#like the IMAGE of it. do you get me. the footage of the cock in the hole. its not real nothing is real its all made up

[around-your-throat]

uuuuugh obviously any changes you make to a character regarding gender is gonna be surface level genuinely what meaningful difference exists between a man and woman and cis and trans that can be conveyed without a full itinerary of their entire life journey attached to any damn drawing obviously you could never be the same person you are when your life experience and identity is so drastically different but then what even is the point of changing anyone's gender ever

[gilverrwrites]

idk if this is too weird or dark but I’ve been thinking about Arkham Knight Jason and Slade ruining Jason’s replacement by brainwashing her or feeding her Ivy’s aphrodisiacs, so every time one of them walks in the room, you’re ready to please them. You learn to automatically open your legs or get on your knees when you hear heavy boots approaching wherever Jason’s keeping you. Jason films a lot of it too, like when Slade will find a spot on the floor and you’ll immediately move to straddle him, grinding a little as you lean down to suck the old man’s tongue.

Related posts: one, two, three, and four.

WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON, brainwashing, corruption, degradation, spit. Just, these two should come with one of those toxic waste symbols on their heads.

Oooohhhhhhhhh, Ivy’s aphrodisiacs but not telling/gaslighting you into believing it's all on you, you just want them so fucking bad. You're lucky to have them to take care of you. Your body isn't betraying you, it just knows better. It's your base instincts telling you you're not meant for heroism, you're meant for fucking these nasty, dirty men.

That's why you feel so flushed whenever they're in the same room as you, that's why you can't help opening your legs and bucking your hips when they look your way, that's why just the graze of their gloved fingers on your cheek makes you cry in frustration, makes you beg for more.

"You should be so fucking grateful, letting you ride our dicks." Jason likes to taunt, with his face buried in your bouncing tits, finger in the flesh of your hips. "Where would you be without us? Still at Batman's beck and call. Waste of a perfectly good slut."

There was a time when you would kick and scream whenever you were even left alone with Slade. He used to tease you, threatening to bind and gag you, knowing full well he much preferred the thrill of the fight, preferred taming you the hard way. Now, now he just whistles and you're at his feet like a good little bitch in heat.

"I don't think a minute goes by where you‘re not thinking about this cock being inside you. Is that right?" He'll coo as he holds you steady, cock pulsing in the back of your throat, making sure you choke on him until tears are streaming down your pretty face. When he finally lets you go, you know to say 'Yes, sir." If you want him to keep using you.

Also, anon, I gotta say, the image of Jason filming while you grind in Slade, sucking his tongue, fingering his silver chest hair, just being a good girl for that filthy old man is sending me and has been since I read this like WHAT.

Jason jacking off to the whole display, spitting the vilest shit while you grind a stain into Slade's pant leg with your disgustingly wet pussy. “You like that, you needy whore? Old mans barely even touched you and you're creaming all over him.

Feels good, right? Letting your body do what it wants, take what it needs?

Oh just you wait ‘til I get my hands on you baby, you're not gonna know a word that isn't ‘fuck’ and ‘please’ by the time I'm done.”

Slade doesn't even care when Jason calls him an ‘old man’, not when you're sitting pretty, drooling on his fingers and begging for a good fuck.

"You look so good getting fucked like that, pretty girl." "She feels fucking good, you like that don't ya?" "Yeah! Yeahyeahyeah yeah, please don't stop." "Oh, don't worry, you nasty slut, I'm not stopping anytime soon." "Now smile for the camera bat-brat, this is going out to all of Gotham. Say 'Hi Batman!' Ha, blow him a big kiss baby."

And you're so fucking out of it from the pheromones or just, the euphoria of being bent and twisted and praised and degraded and railed just right, or whatever reason, that you do exactly that; With Jason's fist in your hair, his spit on your face, a smile on your lips. You flutter your lashes, waving limply into the lens as you say 'H-hi Batman! MuWAH!'

Shit, what if when they're not around they have all the footage Jason took playing on a loop wherever they're holding you. Intermitted with clip/photos of you pre-capture To remind you of how far you've fallen.

[captain-hawks]

soshiro hoshina x f!reader, implied gen narumi x f!reader

18+ only, unprotected p in v, creampie, voyeurism/exhibitionism, masturbation, phone sex, spit, dirty talk, implied threesome -> requested

"soshiro," you pant out, eyes darting from the name displayed across his phone screen to his face. "don't you fucking dare."

he winks at you, hips snapping into yours at the same moment he lifts the device to his ear. "whadaya want, narumi?"

pain blooms in your bottom lip as you sink your teeth into it, staving off the moan that's trembling in the back of your throat.

he places his phone on top of a pillow, and captain narumi's voice crackles over the speaker, "we need to talk about next week's joint meeting."

soshiro pulls out of you slightly, only to grind his cock back inside, eyes sparkling with mirth as he traces the outline of your parted lips.

"i'm kinda busy at the moment," he tells him, thumbing one of your pebbled nipples.

you turn your head to the side, burying your face in the pillow as your back arches up off of the mattress.

narumi scoffs, and you can almost hear him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. "i'm sure you are."

"but if ya don't mind waiting—"

this time, you can't hold back the lewd moan that punches out of you when soshiro bullies his thick length deep into your tight hole, two slick fingers sliding over your swollen clit.

"are you fuc—" narumi starts to sputter, but he's cut off by a deep groan from soshiro as your cunt flutters, clenching down on his shaft.

"sweetheart," soshiro smirks, addressing you this time. "i don't think captain narumi's gonna have the time to come visit us peasants here at tachikawa base any time soon. but i really feel like we all need to have a little chat about what happened last time he was here."

when narumi accidentally walked in on soshiro going down on you atop the desk in his office.

"see," soshiro continues, caressing the curve of your jaw. "we never did get to tell him how hard ya squirted all over my face after he walked out, when i asked if ya wished he had kept watchin'."

there's a faint rustling over the phone speaker, but narumi remains quiet otherwise.

"he doesn't know how much ya love when i talk about him fucking you now. how wet ya get for me when i ask if you could take us both in that pretty little cunt at the same time."

"jesus christ." narumi sounds a little breathless.

soshiro lifts your hips, fucking into you deeper.

"should i tell him how i caught ya in here rubbing yourself on a pillow while ya watched that news footage of him fightin'?"

he smiles down at you, cupping one of your breasts and squeezing.

"and then how we let it keep playing while i fucked you?"

narumi groans.

"soshiro," you whine, not sure if you're more embarrassed or turned on.

you hear more shuffling and the distinct sound of narumi spitting, followed by a wet sliding noise.

"ya touching yourself, captain?" soshiro asks coyly.

"the fuck do you think," narumi breathes out, voice ragged, strained.

"she told me she wants to feel you fuck my cum back inside of her."

narumi chokes and then moans, and you can hear him start to stroke his cock harder. there's another spitting sound, a bit more labored this time, and you're struck by the mental image of him leaning over himself and messily spitting all over his flushed shaft.

your cunt throbs, and soshiro leans in, lips brushing over yours. "go on and say it," he murmurs.

"gen," you gasp out, every muscle in your body trembling on a taut bowstring of pleasure and desire.

"fuck," narumi rasps. "s-say it again."

"gen!"

all three of you moan.

"i wanna feel you fill me up, captain narumi," you whine, dragging your fingers through soshiro's hair.

soshiro groans, lips slotting against yours in a filthy, spit-soaked kiss. "good girl."

narumi inhales sharply. "i'm gonna come."

"she's squeezin' my cock so hard right now, narumi. so fuckin' hot and wet and tight—"

"fuckfuckFUCK," narumi gasps desperately as he comes.

the coil of pleasure inside of you snaps, a wave of pleasure rocketing through your body, soaking you from the inside out.

"love feelin' you come all over my cock, pretty girl," soshiro exhales, partly to you, but partly for narumi's benefit, too.

you moan at the feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you, hot spurts of cum filling you deep.

soshiro lifts up his phone after a moment. "so about the meeting..."

"change of plans," narumi sounds more than a little wrecked when he answers, "we'll discuss it in-person. i'm coming by for a visit."

[drunkenlionwrites]

Bodyguard!Toji x rich girl!reader

This guy does something to me 🥵 I'll be the sugar mama for this freeloader any time no questions asked. Based on the ask: 'bodyguard toji makes me so feral!!' Warnings: afab! reader, mentions of ptsd, depression, panic attacks, reader's unhealthy attachment, mentions of smut, toji is his own warning

You’ve hired a stay-in bodyguard Toji among few other men after the kidnapping attempt of you, minister’s daughter was successful and you’ve felt restless and plagued with ptsd, cooped in your apartment constantly watching over security cameras footage.

Bodyguard Toji that had a reputation of notoriously callous man, often behaving rudely and having violent outburst which affected the image of rich/famous people who have hired him previously.

Bodyguard Toji, who despite that was a professional, expert marksman and specialist in close combat. A walking intimidating mountain of muscle.

Bodyguard Toji, who threw off his suit vest, tie, and cufflinks once he received the uniform and never wore anything like that, sticking out like a sore thumb among other bodyguards of yours. His most formal look being a sweatshirt and dress pants.

Bodyguard Toji, who never hesitated to call his job “babysitting” in front of you. Nevertheless, always being on guard and diligently doing what he was paid to do.

Bodyguard Toji, who remained your sole bodyguard, who proved in time that he was enough. He was too much sometimes.

Bodyguard Toji, whose phone number you refused to give to all your acquaintances who’ve been inquiring about him.

Bodyguard Toji, who surprisingly turned out to be pretty intelligent and smart man and a great conversationalist, despite his attitude and crude language.

Bodyguard Toji, who intimidated/beat up people who’ve been to handsy with you in bathroom stalls when you went out clubbing.

Bodyguard Toji, who took you out for late night drives, brought you to shady pachinko parlors, underground clubs, cheap fast-food places to “show the spoiled brat the real world”.

Bodyguard Toji, who found the paparazzi who took a photo of your coochie when you’ve been getting out the car and broke his camera and both legs.

Bodyguard Toji, who loved to fuck you against a huge window of your penthouse apartment, looking down the city view and mocking you for spreading your legs for your good-for-nothing bodyguard instead of some rich Ivy league boy or businessman.

Bodyguard Toji, who knew your mind and body like no one else. Making you come with only a few precise thrusts of his cock paired with few praises and slurs.

Bodyguard Toji, without whom you cannot picture living your life anymore, your anchor, your protector and companion.

Bodyguard Toji, who’s helping you cope with panic attacks and anxiety better than any psychiatrist, therapist, or pills.

Bodyguard Toji, who notices your unhealthy attachment to him, but does nothing about it, relishing the feeling of power he has over you + all the benefits he has of working for you.

Bodyguard Toji, who smugly smirks at your father whenever he frustratingly remarks that “the savage brute” is still working for you.

Bodyguard Toji, who fucks you silly, tucks you in bed but never stays to sleep with you, despite your desperate pleads. “It���s not a part of his contract” he says and leaves to his part of your apartment after wishing you goodnight.

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Eleven - Security footage reveals an unpleasant truth and Miguel makes a move Ch 12

Y/N: Miguel, you didn’t need to get me flowers, that was so sweet, thank you!

Miguel smiles and sends you a quick message back before pulling up the surveillance feed and accompanying text Kasey sent him.

Kasey: Dude is an absolute loser, my condolences to y/n, but are you sure you want to do this?

Miguel: It’s in her best interest, thanks for your help, good luck in Vermont.

It takes no time to send the security footage of Todd and Kasey to your phone along with a short message from him explaining how sorry he was to have to show you it, that Kasey fessed up because she felt so guilty.

He has to be there, has to console you if you need consoling. He knows you, knows that even though you want to leave Todd, seeing him cheat on you will break your heart.

Miguel stands outside your office, and even if he didn’t have enhanced hearing, he’d be able to hear the argument you’re having.

Raised voices, accusations thrown back and forth, you’re upset, rightfully so, Todd had cheated on you, with more than just a kiss, and he showed no remorse.

“No, are you fucking serious? You cheated on me.” Your voice is angry, seething, marked with hysterical laughter. “I’ve got the fucking footage right in front of me.”

“You’d really believe some random grainy footage over me? It’s probably photoshopped.” Todd says.

You scoff. “Photoshopped? Why would someone photoshop this, who would even do that? You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

“No, no, I’m not saying that, I’m just saying I’m hurt you don’t trust me.”

“You’re so—I can’t even—I’m done, I’m done, you know what? We’re done, it’s over, don’t ever fucking call me again.”

“You know what, call me when you’re done with your temper tantrum, then we can talk about this like adults.” Todd snaps.

“No, we’re done, it’s over.”

Todd laughs, “I see what this is. You’re just doing this so you don’t look like the bad guy, so you can go off and mess around with your fucking coworker.”

“Are you serious? You cheated on me with said coworker’s date.”

“No, I didn’t, it wasn’t like that.”

“I saw it with my own eyes, you can’t make me think I’m crazy. We’re over, Todd, leave me alone.” Then you hang up, throwing your phone onto your office couch and burying your face in your hands.

Miguel waits a few seconds then knocks on your door as he opens it slowly. “Y/N, everything alright?”

He expected you to be crying, to be heartbroken, but you simply look angry, and almost relieved.

“Yeah, I—Todd cheated on me, he tried to act like I was crazy and just making it up, but I mean you know it happened, you literally sent me the footage. Thanks for that, by the way.”

You let him gather you up in a hug, closing the blinds to your office window, and locking the door behind him without you noticing. “You deserved to know.”

You nod, face pressed to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around him. “I know I’ll be sad later, but I’m just so glad that it’s over. And I’m so mad that he tried to deny it, he literally tried to gaslight me.”

Miguel smooths down your hair, humming in response.

“I just want him to hurt, but I don’t know how. Maybe I could slash his tires or put sugar in his gas tank?”

He pulls back slightly, the venom in your voice is intoxicating, he wants to see the inferno raging in your eyes.

Miguel, he thinks I’m doing this to get with Miguel, what if… Your thoughts are swirling, fantasies and revenge plots forming and unraveling as you mull your options, deciding if you have the courage.

“Use me.” He says, drawing your attention back to him. “As a man, there’s nothing worse than knowing the woman I lost is…engaging in intimacy with someone else, someone better than me, or receiving something I didn’t.”

He’s practically salivating. The images in your mind are salacious, ranging from a simple picture of his cock resting on your tongue, to a short clip of you riding him, moaning, and mewling for him, the camera focusing on the way you take his cock so well, how it stretches you out.

“I don’t know, wouldn’t that maybe be dangerous, like what if he takes it and posts it somewhere?”

“He won’t, trust me.” He cups your cheek, thumb caressing the soft skin. And he’ll delete the images from Todd’s phone immediately after Todd sees them.

You lean into his touch, and he can feel your arousal, a slight trickle, building slowly as your mind continues swirling through lewd images and ideas. “And you would be okay with it? I don’t want you to do this because you feel obligated, or sorry for me.”

“I offered, and I meant it.” He says, meeting your gaze, searching.

You shake your head and step out of his embrace. “No, no, I can’t that’s crazy. I’m not going to stoop to his level. Besides, if we did do something and send it to him, then that just proves him right.”

He mourns the loss of your warmth, the feel of your skin on his, but you’re right. He’d never want to give Todd the satisfaction of knowing he was right, of having something that like to hold over your head. “I understand.”

“I think I’ll just block him on everything and be done with it.” You say firmly, quickly blocking and deleting Todd from your phone.

You’re a better person than him, always have been and in this moment, he wishes you weren’t. Wishes you would’ve gotten on your knees for him, let him take a photo of his heavy cock resting on your tongue, or let him split you apart, juices dripping, wetting his skin, as you sang so prettily for him.

He allows you to step further out of his orbit, regaining your self-control, shyness falling over you like a thick veil. There’s nothing stopping you two now, no barrier, no mortal man, and he can sense how anxious and out to sea that makes you feel.

“Can I take you to dinner, an actual dinner, with food we both like, and no unwanted guests?” Miguel asks, reining in his own self-control, he’ll push his desires aside, he’ll always push them aside when it comes to you, to the fragility of your emotions in these vulnerable moments.

You fiddle with the edge of your phone case, not quite meeting his eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’d love that.”

TL:@obi-mom-kenobi, @poutysprouty, @oharasfilipinawife, @laysmt, @cicithemess, @unabashedcroissanttreefan, @lynxslokley, @thedevax, @generalkenobitrash, @keiva1000, @wilmontana987

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job Post 354: That Was Then, This Is Now, p6 (Gianna Interlude)

I was sitting there still seething, hunched over my keyboard feeling a lot more rage than I should. “That fucking bitch! Who does she think she is?!” I actually spat aloud. Ugh…hnghh hnnngh nnngh. “She’s just a fucking lab rat!” She can’t treat me like this no matter who she’s related to! Corporate was going to hear about this!

First it was important that I thoroughly review the evidence fuck me

Again.

My right hand pushed the mouse across the screen as my left remained buried between my legs frigging myself for all I was worth. I couldn't help it. It made me so fucking angry, but argghgggghhhhh fuck it’s so hottttttttt

I scrubbed through the footage, the replay, the recording I’d done of the whole thing, starting with my talk with him. Then Morgan. Then her coming in and turning off the monitor so he couldn’t see or hear me anymore but I sure as fuck see them do their walkthrough which seemed to excite the fuck out of her when she started thinking about her hive getting so much fucking bigger. The goddamn bitch!! We’re both queens and while she’ll have like hundreds of them before we know it I’m still fucking stuck here like a goddamn idiot all by myself and all I have to show for it are these fucking monster tits.

Plus she has him!!! AAAAGHHH!!!

My scrubbing stopped the footage, landing on a still image of the doctor and his absurdly huge dick. Nine, ten inches? Thick as a horse?! And it looked even bigger on his tiny-ass frame. It was a monument, it was meant to be NNGH! worshiped!

Stop it stop it stop it he’s a fucking asset nothing more

My hand was fucking trembling and I clicked play and watched the subtle bob of his cock as Melissa fondled his huge balls.

That bitch didn't deserve him! It should have been me!! I should be the one fileting that massive cock of his! Making him whine like a little bitch! Making him blow his load into my mouth or between my tits or into my…tight…little….Urghh! Pussy!!!

Again! Need to watch again!!

I scrubbed through the footage again, just to watch his face. I zoomed in on his eyes. Those eyes. Fuck those eyes!! I knew it, of course I knew it, that it was just the product fucking with my brain and bonding me to him but that didn’t goddamn matter I was angry and I was jealous and get out of the way of a jealous Gianna Albertini because she will mow you down like a fucking reaper. Damn you! You giant big-ass bitch get away from him it wasn’t supposed to be like this!!

I stood up, violently, my chair sailing backwards behind me across my living room. I couldn’t get my jeans down fast enough so I just pushed them down my hips, my panties too. NNNGGHH!!!

He’s going to be mine he’s going to be mine he is.

Fuck the study. I’m gonna come get you.

He’s going to be…fucking…MINE!!

And then I heard the ripping.

And felt the surging.

Haha omigod

Oh my fucking god!! Oh christ hahahahaha

Haha the little shit wants….nngh…big?

They’re fucking tearing around my legs.

Oh shit…oh god…

The little fucking infantile boob-monkey simp wants Melissa?

JESUS my bra. OH GOD YES!

Then that’s what you fucking get.

<<snap!>>

I’ll…nnngh…I’ll give you Melissa…

================================

(additional, more NSFW imagery on Patreon)

[gasmaskdaddy]

I've had thoughts rolling around inside my head since not long after I saw the first "identified as" GenAI picture of - well, I don't remember what the exact subject was, now - but if it was in the homoerotic category and I was paying attention it was probably a wrestler, boxer, diver, bodybuilder - well, you get the idea!

Note that none of what follows is intended to cast aspersions on the guys who are genuinely with love in their cocks making GenAI pictures and video for our pleasure.

First, I'm thinking there are plenty of real men, real construction workers, real flesh and blood nicely built attractive sweaty stinky dirty MEN working on actual construction sites, or otherwise occupied in dirty sweaty real man jobs, to satisfy many, most, maybe even all, of us homoerotically inclined men who are interested in such dirty stinky sweaty men.

Second, but how does anybody make money putting that online? Surely some enterprising person-cum-porn vendor can figure out how to market an "entertainment" site that features the previously mentioned dirty stinky sweaty men? Right? Except probably not. I mean, they might figure out how it *could* be done, but they know none of us will pay for it. Not when we can get on xhamster or Tumblr or Twitter or probably even YouTube and find all of the sweaty construction men we want. Long gone are the days when us homos would pay sixty, seventy, a hundred dollars for a VHS of grainy footage of men fucking in a basement in Berlin, or sparkling shot-on-video cute twinks splashing around in a pool in Palm Springs. We can get all the sucky-fucky we want for free, online.

Third, that leaves the GenAI guys, the men (and maybe women - doesn't really matter who's entering the prompts) who know what MEN want to see. So as GenAI capabilities proliferate and someone figures out how to make more dimes per gigaflop of processor, we'll have more AI-powered Tom of Finland types generating ever more "holy fuck that looks real" fake construction workers with virtual paint smears on their unreal hairy muscled arms, just the right amount of dirt on their scruffy ruggedly handsome faces, more fucking masturbation fodder that never actually existed.

Fourth, I'm getting to the point where I'm either OK with the above, especially Point the Third, or I'm just accepting that, like tomorrow's sunrise, it's gonna happen no matter what. People are generating AI imagery, short videos, and probably before long entire movies, maybe even including realistic voices and dialog, and that's probably not going to stop short of a serious world-changing solar storm that burns out every electronic device on or near earth. There are some images that obviously could never exist, some gloriously bizarre rubber-clad muscled hunks, guys with hoses connected to places where normal people would never think a hose should be located, stuff like that. But all of the "normal" bate fodder, the stuff that gets you and me and thousands, maybe millions, more like us hard? Yeah, it's not gonna stop. I'd love to see real men, dirty, knowing there's an actual man who got in his truck at the end of the day, reeking of sweat and dirty, who'd be back again tomorrow at o-dark thirty to do it all again. But where's the profit in that?

20250312

[sshbpodcast]

Tales from the Holodeck: ENT Fanfic: Ames’s Teleplay

Celebration! We’ve luckily finished Star Trek: Enterprise here on A Star to Steer Her By, and good riddance. There’s only one thing left to do in our typical style: show the writers how it’s really done by writing up our own fanfic stories and teleplays with carefully selected characters from the series. Will they end up better than most episodes of Enterprise? Low bar, folks.

Let’s move on in our schedule to Ames’s teleplay in our “Tales from the Holodeck” fanfic series. It’s a longy, as is typical, and features the craziest Soong iteration yet, as is also typical. Follow along below and/or listen to the cold reads on this week’s podcast episode (this one starts at 42:56). Approve the selection to begin the fanfic process.

[images © Paramount/CBS]

“Station, Repair Thyself”

By Ames

Random Main Character Pick(s): Phlox Character Draft Picks: Arik Soong, Repair Station

TEASER: “The Prison”

Exterior. Establishing shot: The Harris Maximum Security Rehabilitation Center of San Francisco – a high-tech facility with obviously complex security checkpoints and futuristic scanning capabilities. 

Interior. GUARD 1 and GUARD 2 sit behind a desk at a checkpoint with various screens of prison locations streaming through footage behind them. They pick occasionally from a bowl of futuristic candy that looks something like everlasting gobstoppers.

GUARD 1: Did he have any next-of kin?

GUARD 2: Didn’t they all get killed?

GUARD 1: They did, but I mean direct next-of kin?

GUARD 2: Doubt it.

GUARD 1: That’s a shame. No one to carry on his work.

GUARD 2: Not that that’s a bad thing.

PHLOX approaches in that shuffley walk of his. The two GUARDS look at each other then pick up the candy dish from the desk and hide it in a drawer. PHLOX notices this and cocks his head.

PHLOX: Afternoon, officers.

GUARD 1: Doctor. Didn’t realize you were here already. Didn’t we just call you in?

PHLOX: I was in the area attending to personal matters.

GUARD 2: Everything check out?

GUARD 1: No signs of foul play?

PHLOX: I’m afraid there’s nothing new I can tell you. My evaluation confirms the initial report. The cause of death was an anaphylactic reaction to ingestion of food.

GUARD 2: Ingestion of food?

GUARD 1: What did he eat?

PHLOX: Peanut butter.

GUARD 2: He was allergic to peanut butter?

PHLOX: It would seem so. I don’t understand why you needed to call me here to verify such an obvious assessment. Any medical scanner could do it.

GUARD 1: He’d requested you specifically as his forensic pathologist in the event of his death.

PHLOX: He did? When was this?

GUARD 1: (Pulls up a tablet.) Um. Recently, I’m sure. Yes, just last month he updated his documentation.

PHLOX: Lucky me. Even in death, he ropes me into his mayhem. Well, if that will be all, accept my sympathies, though frankly I won’t miss that deviant.

GUARD 2: Not many will.

GUARD 1: I found him cordial enough.

PHLOX: I’d say that was all part of his deception. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, officers.

GUARD 2: You as well, Doctor.

GUARD 1 holds out the tablet to PHLOX who looks at it quizzically for a moment before pressing his handprint onto it. GUARD 1 nods and gestures at the first of several gates that lead to the exit. PHLOX passes through it, there’s a pause, then a green light turns on and the next gate opens up. PHLOX continues through it and out of sight. The first gate closes as the two GUARDS take their candy bowl back out.

Suddenly! GUARD3 runs up, having clearly sprinted from somewhere far off.

GUARD 3: (Panting.) Did he get out?! Did I miss him?!

GUARD 2: Who?

GUARD 3: Who did you just release?

GUARD 1: That Denobulan doctor.

GUARD 2: Doctor Phlox.

GUARD 1: We made sure to save our snacks from him. Do you want some?

GUARD 3: YOU MORONS! Don’t you know who that was you just let walk right by you?

GUARD 2: Huh?

GUARD 3: Doctor Arik Soong! He’s still alive!

Dramatic music swells then fades into… well, let’s skip the theme song actually. It’s for the best.

CHAPTER ONE: “The Repair Station”

Exterior. Space. Several days later. A Denobulan shuttlecraft that has clearly borne some recent attack damage is flying around.

Interior. The man who appears to be PHLOX but is in fact SOONG is piloting the shuttlecraft through space. His appearance as the Denobulan may be slightly more human than it was in the teaser. He starts recording a log. He no longer sounds like Phlox, but just like himself now.

SOONG: Final personal log of Doctor Arik Soong. To whoever has found this message, congratulations! You’re the first to hear what may be the final words of that infamous mad scientist who’s certainly all over the news. Milk my renown for all I’m worth. You have my permission. 

It’s just my luck. I brilliantly escape prison by faking my own death using a mix of nonlethal pathogens I pocketed from a quick stay at Cold Station 12, alter my DNA to that of a trusted physician who had the misfortune of meeting me once and whose biological sample I’d adapted into a genetic resequencer, and hitch a ride off Earth on a Denobulan vessel… All to get attacked by Nausicaan pirates who did not seem particularly partial to my charms.

So here I lay, where you’ve undoubtedly found me, in a stolen Denobulan shuttlecraft I cunningly nabbed from right under their snooty noses. By the time you lay eyes on what is left of me, my appearance should be my own again, which is for the best. I’m already getting tired of looking like a spotted pufferfish. 

On the off chance you’re scientifically minded enough to keep my legacy going, let me give you a crash course in genetics and maybe you can pick up where I –

Something beeps. A hail from a nearby vessel!

SOONG: Fuck that, I’m saved! Computer, delete log.

SOONG boops a button.

SOONG: Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! I appreciate your response to my hail.

UNKNOWN VESSEL: (Extremely garbled.) How may we be of assistance?

SOONG: One glance at my vessel would show you I’m shot to hell and running low on life support. So I suppose I could use a lift. I could also use a hot dinner, a glass of whiskey, and a blowjob, if I’m being honest, but without the former, the latter would cease to be a problem.

UNKNOWN VESSEL: (Static.) – won’t permit – (Static.) – signal breaking up – (Static.)

SOONG: I’m barely reading you. Can you repeat that?

UNKNOWN VESSEL: (Static.) – transmitting coordinates to – (Static.) – repair station at – (Static overtakes the message entirely.)

SOONG: Could you identify yourselves please? Hello? Hello?

His console lights up with coordinates and a flight plan.

SOONG: Well, I’ll have to put my dancing shoes on. It looks like I’ve got a hot date tonight.

Scene changes to: Exterior. Some time later. The stolen shuttlecraft limps into a berth on a futuristic REPAIR STATION.

Interior. SOONG attempts to hail the station, attempting an imperfect Phlox impression.

SOONG: This is Dr. Phlox of the Denobulan doctoral exchange program. My vessel is badly in need of repairs. Please respond.

A heavy pause and then a flash of light passes over the shuttlecraft and everything inside it. SOONG watches it with a combination of trepidation and curiosity. A tractor beam then pulls the shuttlecraft into an open hangar bay. When it has settled into the bay, the doors behind it close and the lights in the hangar bay change to a friendly, sterile white.

SOONG: I suppose that’s one way to say hello.

SOONG tentatively leaves the shuttle, relieved to breathe air that’s not as stale as that in the shuttlecraft.

SOONG: No welcoming committee though.

He makes his way down the pristine white walkway that we’ll recognize from “Dead Stop” until he’s reached the diagnostic room, which is displaying data all over the place, including little holographic recreations of his shuttlecraft and of himself not as his Phlox disguise but as Soong.

SOONG: (Dropping the Phlox impression.) I suppose the cat’s out of the bag. Just as well, I’m not sure how long I could have kept up pretending to be that Denobulan sycophant. I’d love it if you could show yourselves though. It’s only polite.

The holographic image of the shuttlecraft enlarges with little circles and arrows and stuff pointing at all the things that need repairing. The REPAIR STATION speaks in that nonchalant female voice of hers.

REPAIR STATION: The analysis of your vessel is complete. No acceptable method of compensation exists. Vacate this station.

SOONG: Method of compensation? Oh, I can pay you, just not upfront. I got robbed, you see –

REPAIR STATION: No acceptable method of compensation exists. Vacate this station or your vessel will be compromised.

SOONG: My vessel is already compromised. I won’t make it another day in that tin can.

REPAIR STATION: No acceptable method of compensation exists. Vacate this –

SOONG: I heard you the first time. Haven’t you heard of haggling?

REPAIR STATION: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG: (Realization.) You’re an artificial lifeform, aren’t you? Well, this could get interesting. I’m actually looking to expand my study to artificial lifeforms. Maybe I could help you out. Would you like that?

REPAIR STATION: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG: Not one for conversation, eh? Listen. I don’t have access to payment right now. But I can make it up to you in services. You clearly know who I am. 

He gestures at the display of his identification on one of the hovering screens.

SOONG: You can put two and two together and see that my expertise could benefit you. You scratch my back…

The holographic image of SOONG’s face with all of his lifesigns and specs replaces the one of his shuttlecraft. Lines of data stream quickly over it.

SOONG: I have contacts all over the quadrant. I can get you anything you want. I could, for instance, upgrade your responses to sound more… personable.

The stream of data slows until we can clearly see some correspondence between Dr. Lucas and Dr. Phlox that we might recognize as their penpal letters.

SOONG: Oh that? I have some files from some Starfleet doctor from Cold Station 12. He’s partly the reason I have this rather unbecoming appearance at the moment, actually. I guess he was penpals with the Denobulan doctor and, I’m not proud of this, but I lured the guy to –

The data stream suddenly stops and the holographic image closes. A new screen replaces it with text and a big “Approve” button.

REPAIR STATION: A method of compensation has been selected. Approve the selection to begin the repair process.

SOONG: This is what you want, eh? What use could you possibly have for… Then again, who am I to argue? Approve!

REPAIR STATION: Make the necessary arrangements for the delivery of the approved goods as soon as possible.

SOONG: Now we’re getting somewhere. I think we’re going to be good friends, you and me.

The screen focuses on the offer from the REPAIR STATION that SOONG has agreed to. We now see that it reads: “One mating pair: Lyssarian Desert Larvae.” The scene fades to commercial.

CHAPTER TWO: “The Mimetic Simbiot”

Interior. The REPAIR STATION’s recreation area. Some time later. SOONG’s appearance is his normal Brent Spiner self by now. He’s eating a dinner of plomeek soup and reading something on a tablet.

SOONG: I think I’m starting to wrap my mind around your artificial intelligence framework. This is going to be extremely beneficial for my research if I want to expand my practice into cybernetics. Though I wonder… what will be the best way to incorporate my expertise in genetics? I don’t want to throw the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak. Maybe something with biomechanical elements would prove an interesting challenge…

REPAIR STATION: Please proceed to the science laboratory.

SOONG: (Sighs.) We’ve really got to work on your communication skills, my dear. Would it help if I could call you a name? “Computer” seems a little impersonal to me.

REPAIR STATION: Your inquiry was not recognized. Please proceed to the science laboratory.

SOONG starts down the halls to the science lab.

SOONG: What would you like me to call you? Nancy? No, I know too many Nancys. Sarah? Not special enough. Elvira…? I know. I’ll call you Roxann. Do you like that? I met a particularly memorable Roxann once on Risa. And you can call me Arik, of course.

ROXANN: Please proceed to the science laboratory, Arik.

SOONG: You love it! I knew you would.

He arrives at the science lab.

SOONG: Now, Roxann, what did you want to show me in the –

He stops dead at what he sees in the middle of the laboratory: a hovering bassinet with a newborn human baby in it. SOONG steps closer to it, profound wonder in his eyes.

SOONG: Where did this come from? Roxann? (Pause.) Roxann, tell me where this baby came from.

She doesn’t respond. SOONG pulls out a handheld device and starts scanning the baby.

SOONG: There, there, little guy. We’ll figure out where you belong after I run some – oh… Now that’s unusual. Roxann, would you care to explain this?

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG: Why does this baby have my DNA?!

ROXANN: Compensation for repair of your vessel has been initiated.

SOONG: Wait… This is what you wanted the larvae for? To make a copy of me? Why?

ROXANN: Your offer of services has been approved.

SOONG: All you said was that you wanted those ugly slugs. You didn’t say you wanted to use them to clone me. What do you want the baby for?

ROXANN: Your offer of services has been approved. Services will soon be required.

SOONG: What services? When are you going to let me out of here?

ROXANN: Services will soon be required.

SOONG: That’s not what I – Wait, clones grown from these larvae only live for a couple of weeks, don’t they?

He quickly looks through his device for info on Lyssarian Desert Larvae, scrolling and reading with immediacy.

SOONG: Fifteen days? You want a clone of me that will live for fifteen days? What, is there a two-man job you need me to tackle for you?

ROXANN: Services will soon be required.

SOONG: I don’t understand!

The baby starts crying. SOONG picks him up.

SOONG: No no, it’s alright. Let’s go get you a bottle. At least you’ll grow up fast, baby Arik. It’ll be nice to have some real company around here.

SOONG starts carrying the baby back to the recreation area.

SOONG: We’re not done talking about this, Roxann.

The science lab doors close behind him. The scene fades.

Interior. The recreation area. A few days later. SOONG and ARIK 2, now a child of about eight years, sit at a table. ARIK 2 is playing with some kind of futuristic video game equivalent while SOONG is reading about Lyssarian Desert Larvae.

SOONG: Have you seen some of the shit this Denobulan has done and felt justified doing? Christ, and that guy thought I was unethical. At least I feel guilty for things. See, right here: he once used one of these larvae to essentially grow himself a walking organ bag to harvest, knowing full well this clone was going to have to be murdered for his brain tissue. He led the poor guy on until his demise! So Roxann must’ve read these letters…

ARIK 2: I don’t like Roxann.

SOONG: That’s not nice. She gave you life. She gave me an apprentice.

ARIK 2: She won’t play games with me.

SOONG: No. No, I suppose she won’t. But she’s really busy running the station, isn’t she?

ARIK 2: I guess. But mom always says she wants me making friends, not playing in my room by myself.

SOONG: How… how did you know about that?

ARIK 2: She says it all the time.

SOONG: You have memories of my… our mother?

ARIK 2: Of course I do.

SOONG: And you’re at that stage of development, huh? Well, sorry to say but it’s gonna get worse before it gets better, Arik.

ARIK 2: I just wish there were other kids for me to play with.

SOONG: Well you’ve got me. And I could use your help if we want to extend your lifespan to a normal length.

ARIK 2: I’m only eight.

SOONG: That’s just how it feels. You’re actually two days old, and the clock is ticking. According to Phlox’s logs, there should be a way and we’ve got a couple days to work it out.

ARIK 2: No, I mean… I don’t get this dumb gene stuff. 

SOONG: Well. Maybe not yet, but soon.

ARIK 2: Genetics is too hard. Can’t I just play games for a while?

SOONG: Why was I such a petulant little… Never mind, by tomorrow you’ll be past this phase and well on your way to being my progeny, keeping the Soong name going. Maybe righting some of my wrongs.

ARIK 2: Look, I finished this level. Watch this. I’m gonna play the next one with my eyes closed.

The game makes an erroneous noise.

ARIK 2: Oops…

SOONG: That’s nice, Arik. Maybe next time.

The scene fades.

Interior. A few days later. The science lab. The clone, SOONG 2, has now developed to a stage of adulthood roughly in his thirties, still younger than the original SOONG. He is busily working with some generic science experiment stuff.

SOONG 2: Roxann, please test the newest enzyme proposal against my brain tissue. I think we’re finally getting somewhere.

ROXANN: Negative. Experiment will result in catastrophic brain failure.

SOONG 2: Just kidding then. Back to the proverbial drawing board. (Calling off.) Doctor Soong! (Beat.) Doctor Soong, come look at this! (Beat.) Roxann, locate Doctor Soong.

ROXANN: Doctor Soong is in the recreation area.

SOONG 2 exits the lab and starts walking down the hallways to the recreation area.

SOONG 2: If only we had a full lab complement. How long until the repairs to the Denobulan vessel are finished, Roxann?

ROXANN: Compensation for repair of your vessel has been initiated.

SOONG 2: I’m aware of that. But when do you foresee that happening? 

ROXANN: Services will soon be required.

SOONG 2: I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not going to have me around very long if we don’t solve –

He stops in the recreation area to see SOONG collapsed on the floor. SOONG 2 rushes to him, pulling out the handheld device and waving it over him.

SOONG 2: Doctor Soong!

He reads the data streaming on the device, concern in his visage turning to outright panic. He touches the face of his older counterpart.

SOONG 2: He’s dead. Oh no. Oh no! Roxann! Roxann, how did this happen?!

ROXANN: Medical analysis indicates a cease in life functions caused by myocardial infarction.

SOONG 2: You’re going to have to do better than telling me he had a heart attack! What caused it?!

ROXANN: Myocardial infarction in humans can be caused by coronary artery disease, atherosclerotic disease, coronary artery spasm, spontaneous coronary –

SOONG 2: This is a disaster, Roxann! Don’t you understand? Can you do anything to save him?

ROXANN: Resuscitation of a deceased human is not possible.

SOONG 2: Fucking hell! I’ve only got another week here to figure this out. There’s no way I can do this on my own. I need him!

ROXANN: Services will soon be required.

SOONG 2: You heartless bitch. There’s no time! Whatever you need, I can’t do it in time, and I can’t lengthen my lifespan without him! You’ve doomed me! I’m doomed!

We can suddenly hear a sound from somewhere. SOONG 2 stands and listens intently, eyes frantic, until it becomes clear what it is. It’s another baby crying.

ROXANN: Arik. Please proceed to the science laboratory.

SOONG 2: My god. Roxann… what have you done?

The scene ends on SOONG 2 walking dejectedly out of the recreation area in the direction of the science lab.

CHAPTER THREE: “The Clones”

Interior. The science laboratory. A few days later. SOONG 2 is now an older man, while the REPAIR STATION has a new inhabitant: ARIK 3, a teen. The two are working together on some more science.

SOONG 2: Do you remember when Doctor Soong – the first Doctor Soong – showed me this?

ARIK 3: I think so. It’s screwing with my head because his memories are clarifying at the same time yours are.

SOONG 2: That’s a good thing. You’ll have expertise from the both of us. We should be able to lengthen our life spans together.

ARIK 3: It’s a little disorientating.

SOONG 2: Hmm. I’m only eleven days old. There really shouldn’t be that much content from my end.

ARIK 3: Tell that to my brain.

SOONG 2: Focus, Arik. The Velandran Circle experiments…

ARIK 3: Right. They developed an enzyme to slow the aging process of mimetic simbiots to normal.

SOONG 2: Doctor Soong had hacked into the Lyssarian databases for info on the Velandran Circle. Read this.

ARIK 3: It’s pointless, isn’t it? There’s no proof that they got anywhere. They could have just been some mad scientists.

SOONG 2: (Jokingly.) It takes one to know one, and I don’t think they were mad scientists.

ARIK 3: (Teen sarcasm.) That’s encouraging.

SOONG 2: If there’s any clue to how to do this, it’s here.

ARIK 3: I read that thing already. I read it when I was you, and there was nothing there the first time.

SOONG 2: Arik…

ARIK 3: Don’t you get it? It’s all a myth!

ARIK 3 storms off.

SOONG 2: Fucking teenagers. What I wouldn’t give to have Persis or Saul instead. Even Malik. Those were the days. (Sigh.)

The scene fades.

A couple more days later, SOONG 2 is asleep in his quarters when the voice of SOONG 3, now a young adult, wakes him.

SOONG 3: (From off.) Doctor Soong, I could use your help in the lab.

SOONG 2 awakens and gets up. He’s very old now. He touches a panel on the wall.

SOONG 2: What is it, Arik?

SOONG 3: You’ve got to see this! It could change everything!

SOONG 2 totters down the hall, so excited that he doesn’t even look into SOONG 3’s quarters to see his younger clone eerily asleep inside. The older man enters the empty science lab and looks around.

SOONG 2: Arik?

He goes to read some of the displays left open at a lab bench, but when he touches them, something kerzaps him!

SOONG 2: ACK!

SOONG 2 drops to the floor, writhes for a moment, and then goes still. Little robot arms pop out of various places in the lab and lift him away. Meanwhile, the commotion has awoken SOONG 3.

SOONG 3: Doctor Soong? Did you hear something?

He goes over to SOONG 3’s quarters to find the old man (or a perfect facsimile!) dead in his bed.

SOONG 3: Dammit.

The scene transitions into a sort of medley of SOONG scenelettes, spanning many generations of SOONGs at different life stages. The scenelettes create a montage indicating that this has been going on for a long, long time and the iterations of SOONGs get crazier and crazier.

We shift to SOONG 10 pacing in the diagnostics center.

SOONG 10: Roxann, what are the services you require?

ROXANN: Compensation for repair of your vessel has been initiated.

SOONG 10: I’d like to conclude the compensation. What do you say I take a whack at fixing the vessel myself?

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 10: Okay, I’ll be direct. Let me into the hangar bay.

ROXANN: Personnel are required to vacate areas that are undergoing reconstruction.

SOONG 10: Then stop the reconstruction and let me in there.

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 10: (To himself.) It’s like talking to a particularly stupid parrot.

A new baby Soong cries to mark a scene transition. An older SOONG 50 reads over a tablet with ARIK 51, the latest teenaged Soong.

ARIK 51: I read this already.

SOONG 50: Not with those eyes. Read it again.

ARIK 51: I’ve got it memorized by now. “Individuals representing the Velandran Circle have conducted illegal experiments on Lyssarian Desert Larvae with inconclusive results. All individuals have been incarcerated for violating the Lyssarrian Prime Conclave’s prohibition of mimetic simbiots.”

SOONG 50: Skip to the good part.

ARIK 51: We’ve tried it all before. Each time it’s “Experiment will result in catastrophic brain failure.” We’re not going to crack it.

SOONG 50: (Wistful.) All I wanted was to become a cyberneticist.

ARIK 51: You’ve got three more days to live if you want to try to rush through a degree.

SOONG 50: We have to solve this. I know it feels like you’ve got all the time in the world right now, but that’s the wrong Soong doing the thinking.

ARIK 51: We’re fucked.

SOONG 50: Read it again.

Scene transition. A new baby Soong cries. SOONG 133 sits in the recreation area while rocking the next baby, who is sleeping in a cradle.

SOONG 133: Roxann? Where do the bodies go?

ROXANN: Human remains are disposed of.

SOONG 133: But where do they go?

ROXANN: Human remains are disposed of.

SOONG 133: I want you to show me where the last Doctor Soong is. What you did with him. Did you cremate him? Did you expel him into space?

ROXANN: Human remains are disposed of.

SOONG 133: You know what I think? I think you’re keeping them. I think you have a pile of me’s somewhere on this station like some fetishist. What are you doing with them, Roxann?

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 133: Real original. One more time for the people in the back?

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 133: There we go.

Scene transition. A new baby Soong cries. SOONG 171 is popping pills from the replicator and holding his aching head. ARIK 172, the latest child-sized clone, is nearby.

SOONG 171: Okay, Malik, time for your lessons.

ARIK 172: Who’re you talking to?

SOONG 171: I’m talking to you, Malik. We’re going to the lab.

ARIK 172: Who’s Malik?

SOONG 171: You’re Malik. You’re… No, you’re Arik. I’m Arik. We’re all Arik.

ARIK 172: Maybe we shouldn’t do lessons today.

SOONG 171: No no. Tomorrow you’ll be me and it will be too late. Come on. To the lab.

They walk off toward the lab, ARIK 172 looking concerned.

Another scene transition. Babies keep crying. ARIK 363, a teen-sized one, is fiddling with the computer screens in the lab. SOONG 362 is doing some sciencey thing at a lab bench.

ARIK 363: The Lyssarians have to have more information somewhere. I’ve hacked some more of their gated files.

SOONG 362: (Distractedly.) Find anything?

ARIK 363: The computer is combing the data.

SOONG 362: Good.

ARIK 363: Fifteen days is not enough time to make a dent in this.

SOONG 362: Nope.

ARIK 363: Especially when several of them are spent raising the next generation.

SOONG 362: Aha!! I’ve done it!!

ARIK 363: You have? What is it? How did you –

SOONG 362 steps away from the lab bench to reveal what he’s been working on. It’s a potato that he’s carved to look like it has boobs.

SOONG 362: I call it “Po-tit-o.”

ARIK 363: (So flat.) I’m going back to bed.

Scene transition. Another baby Soong cries. SOONG 544, an old man, pleads pathetically with ROXANN in the diagnostics room.

SOONG 544: You’re going to spawn another baby soon. Can’t you please use different DNA?

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 544: The DNA of the first Doctor Soong. Use that DNA for the new simbiot. Give him a chance!

ROXANN: Human remains are disposed of.

SOONG 544: You must have a trace somewhere. The memories. It’s too many memories! (He clutches his forehead.) I can’t tell where I begin and a hundred other Soongs end. Don’t use my DNA. Don’t torture another generation.

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 544: Or how about this? Let me edit the embryo DNA. I’ve never even seen the Lyssarian Larvae since they were retrieved! Where are they?

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 544: Or stop creating mimetic simbiots! Let it be done!

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 544: Dammit, this is the last thing I’ll do. What do you want from us?

ROXANN: Services will soon be required.

SOONG 544: Services will soon be required.

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 544: Your inquiry was not recognized.

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 544: Your inquiry was not recognized.

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

The younger SOONG 545 radios him… or does he?

SOONG 545: (From off.) Doctor Soong, I could use your help in the lab.

SOONG 544 shuffles off to his death.

More baby Soongs. Always more baby Soongs. ARIK 690, a child of maybe four, is trying to smash the consoles in the recreation area. SOONG 689 is staring catatonically at an entire pie he’s replicated.

ROXANN: Any damage to these facilities will be charged to your vessel.

ARIK 690: I don’t care! I hate you!

SOONG 689: Arik, what kind of pie is this?

ARIK 690: Why don’t you do an experiment and find out?

SOONG 689: An experiment?

ARIK 690: Yeah. You love experiments, don’t you? Like this!

ARIK 690 comes over and pies SOONG 689 in the face.

SOONG 689: Ah, that explains it. It’s face pie.

ARIK 690 and SOONG 689 laugh and laugh. I’ve gone insane writing this.

But! There are yet more baby Soongs! Their crying is constant because they are constant. Another Soong, SOONG 1,505 is holding a drooling baby and weeping openly in the middle of the lab.

Another scenelette! SOONG 1,903 is in the lab making the same enzyme over and over again.

ROXANN: Experiment will result in catastrophic brain failure. Experiment will result in catastrophic brain failure. Experiment will result in catastrophic brain failure.

The crying has morphed into the background cacophony. There’s fisheye lens camerawork all over place as the scene shifts to another moment. SOONG 2,545 is immensely drunk in the middle of the diagnostic room, holding a bottle of booze and shouting at the walls.

SOONG 2,545: (Drunkenly.) Roxann, you bitch! If you had a mouth, I’d give you a punch in the… you fucking bitch! I’m going home! Where’s my blasted ship…

ROXANN: Compensation for repair of your vessel has been initiated.

SOONG 2,545: Shut up! Compem-flation, my ass! There’s never going to be any compem… compem…

He takes a swig from the bottle. ARIK 2,546, a child of three or so, runs past in his underwear, whooping, looking practically feral and brandishing a spatula like a sword.

SOONG 2,545: I’ll take you down with me, Roxann. You’re going to… I’m going to… Raaaahh!

He punches one of the monitors, dropping his bottle on the floor which shatters everywhere, and then slips in the spilled liquid and collides with the floor. He stares up at the ceiling despondently.

ROXANN: Any damage to these facilities will be charged to your vessel.

SOONG 2,545: Damn you, Phlox.

The scene fades out on the diagnostic room in disrepair as little arms come out and repair the smashed monitor.

CHAPTER FOUR: “The Progeny”

Interior. The recreation area. A young adult SOONG 4,448 is sitting at a table knitting an absurdly long scarf, clearly the product of many generations’ work, that takes up a large section of the room.

REPAIR STATION: Arik. Please proceed to the science laboratory.

SOONG 4,448: No. No no no no no. Not again. Not another one. Please please please.

REPAIR STATION: Please proceed to the science laboratory.

SOONG 4,448: Is it another baby, Roxann? It’s always another baby, Roxann.

He proceeds down the hall to the science lab. It’s another baby.

SOONG 4,448: Why didn’t I just stay in the prison? I could have been so happy there. 

He takes a medical tricorder and starts to scan the baby.

SOONG 4,448: But no, evidently I’ve done something to deserve thousands of generations of torment. Can’t one of my lives be happy? Can’t one –

He notices something on the tricorder and stares at it for a long time, as if it doesn’t make any sense.

SOONG 4,448: Well this doesn’t make any sense. This baby doesn’t have the rapid-aging gene. He’s… he’s normal.

ROXANN: Compensation for repair of your vessel has been completed. 

SOONG 4,448: (Weeping with joy.) He’s perfect.

ROXANN: Thank you for your visit.

SOONG 4,448: Is it… is it done?

ROXANN: Thank you for your visit.

SOONG 4,448: (A shriek of pure elation!) Oh my god! Finally! I can go? I’m – we’re going to go. My vessel – Before you change your mind.

He starts toward the shuttlebay with the baby in his arms. It hits him.

SOONG 4,448: Wait a minute. How have I never thought of this? I’ve got, what, eight days left? He’ll still be a baby! Who’s going to raise him?

ROXANN: Your inquiry was not recognized.

SOONG 4,448: Roxann, I need you to do whatever you did to this baby to me.

ROXANN: Procedure is not viable on developed lifeforms.

SOONG 4,448: Raah! You fucked me again, Roxann! I can’t possibly raise this child! I won’t even live long enough to see him grow out of his onesie. Eight days? I can’t do anything in eight days.

ROXANN: You are permitted to stay on the station.

SOONG 4,448: Oh, you’d like that, wouldn't you? This is what you wanted all along. No matter what happened, you were pulling the strings. So I have two choices: I can stay here and you’re going to have to create even more rapid-aging clones so that there’s someone to raise this baby, or I can take my chances in the shuttle and get him a maximum of eight days away. Is that right?

ROXANN: You are permitted to stay on the station.

SOONG 4,448: Uh uh. If it’s what you want, I’m not going to do it. We’re leaving. This baby deserves a new start anywhere but here. He’s a Soong. He’ll survive for all of us.

He carries the baby onto the shuttlecraft, which looks as good as new.

ROXANN: Thank you for your visit.

SOONG 4,448: Fuck off.

The door to the shuttlecraft closes and after a moment, the thing flies away.

Exterior. The campus of some kind of science academy. It’s eight days later and SOONG 4,448 is the oldest we’ve seen him yet. He walks the grounds in the middle of the night carrying a bassinet with the baby in it. We listen to his final recording.

SOONG 4,448: To whoever discovers this child, my name is Doctor Arik Soong. Perhaps you’ve heard of me. Perhaps you’re wondering “didn’t that bastard die 125 years ago?” (Laughs.) You don’t know how right you are. The child you’ve found is also me, in a way, but that’s not important. What’s important is that he persists.

Educate him in the sciences. I think you’ll find him strangely adept at picking up on concepts that most people wouldn’t give the time of day. Nurture that. He comes from a line – a long line – of scientists who have put a lot of expectation on his little shoulders. He’ll live up to it. See to that.

Let him make mistakes. Give him the occasional tiramisu. Teach him about girls. Give him a normal life. 

The elderly SOONG 4,448 plods to the entrance of a building and sets the bassinet down before the threshold. We see only the baby being cute but can hear the old man collapse on the pavement.

His name is Noonian.

Scene fades.

End of thing!

—

For more Enterprise fanfic, check out Caitlin, Chris, and Jake’s stories from this year’s “Tales from the Holodeck”! Be sure to keep listening to new episodes every Thursday on SoundCloud or wherever you podcast, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and please proceed to the science laboratory...

[jeonsjiddies]

Toxic | kth [m]

Toxic Masterlist. | Chapter Five.

Six.

Taehyung had just stepped out of the shower when his phone rang. He groaned and trudged over to answer it, his eyebrows raising along with the corner of his lip when he saw your name flash across the screen.

Ever since he’d come to your rescue that night at your apartment, you’d been contacting him more, wanting to be around him more. You’d visit his desk more often, coming up with questions you already knew the answer to, creating problems and asking him for help because IT takes way too long. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, Tae. What are you up to?” 

“Just got out of the shower, so I'm about to get dressed. You?”

You paused, the mental image of him in nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, hanging low and exposing his v-line, droplets of water slowly dripping down his tanned skin… you swallowed.

“Just bored. I was wondering… nah, nevermind it’s dumb,” you backtracked, suddenly too nervous to follow through with your plan.

“No, what is it?” He pressed.

“I was wondering if… maybe you could just talk to me? I just want to hear your voice. Tell me a story or something?” You bit your lip nervously waiting for a reply.

“Okay,” he agreed easily, pulling up the footage from the teddy bear he’d given you.

You were in bed, nothing but a sports bra and a flimsy pair of pajama shorts that clung to your thighs like Taehyung wanted to cling to them. 

“When I was in high school, I had this friend who really liked magic,” Taehyung began, attempting to entertain you while watching closely to your reactions.

“Mhm,” you encouraged, your hand coming up to knead at your breast.

Taehyung’s eyes widened, momentarily pausing before he continued the story.

“He would do card tricks every day at lunch, but they never actually worked,” he continued.

You listened, not responding, holding the phone to your ear with one hand and kneading your breast with the other, occasionally pinching and pulling at your nipple. Soon, you discarded the fabric covering your tits altogether, biting back a moan while you kneaded and pinched while listening to Taehyung speak. The soft timbre of his low voice just did things to you and you couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy he had sounded the previous Friday when he presented his PowerPoint to your boss. The way he licked his lips while he spoke, the way his body moved with so much power. You whimpered out loud and Taehyung’s breath caught in his throat.

“Sorry, stubbed my toe, go ahead,” you lied, putting yourself on mute to avoid any further distractions. You put Taehyung on speaker and laid the phone by your head while you shimmied off your sleep shorts, revealing your bare pussy to Taehyung’s hungry eyes, unbeknownst to you of course. You played with your outer lips for a bit before slipping a finger inside and collecting your arousal, spreading it along your pussy, biting your lip at the feeling of the lubrication  gliding over your clit. 

It took everything inside of Taehyung, every ounce of self control he possessed to keep his cool and pretend he didn’t know what you were doing to yourself, using him to get yourself off. He swallowed thickly and kept talking, his eyes trained on you while you rubbed your finger in circles around your bundle of nerves before sliding it inside your heat. You moaned, which Taehyung heard through the one Bluetooth earpiece he’d connected to his computer so he could listen to you without getting caught while you listened to him. His cock was throbbing with need but he couldn’t distract himself, he had to play it cool.

You gasped and your back arched off your bed while you pleasured yourself to the sound of Taehyung’s voice. You blindly reached towards your bedside table for your vibrator, quickly inserting it inside yourself and imagining Taehyung’s shaft was buried inside you instead. You whimpered his name and it nearly sent Taehyung into cardiac arrest, sucking in a stunned breath. You froze, sitting up and asking if he could hear you, but he just continued the story as if nothing happened. You melted with relief, sliding the toy back inside your heat and groaning, turning the volume up on your phone so it sounded like he was speaking right into your ear.

“Turns out he was super good at the disappearing rabbit trick though, kinda turned him into a girl magnet believe it or not,” he told you while you pressed the vibrator deeper inside, your body beginning to shake.

“Fuck, yeah, Taehyung, right there! Oh Tae!” 

Your moans were music to Taehyung’s ears, he couldn’t believe he was the one causing them. He only wished he could be there in person to cause them, show you how good he could make you feel. But you weren’t ready yet. You would come to him (and for him) soon. You were on your way. You screamed out his name as your orgasm washed over you and Taehyung whimpered quietly to himself, but if you could hear him, you gave no indication of it, falling to your bed with a thud and panting heavily. 

“Then during the talent show he did that trick where you cut someone in half,” he kept talking, pretending he didn’t know what you had just done, and you closed your eyes with a smile, just listening to the vibrato of his voice for a while.

Soon, the story was over and you were almost asleep, content and happy after a wonderful masturbation session.

“Did you get what you needed from me?” Taehyung asked, his tone slightly darker, almost seductive.

“W-what?” You asked, your heart thumping erratically. Had he heard you touching yourself and calling out his name? Surely not. You had muted. You had checked!

“Did you get what you needed? Whatever you called for?” He rephrased, evening his tone out.

“Oh, yes. I feel much better. Very relaxed, so I can sleep now. Which is why I called you,” you added hastily.

“Oh, well glad I could help. You can call me for whatever you need help with, whenever you need it,” he smirked to himself.

“Thank you Tae, same to you. Sweet dreams!”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

Taehyung immediately dropped his towel and grabbed his throbbing cock, pulling up your nude photographs and grabbing the panties he’d swiped from your hamper, pressing them to his nose with a deep inhale. He toyed with the idea of using them to stroke himself but didn’t want to lose your scent. He started pumping his shaft to the idea of being able to taste your sweet cunt while he ate you out, or you riding his cock and making the beautiful noises you’d made today, crying out his name when he made you cum over and over and over again. Taehyung was shaking, he was so aroused, and it didn’t take him long to spill all over his hand, your name falling from his lips as came. 

Taehyung knew it was almost time, his heart was racing with the possibilities. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on you.

Taglist: @telepathytae @sugaflake @ana-rose1 @missxmarisa @azula-karai-27 @turnthepageandbeburnt

[maybege]

the entire comment is under a cut because i am on holiday and apparently in yapping mode lol

so fun fact about this piece: I was actually terrified of reading it because I knew that as soon as I read our dbf!Boba, I knew I would never want to look at a keyboard again unless I think it could even come close to the absolute perfection that you serve with Boba 🤌 But we all know me and The Horny always wins especially when it comes to your Boba (that and also your fics are like watching a favourite movie on a sunday, so i gotta take my time, make my tea, get the snacks and the blankets and so on (and i wanted to save it for my holiday lol))

Boba Fett was everything you ever wanted, wrapped up in a tight black t-shirt and well-fitted jeans. You never stood a chance.

And neither did I. Sweet Jesus, the images this just conjured up in my brain are giving me very nsfw feelings and we aren't even in the nsfw passages yet.

ALSO THE FACT that he is saved as boba 🖤🧸🧋 ???? This has my entire heart. No three emojis could ever portray him as well as these three because hell yes. THE TEDDY BEAR?? MY HEART 🥺😭😫

“You scream any louder and you’ll have people come running. What would they think of a pretty young lady like you soaking an old man’s cock?”

I know this was just a tiny flashback to a taste of something more but I have to repeat myself. SWEET JESUS! This is so hot and works so well because Boba 🤝 (semi-)public sex is a combination that is just exactly what the world (me) needs.

“It’s not the same and you know it! There was no falling asleep with you, no lap to curl up in…” “No thigh to get off on?”

EXCUSE ME MAAM MS ZWEI HOW DARE YOU CALL ME OUT LIKE THIS?

“A filthy little princess for a dirty old man?”

… somebody called?

“Now don’t look at me like that, princess. I’m just helping you make better choices,” he grins, his smile sharp with intent. “That’s what daddies do, right?”

Indeed, that is what they do and I had a completly normal, average, subtle reaction to reading this line. No grinning, no squealing, no blushing at all. Completely normal. I am fine. Totally fine.

Also also also I want to highlight the entire following passage:

Boba presses his mouth to your temple, pulling you somehow even tighter into his warmth. “Babygirl, why on earth would you think there’s something wrong with you?” Because I’ve only ever wanted an older man who babies me even though I’m a grownass woman.  Because I think you fucking me in my childhood bedroom while I call you Daddy is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.  Because I’ll never love anyone else the way I love you but I’m still too scared to tell people about us.

This deserves not only to be written down in gold ink and framed (as does everything in this fic, lbr) but like. This just sums up how magnificent of a write you are?? We have the hotness, the spice, the teasing and the fun and it shifts so effortlessly into the deep, dark voids we all have inside us where sometimes, you are ashamed of your kink and you are scared that the person you love doesn't love you back and I am not crying, you are.

“Wanted to be taken care of, wanted to be fucked without having to think…”

Girl is a pillow princess and I have nothing but respect and admiration for her because samesies.

“You really want that, darling girl? You really want everyone to know you belong to me?”

Boba teasing about coming inside?????????

^real time footage of me lol

Anyway 12/10 this was absolute perfection and I’ll never ever be able to not think about this 🥲 you truly blessed us 🥵

WORTH THE RISK

—PAIRING: Dad's Friend!Boba Fett x F!Reader

—SUMMARY: Pushing your luck has its rewards.

—WORD COUNT: 10.8k

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, dad’s friend!Boba, reader has parents mentioned in the story, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is an adult), secret relationship, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, oral sex (m receiving), throat fucking, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), light choking, this is straight up filth y’all I’m not even joking, if the previous things are not your cup of tea this will not be the fic for you 🥴

Please let me know if I missed anything!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'll post this fic in a couple weeks! literally a month later here we are besties, the dad's friend Boba fic inspired by @maybege's post!! this fic ended up taking waaaay longer than I expected since the story took a turn I didn't plan for, but I'm really happy with how it turned out in the end! big shout out to Moss for betaing and all the besties who sent me incoherent emoji scrambles for my snippets along the way 💖 enjoy y'all!

Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist

Setting out the last of the dessert trays on your parents’ patio table, you swipe a hand over your forehead. A delightfully cool breeze ruffles the hem of your dress, signaling the coming summer evening and carrying the pleasant mixture of laughter and music from the backyard. Satisfied with the arrangement of treats, you look out over the party of family and friends gathered on the lawn: neighbors, coworkers, and family of all sorts gathered together for your parents’ annual cookout, which your father fondly calls the “Bar-bo-polooza” (and which your mother decidedly does not). 

Scanning the crowd, you spot her bouncing their neighbor’s baby girl on her hip while your father diligently lectures her partner on proper grilling techniques over his beer. A swarm of kids darts around the party in what appears to be a high stakes game of tag, while a gaggle of your aunties and Uncle Steven are clumped together in tight conversation over the latest gossip. A smile curls up your lips—nothing bridges the generational or cultural divide quite like a juicy piece of insider knowledge.

Giving the yard a final skim, you give up on locating your boyfriend and head for your chair by the fire pit. You’re no sooner settled when you feel your phone buzz.

<boba 🖤🧸🧋: Better give me those panties now, princess>

Your cheeks heat immediately reading Boba’s message. You still can’t see him from your seat, but you know wherever he is, he can certainly see you. Crossing your knees, you make sure your hem rides just high enough to still be considered appropriate for a family setting. Your phone vibrates again and your eyes dart to the new message on your screen.

<boba 🖤🧸🧋: I’m not going to ask twice>

A heated shiver snakes down your spine, pooling in the dampness already nestled between your thighs. Your plan to tease Boba to the edge of insanity is already taking its toll. 

Logically, you know you shouldn’t be riling him up like this at a family function, but you can’t seem to stop yourself after he’s been out of town. You’ve missed his bone deep comfort, his small touches, and the safety of his arms. Hell, you’ve even missed the smell of him, breathing in that balmy spiciness that’s all his own. 

Of course, you’ve also missed his keen knack for making you black out with pleasure. But who could possibly blame you for that? The man is nothing short of a god when it comes to making you feel good, so it’s not your fault you rubbed him half hard in the driveway or brushed up against him in your flirty new sundress during the party set up. Besides, you’d been an absolute angel in his absence: texting him that you remembered to take your meds, drank enough water every day, and not touched where you wanted him most just like he asked.

Really, you’d been a complete saint. You only texted him those two dirty pictures because he asked for them. If anything, Boba should be rewarding you for your restraint instead of making you survive this cookout aching and desperate before he took you home and made good on all his filthy promises. Just the thought of what he said he’d do has your thighs pressing together. So, with a sly grin sneaking over your lips, you tap out a response.

<Or what? You can’t do shit with all these people around, old man>

Adrenaline pumping hot in veins, you hit send and click of your screen. You make a show of stretching so your tits press together, sure Boba’s got a laser focus on you after that message. 

Feeling supremely pleased with yourself, you chuck your phone into the seat you’re saving for your cousin, Ari. You search for their telltale blue hair and catch it over by the drinks table. No surprise there, of course.

“My, my, my, such a dirty little mouth on such a pretty little girl.”

A hot shock of electricity shoots down your spine. Boba’s sinful voice races across your skin deceptively gentle, like a blade wrapped in dark velvet: sheathed, but no less dangerous. 

Your pulse jumps under the thin skin of your throat. You don’t need to look up to know you’re in treacherous waters. His tone alone tells you everything you need to know—your “good” deeds never went unpunished with him, especially when you acted like you could get away with them. Putting your most dazzlingly innocent smile, you turn your face up to him, acting like you’re making pleasant conversation. “Wanna find out how dirty it can get?”

The corner of his lips twitch up. “Careful, princess.” His umber eyes burn with the unspoken magnitude of his threat. “You already owe me those pink panties of yours… don’t make me add to that list.”

Something hot and dangerous spikes in your core. You can practically feel his lips on your overheated skin, the scrape of his teeth down your neck. Luckily for your rapidly evaporating self-control, however, you catch Ari waving at you and you signal at their saved seat. The reprieve gives you a moment to swallow back the well of desire pressing against your throat. You’re already playing a dangerous game with your relationship—you really shouldn’t be adding to it by tempting fate, or Boba, in your parents’ backyard.

After moving to town two years ago, Boba and your dad had become fast friends, bonding over their love of classic cars and good whiskey. Freshly cut in your former employer’s downsizing, you had come home just after they had started spending weekends drinking and working on the old Chevy in your dad’s garage. It was over for you the second you saw him: broad shoulders, tanned, and impossibly gorgeous, Boba Fett was everything you ever wanted, wrapped up in a tight black t-shirt and well-fitted jeans. You never stood a chance.

For a torturous year you danced around your simmering mutual attraction, months filled with “accidental” touches and excuses to see each other more than strictly necessary for a daughter and her father’s friend. He gave you rides when your poor 2003 Toyota finally met its end, helped you move in with Ari, and even let you drunkenly cry on his shoulder at last summer’s cookout when you were sure your life was a failure. You really fell for him then. Hard.

Always teasing you with winks and flirty smiles, things finally came to a head at your parents’ New Year's Eve party. Scrabbling down the stairs for the countdown, you’d crashed right into him, his arms wrapping around your waist to halt your fall. By the time the voices outside yelled “Happy New Year,” you already had your hands (and mouths) all over each other.

The instant chemistry between you has only become more explosive since. In the almost six months of your relationship, you’ve orgasmed harder, louder, and more often than you thought was possible for a human being. But more importantly, you’ve also grown and learned a lot about yourself, with Boba coaxing you to embrace your needs without shame, both sexual and not. Mentally, you’re in a much better place than you were after you were let go from your dream job; and physically, well… you’ve never been more satisfied.

Of course, you’re not nearly ready to reveal all this to your parents. 

Boba has respected your choice to keep your relationship a secret, despite his desire to claim you as his own every time your mother introduced you to some nice boy from her temp agency. Her mentioning that she invited “Kevin from Jimenez Landscaping” today is partially what made you decide on wearing the particular little sundress you had on. Not for him of course, but to drive Boba wild while you humored your mom and talked to the guy. The rest of your scheme—putting your hand down Boba’s pants behind his truck and digging yourself into a very deep hole over text—had been more or less spur of the moment.

Staring up at him now, dead serious with little patience left for mercy, has your insides twisting in tight, needy knots. Boba is a man of his word and not above leaving you unfulfilled when he thought you deserved it. Maker did he know how to make you squirm.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, doing your best to tamp down the need leaking into your voice. “I swear I’ll take them off when Ari gets back.” 

You might be a brat but you’re not stupid: you know when you’ve flown too close to the sun. 

He smiles then, smug and shining, leaning down to plant what appeared to be an unoffending, fatherly kiss on the crown of your head. “That’s more like it. Not so hard to be a good girl, now is it, darling?” 

The sensual rasp of his whisper calls forth memories of love made sweet and long, making your stomach flip and tighten. Praying for the heat to leave your face, you clench your thighs together to ward them off.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Your head snaps up to see Ari’s freckled face plastered with a sardonic expression. Your confidant since childhood, your cousin is the only person who knows about your relationship—and isn’t afraid to give you shit about it.  

“Of course not,” Boba answers breezily, patting your shoulder, “we were just commenting on how perfect the weather turned out.”

Ari scoffs, dropping down next to you. “Yeah, sure. If anyone else here actually had eyes, they would see right through the two of you.”

You grin and accept the offered lemonade. “What? Can a young lady and a handsome older gentleman not talk at a party?” 

Boba’s hand squeezes your shoulder in a silent warning to behave. Still glowing with his praise of “good girl” echoing in your ears, you opt to stay so.

“Last I checked, they can,” Ari gestures back and forth between you. “It’s just the ‘fuck me’ eyes that make it totally obvious you’re screwing.”

“I myself prefer the term ‘making love’ over ‘screwing,’” Boba chuckles.

Ari immediately makes retching noises, their face screwing up in disgust. “Making love?! What are you, like a thousand years old?” They hold up a hand. “You know what, never mind, I don’t even want to think about that more than I already have to.”

Despite your cousin’s reaction, his words bloom heat in your stomach. As good as Boba is at straight up fucking, he also loves you so tenderly and slowly some nights it nearly brings you to tears. With sweet kisses wrapped in praise and gentle touches laced with assurances that you were his and he was yours, he crafted a devotion more sincere and pure than you thought your heart could hold.

Ari elbows you, pulling you back to reality. “Now unless you got tea to add to this conversation, sir, I’m gonna need you to beat it. Me and your girlfriend have some important information to discuss. Auntie is three margaritas deep and just told me some very interesting things about her divorce.”

Boba’s fingers drift across the nape of your neck in a subtle reminder of delicious possession. He makes a show of sighing in exaggerated defeat and comes around your chair. Sticking out his hand, he nods. “Ari.”

“Fett.” They shake and Boba heads over to where your dad is flipping burgers on the grill. Somehow even his walk made you thrum with electricity.

When he’s out of earshot, Ari whispers behind their drink. “Finally. Now, she said that she was the one who instigated the divorce…”

It’s not until you head inside to pee that you remember your promise to Boba.

<boba 🖤🧸🧋: Clock’s ticking, princess. Panties. Now.> Received 6 minutes ago

Shit. You groan and throw your head back on your shoulders. Why is there always a line when you want to use the bathroom? Especially when you need to get your panties off before your boyfriend reaches up your dress and rips them off for you?

When the door finally opens, you rush in. Clicking the lock, you immediately yank off your underwear, taking the briefest moment to admire them. Pink, cute, and soaked in the middle, you feel deliciously dirty holding up the scrap of fabric in the mirror to snap a pic.

<All yours 😘> 1 image attached

The urge to run and take another picture in his truck is extremely tempting, but a knock on the door has you rushing to finish up. 

Boba’s waiting for you when you step outside, looking handsome as sin as he leans against the deck railing. As casually as you can with a naked cunt and a pair of panties balled in your fist, you slip next to him and press them into his large hand. Maker, the sight of him stuffing the illicit garment into his pocket should absolutely not be as fucking hot as it is.

Seeing the scrunched look on your face, he chuffs a quiet laugh. “I can smell how wet you are, babygirl. Something’s got you all worked up, huh?” His tone is molasses, thick with self-satisfaction. “Brats do always love it when the consequences of their actions catch up to them.”

In an attempt to diffuse his pride, you pout and cross your arms over your chest. “I thought you said I was your good girl.” 

He flashes you that jaw-dropping smile of his. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

Before you can get any more hot and bothered, you see your mother approaching with a gangly young man in tow. You curse under your breath; you’d forgotten about Kevin-from-Jimenez-Lanscaping. 

Boba snorts. “Speaking of consequences…”

Suddenly you’re very aware that you’re going to have to make polite small talk with your mother and a stranger with your panties stuffed in your secret-boyfriend-who-makes-you-scream-with-pleasure’s pocket. 

You’re also aware that it turns you on an embarrassing amount. Fortunately (or not), you don’t have much time to contemplate the extent of that particular depravity before Kevin and your mom stop in front of you. 

“There you are!” she exclaims happily. “Kevin, this is my daughter I’ve been telling you all about.” The young man smiles and shakes your hand politely and your mom turns to the older man. “And this is Boba Fett, our neighbor and family friend.” She drops her voice conspiratorially. “Now he’s very protective of her, so be careful. Even worse than her father.”

Boba bares his teeth in a sharp-toothed smile, gripping the younger man’s offered hand harder than necessary for the brief shake. The act of possessiveness has your blood boiling even hotter as the poor boy’s eyes widen in surprise. After a couple minutes of tedious conversation that’s mainly Boba glaring over your shoulder, Kevin excuses himself, thanking your mother for inviting him and apologizing for having to leave so soon. 

Watching him dart for his car, she levels a scolding tone at your boyfriend. “How is my daughter supposed to find someone when you stare murder at every single person I bring over?”

Unrepentant, he shrugs and smiles. Your shared secret dances on his lips. “I just want what’s best for her. Surely you can’t blame me for that.” Seeing your mother still unconvinced, he throws an arm around her shoulders and plants a kiss on her cheek. 

He sneaks a wink at you and you make a show of rolling your eyes even as your insides warm at his attention. Morally, you’re sure it’s wrong to enjoy this deception so thoroughly, but in this moment you don’t care; it lights some infernal fire inside you that burns hotter than any desire you’ve ever had.

“I hate to say it, but Boba’s right,” you play along. She still looks skeptical and he looks entirely too smug, so you elaborate. “I mean, what good is a guy that’s too chicken to even have a conversation with this grandpa?”

She bursts into a round of laughter that wipes away the previous exasperation from her face. “Oh, be nice to Boba,” she admonishes, lightly smacking your shoulder. “He’s no older than your father.”

A grin splits your face. “Gosh, you’re right, Mom! Boba’s only what, twice my age? I should really have more respect for my elders.” The words barely leave your mouth before Boba turns out his solo cup of ice water out over your head. Shocked with the sudden cold pouring down your face and neck, you instantly resort to tattling and finger pointing.

“No, ma’am, don’t come crying to me!” she manages through a peal of laughter. “You earned that one fair and square!”

Boba is positively dripping with his own self-satisfaction. “Sure did,” he brandishes a double-edged smile, paternally crossing his arms over his chest, “And I hope you learned your lesson, young lady.”

Your skin burns so hot you can feel the rivulets of water trickling down your neck heat up. Memories of your tits pushed up against the chilled hood of Boba’s truck flash across the backs of your eyes—you had complained you were cold after a skinny-dip in the lake and he wasted no time in warming you back up.

“Careful, princess,” he panted damply against your neck. “You scream any louder and you’ll have people come running. What would they think of a pretty young lady like you soaking an old man’s cock?”

It’s a miracle that you don’t immediately buckle when you catch his hand digging into his pocket to fist your panties. Keeping your eyes decidedly off him, you rush through an excuse to go up to your room to change. Before you can scurry off, however, he catches your elbow. 

“Here, take this.” Boba pulls off his overshirt and wraps it around your shoulders. “Can’t have you catching a cold, now can we?” Your mom nods approvingly before she’s pulled away by another guest. Once she’s out of earshot, he drops his voice low. “Go inside and meet me in the garage. I’m going around front.”

Even as you repress an excited shiver, your heart warms in your chest at Boba’s caution. He never made you feel bad for wanting to keep things private and always structured your affairs so you were never seen going or leaving together. And although you look forward to the day you’ll be ready to hold his hand and steal kisses in front of the world, sneaking around in the meantime did add an extra layer of excitement to your sex. 

Sandals slapping wet against the tiled floor, you race across the kitchen to yank open the door to the garage. Thick, sun-warmed air hits your face with a pleasant staleness, smelling of cardboard and motor oil. The quietness of the space clashes with the clamor of excitement pumping through your veins. Sweeping your eyes from one side to the other, a frown weighs on your lips when Boba is nowhere to be seen. 

No sooner does the displeasure darken your expression than you’re scooped up into a pair of strong arms and whirled around. 

Familiar lips and a suede voice swiftly gentle your startled yelp. “Quiet now, darling,” Boba purrs, practically preening with the pleasure of your surprise, “you don’t want to get us caught now do you?”

Your gleeful giggles of realization are smothered by his barrage of kisses, each one an intoxicating mix of passion and urgency. Boba hooks your legs around his waist, not caring about the water soaking into him as he walks you deeper into the garage.

The intense press of need pushing against your chest melts under his touch, releasing your lungs and draining to pool in your thrumming core. It’s been so long, too long, without him, your body surviving on the mere scraps memory could provide you—nothing in comparison to the sustenance of the man himself. Having him back in your arms, his marred skin beneath your fingertips, his thick torso filling the empty space between your legs… it unhooks the final thorns of discontent left from his absence. 

A wave of relief washes away the tenseness of separation, leaving you pliable and radiant once more; the release has Boba’s lips parting in a gratified groan at the satisfaction of being your sanctuary. You take the greedy opportunity to lick your way into his mouth to savor the way his taste fills yours. Lost to the sensation of your tongue sliding along his, a hiss escapes your lips when the back of your thighs hit the freezer’s lid. 

The chill dissipates quickly in the glow of Boba’s urgent heat. “Fuck I missed you, babygirl,” he pants against your pulse, “Even if you’ve been a karking terror all afternoon.”

“S’not my fault,” you slur, dragging your teeth across the tan skin of his throat, “missed you too much.” His salt seeps into the warmth of your mouth, spurring memories of late nights pressed together under a quivering lake water moon. Seeking that passionate warmth, your heels dig into Boba’s thighs to press him deeper into your eager desire.

Unyielding and unrushed as ever, he pulls back, refusing to let you usurp his control. Bereft, a whine flies from your throat and you keel towards him in a desperate arch. 

Boba catches your cheek in his palm and sharply angles your face to his. Pure dominance radiates off him in the unwavering set of his shoulders and the gleam in his eye, their darkness glinting like two sable jewels in the dim light. His raw power, sanctified by his restraint and your willing submission, shimmers in the air between your bodies—the ephemeral calm before his storm’s consequences. 

He knows that disquieting stillness of his never failed to draw your desire. Without a word, his free hand disappears into his pocket to free your panties.

“Mmm, is that the problem?” His strong fingers dig into your cheeks and he turns your head towards the dangling bit of bows and lace. You can feel how the visual evidence of your arousal affects him. He presses the damp fabric against his nose, sucking in a ragged breath. “Your needy little cunt making you act out?”

Your answer comes out more as a whoosh of air than a word, your insides twisting with the searing heat in his tone. “Noooo…” 

“So you’re just a naughty brat then?” 

You want to protest that you’re nothing but innocent but your throat is too tight with the thrill of his wrath. He balls the frilly underwear into his fist. “Shame. I was thinking about taking mercy on you for your good behavior while I was gone.” He cuts his eyes back to you, smirking. “Too bad brats don’t get that privilege.”

You jolt, panic locking your ankles at the small of his back in an attempt to keep him close. “No! No! That’s not what I meant!” you cry, your voice taunt with distress.   

A dangerous chuckle sounds in his throat. You’d shown your desperation, giving him the easy advantage. “Better start explaining then, princess. Or else I’m just gonna come all over these pink panties and you’ll get nothing.”

You blink up at him with pitiful eyes and a swollen-lipped pout. “It’s because I missed you,” you simper, tracing a finger down his chest. “Seven days is a long time. Too long.” 

Even through the haze of your shared arousal, Boba resists temptation. “Too long? Babygirl, we talked on the phone every night.”

He lets you press your face into the crook of his shoulder and your fingers begin to loop into the soft cotton of his shirt. “It’s not the same and you know it! There was no falling asleep with you, no lap to curl up in…”

“No thigh to get off on?”

You squeak when he pinches your ass, the subconscious roll of your hips halting.

“As cute and sincere as you may be, my darling girl, you still have a debt to settle for your behavior today.”

That’s fair, reasonable even. You had pushed him further than you yourself would have been able to stand. You slip your fingers under his shirt hem to graze your nails over the dark hair trailing into his jeans. “What if I gave you a little apology?” you offer with a fluttering of lashes. “Show you how sorry I am?” 

Boba’s breath hitches but he turns up his chin like he’s uninclined to accept your offer. “You really think a handy is gonna cut it after everything this afternoon?” 

The fevered dream from his absence flares white-hot in your mind. Grabbing his belt buckle, you haul your hips forward to press your slick folds against his bulge. “Not even if that apology is you fucking me into the mattress in my childhood bedroom?” 

Boba curses, his hips bucking into yours.

“Not even if it’s you ruining me in the room where I learned to touch myself? Where I’d cry out into the pillow thinking about what it would feel like to have a real man fuck me instead of stupid, silly boys? Not even then?”

“Princess-”

“I’ve been fantasizing about it for a while, you know… what it would be like to bury my face in those cute flower sheets while you fuck my tight little cunt till I’m sore. Had to take a cold shower while you were gone just to keep my hands off myself.”

In a burst of strength, he forces you flat back against the freezer. “Enough,” he hisses through locked teeth. “For Maker’s sake, enough.”

Despite his protests, he’s rutting his twitching cock into the slick mess at your apex. You grin into his kiss—you’ve got him right where you want him. 

“Awww, pleeeease?” you whine, sticking your bottom lip out. “Pretty please… Daddy?”

The sound that scrapes up from him is so utterly depraved that for a second, you think he might’ve come in his pants.

“Fuck, you’re… you’re…”

“A filthy little princess for a dirty old man?”

Boba pushes his hand over your mouth. “You… you have ten seconds to get in your room before I’m fucking you where you stand. And I don’t give a karking shit who sees. Do you understand me?”

“So, apology accepted?”

“One.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Two.”

“Okay, okay! I’m going!”

“Three.”

You’re flat out running for the kitchen door, wrenching it open without checking if someone is behind it. Luckily, your path is clear as you fly up the stairs up to your room. The lavender paint and neat rows of school awards are nothing but a pastel blur when you fling yourself onto the twin bed. Quickly positioning yourself, you hike your dress up around your hips so you’re completely on display. 

At this point, you don’t even care about the danger; you drop your hand between your legs and delve two fingers between your wet folds. The friction burns delightfully after days without so much as a finger to your clit. The relief is so sweet you have to bite down on your neckline to halt the sounds of delight from spilling out. Imagining just how much better it’ll be when Boba gets his hands on you has you bucking under your fingers.

“Just can’t help yourself, can you, little brat?”

It’s no use snatching back your hand—he’s seen your transgression and is all too ready to add it to your growing list. Grabbing your wrist, he wrenches you up off the bed and whirls you around so your back digs into the door. 

“Oh, babygirl,” he husks in a low, cruel voice. “You’re so fucked.”

He’s pressed so far into you the damp fabric of your dress burns, absorbing his overwhelming heat. Pure, wanton desire floods your brain, drowning any hope of sanity until all that remains is him.

Boba yanks down the ruffled sleeve covering your shoulder and sinks in his teeth, groaning when you buck against him. “But that’s what you like isn’t it? You like it when I put you in your place, when I treat you rough.” His large hand snakes up your chest to grab your throat.  

“Yes-yes, Daddy!” you gasp, writhing with prickling pleasure when he greedily palms your breast. 

He grunts, his hips thrusting into you. “You think calling me that will get you out of trouble?”

“I mean being in my old room… seems kinda fitting, doesn’t it-oh!”

Boba shoves his hand over your mouth. “Now don’t look at me like that, princess. I’m just helping you make better choices,” he grins, his smile sharp with intent. “That’s what daddies do, right?”

Fuck that should not make your clit throb like it does. Just when your knees start to tremble from the sweet friction he’s smoothing over your nipples, he tears himself away. Your cry of displeasure is choked off by a squeeze of his hand. With big, shining eyes, you blink pitifully up at him in a bid for more.

“Don’t bother with the kitten eyes, darling. It won’t save you… and neither will anything else you say.” He rubs his thumb gently over your pulse point, a jarring contrast to the pressure on your throat. “After your little attitude this afternoon, you’re going to have to earn the right to speak.”

Boba just tuts when you pout, a wicked flush of darkness shadowing his expression. “Brats don’t get what they want, especially not such disrespectful ones.” Licking his lips, his voice sinks even deeper. “Still think I can’t do shit with all these people around?”

When you don’t answer, he releases his grip on your neck to run his fingers up your skull and jerk your head back. Taking his time, he kisses you, devouring you until you’re fighting for air. “Little princess, I can do whatever I want to you no matter who’s around, do you understand that? Do you?” 

Your answer is nothing more than a pitiful waver but he takes it all the same. “Good. Now take the dress off before I tear it off. I’m gonna fuck that pretty throat until I’m satisfied you’ve learned some respect.”

You’re out of the offending garment before he even has time to unfasten his belt. Despite the heat in your veins, goosebumps blossom across your skin, heightened by the moisture from your dress. When Boba sees you rubbing away the chill, he smirks and snaps you to his chest. “Looks like you need some warming up…” 

Sliding his hands over your ass, he hikes you up into his arms with a puff, chuckling at your small sound of surprise. When he lowers you gently onto your bed, you wriggle into the position you know he wants: laid out on your back with your head hanging off the edge, ready for atonement. 

It feels almost like relief. This was the reason you tested Boba’s patience with your antics and attitude; you crave the way he gives you no choice but to comply, the thrill of a fantastical danger shaping you into something vulnerable and eager to please.

The fire in his eyes dampens some as he caresses a hand over your cheek. You lean into his palm, nuzzling into the soft gesture. “Look at me, babygirl,” he prompts gently. When your eyes drift up to his, a smile warms his face. “I know you like it rough and I’m going to give it to you, but I need you to promise to mind your body, okay? Let me feel your three taps to stop.”

As you’d practiced many times, you reach up and slap your palm against his thick thigh. His white smile gets even bigger and he bends to plant a quick kiss on your forehead. You glow with his affection. “Boba?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you grab a towel for me to lay on? I’m going to soak a spot on the sheets if you keep talking like that.” 

A devil’s grin stretches across his bronze features. “Stay right there and don’t move,” he instructs, his voice already husked smoke, “or I will make you only watch while I jack off with those panties.” 

If he’d waited a second before darting to the adjoining bathroom, he would’ve seen the way your slicked entrance clenched at his threat.

For a fleeting moment you consider sneaking a hand to your peaked nipples, but the threat of him making you watch and not touch is far too distressing to test. Before you can get too tempted otherwise, Boba strides back into the bedroom with a towel in hand. Without a word spoken between you, he bends and you hook your arms around his neck so he can lift you and lay the towel down.

Boba hums in appreciation when you stretch back out before him, biting back your longing under his gaze. He lets his belt loose and his pants slide down his thighs, finally revealing the gorgeous image of his thick cock. Flushed rosy with want and beautifully slicked with desire, it bobs against his belly full and ready for your touch. 

He steps back so you’re forced to crane your neck to see him. The baneful fire has returned to his dark eyes. He pumps his length once and your mouth waters in anticipation. “Hope you don’t think I’m going easy on you just because you finally decided to behave.”

You shake your head. 

“No talking and no hands, understood?” 

Now you shake your up and down. You know far better of him than to disobey.

“Good. Now we don’t have much time before someone comes looking for you, little princess, so open up that mouth and make Daddy proud.”

Thank the Maker for that towel.

Tilting your head back to make your throat one smooth channel, you stick out your tongue wide and ready. Just seeing the way his expression darkens with desire at your obedience has fresh slick wetting your thighs. Hell, your obedience turns you on. Not just any man could make you want to give yourself over to him and you’re sure there are next to none who could possibly deserve it. 

Boba steps forward, cupping your cheek in his rough palm and dragging the slippery head of his length over your lips, coating them in his arousal. You stay still, enjoying his taste and gentle attention; he would tell you when he wanted more.

When he rocks forward to let your tongue slide down the vein that runs the underside of his cock, you claw your fingers into the floral sheets beneath you. Your heart pounds against your ribs and your lungs bellow more air into your chest. He’s so close yet so far from where you want him. Spit begins to dribble from the corners of your mouth and your jaw twinges from its wide angle, heightening your need for him even more.

Boba continues his leisurely pace across your tongue, rumbling a few low, pleasured sounds. He notices your frustration—he always notices everything—and chooses to ignore it. It’s a lenient punishment in light of your behavior but it doesn’t make the waiting any easier or your cunt any less desperate.

The whine that escapes from you when he lets his head graze your front teeth is so small it’s almost silent, but he hears it all the same. “Mmm, is there a problem, darling? Something the matter?” The slow drag of him doesn’t stop. 

You flick your tongue over his frenulum in a wordless response. Although you can’t see him, you know his pretty brown eyes flutter shut at the sensation.

“Aaah hah hah,” he chuckles through a groan, “is this not enough for my princess? Is getting her tongue used while she’s naked on her pretty pink bed not enough for her?”

Again, since he hasn’t given you permission to speak yet, you stretch your head up to capture the head of his cock between your coated lips, lightly suckling his sensitive tip. When he doesn’t stop you, you let your tongue snake up to lick the pearled drop from his slit. 

A faint tremor runs through him, making his length thrum in your mouth. Boba curses and stoops to lay a hand on your throat. No pressure or grip to it, just his hand resting over the exposed column of your neck. 

“Swallow.”

His simple command races through you like a spark up a gunpowder trail, igniting the tinder of aching pleasure between your thighs. Reflexively your body snaps to follow his order, your jaw closing and your muscles pushing him deeper into the wet heat of your mouth. 

“Fffff- that’s it, babygirl. Juuuust like that… let me feel how good you take me.” 

The jagged sound of his enjoyment shoots bright seams of glittering ecstasy into your veins. Conscious of the lack of permission to touch him, you dig your heels into the mattress to push further up his shaft, sucking in a final deep breath before letting his girth slide down your waiting throat. 

The next seconds dissolve into a filmy timelessness where every single one of your senses are his—your every sensation and fiber belonging to Boba. Your breath, your sense of smell and taste, sense of direction, everything is all in his control, all his to direct and decide. Even as the need for air burns through your ribs, you feel impossibly free, weightless and perfect within his care.

Retreating into that protected soft space of submission, your mind goes blissfully blank, your sole happiness being Boba’s grunts of pleasure as he pumps his cock down your throat. Sweat slicks your skin and hungry breath claws at your lungs but they’re none of your concern, all you have to worry about is keeping your jaw open. Though it had taken some time to learn to get there, now you rejoice in finding this quiet place within his storm, relishing the way you fall out of time and into his world. Even with the strain and weight of him pressing down onto you, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

After some wonderful, unknown period of time, air hisses through Boba’s teeth as he retracts from your warmth. Still blinded by submission, you gasp in big bubbles of air, blinking against the tears of exertion pricking your eyes.

You feel the muted thump of him dropping to his knees near your head. His thumbs are brushing away the salty trails as he cradles your head like a fragile flower against the wind, a smile blooming radiant on your damp face.  “Baby… my darling girl,” he pants through seeded kisses, “you did so good for me, took it all… can you believe it? Almost couldn’t stop myself from coming down that perfect throat.”

You’re still hazy, drifting through the fog of your accomplishment, but you manage to pull apart your wet lashes to see his beaming smile. Its luminance turns up your own lips. “I… I did?”

Before now, you’d never managed to get the last thick inch of his cock down your throat—though not for the lack of trying. As oxygen flushes through your system, your head clears. “See,” you croak, buoyed by your success, “doing it in my old bedroom was a good idea.” 

Genuine mirth crinkle up his eyes. “You haven’t seen anything yet, princess.” Boba turns and scoops you into arms, pressing you close to take in your scent. “I still gotta make you scream into the sheets, remember?” he murmurs against your temple.

You happily slide against him, relishing the way he fits perfectly against you. “Pretty sure I said ‘screamed into my pillow.’”

He snorts, caressing his hand along your jaw. “How about I make you do both?”

Taking your wild giggle as confirmation, he flips you onto your back to hover over you. You bite your bottom lip against your laughter as he trails tickling kisses down your neck and over your sternum, your breath hitching when he latches onto a pert nipple.

“Tell me…” he rasps through his mouth’s divine suction, “tell me how you would touch yourself.”

The great, crested wave of fire that crashes through ignites your limbs, making you jerk like a puppet on tangled strings. You never felt ashamed with Boba, he has always been your safety, your refuge; he’d wiped more tears than you’d let anyone else ever see and you’d twisted fantasies into his ear that would make the devil blush. But telling him how you rutted into your hand, sweating and barely keeping in your breathy sounds as you tried desperately to understand why boys your age never turned you on suddenly felt absurdly embarrassing.

He must have felt you stiffen under him because he prompts you again. 

“I, um… I mean…” Why was this so embarrassing? It’s not like he didn’t know you were into the more seasoned male age range. Sucking in a steadying breath, you realize he’s stopped his ministrations to observe you with a keen eye.

It only makes your unforeseen shame bruise darker. You force a chuckle from your gut. “Sheesh, you know how to get a girl to blush, don’t you?” Your words are too high and paper thin—your façade not remotely convincing, not even to yourself.

Boba’s eyes flick over your strained expression, his lips pressing into a thin line before he bows his head to place a small kiss on your stomach. “We can talk about this now, or we can talk about it later,” is all he says. It’s all he has to.

You blow out a weighted breath. His way of making you confront life while still giving you a degree of choice could be as infuriating as it was liberating. If you talk about it now you likely won’t have time for the down and dirty you’ve been craving all week (and, at this point, might shrivel up and die without), but the thought of soldiering on in this cold shadow of shame is utterly unappealing. 

Maker, you’re a buzzkill. 

Boba slaps a smack against your hip and you yip at the sharp sensation. “No apologizing,” he warns. “Just answer the question, princess. Don’t worry about anything else.” His palm opens to rub away the lingering sting.

Feeling your anxiety swarm like wasps, you try to sink back into your warm mental refuge where things were easier. Try as you might, however, your brain refuses to release itself from its nervous confines to slip into that softer shape.

It had been so terribly confusing back then. Watching your friends swoon over boys in your grade or just above, you tried to see what they saw in them: the supposedly hot guys on the basketball team with their burgeoning height or the apparently dreamy, mysterious poet laureate of your high school. You never understood what they saw in these lanky, acne covered boys or why they would cry so profusely over them. A real partner wouldn’t make you cry, you’d thought, he would take care of you, show you the love you were told you deserve.

But oh how you had wanted to understand, to have a believable answer when the subject of crushes came up at the lunch table or someone’s sleepover. Everyone else did. 

You only made the mistake of saying the school’s head coach was hot once—the grossed out looks and “old enough to be our dad” comments made sure of that. Eventually you settled on the safe choice of the football team captain for your obligatory answer whenever the subject came up. Even though it wasn’t true, the pressure was off then.

When you went to college, things didn’t change, no matter how much you hoped they would. You thought maybe it was just the boys at your school you weren’t attracted to, that maybe you were normal after all. 

Tears lodge in your throat at the memory of the guys you’d fucked trying to fix what was surely broken inside you, the nights you spent wishing it wasn’t the kind eyes and visible signs of life experience that drew you to the men you desired. Trying to pursue the older guys at bars and social events never ended well for you either; their kindness always dried up when you didn’t want to go back to their place immediately, followed by cutting comments about “daddy issues” and all the mean things that came with them.

Finding Boba, finding acceptance had been a taste of heaven. A golden slice of peace, the vindication that you weren’t some freak or wrong to want a partner who cherished and cared for you. Your stomach drops at the thought of that pure, devoted love. He gave you all of that, asking for nothing in return but your happiness, and you can’t even bring yourself to claim your relationship in public.

Shame curls in on you like leaden weights. He deserves so much better than you. Someone who isn’t afraid to tell the world they love him and proudly walks at his side—not some scared girl who can’t even bring herself to face her own parents. The wound you thought had long healed rips open inside you, spilling its tainted blood into your heart and a scalding brine down your cheeks. 

Before the first sob can sound from your chest, you’re pressed tightly into Boba’s front, held fast by thick, warm arms that stall your rising grief. A watery stream of words tumble out of you all at once. “Back then, it was-I thought-and I couldn’t, I mean I tried-”

“Shhh, baby, just breathe. It’s okay, everything’s alright… yeah, just like that, princess, that’s my good girl.”

His gentle touch and storm soothed voice has your sobs ebbing under his care. “I-is there something wrong with me?” you whisper in a fragile voice. 

Boba presses his mouth to your temple, pulling you somehow even tighter into his warmth. “Babygirl, why on earth would you think there’s something wrong with you?”

Because I’ve only ever wanted an older man who babies me even though I’m a grownass woman. 

Because I think you fucking me in my childhood bedroom while I call you Daddy is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. 

Because I’ll never love anyone else the way I love you but I’m still too scared to tell people about us.

You’re vaguely aware of being pulled under covers and tucked in tight to his side. Despite the furnace warmth of him and the blanket, you can’t seem to stop shivering against some inner cold. Piece by patient piece, Boba pulls out your discontent, wiping away new tears and kissing the old ones from your lashes. Somewhere in the back of your mind you register the darkening sky outside your window but he assures you Ari’s got your absence covered.

Tracing his roughened fingertips up and down your spine, he tilts up your chin to kiss your forehead. “Darling girl, why did you never say anything? That’s all too heavy to have to deal with by yourself. Especially when I’m here to help.”

Why did you? You’d shared so much of your other burdens—your disillusion after losing your dream job, your struggle coping with your life not following your set mental timeline—why had you kept all this to yourself?

“I don’t know…” you whisper, letting your pointer finger trace along the collarbone of his newly revealed chest. “I guess I felt like… like even though what I like isn’t normal, that being with you would make those bad feelings go away… and you make me so happy I thought maybe they would disappear if I never looked for them.” Hearing these half-baked assumptions out loud makes you hide your face in his shoulder. You feel like an idiot. No, worse. An idiot who’s wasted all her sneak-away time crying instead of getting railed by her boyfriend.

Boba makes a sympathetic sound, squeezing you closer to him. “I want you to listen to me, princess. Really listen. Number one, no keeping things from me that hurt you or make you upset. If you need to cry the whole thing out or scream about it until you’re hoarse, that’s fine as long as you tell me. Understood?”

You make a noise of agreement and borrow deeper into his hold. He allows you his comfort for a few more moments before gently unfurling you to run his thumb across your cheek.

“Number two. There’s no such thing as normal. Not a fucking thing. You like what you like just like everyone else likes what they like. Being attracted to handsome men like myself is not anything different than having a preference for blondes or brunettes, yeah?” He kisses you on the tip of your nose and you can’t help but smile up at him. “Besides, you wouldn’t find anything wrong with me being attracted to special princesses who have dirty little mouths and dirtier minds, would you?” 

Heat rises to your cheeks. “As long as I’m the special princess,” you mumble into his palm, suddenly self-conscious under his attention even as you revel in it. Maker, how do you still want him to pound you into the mattress after an emotional breakdown? All his patient love seems to only make you hornier now that your tears have been shed and your fears have been voiced.

“Always.” Boba chuckles and chucks up your chin for a kiss. When you slip your tongue into his mouth and wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, he pulls back just far enough to murmur, “Still needy, darling?”

How could you not be? Your need for him feels different now, though. Not so much more or less intense but an entirely different kind altogether, like a fire that burns just as hot but with a different fuel than its predecessor. Treading carefully around this new flame, you hold a tentative hand out to test its heat. “We don’t… if the mood isn’t right, we don’t have to… and we’ve been gone for too long already-”

Boba drags his hot mouth over your jaw, positioning you beneath him. “Then a couple more minutes isn’t going to change that, now is it, babygirl?”

You frown even as your hips seek his. “But the whole ‘sexy fantasy’ thing is kinda ruined.”

Taking your hand in his large one, he draws it down his chest and over his stomach until you feel the hardness of his arousal filling your palm. “Does it feel ruined to you?”

Rock hard and fire hot, he leaks into your fingers. Your stomach clenches. Not too distant memories burn bright and vivid behind your eyes: recollections of impossible fullness, banished thoughts, and the generous stretch to accommodate him. 

“Tell me,” he commands, knowing his firm tone always had you melting like silvery mercury in his palm. “Does it feel like I don’t want to be buried in your sweet cunt? Ruining your ‘innocence’ all over again like you want me to so badly?”

His roughness, the obvious tint of desire in licking up his neck and cheeks all have their intended effect: you succumbing to your desires within the paradise of his control. “N-no, it feels like-fuck-it feels like I want you inside me,” you pant, desperate and breathy. You arch up in offering and he bows his head to enjoy the fruits of your desire.

Sliding a hand down your waist, his fingers trail torturously close to your wet heat only to skim over it with the barest of touch. “How did you imagine it back then?” The crackling weight in his voice sinks through your skin to light in your core. “Soft and sweet? Gentle nothings whispered in your ear as you came apart?” 

Without warning, he slaps at the wet flesh between your thighs and covers it with his broad hand, claiming it for himself. Perfect nettles of pain flash across your mind and you jerk against his hold. “Or did you want something a little rougher? Want a man who knew how to treat this pussy like it was all his?”

You can’t help it now. The fire he coached is burning you from the inside out, blossoming from you with slips of petaled flame. “A-all yours,” you manage thickly, twisting against him for more. “Wanted to be taken care of, wanted to be fucked without having to think…”

“Yeah, I know, baby, they didn’t know how to touch you, did they?” Two of his thick fingers push past your lower lips to slide through the slick seam there. Trailing over your slit for a languorous second, the pad of his middle finger circles your swollen hood. “They didn’t know how to rub that cute little clit so you screamed, huh?”

“Not at all,” you sob, your voice quivering as you shake from the electric sensation of his fingers. “Never knew, never knew-”

Boba smothers the rest of your pathetic sounds in a kiss that pushes deep into your pillows. “Awww, my poor princess,” he croons. “So achy and needy with no one to help. No wonder you were all over me that first time, whining and riding my dick like you would die without it.”

Never mind that he had been equally out of his mind, pounding into you that night like a man possessed with adoration. 

He notches a finger at your fluttering opening, ringing it around your flushed entrance just to see you squirm to get him deeper. “Remember how you begged me to fuck you, princess? How you didn’t even want to wait for me to stretch out your tight cunt?” Sinking in an effortless finger, he dips to lap up the beads of sweat from the hollow of your throat.

By the time he’s pressing in the blunt head of his cock, you’re face down and ass up, shimmying your hips back onto his length through a babble of pleas. “Please, Boba, please I want it deep, so fuckin’ deep I cry.”

Huffing out a breath that curls over the dampness of your spine, Boba grips the back of your neck to snap that first delicious thrust into you. Your broken sob is muffled by the rucked bedding, matching the slap of skin in a salacious accompaniment. Never one to do things in half measures, he digs a hand into your hip, anchoring your body to drive into you harder. He hits that divine spot that you didn’t even know existed before him.

The air whooshes from both your lungs in a blurred haze of ecstasy. “Shit, baby,” Boba squeezes your nape, “I’ll always give it to you… always, darling girl. Anything you want, I’m always yours, forever.”

You know it with every breath in your body and hair on your head—Boba loves you with every fiber of his being and he never hid that fact from you. From the way he looks after your safety to the care he takes just to see you flash a simple smile, you never had to wonder if he loved you the way you love him, not even for a second. 

The realization happens suddenly then, tipping your axes so you could center on the one truth that had orbited just out of your consciousness: Boba is worth the risk. He always has been. No matter what you might lose or gain by sharing your relationship, he would always be worth the risk.

You swirl with dazzling vibrancy, this epiphany developing in full splendor within you. “Yes-yes-yes!” you repeat mindlessly, flinging an arm back to search for his tethering touch. His hand disappears from your hip to intertwine with yours. Face crushed into the rose covered sheets of your old bed, breath tearing into your lungs as soon as it’s knocked out again, you smile. It had all led to this: all those years wondering if you were somehow broken, all those loves lost trying to fix what didn’t need repair, that one New Year’s night when you stopped denying what you truly wanted—all of it, everything, had been worth the risk.

Boba pulls on your hand, forcing you to arc farther back so that last sweet, solid inch of him is finally able to press into you. “Ffffffff-that’s it, that’s fuckin’ it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “You’re better than heaven, babygirl, you know that? Sweeter than anything I’ve ever had.”

You want to tell him the same but your head is filled with hot, sparkling clouds of stardust and your throat is tight with cresting pleasure. “Yes, Daddy, yes!”

“Shit, you calling me… say it again. Say it again and don’t fucking stop.”

You’re chanting now, watching how the room around you shrinks to a pinpoint as you draw higher and higher with him. The prick of light and the chorus of your glass-thin cries shake with impending explosion when he drags his blunt nails down your back, swelling over your hip to find your throbbing center. “Is it as good as you imagined?” he husks, his own voice leaden with delicious strain. “Getting fucked into the mattress you dreamed on?”  

Each snap of his hips sends your clit skating over his calloused fingertips. “Better, so much better!” Crushing your eyes closed, you surrender to the scorching wave waiting to take you. “Please, Daddy! Please fill me up so everyone knows I’m yours!”

Boba jerks forward, breaking the pattern of his thrusts to fold over your back. His sweat dampened skin melds to yours and fuses you into one splendid being. His hand travels from your shoulder to clasp around your throat. “You really want that, darling girl? You really want everyone to know you belong to me?”

Your answer doesn’t waver, solidified by your new-found conviction. “As long as they know you’re mine, too.” 

Muscles rippling to lock at your affirmation, Boba’s head drops to your shoulder. The groan that heaves from his chest rattles through your bones like a welcome spirit charged with animating the last gasps of your union. “C-come for me then,” he chuffs in your ear with his last dregs of restraint. “Come for me so they know what you fucking do to me.”

Would he ever truly know how easy, how intrinsic to your being coming apart for him is? How your world had only ever been ordered by his particular equation, even before your eyes first met? Unraveling to be respun with his thread is your very nature, and you would always yearn to be in his weave, stitched and re-stitched by his expert hand. His fingers press tight against the glowing center of pleasure at your core and you burst into a glorious, unbound tapestry of light. Undulant patterns of pleasure flow through your every inch, anointing your entire body in golden thread from the crown of your head down to each individual toe.

Feeling the hot claim he spills inside you is the final beautiful detail in your joint creation. These final fleeting moments where it feels like your very souls mesh together are always your favorite; Boba’s guard comes down and you rise to catch him, your usual roles reversing as he burrows into your warmth. “Always, baby. Always yours,” he promises, his voice thick and sweet as honey.

Echoing his sentiment in utter bliss, you tighten your grip on his hand, joy taking flight when he does the same. Content and at peace, the pair of you roll so you’re pressed flush together, still joined in the middle when your limbs re-tangle. Boba pushes your hair back from where it had stuck your forehead and plants a kiss in your hair. 

You’re happy to smooth your palms over the scarred bronze of his chest to rest them lazily around his neck, his heartbeat jumping under your touch. How could you not realize this, that he, is worth more to you than any fallout from revealing your relationship? Was this not what you shed all those tears for, what you wished for every single time you tried to fit into another man’s mold? 

A resplendent joy feathers out in your chest, floating down your arms, then your legs with soft announcement. “Boba?”

His finger traces up your spine. “Yes, my princess?” His voice is dense as goose down and packed with comfort. 

You swirl your own shape into his skin. “I meant it, you know. I want… I want everyone to know we’re together. I don’t want it to be a secret anymore.”

He goes silent, his only sound the movement of air in and out of his lungs. Even as you know he always takes time to consider his next move, your pulse still ticks up with a spate of nerves. The lines on your spine continue and you do your best to temper your unease as the long moments inch by. 

Eventually, a rumble reverberates in his chest. Your ears prick up.

“You don’t have to do that, babygirl, not before you’re ready. Just because it slipped out in the heat of the moment doesn’t mean it has to be set in stone.” Boba shifts to wrap his arms around your waist, holding you impossibly closer. “I know there are more risks for you than me in our relationship.”

You hate the far off note of despair in his voice. You hate the way he sounds like he’s resigned himself to a truth that isn’t at all what it has to be. “No,” you sit up on your elbow to cup his cheek, “there’s not. Not in any way that matters to me. You’re-”

“Princess, it’s okay, I-”

You silence him with a kiss, suddenly feeling like you have to get the next words out of your body before they explode. “You’re worth the risk, Boba. You always will be. Every single day since I met you, you have done nothing but prove that to me.” Your pace picks up as your truth spreads its wings. “I was afraid before, not of being with you but of what others would think about my preferences. I didn’t want them to judge me and think I was only with you because I have “daddy issues” or whatever, not because I love you more than I thought people could. And I know my parents will be shocked but all they want is what’s best for me, and you’re what’s best for me. I know this now—and I’m not ashamed of it.”

As quickly as you started, you run out of steam. No longer inflated with the sense of frantic urgency you had before, you sag back down onto his chest. A quiet second flicks by, then Boba’s grabbing you, hauling you up into his arms to kiss you like a man desperate to live. He says nothing, his lips working against yours in fervent passion but you can feel the sentiment he doesn’t speak. Each pass of his tongue and nip of his teeth communicate more than any words could: his joy in your self-realization, the excitement of proclaiming your love to the world at long last. Your only wish is that you could have given him this sooner.

When he finally lets you break for air, his handsome face is lit up with a smile more radiant than any sun. Whispering your name with a reverence of only the truly devoted, he brushes his nose over yours. “Babygirl, I… I’m so proud of you. You never cease to amaze me.”  He sweeps his lips over yours again. “I love you. Always have, always will.”

Besides his love, Boba’s greatest gift is his forthrightness. You never have to guess with him and now, no one else will have to either. They’ll know where his loyalties lay. 

“That’s a good thing,” you tease into a quick kiss. “Because all my aunties, and uncle Stephen, are going to be very jealous that you’re off the market.”

Boba chuckles in that bone-deep way that always makes you warm all over. “I didn’t realize I was in such high demand.”

You push yourself up on his chest. “Oh, don’t lie to me, Boba Fett. I’ve seen the way you flirt and wink at them. They eat it up and you know it!” 

Sitting up with you, he grins. “Just being polite, princess. You’re not jealous, are you?”

Maker, how could you ever be jealous of anyone after the sex you’d just had?

“Oh, not at all. Because at the end of the night, you’re coming home with me.” You smirk up at him. “Speaking of which, we better get back out there before those same aunties start tearing the house up looking for you.”

“Only if you promise not to clean up and put these panties back on for me, darling girl,” he counters with a devilish smirk of his own.

Giggling, you bite your lip. “Anything for you, Daddy.”

He’s worth the risk.  

[bitchassbucky]

.avi

Word Count: 1.2k

Warning/s: nsfw! (literally) stalkerish themes. dark!bucky x dark-ish!reader. cybercrimes being committed. f & m masturbation. sex toy (vibrator mention). this is kinda meta, tbh.

A/N: the long-awaited part two of .exe mwahaha. we're delving not-that-deep into bucky's little thingy methinks. as always, reblogs and comments are welcomed! <3

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist

CTRL moodboard

Jesus Christ, you’re insatiable.

Bucky barely woke up when he caught you masturbating with a rabbit vibrator on your bed—laying on your stomach. The towel you thoughtfully laid on was folded halfway. He assumes that you’re a squirmer too when you come. The Friday night show was his favorite though, shame that he didn’t get any footage of it.

His dick is already hard but he’s got no time to waste just yet. Clicking open a screen recording app, he gets to work. Bucky’s already got some footage of you sleeping, cleaning up, and tidying your sheets. In his little mind palace, he’d never let you do any of these things—he’ll be the one to change the sheets, he’d tuck you in bed too.

Bucky let the program run on the desktop as he went to get his breakfast. His mind keeps drifting back to you in his office.

How do you like your coffee?

Do you even like coffee?

You look like a tea kind of person.

Maybe he’ll ask you for breakfast, as soon as he learns how your morning routine goes.

When he came back to his desk, the bed was already made up (again). He got worried for a second until your face came into the frame, your glasses fogged up with vapor.

You bring the laptop with you to the living room, along with a big mug of… something.

He’s gotta learn what you like so he can like it too.

On his side of the things, he sees that you keep your word processor running in the background. More work, perhaps? He hadn’t had the chance to check out your files just yet. He kept himself busy with your pictures and candids. Bucky had his favorites all printed out—he, of all people, knows that technology can’t be trusted, so why were you uploading these pictures of yourself?

There were ones taken in your bathroom, he presumes. On your bed. In the kitchen. By a fucking window, for crying out loud.

He wants to be the one to take these pictures, to imprint them into his memory. Seared in his brain. But not yet.

For now, he just needs to get back at making sure you’re safe in your apartment.

You’ve been staring and smiling at your phone for a while now.

What are you up to?

—

Turns out Mr. IT Guy isn’t very social-media savvy.

All his pictures are out in the open for everyone to see. You wonder what he’s like in private, then.

Maybe he likes posting candids of his new girlfriends and deleting them when it’s over? For a man who has a face of a god, you’d expect to see at least a girlfriend within the past few months.

But he doesn't. No corny pictures, no hashtags of anniversaries, no tagged photos.

You spent your morning working up yourself with your trusty vibe, the image of him fucking you by the kitchen sink fresh on your brain.

Holy shit, does he have that effect on everyone?

What if you wander into his office after a shift and you’d find him stroking his cock? Would you close the door and never speak of it? Maybe you’d smirk and walk over him, sinking down on your knees to suck him off.

God, now you’re all worked up again. Horny, hot, and bothered. That’s good though, then you’d have the energy to finish the chapter you left a week ago.

—

So you’re a writer by choice. Bucky knew that much.

What he wasn’t expecting though, is you write the most explicit things.

The all-white collar girl he met last week likes to get fucked roughly. Overstimulated. Choked. Gagged. Slapped. Spit on.

He’s gotta show you how to make love. Slow, sensual love. Preferably after the roughhousing, that is.

Oh, the things he’d do to you—how he’ll worship your body, head to the tip of your toes. Bucky wants to bury his cock between your lips and praise you for the good girl you are. He wants to let you know that you don’t need to be degraded in order to come.

You just need him.

Bucky’s cock twitches in his sweatpants, still painfully hard. The thick vein on the underside of his shaft protrudes, waiting for him to just fuck something warm.

His hand will do for now.

By the time he got his hand gripping the base of his cock, he’s got you in fullscreen. The recording app still running in the background.

You’re busy. Typing. Researching. Looking for words to replace ‘say.’ Your sleep shirt is loose on your soft frame.

Bucky focuses on you, then. Imagining you on your knees, right here in his apartment. You’d be wearing those glasses you have on. He knew he had a thing for girls with glasses.

He closes his eyes to indulge himself in his own movie.

Your tongue laying flat against his girth, drooling all over the thick base of his dick. He’d let you take your time licking, all the way from his balls to tip. Your lips would close around his leaking head, teasing and tasting his precum.

One of his ties would be around your wrists so you’d learn how to use your mouth.

Bucky swears to God that he felt your mouth closing in on his cock as he pistons his fist faster. A guttural moan spills out of his mouth as his toes curl, the carpet gripping the pads of his feet.

“God, fuck—Y/N.”

Bucky forgoes any kind of underwear last night, only dressing himself up with baggy sweatpants. It was for the better too. He doesn’t think he’d come so much from watching someone—well, not just someone—on the screen.

He sighs, wiping himself clean on the underside of his pants. He needs to do his laundry soon.

Bucky looks at your face longingly from his side of the screen; God, is this how long-distance couples feel?

Maybe he’ll shoot you a text later.

—

Unknown Number: I hope you’re doing well.

Unknown Number: How's your laptop?

Unknown Number: Shit, sorry, it’s Bucky from IT. :)

Your head spun in three different directions as the texts came in.

Hey, Bucky! I’m doing well. The laptop is too.

Was it too curt? Well, you didn’t want to come off too strong. It’s not like he’s been on your mind for the better half of your weekend morning.

Your stomach made a worrying flip as the message status turned Read 10:44 AM. But there was no typing bubble.

Whatever, you’re fine. You’re a busy girl. A strong, independent woman who—

IT Guy Bucky: Good! Just checking on you. We had some downtime due to system maintenance last night.

Oh, it’s work.

No problems on my end! You type in quickly, sending it. To be fair, all you had in common was a band.

Hey, I have a question. It’s not work-related.

—

Oh.

Oh, he fucked up, didn’t he?

Y/N: Do you know any restaurants near the office? I’m sick of eating take-out food. Other than the hipster hideyhole you told me.

Bucky breathed out a sigh of fucking relief when he read your text. He chuckles mostly at himself and composed a reply.

Yeah! I have a non-hideyhole spot a block away from the office. You wanna check it out sometime?

You already got inside jokes.

Is 11:30 good?

Yeah, Bucky types, a smile forming on his lips, 11:30 it is.

[trufflemacandcheese]

The curse

Chapterlist

#16

They all got a sandwich. Everything is easier when you're not hungry, and Mikey had absolutely embraced that rule of thumb in life.

Now they sat and stood together in the projector room, and even Splinter had his series paused to listen.

Donnie felt a little better. The indefinable pain in his body was nearly gone. He briefly checked her vitals again before turning to the others. He stood in front of the screen as if on a stage and didn't know how to begin. How much to report. He raised his hands helplessly.

"I don't know how to begin..." he confessed.

"Well, just show us the camera footage!" said Leo nonchalant.

Donnie looked like he got hit.

"WHAT? How the heck do you know about that?" he replied, completely flabbergasted

"Hahaaaa!" cheered his brother. "I didn't know, I just knew you've been recording EVERYTHING with audio for ages, so it made sense you'd do it with videos too!"

Leo's mood was brilliant. He was fed, his brother was alive, and he had just caught him cold!

"For real?! Where's the camera? In your battleshell's shoulder thing?" Mikey was immediately captivated. "Is it recording now? HELLO!" he ran up to Donnie's shoulder waving, "Heeeeeeello!!"

Raph and April started laughing. Splinter cocked an eyebrow and grabbed his popcorn. That should be interesting.

Donnie pushed Mikey's face away from himself, while he hastily searched for an argumentative way out of this trap. Oh, WHY did Leo always have to put him in these situations?!

"So... I..... I can't... you really can't!...." he thought about sharing his breath with her, and started to blush. There was no way he could show them THAT!

"Donnie, are you blushing right now? So now it gets interesting! What were you doing down there?" Leo shouted, and Raph tried to get Leo to stop with 'hold on' gestures.

"Oh damn you, Leo! Well, I'll show you the ESSENTIALS!" to regain control, the purple one continued after he collected himself. 

"Well, I don't continuously record everything. I have developed an algorithm that activates the recording mode in certain situations. For example, during training or a fight. For analysis purposes mainly. There are three cameras. You can't see them, dust grain size. I got the idea from Big Mama and her flying camera eyes on the Battle Nexus New York thing. Only MY cameras aren't so clumsy and obvious!" Donnie found his confidence again. "So. Three cameras. One with me, one with the opponent, and one that has the opponent AND me in the picture at the same time. This can sometimes be quite far away to capture the whole scene. When I'm not in action, an AI controls the recording of any nearby fights. This is very helpful for...."

"Get to the poooooint!" said Leo, bored.

Donnie cleared his throat and made an extra pause. Leo growled. The purple one used the moment to make a mental selection of what he could and wanted to show. Of course, it was significant that his family got the best possible picture of what happened that night. There are lots of questions! However, his privacy was EXTREMELY important to him, and he wanted to protect hers too...

"I think the most important thing is the explosion."

He raised his arm and activated the recordings. A small thumbnail appeared and Donnie could fast-forward through circular motions. He had always been a fan of the first iPod generations. Pure nostalgia!

"Hey wait. Let's run from the fight on the roof." suggested Raph.

"Great suggestion, big bro!" confirmed Donnie and looked forward to the scene with Leo

He activated the largest display that appeared in midair, almost as big as the projection screen behind him. The display positioned itself in front of the screen, and Donnie joined the others and turned around.

"The image will show a composite of the three cameras created by the AI." he explained.

He started the recordings and the rooftops appeared. 

"8 seconds. Get ready."

"Mikey and I will start!"

"Holy shit!" exclaimed April as the black figure whipped Mikey's Nunchaku through the air.

"What the...?!"

"SO Sorry, Raph!" whispered Mikey. Raph waved it off with a grin.

"DAMN IT!"

Now everyone involved looked spellbound, and Leo regretted his brilliant suggestion.

"Who do you think you a...!"

"Woah," Raph said quietly as she stood back to plastron with Leo, both holding his sword. It seemed almost intimate. Leo couldn't help blushing, which Donnie noticed with a frown.

"OOOOOOOFF LEO!" Mikey and April shouted, as Leo was thrown off his feet by the young woman, and Splinter flicked a popcorn at Leo's head. The blue one grimaced and facepalmed. He looked like an absolute beginner. That was SO embarrassing!

"Don't follow me any further. I'm not your enemy."

Raph, Mikey, April, and Splinter heard her voice for the first time and listened with mixed feelings.

"She gave you back your sword." the rat murmured.

The cameras now turned to Donnie, who was standing at the skyscraper, grabbing his Bo and then rushing inside.

"Yeah, like I said: When I'm not in action, an AI controls the recording of any nearby fights, and this could be VERY helpful." he said very smugly.

Leo looked annoyed.

Donnie now fast-forwarded. He was seen running through the shell of the building, triple speed, and making his last call to his brothers.

"Stop!" exclaimed Mikey as the puddled parking deck appeared. Donnie typed, and he got nervous again. He hovered his finger over his display to be able to stop at any moment.

Silence reigned in the group as the two figures silently made their way across the large pools of water. Then they saw Donnie hook around the concrete pillar and catch her with his outstretched Bo.

Raph whistled appreciatively. A few seconds passed as Donnie and the young woman just looked into each other's eyes. Donnie felt the flame inside and didn't notice Leo's hidden look to him.

"I will continue my way now. Don't follow me anymore there is no reason for it."

"You stole something. That's reason enough for me,"

"I took back something I desperately need. Let me go. I don't want to fight."

"Aha!" whispered April.

"I don't want to fight either, but I can't let you escape."

Everyone held their breath. Donnie included.

"I'm sorry"

The fight began. Donnie's chest tightened. He saw her conflict and hesitation clearly now. And his too... He felt Splinter's eyes rest on him.

Then, the final hit with the Bo. She stood her ground, grabbed it tightly. Their eyes met again. Everyone saw her tears well up. Donnie wished he'd fast-forwarded.

"I..."

"WHAT THE FUCK!" exclaimed Leo. The others gasped. The Bo became sheer energy, which released after a few seconds, sending Donnie and the young woman hitting the ground hard. The camera image flickered for a moment and then focused again. When they saw the unconscious Donnie and her scramble back to her feet, everyone watched in suspense. The rumble began, and the building began to collapse.

They saw her aiming for the exit - her salvation - and turning instead, then running to her certain death! 

Donnie watched as she made her way towards him with incredible speed. The cameras now flew close to both of them. The ceiling came down. She slid up to the turtle on her knees. The way she protectively bent over him touched everyone deep. Then her bloodcurdling scream, as she lifted his Bo and everything went black.

Donnie was frozen, his finger still hovering over the stop icon on his gauntlet display.

Everyone turned to him and he felt naked. Then the display lit up in softly purple light and the dome appeared with Donnie and her in the middle, still leaning over him protectively. The purple one broke out of his rigidity and stopped the picture.

There was silence in the room. 

Donnie went to one of the couches, sat down, took a deep breath and placed his forehead in his palms, elbows on the knees. The others couldn't tell what was going on inside him.

They looked at each other. Nobody knew what to say. 

"Look" April said suddenly "Donnie's Bo in the picture! He shines differently!"

April wasn't a good journalist for nothing - she had a good observation.

Heads turned back to the large floating display, which still held the stopped image. Barely visible, but if pointed out, they were undoubtedly recognizable. White, curved lines twined around Donnie's staff.

Suddenly there was movement in the group.

"When we stood on top of the skyscraper and the blast wave went up into the sky, white lines were also visible." recalled Raph.

"So she can use our weapons?" Mikey asked, remembering how she had thrown his Nunchaku further.

"Or is she able to get more energy out of our mystic powers and the white lines are a sign of that?" thought Leo.

They said nothing because they didn't know the answer. Both theories put the young woman in a completely different light. Donnie was unusually silent as he looked down at the floor.

"Donnie, what happened next? Did you notice anything unusual?" asked April.

Donnie sighed. Exactly such a question he had feared! He had to tell them. Somehow. But how?!

He looked up and at the screen. Suddenly he had to grin when he remembered their conversation, and he had asked her how she built the dome. "Intuitively" had been her simple and thoughtful reply, and he felt that was the understatement of the century.

His family saw the change in his face and were a little confused. Is he going crazy now...? So crazier than before?

"Well, why are you grinning like that?" teased Leo.

Donnie shook his head and, still smiling, replied, "Because EVERYTHING was unusual!"

"Then keep playing the recordings....?"

"I'm afraid the unusual won't be visible in the footage I can show you - and where it's visible I can't show you."

Mikey's eyes seemed to dart in two different directions as he picked the sentence apart in his head to make it out.

"Oh boy, come on!" exclaimed Leo annoyed, "What's that supposed to mean? What's with the secrecy? What's up with you and your mysterious girlfriend?"

Anger boiled up in Donnie, "Leo, she is NOT..." he was about to reply sharply, but was suddenly interrupted by Raph.

"Yeah, Leo, while we're at it. Tell us what you're not telling us."

Leo looked at his older brother in amazement and repeated his words in disbelief as if he had misheard, "What I'm not telling you..."

Then it dawned on him, and he knew what Raph meant. That strange feeling in his chest... and he gulped.

"That... is nothing worth mentioning!!" he tried to avoid.

Donnie looked bewildered at Leo.

"It IS worth mentioning, Leo. And you know that. We all know that." Raph was in his big brother element, "We all felt something - remember? When we first saw her jumping over the rooftops as a black shadow...?"

And they remembered. That hunch. That inexplicable feeling that got hold of them as they gave chase.

"What...?" said April and looked around questioningly

"It was... like some kind of intuitive prompting." Raph tried to describe it.

"A shudder..." Mikey said remembering.

"When we gained eye contact - strange twitching here..." Leo admitted, pointing to his chest, and Raph looked at him and nodded. He had known there was something up, and was grateful that Leo was honest now. 

Donnie was still staring at Leo. His face was amazed and angry at the same time. A fear has welled up in him - a deep worry that whispered to him that what he had experienced with her tonight might only have been special for HIM - and not for her.

"Donnie...?" said April, noticing his look but unable to interpret it. "What happened down there? How could she use your Bo? Don't tell me you don't have a theory about that...."

Again, Donnie was overwhelmed with all the emotions that were pouring down on him. His feelings were usually well organized, and he could place them at any time. Like a large filing cabinet with many clearly labeled files. But now it was different. Everything was torn apart and lying scattered on his mental floor. Oh boy, how will he ever get this mess sorted...? Suddenly, he realized that everyone was looking at him expectantly.

"Listen folks," he began, and he looked at the floor, his elbows on his knees again and cupping his fingers to his forehead to hide his face, "I know it sounds completely illogical, and I can't explain it scientifically. But there were moments when it felt like... as if we were connected." The turtle said the last words very quiet. He exhaled deeply and it was out. He'd been afraid saying it out loud would sound silly, but now...

Silence fell. Everyone looked touched at the science-obsessed turtle, knowing that this was a rare admission.

"Connected as WE are connected?" they suddenly heard Mikey say, and everybody turned to him. He sat there cross-legged, looking unusually wise and calm.

"How do you mean that...?" asked Raph, although he was already getting a hunch.

"Well, for example, remember how you and Donnie helped me open the portal to the prison dimension to get Leo out of there? There was a moment when I was about to fall apart - but you somehow prevented that, and so the portal could open..."

Donnie's jaw dropped in slow motion. Why hadn't HE seen the parallel? He could slap himself!

"Michelangelo, you are a genius!" he whispered, and Mikey blushed and laughed sheepishly. Now he looked just like her little brother again.

"Then those white lines are..." Leo said, unsure of whether to continue the thought

"Her mystic power?" breathed Raph and everyone sat there with their eyes wide open, trying to digest this information somehow. They still had no idea what all this could mean and what the consequences would be. No one noticed Splinter's deep frown.

April picked up the conversation again, and she cleared her throat.

"When we were in the hospital, and we were changing her clothes, I noticed two things. First: she has two very different tattoos. One is almost invisible. White symmetrical lines down her back, over her shoulders to her upper arms. The second tattoo looked like a clan tattoo... like that of our Hamato clan"

"A clan tattoo...?" said Splinter, and his frown deepened, "can you draw it?"

"Yes, sure." April replied, and Splinter hurriedly got up to get pen and paper. Clan tattoos are often very similar, and therefore a drawing was much more precise.

"And second...?" asked Raph

"She was..." April was uncomfortable, but it seemed important to tell. Any piece of information could be significant, "she had a lot of scars. She must have been hurt a lot. Sometimes very difficult." she said quietly.

They looked at April in dismay. Donnie had a lump in his throat. Splinter came back with pen and paper and the young journalist quickly drew a sketch. Black circle, two lines through the middle. One horizontal, one vertical.

Splinter inhaled sharply when he saw it and addressed everyone with urgent words

"She needs to leave this place. Now."

-

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Chapterlist

Here is the link to the story on wattpad. And this is the link to AO3 I will always update there first

[moxfirefly]

55. "Does it hurt? Tell me to stop if it hurts."

With, hmm, Mikey and a (top-)male-reader? Oops, guess you’ll have to shit some bricks then...😏

Also? If you could somehow include slutty mikey, then *chef’s kiss* perfecto. But if not, that’s fine. Do what you think is right 😊

My. Time. Has. Come.

Friend thank you! My first male-reader request! I’m so excited and I can so do this.

The second Michelangelo feels teeth bite down his neck he knows whatever nervous feelings he had just slip away.

Your tongue laps the bite, the flesh is a little harder so it’s not possible to do the damage you might want to do. Because the idea of marking up Mikey makes your cock stir. You’d have to get a little more creative then, so you kissed your way down his plastron, enjoying the way his fingers dug into your hair. At the hem of his underwear you smirked up at him, trying to hide your chuckle when Mikey vigorously nodded his consent.

How the two of you ended up like this was still beyond Mikey, well to a certain extent. You had come over, he had suggested video games, things did get competitive and around there was where the missing footage sign blinked. Mikey hadn’t really thought that kissing a guy would be this exciting. Sure he’d had his fare share of self discovery when it came to his sexuality, he knew he just liked pretty people.

And boy were you fucking pretty.

Needless to say, having sex with a close friend who also happened to be a guy wasn’t really on his list of To Do’s on this Wednesday afternoon. He sure as hell wasn’t complaining though.

Underwear casted aside, you chucked your own as well. Mikey’s eyes were glued to your body, taking in details he didn’t think would make him so, well horny. He liked you, he really liked what he saw and as your ego inflated just so, you felt yourself being pulled closer into another heated kiss.

Mikey found himself enjoying the scratch of your scruff, the softness of your body against his much harder one, the groan that left your throat and disappeared down his own. Much to his regret you ended this kiss with a soft tug of his bottom lip.

“Do you want me to bottom?” You asked by pressing your lower halves together.

Mikey wasn’t sure if he could make words, much less answer that question. Needless he had to and a little shameful part of him that overthought everything wasn’t sure how you’d take his request.

“Um... is it like cool if, well, you could maybe... be the top?” His eyes had to preoccupy themselves with something that wasn’t your face, regardless of it being a pretty face he could barely stop looking at.

You smirked, hand cupping his chin to make him look at you. “Ask me the right way” You whispered against his lips, enjoying how his bottom lip trembled ever so lightly.

Swallowing, Mikey gripped your sides and pressed his lips to yours. “Please, fuck me” Came his needy reply, it instantly made your skin break out in goosebumps. With another tongue twisting kiss you told him to give you a second to grab a small bottle of lube out of your bag. Mikey took the opportunity to breath, to look up at the ceiling of his bunk bed and somehow align his thoughts.

The liquid cool he felt at his hole startled him, apologizing you kissed that pretty heart shaped mark on his plastron. “It’ll heat up, I promise” Slowly and gently you worked a finger inside, enjoying even more how Mikey’s legs spread to give you more room. He’d actually done this to himself several times, the sensation was pleasant but something about having somebody else doing it just made it all the more exciting. Almost by muscle memory he snaked a hand towards his hard cock and gripped it, a tempting pump making him moan. The hand not stretching him gripped his wrist. “Don’t want the show over before it starts, yeah?” It was a tempting sight, one you’ve gladly let continue but your aching cock said other wise.

Mike was tight, mostly being the nerves he assumed. “Easy, relax a little bit” Your free hand drew circles on the back of his thigh. Mikey felt his mouth go dry but he nodded, hands resting on your shoulders as you guided yourself into him. That initial burn was something he would commit into memory, the image of your lust ridden face even more so. “Fuck Mikey...” You mouth hung open, angling yourself a little more to slowly continue to push more of your length into him. Lifting his hips a little more, leg swung over your thigh, Mikey helped to better accommodate you. By no means exactly experienced, he at least knew from personal investigating how exactly he liked to be situated for this.

Maybe if his shyness didn’t creep up on him he could show you just how flexible he was.

Right around that thought Mikey felt you bottom out inside of him, the feeling making him shut his eyes and dig his nails onto your back. This somehow felt different, a really good different and with the way Mikey’s cock steadily leaked precum you knew you wanted drive into him wildly.

The first few thrusts made your eyes flutter shut, the way his heat felt around you was enough to make you moan. Mikey’s hands slid to your rear, gripping flesh with a lengthy churr. The sound startled you, your hips reducing to a slow languid pace. “Does it hurt? Tell me to stop if it hurts” You asked, surprisingly feeling breathless by just a few thrusts. Mikey shook his head, nudging you forward by the grip he had on your rear. “No no don’t stop, fuck me please!”He whined, arching his hips to get more friction.

Oh, who were you to deny him such a request?

“Say it again for me baby” Your hips picked up again, thrusting into him in ascending speed. Each hit making Mikey moan, those baby blues of his none existent with how dilated his pupils were. “Fuck me, god just use me like some cock sleeve” In a more alert state he would’ve flushed crazy, those types of words were reserved more for his fantasies.

“Use you? Fill you up? That what you want baby boy?” You drove into him harder, skin slapping skin. Gripping the back of his knees you pushed his legs up to better angle your thrust and it only proved more to his desire. “Yes! Fill me-fuck-up!” At some point he was gonna remember this later but right now, right now as you drove into him with feverish slams, he was ready to spill his longing.

You leaned down, the friction of your moving bodies making Mikey’s cock twitch. You kissed him, sloppily enough to capture his moans. Muscles strained, sweat broke out over your body. “Ha- Harder” He groaned against your lips, teeth biting down gently. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you harder?” You grunted out your words, capturing his lips in one last feverish kiss. Leaning back you set your knees on the bed just how you needed to slam into him in quick short thrusts. Mikey felt his brain short circuit, something inside of him snapping and making him reach for his stiff leaking length. The sight alone had you grunted, each time you drove into him you knew you weren’t to last much longer.

It wasn’t long before he tensed up, pumping erratically and cumin with a long churr. Each spurt shooting onto his plastron, a few ropes managing to hit his chin. You felt your hips stutter, nails digging onto his thighs as your own release hit. Now that was a sensation Mikey didn’t expect to enjoy as much as he had fantasized about it, the way you filled him up with so much warmth. When the ability to form a thought managed to find its way back into your brain, you admired the mess Mikey was, all hard breathing and satisfied. You ran a thumb across his stained chin, cleaning it up by sticking it in your mouth. Still joined together you bent down and licked up the cum on his plastron and by the pleasant little clench Mikey gave, you knew he liked what you were doing.

“You alright?” You kissed the question against his chest, slowly pulling out with a bite to your lower lip. Settling next to him you couldn’t help but smirk, he was still swimming in all those nice little chemicals one releases. You let him have his moment, opting to just lazily make out with him.

[ihearthes]

Golden Rod

(inspired by Golden MV)

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (2nd person) Rating: Smut (18+ only) Word Count: 2829

“Thanks for the ride, Ryan!” you call, waving at Lambert’s assistant as he drives away to the garages on the Vesta. “Ciao!” 

Excited to show Harry your new lingerie, you enter the villa where the team has been staying. “Is he done for the day, Ben?” The words are muffled behind the cloth mask you’ve insisted is essential despite the drop in Italy’s coronavirus cases. 

The Fulwell 73 producer points upstairs without a word before bending over the video footage he’s scouring with the director. The opulent surroundings have been modernized, and you grin while mounting the stairs to the top floor where the master suite consumes the entire space. From the expansive open windows, you view the Tyrrhenian Sea, causing you to literally pinch yourself. How had life blessed you in such a way? Giddy, you continue up the stone steps.

Kicking off your sandals, you curl your toes into the cool, smooth tile. Fuck. This had been the perfect day. Swimming in the infinity pool during the morning with endless fresh fruits at your fingertips whenever you stepped out of the water to feel the warm sun on your skin. A socially distanced lunch of Insalata Di Mare Campanese (Seafood Salad) with Molly in a local restaurant. A trip to the stores with the adorable stylist Ryan -- where he’d introduced you to a new designer of gloriously sexy lingerie! 

You’d bought four pieces. 

Harry was going to love all of them, and you couldn’t wait to showcase them in your own private fashion show on the secure top floor of the Italian villa. 

Stopping in the marbled bathroom, you draw in a deep breath at the chill on your heated feet. Quickly, you wash your hands, singing “Happy Birthday” twice like you’d been taught to ensure 20 seconds has elapsed. No way were you going to be responsible for inadvertently passing along the virus to your boyfriend during the Golden music video shoot. He’d end up missing out on filming the music video and the upcoming Don’t Worry Darling if he tested positive. Carefully removing your mask, you toss it into the laundry hamper before washing your hands a second time. 

Tiptoeing out of the bath, you wonder where the man of the hour might be. Napping? Nope. Not in the bed. On the loggia, you spy Harry settled in a chair, staring into space. 

“Can’t blame you, Styles. That’s one hell of a view.” Gazing over the colorful boats moored in the sea near the coast, your eyes feast on the sky with its tints of reds, pinks, yellows, and oranges as the sun begins to sink into the water. Honestly, you expect to hear a sizzle as the bright ball of gases descends into the blue serenity of the sea. 

“Indeed.” His quiet voice doesn’t sound normal for Harry, and you approach slowly, like one might a wounded deer. Wouldn’t want to frighten him away. 

“Harry!” The gasp leaves your throat, and you press your hand to your mouth to capture the sound too late as it has already escaped. “What the hell happened to your knee?”

He shrugs, finally glancing in your direction. “Skinned it. Hi, love. Did you have a good day?”

“I had a beautiful day, but what the fuck did you do to your knee?” Crouching down, you examine the spot where blood is flowing. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but enough that you want to clean it. “My poor baby,” you coo, “Let me clean that for you.”

Rising, you glide to the bathroom again. 

“Bring some ice too, love,” he requests, tacking on a “please” at the last minute. 

Stopping in the suite’s tiny kitchen, you search the small freezer for ice as requested. Ransacking the cabinets in the bathroom, you manage to locate cotton balls, an antiseptic, and a bandage. Returning to Harry, you kneel at his feet. “This might sting a bit.” Cautiously, you cover the cotton ball with the antiseptic and press it to his wound. 

He winces, but the only sound he releases is a mild hiss. 

“Sorry, baby.”

“It’s not a big deal, love.”

As the blood vanishes with its absorption into the cotton ball, you agree with him. The wound is relatively minor. Should form a scab in the next day or so. Carefully, you remove the adhesive from the bandage and press it over the small scratch. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” you tease, “you’ll heal soon enough.”

“Gonna run that one into the ground, aren’t you?” he jokes. 

“Might as well,” your shrug, grinning. “Don’t worry, H. You’re so golden.” His smile gives away his mirth at the pun. “Soon enough, you’ll be done filming, and moving on to something else. And I’ll give you hell about whatever the next thing is too.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he confesses with intense eye contact, and your insides start to flutter. 

As an afterthought, you hold up a bag of frozen peas. “No ice, H. I’m so American that I forgot Europeans don’t do much ice. Will this do?”

“Sure.” Grabbing the bag of peas, he smirks before placing it on his crotch. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Your dick needs ice?”

His eyes rake over you. “Kind of went running without an athletic supporter today.” 

Planting your hands on your hips, you glare at him. “Why would you damage the goods like that?”

Raising his shoulders, he grins, “The fans will love it.”

Your lower lip juts out as you pout at him. “Does that mean it’s off limits to me?”

“It’s sore, love. Not broken.” Harry emphasizes, but that doesn’t make you feel any better. 

“But I’ve got lingerie,” you state clearly. 

He sits up quickly, shifting the bag of frozen peas on his crotch. “You do?”

“Yep.” You allow the ‘P’ to pop. “Ryan introduced me to a new designer. I bought four sets.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. 

“Not with your dick wounded,” you remind him with a tiny hitch in your breathy voice. 

“Fuck,” he repeats. 

“Should I model the first one or wait until tomorrow?” You’re definitely pushing the envelope here, yet how dare he give fans priority to his most precious bits?!

Eyes darkening, he sweeps his gaze over your light trousers and loose shirt. “Ummmm...now please.”

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t want you to hurt your dick more.”

The exasperated roll of his eyes makes you smile. “I wanna see, love.” 

Examining him, you come to the conclusion that he’s an adult and knows what he wants. With a nod, you grasp the handle of the bag from the designer. “Be right back!” Hurrying to the bedroom, you set the bag down before rummaging in it for the most sedate look: a white lacy baby doll bit that hits mid-thigh and comes with a long peignoir. Putting on frilly high heeled slipper with it, you strut in front of him with the robe tightly covering your body, watching as his eyes darken. 

“Like this one?”

“Shit, love. It’s…” 

When you part the edges to reveal the concoction underneath, Harry has to catch his breath, shifting in the seat as he adjusts the frozen peas. 

“Hot?” you taunt.

“Mhm. Come here, and check my temperature.” His voice is throaty, and you recognize the signs quite easily. 

“Nope. Three more to go before I get within touching distance, H. Sorry.”

“Dammit,” He mockingly shakes his head. “You know I could easily see all of them on separate nights. Let’s just start with this one.”

Purposely, you push your lip out in a pout. “But then the other lingerie would get jealous, and Ryan went to a lot of effort to get me a private viewing. After all, this stuff isn’t available to the general public.”

“No?” He sighs, and you catch the hitch in his comment. “Bring on the second one then.”

Confidently, you swagger from the room. With shaky hands, you withdraw the bright red lace camisole and boy short. Is this the appropriate one to wear next? The red might just push him over the edge. Best to stay out of his reach then. Smirking, you pull the outfit on and waltz onto the balcony with a twirl, your hair on pointe as its curls bounced with you. 

“Holy fuck. That’s the second one?” His strangled cry makes you laugh in joy. 

“How’s that cock feeling now?” you gesture in the direction of his crotch. 

“The peas have melted I believe.”

“Mhm. Maybe you should go get something else from the freezer then.”

“Nah. I’d rather you come get this bag for me. I might be too injured to walk inside.”

“Oh, you’re so funny. I know this game. I get close to you, and the other two lingerie outfits never see the light of day. Nope. You want more frozen food for your genitals, you can get it yourself.” Laughing, you smack your rounded ass as you amble into the bedroom again. 

“Fuck!” Harry yells behind you. 

The dialogue combined with the strutting has your pussy feeling damp as the waves of arousal rush over you. Sure you’d fucked last night, but today was a new day, and you wanted to feel that dick inside you -- regardless of the damage he did by jogging in the city for the video. 

The third one is pink -- and you’re well aware from experience how much Harry loves pink. The baby doll dress is silk and lands just at the top of your thighs with a black lace bodice that laces in the middle. Kind of laces anyway. Plenty of boob still visible. Or barely hidden. Whichever you prefer.

“Oh my god. You’re killing me!” Harry whines as you parade just out of his reach. When he starts to rise, you shake a finger at him. 

“No, no, H. You need to recuperate from running today. Better stay seated.”

He chokes as you twist around to show him all sides, including the g-string with its bare backside. 

“You’re evil!” he calls as you dance back into the bedroom. 

This is the final one, and you prepare carefully. It takes extra time to put on, and you smile as you observe your image in the room’s mirror. Deftly, you slip a couple of condoms in the bodice of the bralette. 

You find a playlist of romantic Italian music and set it to play on the Bluetooth speaker in the bedroom, ensuring the volume is high enough to be heard on the loggia. 

Harry gasps the moment he sees you. “You’re not wearing anything under that!”

Playfully you glance down at the last lingerie set. “Oh, damn. I guess when I put the garter skirt and stockings on, I must have forgotten the panties. Forgive me?”

His head bobs up and down as he gulps. 

“Now,” you murmur, approaching him. Grasping a pillow from a nearby chair, you plop it on the floor in front of him, settling on your knees there. “I think the best thing is if I take a look at this dick to make sure you didn’t do too much damage.”

Removing the no-longer-frozen peas, you toss the bag to the side. No one will be eating those. Ever. Silently, Harry waits while you carefully peel down the top of his elasticized shorts and remove his cock. You have to catch your breath every time you get to glimpse it, and today is no exception. 

Your mouth waters, and you lick your lips as you hold his rigid length in your hand, your eyes flickering up to his where he’s staring intently at you. Maintaining eye contact, you run your tongue over the tip of his cock, paying extra attention to the slit there. 

“Mmmm,” you murmur. “The tip seems to be okay. Let me check the length.”

Using your saliva as lubrication, you run your hands down his shaft to his balls. “Doesn’t appear to be broken,” you smirk, “In fact, seems pretty solid and firm to me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, “Might want to apply some suction there, love, just in case.”

You don’t really care what he means by that last phrase. You’re more than happy to test out the equipment to ensure that it’s in full working order. Spreading his legs more firmly, you lean in, sliding his entire dick into your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. Harry grasps the hair at the back of your hand, bunching it in his hand as he guides you along his length. You hear him sigh, and you’re confident he’s tilted his head back and closed his eyes, but when you glance at him, you find that his eyes are still on your lips. 

Fuck. It turns you on even more, and you can feel your pussy dripping onto the pillow. You make a mental note to remove the cover and wash it before leaving the villa. 

As your lips glide along him, you’re frustrated at not having full access to him. As you apply suction to his tip, you pop off him with an audible sound. Both of your hands reach for the waistband of his shorts, and you gently encourage him -- “Lift your bum, H” -- so you can fully remove the garment, throwing it over your shoulder and hoping it doesn’t sail into the pool below. Harry smiles, adjusting his stance into the biggest man spread you’ve ever seen. 

Before you return to your ministrations on his cock, you grasps your chin, drawing your face forward and upwards until he can lock lips with you. 

“Not much longer, love, or I’ll explode.”

“I don’t mind,” you purr. 

“Mhm. But if we’re fully going to test the equipment, then that should include more than a bj.”

“Ah, I see,” you grin. “But of course. We want to be thorough.” 

First, though, you are compelled to play with his balls, so you take him into your mouth again, adding one hand to his length while the fingers on the other play with the balls underneath. Fuck. You could do this all day. Breathing through your nose, you deepthroat him and suck for a solid ten seconds before you release him completely. 

With a grin, you stand, kicking aside the pillow. “Hmmmmm...trying to decide the best way to do this.” Your voice has a catch in it, and you wipe your mouth before bending over and capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Tongue darting forward, you taste him, allowing him to suckle your tongue briefly. 

As you come up for air, Harry moves his legs together while slipping his hand between yours and nudging your legs apart. With one finger he teases your clit, flicking it from side to side as he watches your face and eases another digit inside you. Oh hell. This feels…

“Fuck, H.”

“You’re so tight, baby. Come sit here. Let’s test out the equipment. Make sure everything works properly.”

At his invitation, you step forward as he shifts his bum down on the chair a bit. 

“Shit. I forgot…”

With his words, you remove the first condom from your bralette where it has conveniently been nuzzling your nipple, the hard corner of the foil packet hardening your nip. 

Grasping his dick, he uses the tip to slap at your pussy a few times before using your internal juices to lubricate himself. Your eyes roll back into your head as the two of you work together so you can slide onto him without any additional moments wasted. 

When you’re fully seated on his dick, you grind just for a moment. 

“Hmmmm...seems sturdy enough,” you pant. 

“Oh, you’re so funny,” he drawls, but his eyes roll back in his head when you glide along his length, your stockinged thighs surrounded by his large hands. “Fuck, love.”

“Working on it,” you laugh breathlessly as the rhythm becomes easier. His hands move to your arse as he assists you in riding him. 

Draping your arms over his shoulders, you shake your tits in his face, and he grins as he bends his head to press a kiss at the juncture of your boobs. 

As your climax begins to arrive, your movements become less steady and more sporadic. Harry, knowing you as he does, reaches between your bodies to tease your clit as you throw your head back and cry out two thrusts before his seed spurts into the condom and his eyes roll back into his head. Spent, you collapse on his chest, still joined. 

“I think,” you whisper as you kiss his neck while playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, “we can agree that the equipment still works just fine. No damage here.” Picking up your head, you glare at him. “But no more, H! What’s mine is mine. The fans get enough of you.”

He laughs as his arms surround you, and he buries his head in your shoulder. 

“Of course, love. Whatever you say.”

A/N:  Reblogs are love, my readers.  If you liked this even just a little tiny bit, please take a second to reblog so that others might find it.  Getting likes is nice, but it doesn’t help me grow my readership.  Thanks for your consideration!

[betweentheracks]

Hello and yay for this blog!!! I have a question :D. If a certain Chinese star were to wear jeans that say "my cock is gluten free" and "pull me down and fuck me," do you think his stylist would have chosen this knowingly, or do you think it's possible they just were like "hmm english words looks good" and didn't bother to look up the meaning? If they did know the meaning, would they have likely informed the star? Very desperate for the thought process behind this Choice hehehe. Thank you!

Ah, I was wondering hoping if I would get asked about those infamous jeans and here you are!

First and foremost; the following is all speculation from my experiences in the business and is wholly subjective. 

It isn’t impossible that they weren’t aware of what was written on the jeans, but it also isn’t all that likely either. When you pull up these jeans on the Dsquared2 site there’s a listing of what is doodled and written on the jeans and it’s not something that would be overlooked by neither stylist nor client. 

That said, Yibo does know some English and while he may not have known these words exactly, there’s more than enough ways of discerning their meaning. I would also bet half a year of my salary that his stylist would have known what was written here, or any number of personnel that works with them for that matter. I would also take into consideration that even if the jeans had slipped by all these people that may or may not have had the ability to see what was all over them, some of Yibo’s fellow idols should have (looking at you specifically, Seungyoun).

Setting this aside for a moment, I’ll go into who I think is responsible for the jeans being worn to begin with - Wang Yibo himself is the likely culprit. 

Why do I think this? There’s many reasons but most are inconsequential while two points frame the scene as I see it. 

This is markedly not a choice a stylist would make. Stylists, at the end of it all, are employees and therefore it shouldn’t be too surprising to know we have rules in place we must abide no matter if we are working outside the purview of the company we are housed under. Even when we work exclusively with a client, we are still taking the name of our company as well as our own with us and are operating as an extension of the brand the company promotes and promises. I don’t know of any company here (and I live in rather free faring place which welcomes eccentricities, mind) that would allow these jeans to be submitted as part of a pitch to either buy or borrow unless they were very specifically in line with a client’s public image and style. Technically these jeans would classify as offensive and profane which means they would invite trouble and cause a stir. While stylists are not associated much with the PR side of things we are still essentially a team playing for the same client - this selection, if gone badly, would be like asking for lightning to strike twice in one place at the same time. If a scandal amounted from them PR would have to handle it and that means the stylist would come under fire for making such a bold and risky choice, most especially with a younger client that thus far didn’t have the sort of image one would think to associate with jeans such as these. 

The second reason is that, from what I can tell, this is in line with Yibo’s personality. He’s very serious about style and engages with it as he does most things; by overtaking it completely and rebranding it to suit him to the point that it makes one wonder if the style wasn’t designed with him in mind. He makes full use of what fashion is all about at it’s core; expression. These jeans in particular would have suited the Yibo of the time he wore them (2018, if I remember right?) as he was trying to break away from the image he held as a pretty boy with demure and soft looks which held the shock value of being in such contrast with his dancing and rapping. He’s mentioned before that he doesn’t really like being “cute/sy” and having to do things in the way of that since it’s not true to who he feels he is. Which, honestly, a lot of idols and stars go through this experience where they no longer wish to be constrained by the persona they play for the public and one of the most impactful means of going about it is to address the styling since it is the focal point of public image. 

The Dsquared2 jeans don’t only say “my cock is gluten free,” there’s actually quite a lot to them and I think it would help if more were aware of it so here’s the description of them on the website: 

D Squared Limited Edition Jeans. Sexy Twist Printed Low Rise. Fun, Evil Boy, Love Sucks, Pull Me Down, Open Me, Unzip, Buttons, Wine Is My Water, Tic Tac Toe, Dean & Dan, Sex, Gluten Free Cock, Hot Patches

The jeans actually say “pull me down and fuck me” right there on the ass, but naturally they can’t list the expletives in the marketing. Not strictly important to this post, but still worth mentioning given the hushed treatment of what the placement of such words could easily imply and the effect that could have had. 

Anyway, the bit that is very telling in my opinion is that “evil boy” tag. I’m not terribly certain due to having never been fortunate enough to work with these jeans myself and the internet only has so many pictures from so many angles, but “evil boy” is either written somewhere (which I think is the case since there’s devil horns present as well) or they’re being promoted as such for aesthetic value. Regardless, I am fairly certain this would be the feature which caught Yibo’s eye. It’s on brand for someone seeking to shatter the conceptual ideal of being naive, innocent, youthful, or soft.

The jeans as a whole fit with Yibo’s sense of humor, as I’ve seen it at least. He lost his mind and fell into full laughter and hysterics over a dick joke, not even minding that he was being filmed or anything. He was still laughing about it even after the other hosts had moved beyond it, making them circle back around to it and in turn making it all the more hilarious for him to enjoy. You can see it clearly in the bts footage from the CQL set that he enjoys being mischievous and stirring things up and having a good time. 

This is who he is, I believe, and it makes a lot of sense for him to have made this stylistic choice and then either convince his stylist to let him run with it or change out at the last second. Both of these are possible, though one of them is less probable than the other given how tricky it actually would be to sneak a wardrobe alteration past the many people that make up the staffing roster for any events, and then to be able to change in the limited time frame available between exiting the dressing room to being in the public sphere would be one in a thousand. Much simpler to goad your stylist into being lenient enough to give you free reign over your own styling - we can only hold out and say no when the grounds for it are met, which this wouldn’t have done in all likelihood - and most of the time we build up a good enough relationship and rapport with clients that we end up doting on them a bit and heed their requests when we can.

That’s all from me on this token moment in Yibo’s very stacked fashion history. Thanks for asking!

Furthermore, there’s the third possibility that this wasn’t a styling choice whatsoever. Or at least not one that involved the stylist in any real regard. It is very plausible that this was just Yibo in his own clothes, having dressed down after the main events wound down. I’ve never actually watched to see what that night looked like overall, but from the videos I have seen it looked to me like the actual do had passed and they were all just goofing around and having their own dance competitions and such when he was wearing them. I can’t say for sure that he did or did not have them on for the whole thing or if they were his own self packed casual wear. In which case it would fall back to his studio to tend to since stylists generally don’t hold authority over personal clothing choices and only ever have a hand in it when it is expressly stated in contracts or temporary clauses, and it just isn’t too common anymore. 

Worth a quick mention for means of distinction, here in the US this choice wouldn't have raised many eyebrows no matter if it was chosen by an artist or a stylist. The only reason I feel it necessary to say this is simply because this is not so in China and that alone lends context to the controversy of these jeans. In the scope of conservatism these jeans are outrageous and I think that a stylist would steer clear of utilizing them at all if they value their job. This is why I don't consider it likely at all that Yibo and his stylist collaborated to make use of these jeans as a way to shake away the remnants of his pretty boy aesthetic.

[2manyfandoms2count]

I love you (not) - Chapter 15

It's already September and I can't believe this fic isn't finished yet, I swear May was like. Last week.

Anyway, this chapter is full of soft touches because yes, hope you enjoy!

First | Previous | AO3

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Chapter 15: In which the real pining begins

“Hey Chat, it’s LB, I might be a little late for tonight’s patrol, I’ve been running all day and I still have a couple of things I need to take care of… Could you maybe get some pastries? I’m starving, you’ll forever be my absolute hero (and of course I’ll pay you back, I just can’t swing by a bakery right now). See you in a bit!”

Chat Noir paused as he finished listening to Ladybug’s message, slowly wrapping his head around the fact that she probably wouldn’t be the only one arriving late, despite his best efforts at being early. He looked at her profile picture pensively. His partner had absolutely no idea, but even she was trying to get him to do the right thing, namely: sending him to Marinette.

Well, to a bakery, but he knew very well that he wouldn’t find it in him to bring anything less than the best pastries in Paris to his Lady, especially if it meant getting a grip and owning up to his actions.

Because yes, he was ashamed of admitting it even to himself, but he’d been a coward ever since the fight against Hostzilla. He’d avoided Marinette for almost two weeks (as Chat Noir, obviously, although the past few days had seen his guilt increase so much that he’d struggled to even hold her gaze at school), partly because of last minute additions to his schedule, but mostly because he’d gotten cold feet anytime he’d come remotely close to her building.

It was time this stopped and that he bit the bullet. It wasn’t like Marinette could easily make the first step; even staying up to scrutinise the skyline would have been fruitless: he’d made some convoluted detours on his way home from patrol to avoid a rerun of the fateful night that had brought them into their fake - no, not fake, complicated  relationship.

He’d had enough time to mull it all over, and it was clearly time to do something about the situation.

This tiptoeing around the issue ended tonight.

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The bells jingled quietly as he pushed the bakery door. The warm backlighting and the sweet smell of rising dough welcomed him and made him relax a little, as did the sight of Marinette tiredly stretching behind the counter. He smiled softly. There really was something about this place that made him feel at ease, safe, even.

Marinette straightened up at the sight of Chat Noir awkwardly shuffling near the entrance of the shop, leaning forwards to take a look at one of the displays, and bit back a smug smile at the thought that her plan to lure him in had worked perfectly. His stomach grumbled and she stifled a giggle. The sound was enough to draw his attention; their gazes met, and both felt their cheeks pinken.

“Hey, Chat,” Marinette said almost breathlessly after what seemed like a thousand years of just staring into each other's eyes. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Even though her tone had been void of any accusation, he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, making her melt slightly. “I’ve been pretty busy lately.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but he still felt bad about leaving her hanging for so long.

“It’s alright, being a superhero is a full time job, after all." She cleared her throat. "How can I help you today?” She winced imperceptibly at her cowardice. They were the only ones in the bakery, it was stupid to ignore the elephant in the room. Still, she grabbed a paper bag and a pair of tongs, and looked at him expectantly.

“Oh, erm, I need pastries. I’m on snack duty for patrol.” He chuckled nervously.

“Ah, well, I can't let our beloved heroes starve, can I? I wouldn’t want the responsibility of another Feast on my hands.” She winked.

"Don't remind me.” Chat shuddered at the memory of the sentimonster’s gooey tongue.

“Is there anything I can get you in particular?” She stifled a giggle at the same image.

“Well, you know me, I can’t leave those chouquettes on your hands, it would be a waste.” He eyed the relevant basket hungrily.

“Are you sure you want all of them? This is... 500g, the equivalent of six portions.”

“And?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Right, nevermind.” She shook her head, an amused smile spreading to her lips. “Anything else?”

“Hmm, could I have a collection of macarons for Ladybug? Anything but passion fruit, she always gives those to me so I’m not sure she likes them, and since I already have the chouquettes... I think I'm covered.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she picked the sweet delicacies for herself. Leave it to Chat to believe that her leaving his favourite macarons aside was because she didn’t like them.

“Will that be all?” She cocked her head to the side when she was done packing the box.

“To ring up, yes.” He paused. “But I was actually wondering if you purr-haps had time for a quick chat?”

“With you? Always,” Marinette flashed him a relieved smile as she handed him the pastries and signalled for him to follow her towards the back. She saw he was about to protest, so she added: “If you’re thinking about paying for this, I’m pretty sure my parents would cut me off if they found out I’d sold anything to you or Ladybug, so I'm not risking it. And don’t worry, it’s been a slow night so I don’t have to stay at the counter - we’ll hear if anyone comes in. You said that this was going to be quick, right?”

“I did.” Chat scratched the back of his head nervously as they sat down on the bottom steps of the building’s staircase.

There was a pause as the both of them tried to organise their thoughts and put them into words that would lead to a definite, yet delicate rejection. Marinette smoothed the fabric of her apron as she did, while Chat fiddled with the pastry bag.

“So, the other night, huh?” He awkwardly cleared his throat, wincing at his sudden lack of eloquence. He decided to go for the half-lie route rather than delve straight into their kiss. If he was already this tongue-tied while keeping his thoughts about it at bay, who knew what mentioning it would do. “I couldn’t find you at the hotel after the fight… Were you hit by the akuma?”

Marinette’s head shot up and she squinted at him, calculating her next move. Chat’s hypothesis provided good foundations to build on. Maybe he’d even get to the conclusion she wanted him to reach on his own.

“You can tell me, I promise I won’t be mad.” He smiled softly.

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “I overheard Hostzilla say she was looking for me just after you left, and I thought I could placate her a little so I went out in the open. She didn’t even see me, I got knocked out by a fancy table almost just as I came out of the hotel.” She rolled her eyes, hoping her lie was believable enough.

“Meowch.” Chat winced, before gently cupping her chin and tilting it to either side, trying to assess any remaining damage.

“I’m fine though, don’t worry! Ladybug’s cure got me right back on my feet.” She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then reluctantly pushed Chat’s hand away.

“I knew it wasn’t like you not to show up at some point during the fight.” He smiled triumphantly to himself at the thought that his vigilance during the battle hadn’t been completely uncalled for. He frowned and cleared his throat before continuing. “But it’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about. I’m not entirely sure why you were targeted this time, but I’m just afraid that if we…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure of what to say next. They’d never actually elucidated their relationship status; if they went forward, would they be continuing to date, or just starting? Would Marinette be offended if he used the latter?

“If we… continue on our set course?” Marinette offered.

“Yes, exactly, thank you.” He flashed her a quick smile. “I’m afraid that if we continue on our set course, there might be more opportunities for you to get caught up in fights, especially if word about our relationship gets out. I don’t want to put you in harm’s way, Marinette, I couldn’t bear you getting hurt because of me.”

Marinette was struck by the apparent anguish in her partner’s eyes as he looked at her. She instinctively reached for his hand.

“And I don’t want you to have to worry about me. I… I got my hands on footage of that battle, and I saw how distracted you were. You already have so much on your mind… I wouldn’t want to be a burden and put your safety in peril.”

“You could never be a burden, princess.” He absentmindedly ran his thumb across the back of her hand, but smiled sadly. “But I suppose you’ve reached the same conclusion I did.”

“Taking this relationship further would be a mistake.” She nodded gently.

“I’m sorry, Marinette.”

“Whatever for?” She took a deep breath and smiled bravely. “It’s not your fault. Just… Bad timing, I guess. If a hero-civilian relationship was ever supposed to work.”

“You're probably right.”

Marinette sighed and looked at her watch. “Anyway, you should probably go, Ladybug will wonder what happened to you.”

They both stood up, and walked slowly towards the bakery door. Marinette opened the door for him, but he paused and turned around before he’d crossed the threshold.

“For the record, I really enjoyed being your boyfriend while it lasted.” He felt his heart rate pick up as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“It was really nice.” She smiled gently. Then, feeling a burst of braveness, she took a couple of steps forwards to stand face to face with him.

She stood on her tiptoes before she could process exactly what she was doing and lose her nerve, tenderly kissed his cheek, and took a step back with a soft, if slightly sad, smile. Chat gasped slightly, his hand flying to his cheek. The point of impact of his… friend ’s lips felt like the epicentre of a wave of warmth, just like it had the last time she’d pulled something of the sort.

“Maybe we can make it work one day.” She looked down and blushed, rocking on the ball of her feet.

“Maybe one day,” he echoed.

He gave her one last, longing look before taking off into the night, afraid he might throw all caution to the wind if he stayed any longer.