his lips with the back of his hand, you shift around behind him and encircle your arms around his skinny middle before sliding your hand over his crotch. Mary jerks in surprise and curses when the action causes some of the simmering water to slosh over the side of the pot.

“Suey,” he hisses.

“Want a handjob while you do that?”

He looks sideways over his shoulder at you. “I know what you’re doing.”

Your hand slides down further to cup his balls before you give them a little roll through the fabric. Mary makes a sound in the back of his throat and leans into you.

“Do you care?” you purr.

“Hmm?”

You give his balls one last roll before you slide your hand back up to palm his growing bulge.

“I asked if you cared.”

His head tips back. “Um.”

Your lip curls. “Uh-huh.”

Fingers searching, you grope for the tab of his zipper. As you pull it down slowly, Mary sucks in a breath. When your fingers worm into the slit of his boxes and start to draw out his semi, Mary’s breath hitches. You wrap your hand around his filling cock and give him a loose stroke. When you swipe your thumb over his cockhead, Mary jerks into the stove, and the starchy water splatters everywhere. Now Mary jerks for an entirely different reason, cursing as he stumbles away from the stove.

He rounds on you, stuffing his dick back into his pants.

“Fuck, woman—get out of here!” Mary shakes the fork at you. “Go keep the couch warm.”

“Sorry!” you squeak as you cover your smile with your hand.

“You’re on thin fucking ice.” He motions his fingers to his eyes then at you as you prance back to the couch.

The spaghetti ends up being a little overdone, but Mary’s eyes dare you to say anything about it, and—really—the noodles are just the vehicle for the leftover Chinese. You end up giving him a blowjob in apology for the stove incident and are rewarded when he has you as a nightcap after the two of you snuggle in for the night.

After he passes out, you lie there wondering—not for the first time—if your juices do anything to teeth enamel. You reach over and lightly scritch his head as your thoughts turn back to that seed of an idea.

Hmmm.

Next ➡️