#real shit said in headspace

[bstroobery]

This may or may not be based off true events that I witnessed happen between 💻 and 💀. 4 really likes wearing our SMG4/SMG3 reversible jacket because it helps him feel a lot more grounded when fronting, and he and 3 got into a very stupid fight over which side of the jacket to wear. And here you go. SMG3 laid on SMG4 until he yielded.

Honestly this was pretty funny so I thought I’d share

-🍓

[areyouwho-ithinkyouare]

not to be an edgy fucking teen on here when i am nearly 27 years of age but my mum has been pissing me off so much recently to the point where i’m like girl.. i think we need to see a relationship therapist together bcus this is gonna blow up in a big way if we don’t get our shit together

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 7: Firsts

Kyle bought you lunch before your set time. To make sure you ate, he said. He still asked about five times if you felt like you ate enough or needed water even after sitting across from you while you downed a to-go container of pad se ew and your fourth ounce bottle.

You just laugh and point to a piece on your knee. “Babes I got this with nothing but a trenta iced coffee and two hours of sleep in my system. I’m fine, I promise.”

John made a baffled noise at that. Kyle looked like he was going to throw up. That look remained as he went through the process of setting up in John’s studio room. Kyle is meticulous about it. Each step done with care. You feel a bit silly sitting around and twiddling your thumbs.

“Just breathe. It’s fine.” John murmurs in a low rumble that somehow has you relaxing more than the indented party.

“It’s almost more scary doing someone I know.” Kyle huffs.

You laugh. “Can’t be worse than the blown out piece of shit on my left arm. C’mon, I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve got this.”

John nods, sitting on the other side of you.

“Besides, even if it sucks I’ll still be honored to be your first real apprentice tattoo.” You pipe up.

Kyle chuckles, low and unsure. Part of you wants to give him an out, to say he doesn’t have to, but you can see the set of his jaw even as his eyes flick between his supplies and the stencil in his hand nervously. He’s determined as much as he is scared. There’s no getting him out of that headspace until he’s done.

You chose something easy. One of Kyle’s more dainty, simple flash designs for the back of your thigh, just below the curve of your ass. A little bow with minimal shading. Something he’s practiced a thousand times and an easy enough starting point. Plus, you already mentioned having him do a matching one on the other side when he’s ready for it. Easy practice.

“C’mon, at least get the stencil on before you have a panic attack.” You try to keep your voice light, turning your back to him.

Kyle sighs. You hear his stool roll forward as he scoots in close to place it. John shuffles around to stand over him. A nasty part of your brain complains about exposing your cellulite to these two fit men but you push that deep down into nothing. A second, more embarrassing part wonders if you should have chose a more appropriate spot… that maybe you shouldn’t be standing in front of your boss and coworker in teeny-tiny biker shorts that barely cover you. You shove that down right next to the other mean thoughts.

You pointedly ignore the heat that shoots up your spine as Kyle’s hands feel out the shape of your thigh to get it centered - keeping your eyes forward as he slowly presses the paper against you. You could swear a thumb traces the curve of your cheek as he smoothes it but that’s probably just wishful thinking.

“Good job, kid.” John claps a hand on Kyle’s shoulder as soon as the paper is pulled away. You turn around in the mirror to check it, expecting to probably have to move it, but from what you can tell it really is perfect.

“Damn, dude, on your first try!” You grin, clapping happily.

Kyle nods stiffly, but you see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. You unceremoniously clamber onto the table, moving around so your back doesn’t hurt from laying flat for the next few hours with your arms folded under your head.

“Hey.” You whisper while John steps away to grab something. “Get through this without freaking out and I’ll give you a reward.”

“A reward?” He tilts his head, smile turning from an nervous curl of his lip to a boyish grin.

You jokingly bat your lashes. “I’ll give you a kiss.”

Kyle chuckles. “With tongue?”

You gawk, face hot. “Mr. Garrick! Where’d my knight in shining armor go?”

“Just tryin’ t’ figure out exactly what I’m workin’ toward.”

You hum, pretending to mull it over. “We’ll see. Depends on how well you do.”

Kyle levels a look at you, something heated as his lip catches between his teeth. It’s only there for a moment, gone as soon as he turns to his tools. Replaced by a laser focus.

“Alright.” John settles back into his seat on your other side. “Let’s do one line and then see how we all feel.”

Kyle nods. You shuffle a little to make you’re you’re as comfortable as possible for the next however long. You know it’s going to be a while even if it isn’t a simple design. He’s new and precise with means slow.

The familiar whirr of the gun starts up. You shut your eyes, waiting, hoping that you aren’t projecting any more tension into the room than Kyle is. The needle stings when it finally touches you, but not as badly as you braced for. His touch is light.

He pulls the gun away and let’s put a giant sigh. “How y’feel, luv?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m all good. You?” You tilt your chin a bit to meet his eye.

“Better now that it’s started.”

“Good.” John nods, chest bumping your leg as he leans forward to look. “Looks good. Keep on.”

The room is nearly silent as he works. You turned down the music before coming back so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed - at least that was your reasoning. You’d get overwhelmed. Kyle is more levelheaded than you are, though.

“Thassit.” John smiles - or at least that’s how it sounds in his voice. “Her skin takes ink so well, yeah?”

Fuck, that totally should not do it for you. Gravelly voiced British bastard. You keep your eyes locked onto the flash on the far wall as you attempt to cool down.

Kyle just hums, seemingly unable to talk as he concentrates. He probably is with how dialed in he looks. You take a break before he gets to shading, stretching and getting some water. It takes a while, but not as long as you assumed. You start to get that ache in your skin partway through the shading - that feeling when your nerves are so tired from firing off pain receptors they just all sort of start burning dully.

However long later Kyle pulls away. “I… think it’s done?”

“You think?” John challenges.

Kyle sighs before speaking with more finality. “It’s done.”

There’s a few beats where John assess and you hold your breath. He points to a couple spots where Kyle’s hand slipped a bit or he applied too much pressure, but when you check it out in the mirror yourself you don’t see that all. Perfectionists.

You can’t help but squeal and jump, clapping happily and barely standing still while Kyle puts the saniderm on. You’re just to happy! Not only did Kyle get his first tattoo done but now you have brand new (free) cute ink to show off. Kyle looks tired, though, so you try not over overwhelm him while he cleans up. Concentrating like that with anxiety must have really taken it out of him.

You sort of forget about your promise of a reward for the next week. Too busy focusing on taking care of your new tattoo. The only downside to the placement is sitting in your office chair itches - especially once you take the saniderm off. You’ve mostly taken to standing while working and wearing shorts and skirts to let it breathe. It’s worth it, though. You’ll have to ask Kyle how soon he wants to do the other one. Without being pushy, of course.

You quietly hum to yourself as you get the cash drawers ready to lock away in the backroom safe. Triple checking the bags and making sure tips are divided correctly, etc.

“Hey, lovie.” Kyle saddles up behind you suddenly, hands on your hips.

You jump. “Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. A hand slips down your hip, palm tracing the hem of your tennis skirt to lightly rest over the little bow. “How’s she healin’?”

“It’s, uh, it-“ You stutter, eyes wide and skin hot. If it were Johnny, you’d laugh and swat him away - maybe let his hand wander to your ass first - but Kyle doesn’t do this. Not that you don’t like it - the problem lies in that you’re liking it too much. If the patter of your heart is anything to go by. “It’s good. Not itching yet or anything.”

Kyle hums. “Good.”

“Th-that all?”

“Think you forgot somethin’.” He turns you around, hands firmly planted on the softness of your waist. When you just give him a bewildered look he continues. “I was promised a reward, I think.”

“O-oh?” Your face burns, eyes wide. Is he serious? Part of you wants to say no - to push him away. You’re coworkers, after all. Until your eyes meet his, so big and warm and his lips forming a perfect pout. “John….?”

Kyle chuckles ans crosses his chest. “John won’t care. Cross my heart.”

He gives you a moment to mull it over. You don’t think he’s making fun of or bating you - Kyle wouldn’t do that. There’s no way he’s interested either. That’s one delusion you can firmly plant in the ’purely imaginary’ category.

Whatever. What do you have to lose from a little back room make out?

Your lips meets his. Fuck, they’re soft. He steals your breath - greedy and gentile. It’s been so long since you’ve been kissed, much less kissed well. One of the hands on your waist moves to your low back as Kyle leans into you. Your hands grapple onto his shoulders to steady you. He takes advantage of your gasp at being tilted back to swipe is tongue between your lips.

You mould together, breaths heavy and tongues dancing. A needy, pathetic little part of you wishes the hand that drifted from your waist to your hip would hook under your thigh. That Kyle would tilt you all the way back onto the desk and throw your leg over his shoulder, eagerly pushing up your skirt-

An ‘I love you’ dances on the tip of your tongue and you reel back harshly, hand flat on his chest to separate you.

“Alright?” He murmurs, eyes half lidded and dark.

You swallow roughly and nod, breathing hard. “I, uh, I need to finish the safe.”

Something passes across his face briefly as your eyes flick between his. Whatever it was, it’s replaced by his usual easy smile as he returns to standing at his full height, the hands on your waist steady you before disappearing. Your stomach drops as they go.

“See you tomorrow.” Kyle murmurs, pressing one last little peck on your cheek before striding away, leaving you alone in the back room with a hot face and whirlwind thoughts.

Fuck.

A/N: brought to you by the time a tattoo artist told me my skin takes ink well in the most haunting bedroom voice I’ve ever heard😵‍💫 killed me right then and there

[dilfstarr]

Toji x black fem reader

a/n: toji is a sweetheart. shoutout to my restaurant workers 18+

“Oh look who the cat dragged in…”

Your smile was contagious as you grinned down your favorite regular. He came frequently when he wasn’t betting on horses or working his ‘super secret job’ he told you not to worry your pretty little head about. When he came in, he would always ask for you specifically along with his regular. Each time you would serve him, it would be with a smile. He always tipped five times his total and signed his receipt with love toji. Word got around and he was quickly known as one of the “big tippers”. Everyone wanted him in their section but he only chose you. Your coworkers were annoyed, even going as far as starting a rumor that you did more than serve food to get his attention. WRONG. You loved your job and you loved building relationships with people. How was it your fault that you were good spirited?

With him being your regular, obviously you guys have had conversations about him blowing most of his money gambling, his teenage son that couldn’t care less if his ol’ man dropped dead, and his white haired neighbor that called the cops on him because he threatened him with a gun. Talks that lead beyond work hours, which resulted in them being taken to his car. One thing lead to another and he became one of your favorite eaters.

“What are you doing up here princess? Ain’t you supposed to be serving tables or some shit?” His grin was bigger than yours. He stood tall as he watched you.

“I was then I got cut and before I can leave, I have to clean these menus. Why, you want me to serve you tojiiii?” You teased.

A quick blow of air was forced out of his nose, indicating that he found it somewhat amusing.

“Funny. No, actually I got something for you. I bought it while I was.. working.”

A super dramatic gasp left your lips as you put your hand over your chest.

“You were thinking of me? You’re so sweet!” You walked from behind the host stand to hug him. The hug was brief as you looked around for the gift. “Where is it?”

“It’s in my car, hurry up so you can get it.”

You quickly finished you side work, grabbed your things, and made it outside to his car. You held hands with him on the long walk to his car. He always parked far because he ‘didn’t like to be watched’. When you finally got close enough to his car he told you to cover your eyes while he opened the back seat.

“Open.”

Your hands were snatched off your face with a quickness. There staring back at you was a pink Matte Alligator Birkin. Eyes instantly filled with tears as you covered you mouth from pure shock.

“Are you ser- Toji!? Do you know how much these cost? They are like… a lot of money!”

“You deserve it princess. You’ve been so good to me— listening to my problems and shit. It’s the least I could do.” He placed his hand on your lower back and pushed you towards the bag. “Go on touch it, pick it up, do somethin’ it’s getting cold out here!”

You hesitate reaching out like the bag was going to jump at you and bite your fingers off. The leather felt nice on your fingers as you picked it up and examined it.

“It’s real baby.” He said cockily.

“What do I look like being a server with an eighty thousand dollar bag?”

He took a deep breath before answering, “I want you to quit this shitty ass job. Be with me, like I asked you to last fuckin’ week.”

You roll your eyes as you put the bag over your shoulder. He did ask you, but he was so pussydrunk, you didn’t know if he was even in the right headspace so you took it with a grain of salt.

“You only asked because you were thinking with your dick.” He kissed his teeth as he rolled his eyes.

It was true! He hates to admit it but you remembered everything. As you recall, you were on top of him in the back of his car, in the middle of fucking nowhere.

ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟFlash back ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

“T-toji right theeere fuuuck!”

Your eyes are blurred from tears by the overwhelming pleasure. You were currently being bounced on Toji’s dick. Strong hands bring you back down with the force of a super human. His warm mouth wrapped around your brown areola as he watches your face contort. He must’ve gotten distracted or something because he was no longer fucking you how you like it. Taking control, you shift your body to raise up on your toes as your body plummets down harder than Toji’s original doing. His groan sends vibrations through your chest. He lets go of your nipple with a pop!, head tilting back as he closes his eyes.

“Fuuuucckk baby don’t stop. Ride that dick baby, goddam-”

You felt a sharp sting on your cheek before you heard the sound of his hand slapping your ass. Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel just out of reach as your sweet moans become more frequent and high pitched. With his eyes closed he began mumbling into the thick air.

“I want you all the time baby. Shit- all the fuckin’ time. Please. I want you to be my girl.”

His mumbling turned into hushed whispers as the sentence concluded. Him yearning for you fast forward your orgasm. He felt your walls rhythmically spasming and he opened his eyes. He wished he’d opened them sooner. Your brown skin glistening from sweat, brown eyes slightly crossed, your plumped two tone lips held in a perfect O— he was in love.

“Chase it baby. You got it- daddy is right b-behind you. Cum on your dick baby..”

You managed to get three and a half strokes in before a long pornographic moan left your lips. Toji’s hands gripped the back of your thighs and bounced you— taking control once again. He praised you nonstop for doing so good and how much he loved your pussy. You soon felt his dick throb once, twice and before the third, your body is soon being lifted up by Toji’s strength, holding you high enough so you’re hovering over his dick. Without missing a beat, hot ropes of cum shoot up painting your pussy white as he cussed and groaned your name repeatedly like a broken record. Your heavy breathing simultaneously sync as you both try to catch your breath. That was the closest he ever came to finishing inside you. Minutes pass as you lay on top of him listening to his heart beat going back to normal.

ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟEnd of flashback ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

“No i wasn’t, everything i said came from my heart. You just happened to be bouncing on my dick as I was saying it.” He argued. “Look, I’m not askin’ to marry you, at least not yet. Just getting to know each other on a deeper connection. I want to learn and love you for as long as you’ll let me.”

He’s now way closer to you and held you captive with eye contact. His hands wrapped around yours as he spoke to you.

“Will you let me baby?” He cocked his eyebrow at his question, awaiting your response.

You smile and non your head, “I’ll let you learn and love me Toji.”

He quite literally jump for joy and he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. In the midst of the celebration, the low thud of the Birkin could be heard hitting the ground. You shriek and panic before Toji comforted you.

“I’ll buy you another one. As many as you want. I’ll buy this planet and all the stars for you.”

Lips connect as you share the first kiss of many.

Yes they were fuckin and never kissed! It’s fanfiction shhhh

ʚɞ

[littlelamy]

the aftermath of the fight: s1!rafe x reader

the tension in the cameron estate was thick, almost suffocating, clinging to every corner of the house. the echoes of raised voices were still fresh in your ears as you made your way down the corridor toward rafe’s room. the fight between him and ward had been explosive—a storm of bitter accusations, angry words, and the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. both men had walked away from it bruised, emotionally and physically.

you’d hesitated for a moment, but the silence that followed the chaos made your decision for you. rafe was volatile after moments like this, and the thought of him alone in that headspace made your heart ache.

the door to his room was slightly ajar. you pushed it open softly, stepping inside. the sight before you was both heartbreaking and infuriating. rafe sat on the edge of his bed, fists clenched tight, knuckles white. his face, usually sharp and full of confidence, was clouded with something darker—anger and pain, mingled with exhaustion.

“hey,” you called softly, keeping your voice gentle. “you need anything?”

his head snapped up, eyes meeting yours with a mix of frustration and something softer, more vulnerable. “what the hell are you doing here?” he snapped, voice rough and raw.

you took a deep breath, swallowing the sting his words left. “i’m here to help, rafe. i heard what happened. you’re hurt.”

he scoffed, turning his head away, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “i don’t need your pity.”

ignoring his harshness, you crossed the room and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. he flinched at your touch but didn’t pull away. “i’m not here to pity you,” you said softly. “i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you knelt in front of him, taking his hands into yours, carefully turning them over to inspect the bruises and cuts that marked his skin.

“shit,” he muttered, wincing as you gently touched one of the scrapes. “this is a mess.”

“i know,” you replied, your tone soothing despite the tension in the air. “but we’ll fix it. let me help.”

he stared at you for a long moment, the frustration in his gaze slowly softening into something like resignation. “why the hell do you put up with me?” he asked quietly, voice barely audible. “i’m a mess.”

you sighed, reaching for the antiseptic. “because i care about you, rafe. and you’re more than just the anger or the pain.”

he looked away, the faintest blush creeping up his neck, shame weighing heavy on his expression. “i just wanted to prove something to him,” he mumbled. “i wanted him to see i’m not just some...”

you waited, dabbing the cloth on one of his cuts. “not just some what?”

“not just some disappointment,” he finished, the words heavy in the quiet room.

you shook your head, continuing to clean his wounds. “you’re not a disappointment, rafe. you’re just... hurting. and that’s okay. it doesn’t make you any less.”

he let out a low groan, eyes squeezing shut in frustration. “i hate this,” he muttered. “i hate feeling so...so weak.”

you paused, looking at him with a firmness he needed to hear. “you’re not weak. it takes strength to admit you’re struggling. and more to let someone help you.”

his hands trembled slightly in yours, and you could see the cracks forming in the walls he always built so high. the vulnerability in him was raw and real, and it tugged at your heart.

“why are you always so damn good to me?” he muttered, half exasperated, half grateful. “i don’t deserve it.”

you finished bandaging the worst of the cuts, sitting back on your heels. “maybe you don’t think you deserve it, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

he looked at you, eyes filled with something between frustration and relief. “you really mean that?”

you nodded, leaning up to pull him into a hug. his hesitation lasted only a moment before he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight, almost like he was scared to let go. the embrace was intense, charged with emotion—his anger, your care, and a shared understanding.

as you pulled back slightly, your gaze locked with his, an unspoken tension hanging in the air. the kiss that followed was slow at first, your lips barely brushing his. but then, it deepened, the softness giving way to something more passionate, more urgent. his hands found your face, holding you close as he poured everything into that kiss—his regret, his need, his longing for something more than what his life had been up to now.

when you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, the intensity of the moment still lingering between you. rafe’s eyes were softer now, a little lighter, like the weight he carried had lessened, even if just a little.

“thank you,” he whispered, his voice quiet but sincere. “for being here... for putting up with me.”

you smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “i wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

for a moment, the world outside faded away. the fights, the pain, the weight of everything that had happened—it didn’t matter. in that small, quiet space, it was just the two of you, connected in a way that made the chaos of life feel a little more bearable.

[interfated]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Im sorry baby ! . . . ( 西村力 )

— pairing: 西村力 x reader — contains: Fighting, mean ki, angst — now playing: 一子青葉

Sitting on your boyfriend's bedroom floor holding back tears wasn't entirely how you wanted to spend your Friday night.

This fight was stupid, you both knew it and yet it still happened. Granted of course couples fight, it's just what happens. But never has Riki yelled at you like that, over something that wasn't even your fault.

"Riki please, I'm just trying to figure out what's wrong."

"I get that, but I've already told you it doesn't matter. Why do you always have to be so damn clingy all the time." Anger laced his voice

"It does matter Niki. It matters when it's hurting you."

"Don't call me that damnit." Using his nickname struck a chord with him. He hated it when you used his nickname. It felt more intimate when you called him Riki or Ki. No one else did, everyone else called him Niki so using his real name and not his stage name felt so good, refreshing almost.

He left the room without saying any more, slamming the door harder than he wanted to.

And now you were left alone on his bedroom floor in his chrome hearts hoodie.

You knew he wasn't in the right headspace, he was tired and stressed. You knew that but you couldn't do anything about it until he talked to you, until he said asked you to help. Riki's never been super open about his feelings but you'd always get him to open up eventually. He's never held them back this much before.

Eventually, you decided to check on him. You wanted to follow him originally but thought he needed space so you left him alone.

You opened the door slowly, peeking your head out first. He was sitting on the couch with his legs up and his head in his hands, pressing up against his eyes, his brows were furrowed, almost as if he was crying. TV was so loud, he hadn't noticed the door opening so you continued. Slowly closing the door behind you, walking up to the corner where the hallway and living space meet.

"Ki?" Hoping the use of the sweet nickname would keep him from getting angry again.

He didn't answer but instead just looked up at you, eyes wet, cheeks pink, lips red and puffy. You were right, he was crying.

Crying wasn't something Riki did, the only times you saw him cry was when he was missing his family, or overly stressed, and you were the same. Tears just never came easy for you, it's something you've been ridiculed for. Being called "Cold" or "Emotionless" was something you became used to, but seeing Riki cry made tears well up in your eyes. You choked them back and went to sit next to him.

He didn't spare you a glance, still spacing off.

You felt so bad. A sinking feeling forms in your stomach. You contemplated just leaving but realistically that wouldn't help anything. Instead, you sat there, contemplating what you would say.

"I'm sorry Ki"

"Stop." He still sounded angry, your stomach churning as you frown slightly.

A short silence, then he follows up with "You have nothing to be sorry for." He felt so guilty. He knew it wasn't your fault he feels like shit, it wasn't your fault he was stressed and overworked but he still took it out on you.

"I made you upset though, I didn't mean to I swear" You sounded so defeated, almost like a child after getting scolded. His heart broke into a million pieces hearing you blame yourself for his outburst. "No no this isn't your fault. I promise it's not you" He finally looked at you. His usual blank gaze transformed into what looked like a puppy dog. His eyes were still wet and brows furrowed with worry and guilt.

You looked back at him with tears welling, he didn't understand how he could treat you, the love of his life, the way he did.

After the dreadful silence, you decided you'd just leave. You didn't want to but the pain of seeing him like this was too much, especially when you couldn't help him.

Riki grabbed your arm, with pleading eyes screaming for you not to go, whether he said it or not. "Where are you going?"

"I was gonna give you space."

He sits on the couch properly and hugs your waist. "Please don't go" His voice was wobbly and quiet "Ki..."

"Please, baby. I love you so much and I promise I'll show it properly." You start to run your hands through his hair, massaging the nape of his neck.

"And I'll make it up to you too. It wasn't" He choked on his words "It wasn't right for me to take my stress out on you. You're perfect and you're the only thing that makes me feel right. Please don't leave."

You've never seen him so needy, so clingy. He always clung to you but this is different. He sounded desperate for you. Like he'd die if you walked away "I'm not gonna leave Ki."

He gripped onto your waist tighter "But, I'm your girlfriend Ki. If you're hurting you can tell me... I know work is busy. I know they're overworking you but next just talk to me. Please baby, I love you, and seeing you like this sucks." You move one of your hands to his bicep and start rubbing circles with your thumb, his muscles were sore from dance practice.

"I care about you, and I don't want to fight with you. Especially over this."

"I know, I'll tell you next time. Okay? I'll tell you everything that's going on. I promise" He lifted the sweatshirt you were wearing a little, wearing nothing under, he kissed the side of your stomach.

"Thank you, baby."

He mumbles a small, sleepy "Of course..." while he's still kissing the side of your stomach.

"Let's go to sleep, baby." You say while slightly pushing his head away from your stomach "Mmm okay" He picks you up, burying his head in your neck as he walks to his room.

He lays you down on the bed, laying on top of you, cuddling into you like a little baby. He would never admit it but he loved it when you baby-ied him. Sure in front of the other members, he'd hate it but when you guys are alone and he gets to just be lovey and cheesy, it means so much to him.

"I love you, Ki, so much" When he didn't respond you lifted his hair up to see him just to realize he had already fallen asleep.

Whenever he cries he usually falls asleep in your arms within minutes so this was nothing new.

You kissed his head, while still playing with his hair. You fall asleep in his arms, and at the end of the night, you care for Riki so much and only want the best for him. Fights are going to happen. It's inevitable, but luckily for you, Riki always knew how to make things better, how to make you feel better, he loves you so much, and he'd do anything for you.

-

The next day after school you walk into the house after Riki walks you home just to see a huge container of Smiski blind boxes and flowers on the counter, with a note saying "I love you, baby :)"

You could never stay mad at him

@ featki

Note: This was kinda rushed and not proofread... sorryyyy !! Been thinking ab this for awhile so wanted to write it. ALSO Niki kissing your stomach is NOT meant to be taken in a suggestive way at all. It's cute so don't take it weirdly.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

getting sick of this noise, m | myg, jjk

misfit toys au continuation of intro >> don’t play >> this game >> those graves

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, jungkook x reader

summary: You won, Min Yoongi. Isn't this what you wanted? You ran away from it all and now lose yourself in the forbidden passion of your stepsister's body day and night. Closer to her than ever. Careful now. The monsters that hide in the dark could tear you apart.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; warning! graphic sexual abuse of a minor — please do not read further if you are not comfortable; reader is the victim, mentions of hard drug use; shitty wealthy parents that abuse their adult children in the name of filial piety narcissism; toxic relationships; angst; stepsiblings; intense smut (fem reader, D/s (sub!JK), restraints, forced orgasm, cum eating, f and m-receiving oral, semi-public m-masturbation, edging, cock-and-ball torture (self + received), hair-pulling, nipple play, cumming on reader's face + chest, anal shower sex, choking, fingering, blindfold usage, heavy bruising / scratching, spit kink); non-idol!AU - orange-haired!Yoongi x savage, bad bitch!reader, ft obsessive, security guard!Jeon Jungkook; shifts between Yoongi’s, yours, and JK’s POV

--

Once again, be warned. This chapter details abuse of a minor, notably sexual as well as physical and mental. Reader is the victim. Although she is aware of how such abuse has warped her psyche, it is apparent that she uses dissociation as a coping mechanism from the worst of it. It is still awful. You are responsible for what you choose to consume. Please do not proceed unless you are in the headspace for monsters that do, sadly, exist in real life.

I do not condone this behavior. For storytelling purposes only.

--

He sat down on that black leather couch.

Spread his legs for his own comfort. His jacket was tossed to the side, out of the way. The living room was dark. All blinds drawn. Breathe out. He pushed his hair back, getting it out of the way. He set an arm on the back of the couch and raised his head. His skin prickled, warning him.

An icy itch slithered down his spine.

Min Yoongi looked up.

His stepsister smiled, a vicious image, and then she let her black lace dress slip down her body to step out of it.

He knew there was wrong in this world and Yoongi knew he was part of it. There was better than him. There was worse than him. Hell, his closest family was the epitome of the worst. He was definitely one of the wrong ones, by blood and by the path he had chosen to take. He had always been a runner, an escape artist, a bad son. He didn’t give a shit. The definition of insanity was doing something over and over again expecting a different result. Why continue being frustrated with something he couldn’t change? Why continue being berated and beaten repeatedly for not copying his father’s obscene behavior?

Why not do one better and take the one his father wanted most, over and over again?

Yoongi lifted two fingers ad curled them inward, beckoning his stepsister to him.

-

-

Life was about getting there.

This was true from the very beginning. You did what you had to do to keep living. It did not matter how you felt about it, and you did what you had to do so often that you forgot to feel something about it. Run. Hide. Cry. Be humiliated. These actions became second nature. The more you did them, the more detached you became. And so you did what you needed to do and felt nothing, just to retrieve your mother’s unconscious body back from whatever she had put herself though. That was the game. She counted on your part in the game. You fulfilled it. She rewarded with trinkets, a little treat, or something equally meaningless that meant everything to an impressionable child. Back then, it was easy. It was easy not to know better. It was easy to be a deceitful heart when nothing was wrong. Like your mother said, nothing could be wrong when you were born to play.

It had to become a game for it to be bearable.

You played the game.

What your mother didn’t count on was you becoming a slut to gain your own freedom. After teaching you to trust no one, she really thought she could make you dependent on the fragile bond of mother and daughter. After all, it was you and dear mother against the world, right? She never thought you would have the guts to make your own terms. Never thought you too could manipulate the people around you.

She wasn’t sober enough half of the time to stop you either.

The world around you was so, so fucked up and dear mother was the one to throw you to the wolves.

At some point, you had your revelation.

The first one was a son of some old guy.

Definitely older than you. Definitely should not be touching you. Didn’t want to either because he was repulsed by pussy. He did what he had to do so his dad wouldn’t know. You happened to be the easiest target in his line of vision. He had cornered you to do the deed, but was too terrified and too limp to do anything. You had been prepared to fight, steak knife behind your back, but the man ended up breaking down and crying. A first. Saying all kinds of things that you didn’t really understand, such as I can’t do this anymore and I have to and I’m sorry, they can’t know, who knows what, and you were looking down at him wondering how someone could have so much money and not be entirely selfish.

“Why don’t you?”

It was like a light bulb turned on in that vacant little brain.

Tear-stained face of a cowering naked creature under your narrow, barely-clothed body. He was bigger than you but, in this moment, he was small in the grandeur of your delicate, adamant defiance. You held up the knife, observing the way the low light gleamed off the blade, knowing you would have used it without hesitation. There was no fear in the desire for survival. You had tilted your head.

And you had felt it.

Power.

“W… W-What?”

You had smiled.

“You can keep a secret, right? Let’s make a secret.”

Your mother had no idea at the time that you were the one to provide the leverage she needed to leave that marriage. She just thought she had gotten lucky stumbling on her stepson in the middle of a gay orgy. Alimony and a quiet split as long as the shameful truth wasn’t revealed to the public. It had taken some time, but not as much as you had originally thought. You had simply copied what she did – created an addiction. Eventually, the addict went out of control. So what if you had to sleep with a few people? So what if you had created a cultish circle of rich kids fucking each other to get the curiosity started? It got you out of the house, away from hungrier eyes always straying from your mother.

Dumb bitch.

“It’s not so bad.”

A couple of men later. This one had been younger than your mother. Cutting lines of white right in front of you. Your mother was passed out. You weren’t worried. She wasn’t that pale. The man had offered you some but oddly accepted your declining. He did not accept you leaving his lap and his half-hard dick though. He snorted a narrow strip of few centimeters and sniffed hard.

“I bet you think all this sucks, doncha?” His satoori and drug habit had corroded his voice. His other hand was on your thigh. He squeezed. “But it isn’t so bad. I see you. You’re different. You’re not all here. And I bet you think people like me are dumb as rocks.” He tapped the side of his head, his pupils expanding like black holes. “But I ain’t dumb. I know your mother is here for money. That’s fine. I like dumb bitches who like getting face-fucked and think they’re making money by playing nice. She’d be making a lot more if she actually became a hooker. But you. I see it in your eyes.”

You had shrugged.

“Heh. I knew it. I knew you weren’t just a dumb little girl. Tell you what. I like you.”

You had stared at him. He offered you an obscene amount of money to suck his dick. But not only money. A safe box at the bank with your own key. It would take years for you to legally have your own assets. It was pointless to give you money that your mother still had access to. He promised to keep the key and give it to you when you came of age.

“I don’t trust you.”

He had grinned.

It was manic.

“Okay. Then you choose how I get off.”

You had frowned. You would always remember his face. Inviting. Sickly. Unfocused and ravenous like a hyena. His pupils had looked as if they were swallowing his irises. Ironically, his dark hair had been bleached, but the strands were turning a sickly orange due to poor upkeep. He would have been handsome if it wasn’t for the drug habit.

You also remembered how impressed you were at how he had played his game.

Then put your palm on his still-hard dick, leaning your weight on it. Gripped hard, as hard as your smaller hand could, crushing his balls into the seat, watching his features contort in pain.

And glee.

“You’re a liar,” you had said slowly, confirming it by digging your blunt nails inward. “You don’t like dumb bitches.”

He had been telling the truth about giving up a whole lot of money for what only you could give.

-

Jeon Jungkook was a security guard for a gentlemen’s club.

He also had a particular obsession with his boss. Not the old Master. Fuck no. The young Master, her daughter. And, although he doubted the feeling was mutual, they now shared a secret. It had to be intentional. She would do no such thing without purpose. Whether that purpose was in his best interest remained to be seen, but Jungkook didn’t really care. The world was fucked anyway. Might as well do some fucked-up things.

He was at work when he received the notification that the young Master was at her condo.

This was not uncommon. There was no need for the Masters to be here to constantly oversee operations. That was why they had managers and supervisors, after all. As for why Jungkook received the notification, well, he had begun to pay the security at that particular building a bit of money to let him know who was going in and out of that particular condo.

Not to do anything.

He just wanted to know.

A few nights ago, she had blindfolded him in the basement. Handcuffed him to a metal bar, naked, and done all sorts of things to him with ice, vibrators, and her pointed manicure. He still had scabbed lines over his back from where she had broken skin. His favorite part had been when she orgasmed while sandwiching the wand vibrator between his balls and her pussy. Holding his cock out of the way, of course. He could feel her cum seeping onto his inner thighs and her hot breath on his chest as she did it. He especially liked it when she scooped up her cum and shoved her slick fingers into his mouth and almost made him choke. Jungkook hadn’t liked it when she stimulated him with a vibrating silicone sleeve rather than her hand. He had begged to at least cum on the stone floor. She only let him if he spit in her hand first and then she used that as lube to jack him off to completion. He wished she had made him lick it up, but the basement floor wasn’t exactly clean.

She did, however, let him get on his knees and clean up her pussy.

Jungkook had an obsession.

He wanted to know who came in and out of the condo. He and the young Master shared a secret. He was a security guard. Hers. He wanted to protect. The best way to protect was to have information. The more information, the better. Spending a bit of money was not going to prevent him from protecting.

On his break, he was in his car when he checked his phone.

The people who had entered the condo were the young Master and her stepbrother.

This was no cause for alarm, but it did greatly piss Jungkook off.

Not for any good reason, he knew. He was in no place to think he was entitled to anything. Nor did he have any delusion about what his relationship was with the young Master. She had the body. She had the money. She could do whatever she wanted as long as she still cared enough to keep their secret. But Jungkook was still mad, because Min Yoongi was an asshole who couldn’t even see who was on his side.

He was also pissed because this information didn’t curb his hunger.

Jungkook sat back in his car and ran his fingers over his erection throbbing in his work pants. His left hand followed the side of his pants, to the slim pocket that held the black switchblade with the engraved tiger motif. It took some effort to unzip his pants. Even more to lower his boxer briefs. His hard cock sprang out, suddenly exposed in the cool air. He stared straight ahead, keeping his breath steady. Glanced at his rearview mirror to make sure his expression didn’t change. No one was coming to the employee parking lot anyway, but there were still cameras. He doubted any of them had the correct angle to see inside his car, but he also didn’t care. He ran the fingertips of his right hand over the head, smearing the pre-cum. Shivered, but otherwise didn’t let the pleasure show. He traced the hard lines of the tiger and stroked himself all over, his swollen cock throbbing uncomfortably, almost unbearable.

Remembered the way his Master touched him and made him sore.

Perfect.

Jungkook knew what the young Master was doing with her stepbrother.

He told himself he didn’t care.

But, still, sometimes he would miss the feeling she gave him. He kept his left hand on the knife she had given him and gripped his balls, squeezing hard. Delicious pain shot up his core. He kept his eyes open, staring straight ahead, aware of the movement around him, imagining her torturing him as he tortured himself, right in the open. Smacked his cock so hard that it hit his pant leg, the slap resounding in the confides of his car. He had to bite his tongue to avoid letting the illicit ecstasy show on his face. He did it again, louder, harder, squeezing his balls again right after to prolong the suffering, and none of it showed on his face even as his lower half vibrated with craving. He wanted her to tell him to stop. He wanted her to punish him. The edges of the switchblade cut into his palm as he hooked thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock and tightened.

The throb of pleasure was so powerful that his hips threatened to rise.

He used all of his willpower to prevent himself from doing so and instead smacked his abused cock once more, his toes curling inside his shoes to maintain the tension of staying upright and appearing unemotional so no one would even suspect how desperately and deeply he wanted to be tied up and used by his Master.

He needed it.

Needed it.

He loved having this secret with the young Master.

He carefully corrected himself. Zipped up his pants and, in doing so, noticed the faint white stains along the inner thighs of his pant legs. He let it be and returned to work. He received a few interesting looks from the working girls but Jungkook only thought about one person. Only one. He finished his shift with his underwear soaked in his pre-cum. The first thing he did when he left work was check his phone.

No new notifications.

He went straight home.

-

The last thing Min Yoongi knew was the right words to say.

It was one thing to be sure of something and another to hear the outward, sickening proof of it. It was one thing to know his own father was despicable and deplorable, but another to hear his own stepmother saying, what is the big deal? The shameful anger flared within him once more as he remembered. The suggestion itself, vile. The way it was presented even more so. But the anger came from somewhere else. From nights of tangled hands and skin-to-skin. From his teeth sunk into flesh, from his hands around her throat, from his cock buried deep inside his stepsister’s pussy. His. His, because she wanted him, because she willingly toyed with his emotions and pushed all his buttons and coiled around him like a viper, her saliva a venomous aphrodisiac. And the shame, well. The shame didn’t come from the wrongness.

No.

“Strip.”

The shame came from jealousy.

Jealousy from her reaching back so confidently and unhooking her bra, so casual and unbothered by his spiteful order. Her shoulders dipped, left, right, the straps smoothly sliding off as she held the lace cups. Too practiced to be accidental. Too graceful to be a novice and Yoongi was ashamed, ashamed for the way he watched her every move, ashamed at himself for how deeply it affected him, ashamed not at his cock twitching but at his chest tightening, his heart racing, the tremble in his own breath.

She slowly let the bra fall into her hands and tossed it aside, letting him look at the shapely curves and stiff nipples.

He had none of that.

And Yoongi was angry, so angry at his own father for trying to take her from him even though he had no right and no claim over this woman, but all the same, she is mine, mine, and you are a shitty father and took away any hope I had in this life so it is about time I take something for you too.

An eye for an eye.

She paused a few steps away. Hooked her finger over the sides of her black lace panties and bent forward, sliding them down, down. Her breasts fully exposed and, as she stood up, her pussy as well, the low light catching a hint of glistening slick. The blinds were all drawn, but it was still daylight outside, allowing the seeping bright cracks to light up the living room.

He breathed in and was greeted with the potent scent of sex.

One hand on his bare knee. Then the other. Yoongi was still wearing his charcoal, paint-stained jeans. The large rips in the knees allowed for the skin-to-skin contact. He didn’t say anything as she lowered herself to her knees. Didn’t dare breathe under that serpentine gaze. He was still wearing his designer t-shirt and made no move to take it off.

She smiled, her pink tongue tracing the edge of her smirk.

His cock throbbed, stretching out his boxer briefs.

Yoongi cocked his chin and stuck his tongue in his cheek.

Then he shot out his hand and grabbed her by the throat, pressing his fingertips inward. Dragged her neck towards him, growling in his chest, his pulse quickening at the sound of her gasp, his blood racing at the feeling of her hands sliding up his thighs, the now-familiar, ravenous desire coiling as her body slid up against his legs.

“How many times you get on your knees for a man?” he hissed, low and violent.

Her chuckle was so dark that he almost let go.

“Very kind of you to think of them as men, brother.”

Her fingers were at his zipper, yanking hard to pull it taut so she could unbutton his jeans. As if she had done this hundreds of times. He hated them all. He hated them and he had no idea who they were but he hated them all.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes, letting his seething anger command him.

“I’m not your brother.”

He threw her back, unzipping his pants and shoving them down, underwear and all. His cock snapped out, bouncing slightly from the force and its stiffness. He didn’t bother to give any warning. Simply seized her shoulders and pushed her down, shuddering from seeing her slide down so readily, and he thrust into her already open mouth.

Fitted his palms to the back of her head, pushing her hair out of the way, and began to fuck her face.

Soft lips, rubbing tongue, tight throat. He didn’t care. Deep, rolling his hips, not moving too quickly on purpose so he could last. So he could feel his girth stretch out her muscles, so he could savor the wet constriction, so he could stare into her eyes gazing back at him from below and tell himself I don’t care, clenching his jaw to avoid moaning, I don’t care, the harsh pleasure eating up his thighs and sliding up his spine, I don’t care, sucking in a stinging inhale as her tongue teased him, stimulating the thin skin under the head, burning heat searing the back of his neck.

She stared into his eyes.

Somehow, Yoongi felt as if she was seeing all of him. But that was impossible.

His shoulder blades pressed against the back of the sofa and he smacked his hips into her lips over and over again, one hand on the back of her head and the other bunching up his shirt, his labored breathing meshing with the lewd sound of her sucking him off, his legs shaking badly, threatening to collapse from the sinful delight tearing at to every nerve of his body.

He kept going.

Her hands spread over the couch, steadying herself as he built the pace, her naked body under him.

Her tongue flicked over his balls.

Mine.

He bit back his groan and snapped his head back, gasping as he felt his core lurch, the high shooting though him like an erotic bullet ricocheting through his ribcage. Hips driving forward, shoving her head down, tightness in his chest as he pumped his release into her throat in thick uncontrolled streams. His lips parting. Her name leaking out in a weak snarl.

He should have said something.

Yoongi wouldn’t know what to say but this, this happening between his legs right now, this was not what a good person would have done. Not that he had any grasp of what the concept of good could be. He just knew it wasn’t this.

The pulse rippled through him and he shivered, tightening his grip on her hair.

Pulled her mouth from his cock.

She leaned back, following his hold, and opened her mouth, displaying a wet pool of saliva and milky cum trickling down to a black hole, her pink tongue flattening out so he could see everything. He watched her swallow. He watched her savor his taste without guilt.

His dripping cock jerked, still hard.

“Play with your tits.”

He kept his left hand twisted into her hair and wrapped his right around his wet length, forcefully pushing himself to the edge as she squeezed her breasts. Pinching her hard nipples, pulling at them, unapologetically sighing in lustful satisfaction, flicking them. Large, swollen, stiff. His eyes shifted to her face. She watched him through lashes. The corner of her lips curved upward, amused. He cocked an eyebrow. Slid his ass forward to the edge of the leather sofa, gripping himself tighter, faster, using the base of his palm to shove down the crown of her head so she was forced to crouch.

She didn’t seem surprised.

He curled his fist downward, pulling on her hair hard enough to be painful.

Her head whipped back, plush lips parting, smokey gasp escaping.

Yoongi stared into her eyes.

They reflected his face, glassy and dark.

“I… I fucking hate you.”

Those dark eyes glittered with glee.

He came on her face.

Her eyes instantly snapped closed as he raised his hips and shot a streak of white over her cheek and onto her open lips. Thrust into his hand a few more times, hissing at the sensitivity, dribbling more down her neck, over her collarbone, and finally shoving the hot, pulsing head against the top of her breasts, pressing into the softness and growling, feeling flare after flare of feral pleasure. Her hands came up and cupped her breasts, pushing them together. He shoved his softening cock into the crevice, smearing his orgasm into her skin, the heavy, strong scent mixing with the honey still wafting up from below.

His entire body shuddered.

He unclenched his fingers from her hair and wiped his cum on her cheek into her mouth, shoving two fingers into the hot wet warmth. He pushed them in and out. His exhale shivered as her lips closed around them and she sucked, sensual and wrong, sucked all the way up to his knuckles as he lightly thrusted into the pocket of her breasts that she was pressing together.

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

He couldn’t.

He leaned down and replaced his fingers with his mouth, kissing his stepsister roughly, his own cum sticking to his face and tongue.

-

Back then, lying was so normal that the concept of truth became foreign.

“You look so pretty when you cry with my cock in your mouth, babygirl.”

You didn’t even have to think about it anymore while it was happening. You just did what you needed to do. You already knew the timing. Intoxicated and pissed from that younger guy turning her down, your mother would come home early, storming into the master bedroom without knocking. The entire scene laid out. No mistaking the situation. Instant incrimination. Immediately screaming her head off, hitting her current flavor-of-the-month boyfriend with her clutch, yelling about how it was over, and that argument would drag on with your body lying face-first into the carpet, your mascara tears soaking into the white shag, and the ache of your wrists tied behind your back with a men’s tie.

Inside, you would be laughing.

Your mother would then force yet another man to pay her a lot of money to keep her mouth shut. She always played her cards right. She always knew too much. She knew what kind of men to target. She knew what truths to say to render them speechless and so deep in the fog that they simply did whatever she asked. These men stood no chance in the wake of her manipulation. It was a talent, really. She would look at you and you would look back. Not saying anything. Slap you too, perhaps, if she had thought she could get more money out of the rich fucker. She probably assumed you were jealous or suspected that you wanted her spotlight, maybe.

Didn’t matter.

Because the night before that younger man that had turned down your mother at the bar, he had paid you even more money to be in your lap dressed in a lacy nightie with his own wrists tied behind his back, violently riding your large strap-on while you pulled on the leash around his neck, and you had whispered behind his back.

Low and dark.

“You gonna cum for your daddy, babygirl?”

Your mother really was a dumb, dumb bitch.

She made sure you were stuck in a world where everyone shot everybody. And so you did, although you only had one true target. Slowly, delicately, precisely. Needle by needle. Man by man. Old, young, in between. Sick fantasies and voracious greed in the shadows. Each conquest without remorse, creating a cyclic lifestyle your mother became so used to that it became an unbreakable habit. An addictive drug with soaring highs and explosive lows. You could have used a gun. Of course. How easy it could have been to ruin the life of the one who gave birth to you by exposing time after time she had exploited your youth for her own gain. But that would have been too quick of an end. Too merciful.

She didn’t deserve that.

Did your mother know? Probably. Did she want to stop it? Of course not. A constant flow of hush money and a revolving door of rich dick, oh, how could she refuse? The luxurious benefits were too fruitful to resist. And when she got bored, she could make your life insufferable until you pulled out that get-out-jail-free card. Most of the time, though, you simply sensed when she was over it and ended things to move on to the next best thing.

Searching.

Hunting.

You just had to be patient.

And then Min Yoongi came along.

Everything falling into place.

Bored, frustrated, agitated with having to play this part for so long and wanting to use you again to get her out of it. A small snag. If your mother was the one to ask for the divorce, she would get nothing. Prenuptial agreements were a bitch. He was disgusting person, but unfortunately not an idiot. And Papa wasn’t giving up yet. After years and years of relying on someone else to do the dirty work, and then being silently refused by that same someone, well, who was going to help her now? Still, she tried to manipulate you.

Your mother was too much of a narcissist to see that you had already surpassed her.

In addition, at this point, she had too much pride to change tactics now. It was a matter of principle. A matter of exercising her power over you, vain was it was. The perception of control. She thought she had won all the battles but she had already lost this war. No. No, she would not allow it. It didn’t matter if it was becoming clearer and clearer each day that she was stuck in a cage. So, your mother did what she always did. Drink. Seek out the high in others. Run. And, at the end of it all, kicking and screaming, getting dragged back to be Papa’s good, obedient wife.

Heh.

Revenge was delicious.

-

His fingers wrapped around her left wrist, around the chain bracelet with the black glass beads.

He was already inside.

His right hand was around her neck, pulling her head back to force her spine to arch as he shoved his hips forward a little more, making them both hiss. Him from the tightness. Her from the fullness. It must have hurt, but Min Yoongi was fucking his stepsister and he didn’t have time to care about things like that.

“Your ass is much tighter than your pussy,” he growled into ear, pushing back her wet hair.

The raining showerhead thundered down. Warm droplets splashing against burning skin. She had both palms against the vertical, smooth white tiles, using the leverage to push her body back into him, squeezing his length. He didn’t care. The grimace rippled down his body, his core tightening, his hard cock twitching. Not moving yet. He would be damned if he moved right now. Kept his grip on her wrist and neck, feeling pulse after pulse race through his blood, his erratic breath against her ear, not looking up from the curve of her tense neck.

Yoongi just stood there in the opulent shower, his fully erect cock buried into his stepsister’s tight asshole, clenching his pelvic muscles to make it throb inside her.

It was wrong. It was demeaning. He hadn’t even asked. She had left him on the couch and walked past him, still painted with his cum, and said nothing as she entered the bedroom. A few seconds later, he had heard the running water. Yoongi had sat there, pants still undone, dying in the weight of this watery silence, feeling both the sting of pain and blind anger. He didn’t care. He didn’t care, and the lies he told himself were second nature at this part, something so lived-in that they became real, even as Yoongi flung himself off the leather sofa and yanked his clothes off, throwing them on the floor. All the way to the bathroom, laying false claim on this condo, seeing himself in the mirror for a second before entering the shower.

His gelled, orange-dyed hair in disarray and his lost expression.

His dark eyes misty.

It must have been a trick of a light, a result of the steaming air, that his vision blurred unexpectedly.

Without another thought, Yoongi had opened the glass door of the shower and let himself in, pushing her body against the tiles and not letting her see his face because even he didn’t want to look at it now.

She moaned under him, not moving away.

I hate you.

He let go of her left wrist and reached down, sliding his fingers between her open legs and tracing the slick, wet lips of her pussy.

“Must be awful for you to have this hole empty.”

A wicked, dark snicker flowed out from her open lips, more telling than any words.

His chest to her back. His hand around her neck, tightening, and he pressed his rough fingertips to her swollen clit, relishing in the depraved satisfaction of her hips shivering, bucking back against him in response. He pressed down, sliding back and forth. Slow, with pressure, and moving his own hips. Drawing back, almost, her tight ring of muscle clutching around the base of the head. He hoped it tortured her. He hoped it felt good to be denied, hoped she felt the empty ache as he rutted the engorged tip of his cock in and out, in and out, then he shoved his cock back in, all the way.

The pleasure flared, burning all of his nerves and making his legs scream in tension.

He hoped she could feel the hurt, because Yoongi could.

Choked her harder and began to fuck her ass.

Close, his breath into her wet hair. Water streaming down his shoulders. Thrusting up and with effort, slow at first, but forceful, suffocating his arousal with the depth. He bit his lip, hard, letting the pain eat through the pleasure. So tight around his hard length, so soft along the sensitive, throbbing head, sucking him in, her thin moans echoing throughout the bathroom along with the slapping of hips to ass. Her body shaking under him. He let go of her neck suddenly, gripping her hip instead, driving his fingertips into her folds and rubbing tight circles, flicking his blunt fingernail over the packed nerves.

She hissed, her shoulders caving in, and growled his name, the tendons of her hands popping out.

“Fuck, Yoongi!”

There was an abrupt convulsion around his buried cock and passionate electricity radiated all over his inner thighs, up his stomach, to his throat, turning him viciously breathless, her orgasm slick on his fingers, and his hand on her hip gripped tighter, pausing to feel the aftershocks.

He hoped he left bruises.

On her body and in her memory.

So tight, uncontrolled now, chasing the wicked pleasure. He thrust in, again and again, loud and lewd and wet, her back arched, lower torso nearly parallel to the ground, and Yoongi sank his hold into her lush hips, dragging her to him and his unforgiving cock, his vision blurring, his hair sticking to his face, fuzzy smears of dark orange eclipsed with droplets clinging to his lashes, and he closed his eyes, pretending there was nothing but this, nothing but tightness and pleasure and her cries for him, wanton and unsatiated. The water tumbled, down, down, splashing over the tiles. He was drowning, drowning in lust, and the water drowned out his sudden hungry moan.

Smack!

She gasped sharply, on the edge of pain.

He groaned, violent and possessed, spilling into that soft clenching hole, and he could feel every jerk, every shiver, every twitch that shot a little more. Could feel even the way the choked head of his cock was being squished up against his own cum, the delicate rubbing sending a fresh wave of piercing pins and needles tearing through him.

Couldn’t breathe.

Staggered back, slipping out, and it was obscene. His orgasm wasn’t as much, of course, but even in the hazy falling water he could see his own cum dribble out of her ass and stick to the curve, clinging there for a violating millisecond before being washed away, dragged down the drain along with his sins.

Yoongi panted, the back of his throat feeling as if an animal had clawed at it.

He looked up.

Her head was turned, hair flat against her cheeks, one eye seeing him, and the fingertips of her right hand toyed with the chain bracelet with the black beads. There were red marks on her left wrist, underneath the jewelry. The edge of her lips raised in gratification.

The water fell down, down.

He didn’t say anything.

Reached forward and smeared what was left along her hole, then remained tight-lipped as he shoved his finger in, sucking back a breath. She gasped, but it was faint and not a whimper. It was lustful and carnal satisfaction. He pushed in and out. In and out. Still tight, still gripping him, pulsing around his finger, learned behavior, and Yoongi wanted to scream.

Mostly because he knew this practiced response was most likely not from instances like this, but much crueler, hateful moments.

He placed his palm along her jaw and turned her face more to face him. Leaned in without another word, sliding his tongue into her open mouth and slowly thrusting his finger into her ass. All the way to his knuckle, slow and deliberate. Gentle pleasure. The water rained down, down. It washed away all sins. He pulled his finger out. Turned his back to her, taking the soap.

Couldn’t look.

Yoongi told himself he didn’t care. Cleaned off his hand. Covered himself in the soap, rubbing the sweet lather into his skin while staring at the white tiles. Told himself there was nothing to say. Told himself the tingling left on his skin was just from the physicality of it all and nothing else. Nothing else.

He stiffened as he felt her hard nipples ghost his skin.

“I’ll wash your back.”

He tightened his jaw.

“Brother.”

Her full breasts pressed against his back. Her hands on his shoulders, caressing them. All over, body to body, slippery, fragrant. He bit back his sound, killing it. His chest vibrated, the snarl inside fighting him. Snapped his head around, knocking her hand away, his wet hair over his eyes.

Couldn’t quite catch her expression from behind the dripping curtain of red-orange.

“Stop calling me brother.”

He didn’t care.

Didn’t care.

He was no different from anyone else who touched her. Yoongi reached out, closing his grip around her shoulder. Pulled her to him, their bodies colliding, his heavy breath on her face.

Avoided her eyes.

“We are alone. Stop pretending,” he mumbled, leaning down to those lips, bruising them with kisses to avoid any more slip-ups.

-

You awoke to silence.

Turned your head and Min Yoongi was staring at you in the semi-darkness. Shirtless. Arms crossed, looking down, with the duvet pooled around his lower waist. His dyed, dark orange hair hung down, slightly frizzy and unkempt. Not styled. Air-dried from the shower. His pale skin seemed even paler than usual, the pallor reflecting the grim expression on his face. Narrowed, guarded dark eyes. Frigid tension between his lips.

A slow breath weaved through the tightness in your chest that was slowly dissipating due to now being conscious and in control.

You could feel your nakedness under the duvet.

The curtains were barely open, allowing a strip of moonlight and city light to illuminate the dark bedroom. You gazed back at Yoongi but said nothing. He must have witnessed. You inhaled again. A slow, measured breath. Held it. Exhaled. It was almost unnoticeable, barring the fact that your stepbrother was staring right at you.

“You had a nightmare.”

His lips barely moved. Each word came out deliberately and impassively, trying to avoid the true intention behind such words, and, in doing so, revealing everything. You almost expected the low edge of irritation. You could tell he regretted not adding it.

You almost lied.

Almost.

“I always dream,” you whispered back with no emotion, desensitized.

Complete and utter stillness.

A single shift and tilt of his head, not accepting your response. You looked up at him from the pillow, the images flashing in your head, but they quickly disintegrated, leaving only the crawling sensation of distorted parasitic desires forced upon you at one point in time. You ignored it. They always came in dreams because they couldn’t reach you without the shackles of sleep.

“You mean you always have nightmares,” Yoongi corrected you.

Inhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You had no reply to the truth.

Maybe it was the surrealness of the dead of night. Maybe it was the unholiness of what happened in your bed with your stepbrother earlier. Maybe it was the used condoms on the floor and the torn wrappers all over the nightstand. Maybe it was the scent of sex and sin weighing heavily in the air. As close as possible and yet so far away. His dark brown eyes flickered to the empty easel on the other side of the bedroom. Then back to your form coiled in the sheets, serpentine, and yet in a rare moment of calm. Hunger satiated, at least for now.

Yoongi asked you a question with no notable inflection. Perhaps it was the low volume of his voice, raspy and dreamlike.

“Am I ever part of your nightmares?”

You almost twisted the truth.

“You are related to one of many monsters I have encountered,” you breathed, staring into the shadows of his eyes.

Loathing flared within in at the mention.

Your stepbrother looked away.

“I know.”

You closed your eyes, not wanting to see any more.

“There are always monsters,” you whispered to the surrealness of the night.

Yoongi said nothing.

He had never seen you sleep before. Even on so-called family vacations, you had never shared a room with him. More often than not there would be a mix-up and you would end up having a sleepless night in the same hotel room as your stepfather and mother. That or running off with a local to finally get some sleep. It was safer to be in a stranger’s home than in a hotel room with those two. That was the truth. Those vacations were only for show anyway; there was no meaning to them other than a chance at coercion. You knew Yoongi knew that.

He hadn’t known about your nightmares though.

You had grown so used to them that you had forgotten. A strange slip-up for you. No, you concluded, not a slip-up. You didn’t have them every night. Just most nights. You knew there could have been a chance the moment you closed your eyes while in bed with him. You hadn’t planned for him to know, but this was not a mistake. Making plans was for novices. Plans never succeed. Capitalizing on the moment and turning it into an opportunity at the right time, why, that was what constituted a villain.

And, sometimes, one had to become a villain to survive.

You waited.

Min Yoongi didn’t move for a long, long time. He stayed where he was, not laying back down and not adjusting. You would feel and hear his actions if he did. He did not. There was nothing but his calm, nearly inaudible breath and soon it became a lulling rhythm, swaying your consciousness between reality, nightmares, or total blackness.

You hoped it would be total blackness this time.

Deep, deep down, for yet another countless night in a row, you wished for the total blackness to become eternal despite knowing full well that you would never be that lucky. That was the funny thing about wishes.

Even the most unworthy cling to them.

On the cusp of falling asleep, you felt the weight on the bed shift. Yoongi left.

-

A few blocks away, Jeon Jungkook stood shirtless in his bathroom and locked eyes with his own reflection.

The hot sweat along his shoulders was drying. He savored the way his heart raced in his chest, thud-thud-thud, matching the click-click-clicking of the images flickering through his mind. He closed his eyes and he could almost feel it again, once again, the crawling sensation of forced desire, her slick tongue sliding over his collarbone and then her spit hitting the back of his throat, his mouth open and already primed to receive. In his dreams, there was no blindfold.

In his dreams, Jungkook could see her face.

In his dreams, he could relish in the power thriving in those downcast eyes, watch her nails sink into his stomach as he whimpered, witness her delicious body roll as her slippery pussy rubbed against his hard length trapped in an uncomfortable and unbearable position, the dark purple head leaking against his lower belly. The young Master would not give him what he wanted and Jungkook would cry. He would beg.

And he would hate and love hearing the denial.

Jungkook breathed in slow, recalling the dream and committing it to memory.

Inhale.

The ache within him grew and grew.

Inhale.

He knew exactly where she lived. The building. The number on the door. He even knew how to bypass the security. He had memorized their schedules and gathered enough damning information. It was always good to have ammunition, after all. The young Master had taught him that.

Exhale.

Then again, she was most likely fucking her stepbrother right now.

His eyes snapped open and Jungkook growled at his reflection, tension creeping all over his body.

It took him a moment to calm down. There was nothing he could do about it. He breathed out again, his shoulders falling. His reflection observed him as closely as he did. His black hair fallen over his forehead, tangled from sleep. Eyes sharp, brows furrowed. His hands gripped the edge of the sink. He could see how wound up he was by how white his knuckles were. He let go. She shared a secret with him. He had to trust in that. He was confident in that secret.

He had to be.

He worked for her. He was of service. He took that very seriously, regardless of what an outsider might think, because he had chosen to be a man of loyalty. Jungkook knew where his loyalties lie, and he was not a man who could be swayed by irrefutable truths because he could always recall that look in her eyes. That poisoned guilt, that vacancy, the look of a child begging for someone to help, and he had made a silent promise that even she didn’t know about.

To those eyes.

To her.

In a world there everyone backstabbed everyone else, Jungkook had chosen to be the knife to be wielded by one who still believed she had no one by her side. Of course, it was stupid. Of course, she was not faultless. Of course, everything was all wrong.

But they shared a secret.

He turned his head, not quite facing the mirror, but instead in the direction of the location of her condominium, and spoke to the air, to the dead of night, across the distance of many heads in between reality and dreams. She could not hear him but that did not make his declaration invalid.

“I will protect you.”

And perhaps his loyalties would eventually turn the young Master against him. He hated that that could be true, but such was life. And maybe he definitely couldn’t save anyone, but he would die trying. Did she not deserve such loyalty? Even the most unworthy didn’t deserve to be abandoned.

After all, there was always some awful truth to villainous behavior.

He missed her.

He wished he could hold her, someday. He wished for that to be possible, even if it was the slimmest of chances. He hoped she had understood him back then, hoped he had conveyed how serious he was every time they interacted. I like it with you. It’s different. That was right. She said so herself. And so, Jungkook promised to play with game with her, no matter what it looked like, no matter how much he wanted to punch that self-centered Min Yoongi right in his stupid pretty face, no matter how much he hurt because his hurt meant her happiness and eventually she would come back to him.

Of course.

Jungkook bit his lower lip, inhaling slowly.

Right?

Held it.

“Come back to me,” he whispered to the surrealness of the night and he knew damn well she couldn’t hear him.

-

Min Yoongi sat on the couch in the living room of his stepsister’s condo with only his underwear on after his business with the bathroom. He had gone to the kitchen to wash his hands because he could not stare at his own reflection in the mirror.

He inhaled a shaky breath.

The proper thing to do would be to go back to the bedroom. Well, proper was the wrong word considering he was sleeping with his own stepsister. Perhaps the better word for it was… ethical. Fuck, even halfway decent. He couldn’t get the image of her distress out of his head. Waking up suddenly to her hands clutching the pillow, her knuckles white, her breathing rapid and labored. At first, he thought his brain had made up the sounds. Nonsensical muted cries. Pained noises trapped in her throat. Her entire body tense, on the verge of thrashing but not. Rigid.

Couldn’t.

Paralyzed in fear.

Yoongi tried to gulp down more air. Shuddering. Swallowing. Feeling like it wasn’t enough, falling forward and running his hands through his hair, his elbows on his knees.

He had never seen her afraid. Truly and utterly terrified, and it only appeared because she had been asleep. The moment he hesitantly touched her shoulder, she startled awake, instantly vigilant. The transformation had been seamless, and then she was herself. Calm, collected, calculated. Only now did Yoongi realize it was a caricature. A front so practiced that it had become second nature. Not intentionally but out of necessity. It frightened him, because now Yoongi had confirmation that his father was just another in the long line of self-centered assholes that attempted to take advantage of her and he was no better.

He was no better.

He shakily exhaled, torn and in tatters.

There are always monsters.

Of course, there were always monsters and Yoongi was one of them.

He wanted to run. Throw on all his clothes and run to his studio, locking himself in there and not coming out until he couldn’t stand being alone anymore. He wanted to scream and drown himself in alcohol. He wanted to pick a fight with some hapless stranger and feel powerful. Even if just for a second. Anything. Anything but this. An awful crawling sensation travelled all over his bare back. He shivered even though it had no physical basis. He wasn’t stupid. Yoongi had seen the way men looked at her – as if she was a thing to be used. He had convinced himself not to care. Why care? She didn’t. He had vowed himself not to get involved like that but now he was sitting in her living room wanting to tear his skin off thinking about the probable shit she had been though in her childhood and having the horrifying realization that the truth was probably beyond his imagination. Attempted to take advantage of her? He was lying to himself again.

He wanted to go home.

Except he knew damn well he never had a home.

Yoongi had lived his life in the shadow of a greater man, or so he was led to believe. Even if this didn’t turn out to be true, he could not undo the paradoxical thinking of overwhelming self-importance and the constant struggle of trying to reach an unattainable goal. He was never enough for his father. Eventually he just stopped trying to be. Every achievement was met with the accusation, a need to be more. More ambitious, more strategic, more intelligent. It was impossible. He had long stopped giving a fuck, or so he thought.

And yet.

Like her nightmares, his own personal hell came back to haunt him all the time.

He dug his fingernails into his scalp, on the cusp of screaming.

The only reason he didn’t was because he didn’t want to wake her. Or perhaps it was because he didn’t want her to know. There was nothing he could do. He could do nothing. He never could, according to his father. Lacked resolve, or at least that was what Yoongi had been told over and over. You are a disgrace. There was at least solace in knowing that he wasn’t his father, right? He didn’t know. Was that even true, considering all of this? I always dream. She was so used to them that nightmares were simply considered regular dreams to her. How fucked was that? Shit, her entire life was a goddamn nightmare and she didn’t even know. Or maybe she did, and had adapted accordingly, something he could never do, something Yoongi could never admit to himself, at least not unless it was times like this, trapped in the surreal depths of the dead of night.

He tried to breathe but it seemed impossible.

He knew deep down that he was worthless, but even the worthless had desires. And he wasn’t stupid either. She was using him. He was using her. She wanted him for her reasons and he wanted her to get back at his father. Shit. She was afraid and she showed no one, not even herself, dealing with it in her sleep. Didn’t trust him. Why the fuck would she? He was her stepbrother, they were having an incestuous affair, and not once did she rely on him.

But he did.

Yoongi shuddered.

That was true.

He relied on her to want him so he could feel better about himself.

I am so fucking vile.

She didn’t even make him feel guilty about it. There are always monsters. She could have. She could have emotionally manipulated him, she could have said something to get a rise out of him, but all she did was tell him the truth of how desensitized she was to malignance. She had options. He did not expect to be so shaken by the one she chose. His fingernails dug into his scalp some more, causing stinging pain. Yoongi dared not look up because he knew her paintings were hanging on the walls around him. Multiple canvases painted black all over with thin lines of dark blood-red drawn onto the murk like arteries. He had found them unsettling and rightfully so. Underneath them were secrets. “I love you, so I act this way.” “You should accept love. It’s not that easy to be loved in this world.” “You can keep a secret, right?” “Let’s make a secret.” Scrawled underneath and then covered with heavy layers of paint, almost certainly hundreds of secrets, and the awful crawling sensation travelled up and down his spine like hot acid.

He didn’t want to know.

Yoongi knew that he should go back to the bedroom if he was even halfway decent of a man.

But he was terrified.

He could not be like her.

He couldn’t deal with it.

He had to make a decision. He forced himself to take a breath. Then another. He forced himself to stand, to exhale, to walk. What was not supposed to be ingrained in memory already was. All he had to do was follow the trail of discarded clothes. Vile. He stepped between darkness and light, but the faint glow was artificial, bleeding into the windows from the city below, and Yoongi knew he could not be like his stepsister but he wanted to believe that he could. He wanted to believe he could play the game. He did not want to believe he was just another discarded misfit toy. Couldn’t. And so he chose not to believe the irrefutable truth, turning the corner to see her eyes closed. Her lustrous hair draped over her pillow. Her facial expression not in distress but, instead, nothing. A mind trapped in total blackness.

Dreamlessness.

Yoongi had never been so grateful to see nothing.

He stepped to her side of the bed.

In some ways, she resembled a child, or at least the peacefulness of one in slumber. His hand lifted. Each strand of her hair, the curve of her cheek, the line of her closed eyes. From moonlight to memory, although at the time he didn’t know it yet. He reached out. His fingertips hovered above the crown of her head and Yoongi realized, with a tightness in his chest, that he would be perhaps the first and the only person to do this for her.

His palm touched the top her head.

His stepsister remained fast asleep. Yoongi stayed like that for a moment. He knew damn well that she would never feel the sensation of someone patting her on the head but he did it anyway.

-

You left before your stepbrother woke up.

To be more precise, you didn’t confirm or deny if he was faking his deep breathing. You simply accepted it as truth. Dressed in your closet, picked up your purse, and stepped out of the apartment, heading for your car. Not looking back. Purchased a light breakfast, spending some solitary time in the hotel restaurant. Headed to your appointment with Valentino, where you absentmindedly picked a few pieces for work, thinking about the word nightmare.

Dreams.

You called them dreams. Yoongi had called them nightmares. The correct word was memories. Ones that you did not acknowledge. The times you were the prey before you became the predator. The times you were weak before you were strong. The first time you felt power was the first time. Not all those other times where you hid and prayed not be found before the drugs or drunkenness set in. Not those other times you were approached, despising it not because of learned morality, but because the touching placed you in the same category as your mother, something you loathed more than the wrongness. Misery was something unnecessary and meaningless. Pain was something you could acclimate to. Death was something you could aspire to. But being known as your mother’s spitting image was a fate worse than death.

You had a nightmare.

You made your luxury purchases. You window-shopped at a few other spots, all while questioning your humanness that you had thought you had lost long ago. You could sense the judgement in the eyes of the other patrons. The employees were sincere because you were holding your black card, but not a single one dared to ask you about your personal life. It was not about whether you seemed stuck-up in your long structured black wool cape, nor the subtle sensuality of your fitted, slinky black dress with the high slit, studded Valentino black pumps, and small black handbag.

There was just something not quite right about your presence.

You slipped into this persona when you didn’t want to be bothered. Natural, but perhaps not. The eyes felt louder than usual today. You had dreams. Everybody had dreams. You had a nightmare. You had heard the word before, and yet the way he said it. You placed your shopping bags in your car and drove away with no destination in mind. Flashes of memory. Whiskey and a hand on your wrist. You waited for the light to turn green and ventured forward. Nights in private rooms in bars you were too young for. You stopped at a nice restaurant in a high-rise, sitting at by the window with a nice view, slicing into your steak in silence as you pondered how it would feel to throw your body against the glass and plunge into free-fall, wondering if you would have the life-flashing-before-your-eyes-moment, if you would recall all the countless hands and the whispered placations and being awake for all of it, so much so that you caged those memories into dreams.

You patted your lips with the cloth napkin before paying the check.

A man said something to you as you were leaving and you looked at him with such hollowness that he took a step back, visibly shaken. You forgot about it. You shopped for a little longer, purchasing another pair of nice, wickedly tall heels. There was one final errand to complete before heading home to fuck your stepbrother. You took your time.

-

Days passed.

And then, elation.

Jeon Jungkook stood in front of the door of salvation. He raised a hand to the heavy wood. Held his breath. Savored the sensation of his need crawling up from his insides, rearing its ugly head and shaking his heart to a rapid, telltale pulse. He knocked.

“Come in.”

His breath hitched at the familiar voice.

He opened the heavy door of the office on the highest floor of the gentleman’s club and the young Master looked up from the other side of the desk. Hair swept back in a graceful updo with a few tasteful strands framing her face. The dark silver blouse clung to her curves. Silk. The fountain pen in her hand paused.

Her eyes roamed all over him.

He almost collapsed in desperation.

She said nothing. She did not stand up from behind the dark-stained cherry wood. He stepped in cautiously, placing his body on the other side of the door. It was a large office of black floral wallpaper, large black filing cabinets, and chairs positioned along the walls. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind her desk were bulletproof glass. One-way view. This was one of the areas that had no cameras. Even the bathrooms had cameras positioned outside the stalls to catch any nefarious acts. He knew all of this. The chandelier diffused cold-blooded white light in reflected fragments all over the room.

The look in her eyes pinned him to his spot.

His spine tingled as an n icy itch slithered down to his groin.

“Lock the door behind you,” the young Master commanded him.

He did as he was told, with every cell in his body vibrating for the pain. Turned around. Like a snake, she had already risen, gliding around the desk. Her hips were tucked into a skin-tight pleather pencil skirt. The wicked high heels were silent against the vintage Persian rug. She was probably standing on over a hundred million won. She stopped in front of her desk.

Unfastened the button of her left sleeve.

Casually looked down to smoothly fold it back to her elbow. Jungkook remained rooted, not crossing the distance without an order despite his growing erection already fighting against his pants. Golden light glistened along her periphery, highlighting every line. Hell turned heavenly. She completed the left sleeve and paused, raising her right hand to waist height.

Tilted her head back and beckoned him with two fingers.

“Come forward.”

With each step his own heart beat against the confines of his ribcage. With each step Jungkook knew his arousal was becoming more and more obvious. He deliberately kept his hands by his sides, not hiding anything, and her eyes flickered down as she folded her right sleeve back. There was a ripple of knowing across her features. He stopped at a respectful distance. They were alone. The door was locked. This room was soundproof. He was in the middle of his shift when he was called up, which never happened unless one had committed a grave mistake. He knew this, and yet he was still inappropriately, obscenely, violently turned on. She finished rolling up her sleeve to the elbow and reached back to an object that was behind her, tucked by the computer monitor in between papers.

A black leather blindfold.

She tilted her head. He was taller than her, but that meant nothing. She ticked the blindfold in her hand, wordlessly telling him to come closer. He did so, his face frozen, on the cusp of falling apart. He was in his full uniform. Cap and all. It was as if none of that mattered. He tried to search for some kind of emotion on her face but she remained impassive.

“On your knees.”

He obeyed so quickly that they both heard the heavy sound of his weight hitting the floor under the carpet. She did not even smile. She stared down at him. He looked up at her. He wanted to say he needed it. He wanted to say do anything to me, anything you want, please do it now, and yet all she did was hold the blindfold in one hand with her ass against the edge of her desk, gazing down at Jungkook’s spread knees and trembling body.

He was so hungry for it that he was shaking.

Her eyes stopped at the obvious bulge in his pants and she declared in a noncommittal tone, “I am going to hurt you. Right now.” His breath froze in his throat. “On my dime, I’m going to hurt you. And then you will go back to work, hurting, and you will not let a single person know.”

No explanation about what happened the past couple days. Jungkook knew she had left her apartment and always gone back. He also knew her stepbrother had not left with her during those outings. That meant when she went back, she was most likely fucking him. Jungkook knew that. But she came back here. Here, to the gentleman’s club she owned. Where he worked. She came back, and probably not for him. And yet.

Yet he was on his knees right now because she forced him to.

She owned him.

That was all he ever wanted.

“Yes, Master.”

Her line of vision raised. She stepped forward, and placed her right shoe on his thigh. He gasped, feeling the pressure in the toe of her heel and then the tip of the stiletto. His cap was removed from his head and delicately placed on the desk. Her face lowered. For a single, hovering second, they were eye-to-eye.

“Close your eyes, Jungkook,” she whispered against his lips.

He did and she slipped the blindfold over his eyes before buckling it tightly in place.

-

You straightened.

Looked down at him.

You had never done this before. Not in the middle of the day, in this office that used to be your mother’s. These walls had seen a lot of fucking, you knew. Your mother used to be notorious for it. This place was tainted. Festering with immoral intent. You removed your shoe from his leg. Heard Jungkook’s small gasp of relief whisper past his quivering lips. You previously used the basement because it was the place where horrible acts were meant to be committed, the place your mother refused to go because it was beneath her to do such nasty things. You had turned the basement into your safe space. This office was her space. Her space to use her sexuality as her power, and therefore you had only used it to conduct official business. Until now.

You placed your shoe on top of his pant-covered erection and put pressure on it.

He whimpered, locking his knees and taking it.

You violated your mother’s space with Jungkook’s pure, ravenous need to service you.

“Have you been wanting me?” you asked, placing a hand on the edge of the desk so you could rub back and forth while stepping on his cock.

“Y… ah, y-yes…”

“Craving me?”

“Yes… oh, f-fuck…”

You shoved the tip of your stiletto in between the dip of his thigh connecting to his crotch, digging into that soft part without remorse.

“Touching yourself thinking only of me?”

His voice shook but his resolve did not.

“Only you.”

Jungkook made no move to hide or conceal himself. You removed the pressure and stepped around him, admiring the angles on his body. His hands were fists, knuckles pressed into the carpet. The clip of the tiger switchblade was visible from the side pocket of his uniform pants. You stopped behind him. Laced your fingers into his short black hair and yanked, hard, making him gasp to the ceiling. You leaned down, breathing out just above his open mouth. He inhaled greedily, his broad shoulders vibrating with need. You stared straight down his chest, to his exposed crotch, and whispered into the black hole of his throat, “Take your cock out and show me.”

He whined as his hands left the carpet. Centimeter by agonizing centimeter. His belt unbuckled, flopping to the side. Time slowed down despite his haste to undo his pants, nearly ripping the zipper, but you did not relieve him of your grip, staring straight down as he pushed down his pants. Pushed down his black boxer briefs, and then pulled out his stiff, leaking length. The head was dark red and glistening. He moved his right hand closer to the base of the shaft. You pulled on his hair, making his lower lip brush against your chin as he moaned, immediately backing off.

“Your balls too. Out.”

He reached again, but only to scoop his balls out, leaving his genitals fully exposed to the air.

You breathed in, savoring his unique scent.

His hard cock twitched, bobbing.

You let go of his hair.

Backed up, saying nothing. Stayed silent, admiring everything about him. He could certainly hear the movement of your skirt, but he remained head back, his hands hovering by his hips, and you sank to your knees between his.

And slapped his cock.

His head snapped to the side and he cried out.

“Louder,” you ordered, and slapped him again.

His screams radiated throughout the office.

You gripped his balls and squeezed, listening to the effect of your assault ravage his lungs. His torso writhed. You released and dug your nails inward, making his shoulders flinch strongly. You smacked the shaft again, watching it bounce from side to side from your force. His deep voice cracked. You wrapped your hand around him and his cock was hot, pulsating, needy. Again and again, you slapped his cock, reaching up with your free hand to unbutton his shirt.

One.

By.

One.

His naked chest was exposed in a deep v-line. You reached in and dragged your nails down as you ghosted your palm around his sore, abused cock, delicately rubbing the length against your skin as you tore him up. Jungkook couldn’t help himself. He reached up and unfastened the rest of the buttons, pushing his shirt past his shoulders and exposing more of his body to your nails. His nipples were already hard. You pinched one and made him yelp. The result was instant, rippling throughout his body, even making his cock jolt against your hand, smearing pre-cum onto your wrist.

You collected saliva on the edges of your teeth.

Leaned in and placed the flat of your tongue onto his shivering collarbone, leaking spit down his pecs.

“O-Oh my god…”

Closer.

You kept a hold onto his cock until your skirt was pressed up in between his thighs, and then let go. There was an audible, visceral smack of his thick length hitting the pleather against your thighs. He moaned deeply. You grabbed him by the hair and pulled, relishing in his groan of discomfort, and pressed up against his aching body, thrusting your tongue forcefully into his mouth.

You made sure the blindfold was in place.

His hips bucked, desperate for friction, and you kissed him roughly, demandingly, uncaring to his plight and him grinding his balls into the hem of your skirt. Your other hand slid down the nape of his neck, scratching up his back too as you tongue-fucked him. Your lipstick smeared all over his lips, a blue-scarlet dark as blood.

You pulled back, wiping the back of your hand over your back and seeing red.

Then you wrapped your hands around his throat and closed in on his blood supply.

“Touch yourself.”

Jungkook gasped, whined, and reached for his abused cock, slowly stroking the length as you toyed with his blood flow. Tighter. Letting him have a breath before pressing on the sides of his neck once again, and from your shoulder blades the prickling began, a nebulous want surfacing as you choked him and watched him stumble towards orgasm. Closer. The pad of his thumb grazed over the dripping opening of the head and his entire body flinched, writhing, his Adam’s apple straining against the underside of your thumb.

You released him and dove down.

Almost burned your knees from your speed. It required an almost uncomfortable folding of your body, but none of that mattered as you descended, closer and closer, your tongue cupping the tip and sliding down. Immediately, Jungkook removed his hand, letting out a string of nonsensical moans that only intensified as your teeth closed in around the shaft. Deliberate, pulsing pressure. His cock throbbed in response, relishing in the attention as his familiar heavy scent penetrated your throat.

Possessiveness laced int your veins as you tasted him.

You forced your head down and took him all the way to the base. One hand on his thigh and the other locked around his balls. You pulled. You squeezed. You raked your nails over that soft, supple skin, and sucked him off in deep, expansive thrusts, filling your mouth over and over again. Until your muscles strained. Until your body shook with tension. Until he was half-crying, half-groaning to the ceiling, vibrating in your mouth. He came. You swallowed. And kept going. His body twisted and he begged to be let go and you ignored him, coaxing his softening cock to swell again. Despite your knees protesting, you kept going until you could tell he was about to orgasm again, and you pulled back.

Silent.

Wrapped your hand around his jerking, spit-covered cock, and pumped him hard. Intense. He was falling apart, shaking his head from side-to-side, and thrust his hips into your hand. You did not stop him. He came again, and cum began to pool, so you pressed his length back and let him continue, the hot milky streak streaming down your fingers. It was clearly uncomfortable.

He did not complain.

You closed the distance as his head lolled back, whispering to his face as you casually wiped your wet hand onto his shuddering chest.

“Something for you to keep close to your heart as you work for me.”

With the same hand you gripped him by the hair, stilling him, tasting his erratic breath, and you found yourself entranced. Strands of black stuck to his forehead and against the leather blindfold. His cheeks flushed pink with effort, hollowing slightly with each heavy pant. His lips swollen and covered in red lipstick. His tan skin gleaming with sweat. The muscles of his neck and chest tensed, reddened from your scratches, and he was.

Was…?

You opened your mouth, but all you could think was how beautiful and perfect he looked just like this.

You released him and caught his jaw with your palms, pulling him towards you.

“I am your only one. Don’t you dare desire anyone but me,” you hissed, and then kissed him deeply, suffocating any response he had.

-

“Open this fucking door!”

He didn’t bother using his knuckles. Min Yoongi used the heel of his palm, slamming it against the heavy wood door. The zippers of his leather jacket flapped with weighty clinks. The security guard behind him bristled. They hadn’t wanted to let him in. He hadn’t cared. He growled under his breath and narrowed his eyes, glaring over his shoulder.

“Fuck off.”

Despite his professionalism, the guard let some of his distaste show in his face. It quickly disappeared, but Yoongi flung his arm anyway, making him take a step back.

“I told you to fuck off,” he snapped. “Let me talk to my sister alone, prick.”

There was some hesitation, and then the guard stepped away with his line of vision travelling upwards. Yoongi’s eyes followed, seeing the round lens of a small camera perched high above. He snorted. Instead of bowing to him as one would to the other guests, the guard simply kept his eyes on him as he backed up, as if Yoongi was a delinquent off the street and not a filthy rich grown man. Asshole. He quickly turned back around, his messy dark orange hair swinging by his eyes. He didn’t care about that. Under the leather jacket, he wore a white t-shirt with a monochrome graffiti print and torn slate-blue jeans. A suitcase of his stuff had appeared after the first night. He hadn’t questioned it. It was obvious his stepsister had brought it somehow. He kicked the door with his black boot in frustration and was disappointed that he hadn’t left a dent.

It opened.

There was a faint click and the heavy wood swung open so fast that Yoongi stumbled back, surprised at the abruptness, and then the stern glare of his stepsister was directed right at him.

An icy itch skittered down his spine, prickling at his vertebrae.

She was backlit from the back wall of windows. The sun was lowering, turning her outline a ghostly orange. The sleeves of her gunmetal silk blouse were folded back to her elbows. Her sharp eyes glanced past him, presumably to the retreating back of the security guard. Her tight pleather pencil skirt caught the light, accentuating her hips. But what Yoongi noticed was her face. Her smokey eye makeup was intact.

Her lips, although flushed dark mauve, were bare.

Her hair was swept up, but there was something off about it. As if the intentionally messy strands framing her face were not intentional after all.

“Hello, brother.”

Her voice was crisp. Almost icy. His brows furrowed. She smiled at him, with the same hospitality as a snake would greet a rat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Yoongi hissed.

She did not invite him into the office. He could see the grand room behind her. Dark wallpapered walls, large solid wood desk, high backed black leather chair. Locked cabinets along the walls. He didn’t know what they were for and he didn’t care.

Her eyebrow raised. “Working. I assume you’re familiar with the concept.”

He scowled. "Why do you even bother working? Your mother put you up to this?"

A hostility darkened over her features so quickly that he involuntarily flinched, preparing for her to strike him. But it was gone as soon as he saw it, causing him to question if it was ever there at all. She answered him with a small, soulless smile.

"People depend on me for their livelihood."

He snorted in disbelief.

His stepsister’s gaze sharpened.

"I am immoral, not unjust," she coldly stated, dropping the façade.

Before Yoongi could say anything more, he noticed the looming darkness falling into her shadow. Recognition burned through him like hot fire.

“You,” he spat, locking eyes with those black-brown ones looking down at him from under the black cap. He knew that face. From the hotel room back then. Sharp jaw, broad chest, younger than him, and the disapproving look of seeing something he would rather not. “You bastard. The fuck you doing here?”

A flutter of satisfaction gleamed from those shaded eyes.

“He works for me.”

For some reason, intense anger flared through his ribs, seeping into the depths. Oh, he heard what she said. Yoongi glanced from his stepsister to the security guard. She regarded him with head held high. Unfazed. The guard stood behind her, but there was a possessiveness in his stance. Hands behind his back. Yoongi slowly looked back to her.

Inhaled.

A whiff of her sharp, decadent perfume.

And sex.

Yoongi curled his hands into fists.

He had spent days in her condo. Sleeping away the daylight and rising at night. Tangling his fingers into her hair, pulling her down to his level, his blunt nails carving half-moons into her skin. Constantly seeing the black paintings on the walls while knowing what was behind them. Somewhere between dying and living, feeling like shit when he was alone and losing himself in aching bliss of her tightness. And now this. This. Right in front of his face. The rage seared tension into his muscles, the bites and bruises on his skin still tingling with soreness, and the corner of the guard’s lips raised, so slightly that maybe Yoongi was imagining it, but nonetheless the snarl in his chest bubbled upwards.

His hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, yanking hard to push her aside as he raised his other fist to the face of the man behind her.

She let go of the door and caught his hand in the air, stopping him.

He put his shoulder into it but his stepsister dug her stiletto heel into the hardwood floor and shoved back against him, knocking him out of the momentum. Yoongi whipped his head to her, so fast that his hair lashed him in the cheekbone.

Her lips pursed. “You hit him; he sues me for workplace violence.” She moved slightly more in front of the guard, blocking Yoongi’s path. “Don’t make trouble.”

He stared at her.

And suddenly it hit him all at once. All those times his father not only directly beat him down, but every snide remark that chipped away at his wholeness. Every adult in his life seeing him as a hopeless problem, polite enough to not piss off his father but otherwise ignoring his existence, feeding his inner worthlessness with every avoided eye contact, every step back, every look the other way. And then, her. Her, flitting just out of his father’s grip. Her, sending those sneaking glimpses his way and making him uncomfortable with the attention. Her, whispering against his lips, hot and alluring, so stop yourself, her, coiling around him in the dark, soft skin, lush hips, wicked tongue all around him, her, his stepsister he now knew that was tortured by nightmares from a past that would kill most people. And now Yoongi in front of her, her pointed stare slicing through him as she stood in front of this other man, both of them reeking of sex, and the only one inherently wrong was himself.

The sun was sinking fast. Night bled into the red-orange sky, turning it purple and bruised.

Don’t make trouble.

She might as well have driven a hot knife in between his ribs, right into his beating heart, and twisted it.

Yoongi took a step back, his expression frozen into indifference.

Something changed in her face.

But he didn’t spare any time to figure it out. Yoongi simply turned, and did what he did best. It was how it always was, in the end. It was what it always was. Pointless. Pointless to fight against everything his father said he was. Not aiming high enough. Never good enough. A disgrace. He could not outrun his fate, but Yoongi did what he did best and he ran, ran down the hall, down all those stairs, out of the building, onto the streets, into the bleeding sunset with a sinking void in his chest and blurred wetness stinging at the edges of his vision.

He ran.

He had asked before if she was fucking that security guard. She said that she was. At the time, he hadn’t thought he cared. He didn’t. It was futile to give a shit. She was a whore. He always said she was a whore. It would be easier if she was a whore. But he saw the way she stood in front of that man, even if she didn’t notice. He saw the way that guard stoically stayed in her shadow, protecting something he couldn’t.

Never could.

Min Yoongi ran and ran and ran until his legs collapsed.

--

masterpost

[bstroobery]

Why?? Why are these two like this??

💻, about a system thing: Ooh! I wanna do that!

💀: Um… why? To… to interact with other SMG4 fictives??

💻: Um… no, because-

💀, jokingly: Egocentric bitch

💻: >:0

💻, also jokingly: I’m divorcing you!

🍓, 🧡🐍, 🍉, and 🦑: *laughing*

💻: That’s it! I… I am divorcing you!

💀: I’m just saying you’re a bit egocentric-

💻: Well you are too!

💀: I’m just saying-

💻: Meggy!

🦑: Huh??

💻: You’re gonna be my divorce lawyer. I-

💀: Seriously?

🧡🐍: *between laughs* I can’t… I fucking can’t…

💻: I’m divorcing you. I just wanted to make system friends, but no. I’m… we’re getting a divorce!

💻: Meggy, uh… we… we gotta fill out the divorce papers. You’re going to be my divorce lawyer. Uh…

💻: I’m taking the kids

💀: You what? No! No way are you taking Eggdog! You can have Beeg, I mean for some reason he’s like, biologically yours in this system, but not Eggdog! Not my son!

💻: I’m taking the kids *laughs* I… I’m divorcing you and taking the kids

💀: Damn. No. No, you are not taking the kids. Uh… fuck you, I… uh… I veto your divorce

💻: You’re not the president-

💀: I… I veto your divorce. I do not consent to a divorce. We… you can’t divorce me because I say no

💻: That’s not how this works!

💀: Yes it is. Mario is going to be my divorce lawyer and… my defense is “Nuh uh”

*everyone laughs*

💀: God, I wish we could get a camera in here so people could actually see the shit we do here

Brought to you by 🍓 and 🧡🐍

[drdemonprince]

ive been thinking alot about agency, morality, and age a lot recently just because of where im at in my own life and trying to understand/process/adapt to my own shit (cptsd/did stuff basically) so the recent discussions on this blog and your substack writing have been very compelling to me. i feel often that i am procrastinating "getting my shit together" or "being an adult" and its a definitely a guilty/shameful feeling like im doing something wrong because im not living my life in an organised sustainable way atm and i feel like i "should" be doing that "by now" as i approach 30 (which i mean isnt really that old taking a step back, but still holds some cultural weight in my mind as a threshold). but yea aside from shame not really being a great motivator, it also loops into that like assumed passivity or like a denial of agency as in i tend to automatically frame things as obligations, like things that i have to do rather than things that i choose to do, and frankly its bullshit lol. often ill think about it as like, im not yet acting as "an adult" because im not making choices and being responsible but literally everyone regardless of age makes choices and is responsible for their actions thats kind of the human condition. i think i have this phobia of my own agency, or my own desire maybe, and this moral obligation framework is a defense against that, which idk i could relate this to being an ex catholic personally but i think its a part of the whole western christian hegemony in general. its this fake, poison comfort where i cant do/be wrong because i didnt "decide" what to do im just doing what im supposed to (which isnt even actually what im doing because im having a mental health crisis instead but yea). its scarier to accept the reality of being a subject than to deny it, especially when that denial (and personally, dissociation) has been your defense mechanism against stress/trauma/suicidality etc. like occasionally im worried if i really let go of this idea of a moral obligation to act a certain way or to fulfil some vague ideal role of "responsible adult" and i own up to my own emotional reality and my own wants and needs and agency then i dont know what ill choose to do with the suicidal ideation tbqh and i mean personally i feel like that should be up to me like theoretically i agree with what (i think) youve said before? that it cant really be up to anyone else what to do with my body and my life, and it shouldn't be. i mean when im in a good headspace, i think id choose to live anyway, and maybe (probably) allowing myself to fully exist as a person and be a little more honestly self serving will improve my qol a lot, but right now that idea of a moral obligation to live (and live a certain way) is my wall against that feeling that id really rather not so its terrifying to try and question that. but on the other hand the resentment toward myself, others, and life in general that builds up over time when treating life itself is an obligation is unsurprisingly fucking awful lol. but yeah anyway i dont think theres any conclusion to this other than that eventually we all have to face up to our own reality or end up trapped in some inevitably toxic framework that denies whatever aspect of being a sapient animal is hardest for each of us to accept. also unrelated (mostly) your taste in porn is peak

thank you so much for sharing this unpacking, anon. This is some real how to overcome white woman fragility brain type stuff! Even if it feels open and formless right now. and like a huge well could open up beneath you into which anything could happen and there is no reason to live. keep reflecting. more writing about this kinda thing coming on Monday

[frogsinflannel]

🌊🌊🌊

love a good pacrim au

Thank you for the prompt! This is All Vibes right now, as I'm still getting a lot of the worldbuilding (and overall plot) worked out. But here's pretty early in the story, before Buck and Tommy go out on their first drop.

(okay first i must make a disclaimer that I know I named Sal and Tommy's jaeger [something] Javeline, and I'm only 75% sure it was glass javeline. where did i put my notes for this, help.)

~~~

owchies, bt angst week got me for this one. no specific warnings, but tommy's in a real bad headspace.

prau: waltz

Blood seeped through the bandages on his knuckles and there was a band of pressure around his chest.

“Tommy.”

“Leave it, Buck,” he said, looking over his shoulder.  His hands clenched into fists at his sides and it hurt.  He took a deep breath, lungs big and full, spread open from the pain.  He wanted to hit something again, to split himself open down to the bone.  He grabbed his towel from the bench and wiped down his neck and shoulders.  Buckley wasn’t saying anything and Tommy hoped–Christ, did he hope–that the kid would take the hint and leave him alone.  He grabbed his bottle of water, back to the training area, and opened it.  He closed his eyes and let it gush cool into his mouth.  A few swallows later and he let out a ragged, satisfied sigh.  He wiped his hand with the back of his mouth and started to pack up his gear.

“So what?”  Buckley’s voice was petulant, verging on angry, and Tommy’s hackles raised before he could stop it.  “You’re just going to leave?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said.  He zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.  “I need to eat and then I’m going to my bunk.”  He finally looks over and gives the other man a sharp smile.  “Alone.”

Buckley huffs, his arms crossed over his chest, one hip cocked and his feet spread apart.  He looked sturdy.  He looked dangerous, both to Tommy’s composure and his physical well-being because seeing him like that, bratty, poking at a bear he didn’t fucking understand, makes something crawl up Tommy’s spine and leave him spoiling for a fight.

“How are we going to handle Zephyr if we can’t get along?  If we can’t talk?  Do you think you can hide it from me when we’re Drifting, huh?  If you chase the rabbit—”

“I won’t,” Tommy bites out.  He sounds mean, he knows, and he doesn’t care.  He feels like an old dog dragged out by the chain around its neck, ready to be put down.  He didn’t ask for this.  He didn’t want this.  And he sure as hell doesn’t need this, not this brash, impulsive energy sink of Nash’s who acts like he’s got something to prove and won’t take no for a fucking answer.  Tommy wants to be meaner.  He wants to bare his teeth.  “I piloted for years before you, Buckley, I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, but that was with DeLuca and—”

“Don’t,” Tommy snarls.  He walks over, pushing into Buckley’s space, jabbing a finger into his chest.  His eyes dart down to his bloodstained wrap but Tommy couldn’t give less of a shit about that now.  “I’m not going to talk about Javeline, and I’m not going to talk about Sal.  I’m here because I’m the last poor sap they could find who knows how to pilot a Jaeger and hasn’t already been chewed-up or killed.  They don’t have to train me and I don’t have anything that I’m going to leave behind when I go.  So I know why I’m here.  To fight the kaiju, take some of those fuckers out, and then die about it.  That’s all you need to know.  Got it?”

Buckley’s his size, maybe a little leaner but just as tall as he is, and though normally Tommy is careful about not using his size to his advantage, now he leans into it, now he presses in, makes himself as tall as he can, curls in with his hands raised knowing what he looks like.  A threat.

Buckley’s eyes are on his, gleaming with an anger that’s banked and heavy.  His pupils are dilated.  His breaths come out through his mouth, pumping the packed muscle of his chest.  Tommy wants to drive his fist into his face.  Tommy wants to—

He steps backward, palms up.  “That’s all,” he says.  “Got it?”

“Yeah,” Buckley says.  His voice is softer, but edged with steel.  “I got it.”

Tommy leaves.  He knows he needs to eat, and he knows that if eats he’ll hurl, so he heads to his bunk.  He throws his stuff on the floor and throws himself onto his cot.  He yells hoarse open-mouthed into his pillow, pressing into the cover, feeling it grow damp with his spit.

Sal’s face haunts him and Debbie Harry’s voice plays like a broken record in his mind.

Soon found out… Soon found out…Soon found out…

He had a heart of fucking glass.

make me write

[malformed-encephalon]

☆Endos

This is going to be half a rant about endogenics, and half me trying to cover points i think need to be mentioned. I'm aware some people call themselves endos due to not remembering their trauma or not thinking they have enough trauma, but for this post we're going to consider endos purely as non-traumagenic systems, and we won't consider that factor since i find it's very rare to see. Putting everything under the cut because i feel this will be quite long.

1. Endogenic's using system terms. I can guarantee that if endogenics weren't using system terms or claiming to be systems, they wouldn't get nearly as much hate. Because systems can only be formed by trauma, you can't be born as them nor can you will them into existence.

The main thing that pisses me off with them is them using terms and roles that exclusively exist due to trauma. Even if endogenics were real and possible, they wouldn't have half the stuff systems do. They wouldn't dissociate, they wouldn't have amnesia, they wouldn't have protectors, they wouldn't have 99% of alter roles, they wouldn't have shit. (A post i saw once that this reminds me of is how people with dissociative disorders can give clear and in-depth reasons for why they're systems, but you'll ask an endo and they'll go "oh well the human brain's a mysterious thing we don't understand!")

Personally, I'm a trauma holder- one of the worst ones in our system, actually. Every single fucking day, multiple times I'm tormented by the severe trauma we've suffered to the point I've nearly been having panic attacks whilst in school purely because someone touched me or made a sex joke. Endogenics have NO FUCKING RIGHT to have 'protectors' and 'trauma holders' and 'persecutors' WHEN THEY NEVER HAD ANY FUCKING TRAUMA IN THE FIRST PLACE.

2. Glorification. I don't get why endos get away with faking dissociative disorders just because they're using a different term and have a big community. It's like a community of people faking PTSD and just putting it under a different name, and suddenly being protected by people. People are always being shamed for faking disorders, so why is it suddenly so different when endogenics fake dissociative disorders? Why is it suddenly endogenics being defended?

3. Endogenics with new terms. Again, like i said before, if they weren't claiming to be systems, having these new terms for themselves would be completely fine! But since they're claiming to be systems whilst using these absolutely absurd terms, it's far more harmful, and they have no right. What the fuck do you mean your 'alters' are 'syshopping into your partner system's headspace'? What do you mean you're 'trading alters'? THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE. You can't 'will your system into existence' or 'create alters', THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE. Maybe if you weren't claiming to have alters and if you weren't claiming to be systems, you wouldn't get so much hate.

4. Reasons for endogenics. I think there's a few reasons why endogenics think they're systems, other than the past mentioned systems thinking they're endogenics due to forgetting/invalidating their trauma.

The first reason would be that they may be faking purely for attention. They may have seen systems online and decided they want to be inside those communities, or decided being a system seems fun, so they've decided to pretend to be one for fun. They might be roleplaying being a system purely because they find it entertaining.

The second reason may be because of the amount of misinformation thrown around about disorders. People may mistake themselves for systems due to the extreme misinformation online- particularly in endogenic safe/neutral communities. They may think that their rapid moodswings and poor memory immediately means that they're a system- bonus points if they're actively exploring their identity and are split on multiple possible identities and names, so they think that they're a system. We know people who've thought they were a system due to identity confusion, extreme moodswings, identifying with different characters or having multiple names, but then later realised that they weren't a system and it was instead something like BPD, or that they didn't have anything at all.

The third reason may be that they're fictionkin and don't realise it (or they do realise it and are in denial). They may mistake their different kins as introjects, and they may think they're an OSDD-1B system, or a system with generally low amnesia. Or they may notice that they're likely fictionkin, but they refuse that fact because they think being a system is more unique and fun.

Overall endogenics really tick me off, i despise them, and i wish they'd move out of system communities and stop claiming they're systems.

-🩺

[venomwrites]

Violet Vanderson died horribly.

Vi taps the pen to her lip. Considers her next move. Caitlyn’s couch is super comfortable and she can hear her working across the room. Vi takes a deep breath, she needs to get in the right headspace. To focus. 

“You seem upset,” Caitlyn says. 

“I’m in your blindspot,” Vi reminders her. 

“You’re huffing,” Caitlyn replies evenly.

Vi rolls her eyes. 

“I heard that.”

“Bullshit. Alright listen to this,” she says and rolls onto her stomach. “Vi Vanderson died horribly. She is survived by her sister who got so high on body paint fumes she forgot Vi spent every second looking for her and would be deeply affected by her death,” she taps the pen to her lip again, “come immediately to pay your respects because as per her last wishes, Ekko is in the coffin and running out of air.”

“Vi!” Caitlyn says her name with equal parts affection and frustration, “that’s horrible.”

“Horrible enough you’d come to the funeral?” She asks hopefully. 

Caitlyn sighs and pushes herself up. Vi rolls onto her back and lifts her head as Caitlyn sits down, slipping her thigh at the nape of Vi’s neck. She’s wearing a pair of soft, expensive pants that turn her thigh into the nicest pillow ever. So nice that Vi barely protests when Caitlyn takes the obituary form and pen out of her hands. She gets one soft noise out before Caitlyn sweeps her fingers through her bangs and scratches her fingertips into Vi’s scalp. 

“She has to come if she thinks I’m dead, right?” Vi mumbles. Caitlyn digs her fingers against her scalp and Vi arches into the touch. 

“Vi Vanderson died horribly because her girlfriend got very annoyed with her writing her own obituary given the number of times she has almost died,” Caitlyn says. 

“You beat me last time,” Vi points out. Caitlyn’s fingers still, “okay okay,” Vi sighs, “Vi Vanderson died horribly because her girlfriend has pretty nails.” Caitlyn’s fingers go back to work. She drags a sound from Vi’s throat, “Vi Vanderson died horribly because this feels fucking great.

“Maybe Vi Vanderson should not be drafting her own obituary,” Caitlyn says. 

Vi has always liked the way Caitlyn says her name. Even when it was said in completely exasperation. When she’s exasperated color goes high on her cheeks and she looks so real and warm, sometimes Vi does shit just to get her to say her name like that. She likes it when she says it softly, when she moans it, she likes all of it. She’s always been Vi to Caitlyn. Violet sometimes, usually when she’s asking something serious or wanting her attention. But then she slips right back into Vi. 

Vanderson had been a gut punch split second decision. They could have just set her shoulder but Vi wasn’t leaving Caitlyn’s side. The only way to stay with someone when they had a gut wound and a gouged out eye was to get yourself admitted. Apparently screaming VI wasn’t enough for Piltover. So she had blurted out the first thing that she could think of. Vanderson. Vander was my dad. I’m from him, he’s with me no matter what I do. Where I go. Like he always has been, even when we’re worlds apart. 

Violet Vanderson. 

“I wouldn’t have to write this stupid thing if she was just—thinking straight,” Vi mutters. 

“Let’s say you write it,” Caitlyn says, “what then? We have to throw your funeral?” She frowns at the paper.

“I guess?” Vi says. Caitlyn makes a noise, “don’t worry I was only joking about the Ekko thing.”

“Vi I am not throwing you a funeral,” Caitlyn says like it’s not a brilliant idea. It’s fair play too. Jinx let her think she was dead, now she can cry over Vi’s funeral, “why don’t you just wait for her to contact you?”

“Because she won’t,” Vi says. She looks up at Caitlyn who meets her gaze with an arch of a delicate eyebrow, “she needs a trap. Wasn’t that on your board?” Caitlyn goes red, “maybe that’s why you never caught her.”

Caitlyn shakes her head and pulls her hand away. Vi almost regrets the teasing until Caitlyn clicks the pen between her wonderful, nimble fingers. 

“Vi Vanderson died horribly because she opened her mouth,” she starts. Vi parts her lips, “and finished the sentence we both know she is about to say.” 

Vi makes a face. 

“You know you like it,” she says, “Vi Vanderson died horribly because her girlfriend has no sense of humor.”

“Vi Vanderson died horribly because she keeps getting lost in the house.”

“Vi Vanderson died horribly because her girlfriend wouldn’t let her go to the fish market after—”

“You did almost die!” 

“Barely.”

Caitlyn huffs but she combs her fingers back through Vi’s hair. There’s a sound of creasing paper. Vi opens her eyes to see Caitlyn fold the obituary form into a precise shape. She gives Vi a look and flicks her wrist. The paper makes a precise loop and then dives into the fire. Vi tilts her head to watch it be devoured in the flames. She drops her head back against Caitlyn’s thigh. Caitlyn gives a satisfied smirk and goes back to rubbing Vi’s scalp

“Vi Vanderson died horribly because her girlfriend is very good with her hands.” 

[cherry-pop-elf]

TO THE KRAVEN SIMPS EXCITED FOR HIS MOVIE!

And people who just need a Kraven The Hunter run down/Information lore

As a certified Kraven know it all from his comics I am here to help give yall some advice/run down/and how to start your journey into his comics and lore! Well, at least the MAIN Kraven. Damn those comics and their multiverse!

Don’t be shy in asking me questions either, of course until DEC: 13th check my #Belladonna Rambles or #Life Update to see what I mean

Alright let’s start now!

Kravens Last Hunt

YOU MUST READ THIS BOOK

This shit here? PEAK! It as PEAK AS PEAK GETS! You really get to study and analyze what makes Kraven tick, how his family impacted him, and just the over all headspace the master hunter is. Treat this as much of an origin story as anything else. Warning though it gets dark and ENDS Dark. It is BEYOND important you read this. You HAVE to read this. It’s a defining comic story that causes a chain reaction for everything after. If you only read one comic book ever? MAKE IT THIS! If you only read one Kraven comic MAKE IT THIS! I can say how important this comic is. YOU NEED TO READ THIS COMIC

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl

A great comic series in general, but here we get to also see a story line of Kraven following into a Vigilante hood instead of staying a Villian. There’s a court arce and everything. It’s a far more light hearted story line, with amazing fun that is really enjoyable. It’s also SUPER GOOD for people NEW to comics as a whole! Very light hearted, silly, and impactful. It’ll also help get you familiar with a lot of marvel characters without it being suffocating! You also get some good insight on Kraven from a far more modern and gentler angle. Squirrel Girl is PEAK. You’ll love this I promise

The Amazing Spider-Man # 15

This is his debute, so obviously gotta read that. It surprisingly shows how there’s alot of details that haven’t changed. Such as he still has his half brother. It’s always so cool to see where they started and how they developed now

GET KRAVEN

This is actually a story about one of his KIDS. Alyosha! It’s a really interesting comic as it’s about one of his sons, and said son is a movie producer no less. It’s quite the adventure. It also leads to a good transition to the next topic-!

The Family

Ight so, given how comics are time lines can get messy. Like “Oh this Kraven is THIS kid actually and that Kraven is another time line so-“ Since Kraven is a TITLE more so then a NAME. So lots of stories about ‘Kraven’ are sometimes about his kids in general. Comics can be confusing I know, so imma help you guys with knowing bullet point facts to help keep you grounded. I got you

Sasha

The wife of Kraven. Mother to their (four MAIN) children. Aleksandra She doesn’t really become prevalent until after The Last Hunt. Can’t spoil it but she kinda goes bat shit insane and became a horror beyond measures after the incident. Oh she can be a roller coaster.

Grim

Vladimir is the eldest, and followed his father’s foot steps the closes. Even had a run in with Spider man. Unfortunately he became a victim of his mother’s insanity, and was mercy killed by his father. His father knew this was worse than hell, and wanted to do what an every good father does. Take care of his baby

Alyosha

Second son, and honestly the most wasted. His arc as a Hollywood star is super short and soon he’s just “another Kraven” which is lame. Him being a successful movie producer/actor what have you is honestly rather important, given his uncle is a failed actor. Lots of wasted potential, so I’m shining light on him. He deserves it

Nedrocci

Another victim of “another Kraven” and his role is so small that there isn’t even much detail to begin with. Hence the lack of image. His only real arc is trying to kill his older brother Alyosha and failing. Then his uncle, the chameleon, ended up killing him. Shame. Just another Kraven and meat to grind

Ana

Anastasia, named after his mother, is the baby and daddy’s girl. Also she seems to be the only person writers remember whenever doing some kind of family story for the Kravinoff’s. Writers forget her siblings and keep making throw away characters to be her brothers. Anyway! Like her siblings her major story line doesn’t really started after The Last Hunt. Like I said, that book is KEY to Kraven. She’s very capable and independent and followed her fathers foot steps all the same

Dimitri

Dimitri Smerdyakov is Sergei’s half brother. Like many villains the origin story often gets changed for the time lines but over all his important arc is he’s always trying to impress Sergei. To prove his worth to the Kravinoff name. Even had a moment where he nearly killed iron man, to show he’s the deadlier brother. As you can tell the family is very messy

Calypso

Yeah she’s your stereotypical Voodoo Priestess. Even sacrificed her younger sister for more power. Yeah this didn’t quite age well. She is rather important because she is a love interest or his, but was extremely toxic and abusive. Men can be abused to. She is also someone who was a major factor in the climax of The Last Hunt. She took joy in what happened even. Yeah she’s…..She is an abusive woman that really damaged Kraven. A important note that men can be abused to, and that despite being so big and strong he can very well be a victim to.

Key Facts/Points

His super human abilities come from potions he’s made from herbs. So yall complaining about how he got his super powers in the movie gotta remember comics didn’t have much flavor either. Literally magic potions and voodoo magic. Like come on

His mother died due to mental illness. Aka Took Her Own Life. It’s always kept vague, but it’s made more clear what it was through The Last Hunt and what happened to Kraven

He becomes an Anti-Hero/Vigilante through Squirrel Girl. He goes by the name “Kraven The Hunter of Hunters” like that shit goes hard don’t lie

He’s a Russian immigrant that escaped Russia around the February Revolution. (It varies often but it’s always escaping Russia in a downfall) Aka before the fall of Russia into communism. So he’s OLD old, and has quite the love hate for his roots

He has mental illnesses. Not like just in general. Like it’s not stated but it’s very much implied he’s suffering from extreme depression that lead to suicidal ideations

He is a big game hunter and is highly respectful of nature and its order. He respects nature and it respects him. He believes in a proper fight with animals, and understands they’re important. By proxy that def means he believes in trans rights and LGBTQ+ concepts so slay Ally! Stay mad dude bros ((fun fact. Lionesses have been shown to grow their own manes and take leadership of prides. Lions can literally say “I’m trans now” and do it. So go my children. Give us trans Kraven headcanons!))

He’s one of Spider-Man’s main villains. He’s been in nearly every cartoon there has been, and was a founding member of The Sinister Six. Safe to assume Chameleon replaced him when he took his anti-hero arc

Yes. It was stated he was based on “The Most Dangerous Game” Hence the Russian and x y z. You aren’t crazy for seeing those connections

The Kravinoff name is from a Noble class blood line. Very rich, aristocrats, rich people life. Until Russia’s downfall arc, so Kraven has money. Depending on the plot device of course

He has arachnophobia, which leads to another motivation to kill spider man. Not only is he the ultimate prey, but it’ll also be him concurring his fears

I hope this all helps. Remember, this is just a base line. There are so many versions of him. His videogame counterpart part, Spider Man 2, is very different and has his own arc and story line. Much like how so many comics have different time lines and universes.

But that’s what makes it beautiful and fun. It’s endless frankly Kraven can be whatever YOU want, because in a way it is canon. It’s just simply not spoken, but still true

If you have any questions for like specific Kravens or just advice on how Kraven would act or such don’t be shy and ask. I plan to do a headcanon list soon and get more information out there to help people new to him understand him

Hope this helps! Thank you for reading! Means a-lot you took the time to! Thank you, and have a happy comic book reading!

[houseofshy]

My First Offering - An Embroidery

This is the jeans jacket I hand embroidered for the Sleep Token concert back in December 2024.

The project took me about 6 months to complete, with a longer break in between.

It was quite a process, which I will describe below, if anyone is interested in that. If there are still questions, don't hesitate to reach out and I will answer to the best of my abilities, as I am by no means a professional :D

So. It started out as a little thought. I have that old jeans jacket collecting dust in my closet, and I want to upgrade that. Said, done.

I get a cheap pack of embroidery needles, even cheaper embroidery floss (which I regretted at one point, but I will explain that later on) and an old embroidery frame from my mother-in-law.

And then it was go time.

I started tracing the big logo in the middle. Seeing as I have absolutely no talent in drawing, I'm very glad that tracing on a tablet is an option :)

Printing that out, I taped the shape to the middle of the back piece and drew along the rim with a heaterasable pen. You can get that at any store that sells those pens with a rubber tip to erase the ink :D

After that, I set out to embroider the entire logo. It is made entirely with a satin stitch.

If there is any interest, I can explain different stitches in a seperate post :)

That took about 2-3 weeks to finish, as I work full-time, and weekends sometimes as well. Also, let's be real, I was so very slow ! But when I finished, I was so proud of myself, as it was my very first piece.

But ever the over achiever, I let it sit for a few days, before I thought "I can do more."

So, back to planning.

I sampled a lot of patterns and decided for this. It looked cool, but I wasn't sure I would complete it in time.

However, my mom did a lot of things wrong, but she didn't raise a quitter, so I got my shit together and started this enourmous project.

I ordered transfer paper online and printed everything out on there. It sticks to the material, and you can embroider on it and wash it off when you are finished.

I started with the more simple patterns, as the glyphs or the vines. Looked pretty solid, and I was extremely satisfied with my work, as well as my gained skill and haste.

Now that was the problem.

It looked so pretty at this point to me, that I was afraid of messing it up, so I fell into a bad headspace and stopped working on it for at least 8 weeks.

By now, it was end of July, so time was running out fast, considering the biggest part, the mirrored roses, still had to be done.

I got my shit back together thanks to my bestie, and started a trail run for colour scheme.

I was so happy that it looked exaktly like I imagined, and got motivation from that.

ADHD hyperfocus ON !

So I embroidered...

And embroidered (with some cat cuddles)..

And I was finally done !!

Only to realise that I have to do it ALL again on the other side !

I was about to cry, because just one single double coloured rose head took about 5-6 hours to make.

One entire rose side took me 4 weeks to finish D:

So, in the warm summer evenings, I sat on the balcony and got to work.

At least I knew what to do now and didn't have to think about that anymore.

No think, just stitch.

And one month later, I was actually finished !!

By the end of September I was done, thankfully much earlier than anticipated.

Now I simply had to wash off the water dissolvable transfer paper.

I did handwash it, but there was some glue residue left, so I had to bite the bullet and put it in the washer.

Those thirty-something minutes were terror. I was afraid the stitches won't hold, or the residue won't come off.

But thankfully, it was alright, and I let it dry out in the sun.

Now I wear that jacket whenever I can !! I love it so much.

I got quite a few compliments, especially at the London gig.

But the best one was when I went shopping for more high quality floss in a local craft store, and older lady complimented the jacket, and told me she was happy that the youth keeps things like that alive.

So, I made it a permanent hobby and already started another project on here that I will want to update regularly.

Thank you for reading, and feel free to ask away :D

Ps.: If you read this far, maybe leave a humble like or reblog ? <3

Thank you; A. \(^o^)/

[whorediaries-09]

hii i hope you’re doing well!! could i please request sex w harry that starts off rough because it’s exam season + added stress from voldy and it’s been awhile so he can’t get enough of the reader!! but then he kinda breaks and is less rough and much more loving & romantic w/ prompt #7 :)

hi love! i love this request so much! i hope my writing does justice to it 😵‍💫

keep your body open,

pairing- harry potter x reader warning(s)- 18+ content, drinking. a/n- my mans so underrated in his own series.

prompt - breeding + 'let me cum in you. please let me fuck my babies into you.'

ps - i know your request didn't have breeding kink in it, but without a kink, the whole point of kinkotober is missed. so i hope you don't mind xoxo

the slut club kinkotober rules kinkotober masterlist

'so hard to ignore ya, 'specially when I'm smoking, swim world is on my shoulders, keep your body open, swim'

his lips trail over your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin. the alcohol staggering his heavy breathes. if someone told you that harry james potter would be straddling your hips, and kissing you so feverishly, as if he couldn't get enough of you, you would have laughed. but now that he was upon you, breathing you in, touching you in the ways you'd only fantasized about in your wildest dreams.

but now that he was upon you all of it seemed to be real. he captured your lips with yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth, teeth biting your lower lip as your tongue tantalized a dance with his. his hands worked on the buttons of your blouse, and you fingers fiddled with the button of his trousers. he moaned into your mouth and left your lips, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

'you don't know how long i've wanted you,' he breathed, sliding down your skirt down your hips. with a dazed look at your naked raw self, his tone grew sturdy,

'tell me what you want.' he demanded. with a gazed look of need and lust in your eyes, you fluttered your eyelashes and spoke, your voice breaking as he positioned his cock at your slit.

'i want you to fuck me,' you plead. he grunted,

'fucking pathetic.' he teases the tip of his erection at your clit and you let out heavy breathes, your chest heaving. he pushed his cock into you, a wanton moan leaving your lips. your walls gripped him tight, and he heaved a sigh, letting you adjust with the his girth. you closed your eyes as he slowly started moving his cock out and pushed himself back again. he takes your hands and places them on his chest, motioning you to get rid of his t-shirt. your nails dig into the fabric, tearing it off, and he starts to indulge in the warmth of your core with the most animalistic speed you had experienced.

'fuck;' you scream, as he curls his hand under your waist, pulling your body closer to his, breathing heavily into your neck as his pace brutally ravaged you from within. he tore apart the walls of your sanity and it was a like a mercurial high, when you felt him hit your spot. the nerves prodding at his cock brushed with your cunt so perfectly, you thought you'd pass out. he was a bit too brutal, occupied in his own headspace to show you his desire for you.

'harry...please sl-shit-slower,' you whispered. his breathing hitched with the way you said his name, and he slowed down his pace, enjoying the way you pussy engulfed him, letting you enjoy the blissful mannerism of his touch.

you felt the bubbling coil of the orgasm erupting in your stomach. your nails dug into the his toned back, as you felt the slow, lazy drag of his cock in you. it set fireworks in your heart, collywobbles consuming you and a light of fiery fire of lust that had to be broken down.

you bit his shoulder, your fingers crawling down to your clit to rub it, but he slapped your hand away. he grunted, his heavy breathe sending shuddering tickles down your spine.

'who's cunt is this?' you merely groaned at the question, desperate for your release.

'i said who's cunt is this.' he demanded, his pace faster now, your guts bottling up the orgasm which peaked,

'yours, yours, please let me cum,' you screamed, as his finger rubbed your clit in circles. your walls clenched around his girth, as you felt your orgasm escape, the tension leaving your stomach, and you let out a wanton shout of relief. his hand loosened around your back as he rammed into you, chasing his own release. half begging, half dazed by your exhausted beauty, he groaned,

'let me cum in you. please let me fuck my babies into you.'

your cheeks blazed hot as you replied,

'go ahead harry, give me your babies,' he growled, as you clenched around him, feeling his white hot seed spilling inside you

'keep your body open,'

[taesancult]

bf!beomgyu 18+ thoughts

warnings: that vmas performance got me fucked up real bad… anyways- kinda feel like i went overboard (?) but warnings include fem!reader, biting, lovebites, sub!beomie, dirty talk, heavy degradation, he’s a little shit, reader gets on top of him, oral (fem receiving), mommy kink, reader is a real meanie to him, beomgyu is referred to as baby boy/good boy/pain slut, lots of hair pulling, and aftercare bc it’s important!

SMUT UNDER THE CUT! MDNI!

bf!beomgyu, who loves a good fight for who will dom the other. you could pin him down on the bed, thinking you have him in the palm of your hand, and he would just laugh at you. “aren’t you cute?” he’d say while smirking at you, and you’d just raise an eyebrow at him. you would immediately start attacking his neck, knowing it’s erogenous zone for him, and he’d try so hard to not lose his composure, but would ultimately fail. he’d start whining with how good your lips feel on his neck, you would stop and look at him with a sly smile. “stop looking at me like that. am i supposed to pretend it doesn’t feel good?” he’s such a little shit. “right. so, you enjoy it when i kiss your neck then?” you smile because you already know the answer, but you just want to instigate. “huh? i’m not enjoying any of this, i’m only letting you because i think it’s cute.” he says with a shrug and a fake look of confidence, and you see right through him. “okay, guess i’ll stop then. do you want to do something else?” you start to get off him, attempting to trap him. “wait!” he’d say so desperately that you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. “don’t laugh at me! i just.. i know you like this, so i don’t want you to stop for me.” he’d lie as if you couldn’t see right through him. “beomie, you do realize that makes no sense right?” “ugh just stop talking and come kiss me.” he’d say with a pout, gesturing to his empty lap as you shake your head and laugh again while climbing back on top.

bf!beomgyu, who is so mouthy when he subs, it’s actually the worst. in the best way possible though, because it’s hot hearing him so determined to not give in. you would be decorating his body with pretty lovebites, taking in every whine and moan from him with pride. “feeling good, baby boy?” you’d look up from his torso with a genuine smile. “it’s okay, i guess, but stop calling me that stupid name!” he’d roll his eyes. he actually loves that name, and has said so many times when he’s been intoxicated with pleasure. he loves being called good boy or baby boy, he finds those names to be so endearing, but obviously he can’t admit that. “i’m hurt! thought you liked it.” you’d say with a fake pout as his eyes would widen. “i uh- i do, i’m sorry.” you would smile at him as your fingers caressed down his chest to his stomach, making him giggle a bit in the process. “baby boy, it’ll be so much easier if you just give in to me. let me take control, i promise you’ll feel so good.” you would pout at him. he’d sigh in defeat then let out a small “okay.” and it would be game over for him. you would spend the night making him feel the best he’s ever felt.

bf!beomgyu, who is so fun to ruin. he’s so bratty, tending to resist you when you admit you want to dom him. it’s not that he doesn’t want you to. actually, the thought of you taking control, making his mind fuzzy with only thoughts of you and your pussy, makes his heart race. he thinks it’s more exciting to fight you, though. he enjoys seeing your efforts and the way you cheat to get him on his knees for you. no matter how much he fights you and jokes that you will never see him beg for you, you both know that it’s all a game.

bf!beomgyu, who has a mommy kink when he’s in a sub headspace. when he finally does break, he’s such a sweet good boy. he’s so obedient that you could ask him to be on his knees for hours eating you out, and he would. he also just loves eating you out in general, to the point where you have to pull him away. “baby, fuck- no more!” you’d wince at the overstimulation that his tongue brought you. “you sure, mommy? taste so good, don’t wanna stop.” he’d say as he stares at you with stars in his eyes, and lightly licks at your pretty pussy. you would have to physically pull at his hair to get him away from your core. “yes, angel. you did so well, too well.” you’d praise him out of breath, still pulling at his locks, knowing it makes his cock twitch. you’d pull him up towards you by his hair, he’d whine in pain and pleasure with his eyes tightly shut. you knew it hurt, but that’s what really turned him on. “my little pain slut, how should i reward you?” you coo at him and smirk devilishly. he’d wince at the name, knowing he was in for a long night.

bf!beomgyu, who melts for praise but also gets weak at the knees for degradation. there’s just something about seeing his girlfriend say mean things to him that just really gets his mind, his heart, and his cock going. you had been palming him through his underwear, finally taking it off as you had enough teasing and wanted to see his pretty cock. he softly moaned at the feeling of being free. you didn’t give him a chance to breathe, though, immediately starting to stroke his sensitive cock causing him to throw his head back and moan again. “mommy wait- oh fuck-” he stutters out, not being able to control his own moans as he had been so desperate to feel your touch. as you observed how deeply he was reacting to you, the sadistic urge in you took over. you stopped your hand’s movements all together, looking at him with a sinister smile. “oh my god, you were such an annoying little brat and now look at you? moaning so loud for me and i’ve barely given your stupid cock any attention.” you’d say to him and watch as his cock twitches in anticipation for what you’ll do next. “oh, you’re twitching? are you seriously so pathetic that you get off to me degrading you?” he would moan out, not thinking you were expecting an answer, until you grabbed onto his soft locks, lightly pulling on them so he’s staring directly into your eyes. “i’m talking to you, pain slut. answer me when i speak to you.” you’d tighten your grip on his hair and watch the poor boy spill out apology after apology.

bf!beomgyu, who needs lots of love, attention, and affection after the two of you play together. if you leave to clean yourself up, he’d follow along like a little puppy dog and want to help you. usually after one of your harder session, more degradation heavy ones, you would take a bubble bath together. the warm water feeling so good, you would face him and wrap your arms around his neck. “you did so well beomie, i love you!” he’d smile so big as you’d kiss all along his face, as well as the bruises along his neck and collarbones, then give him a much needed head massage. he’d tell you how he loves you too and appreciates how you always do such a good job of taking care of him while reveling in the feeling of your comforting, gentle touch. you two would finish the night off in each other’s arms with him lying on your chest sound asleep.