#so her hair is cropped very close to her head

[miraculan-draws]

I see your "elves need earmuffs in winter" and RAISE YOU those knitted or fuzzy headbands that go over ears BECAUSE Astarion would look very cute in them and it would keep his growing hair out of his eyes. He made it himself. I was going to say "bring him yarn/fabric of your desired color and he will make you one" but I realized he would be choosing the colors himself with childlike glee and would not entertain any arguments on the matter. Interrupting conversations that do not involve him that way he can measure someone's head. Once he learns he can make them out of fur it's all over. Don't have big sensitive elf ears? Irrelevant, you will be cozy as well, sha'tel'quessir, and it will be both fashionable and practical.

[love-toxin]

MEAT - thomas hewitt (leatherface)

a/n: i had to be a little silly ehe <- delusional

(cws: fem!reader, DDDNE, extreme violence, blood, gore, broken bones, a whole array of weaponry, domestic abuse, forced relationship, evolution of victim -> perpetrator, psychological torture, mentions of very dubious consent, breeding, huge size difference, ownership marking, protective tommy, implied cannibalism, unnamed victims of the tcm.)

wc: 10.7k

Lungs burning in your chest with the humid Texas heat, you forced the corn stalks aside as you stumbled through them in a frantic sprint. Each leathery pod whacked against your shoulders, your hands, your chest, and your bruised-up legs, but you wouldn't stop for nothing.

You couldn't stop. The people you'd hitchhiked with were all dead, or at least very well on their way to being so–they had been hunted one by one, by bear traps and shotguns and hay hooks, and you were sure you were the only one the family were left hunting. It'd taken all night to spread you thin and weaken you all with sadistic tortures of every kind. Now your group was down to one. You. Hauling ass was not enough to describe how frantically you were tumbling through the crop field, practically hand-over-foot crawling with how dizzy you'd gotten. Blood loss and a few hits to the head would do that to you.

Finally, the maize parted one last time to spit you out into the dewy grass, the labyrinth of sameness finally coming to an end. But when you tilted your head up to the starry night sky, your heart dropped into your feet at what laid before you. The farmhouse. You'd run in the wrong direction. Warm light glowed from within the drapery behind the windows and you spotted the older woman standing on the porch, a rag tucked between her hands as she called out a name. Terrified and hoping for the blessing of going unseen you army crawled your way right back to the corn–

Thunk. Only halfway there, the grass split with the force of a sledgehammer dropping into it. A boot stepped into view right by your head; attached to it was an enormous calf, and your eyes trailed upwards slowly to reveal the whole of that crazed maniac you'd seen manhandling the others into that house of horrors across the lawn.

Greasy hair hung down in long tresses, wary eyes pierced into your skull, an apron sat snug around his midriff stained with dark blood. Up close, you could listen to the way he breathed heavy through the mask that obscured his lower jaw, only the bridge of his nose and his forehead visible through it. He stunk of sweat, rot, and fresh meat. His weighty hand tightened round the handle of the hammer he'd set down, veins popping out with the sheer size and strength of his enormous, hulking body.

“Tommy!” The woman's voice cracked out in the night, the name finally ringing clear enough for you to hear. His head whipped around to the source and he stared in her direction; you watched her turn a blind eye to your predicament in the grass and step back inside the house. It felt as though your heart might burst in that moment, the fear and tension running through you like a taut wire about to snap in two.

The giant grunted overhead. You looked back at him again and squeezed your fists against the dirt, expecting him to lift that hammer and crush your skull into the ground with it. But upon resting his palm on the blunt end of it, the monster instead used it to lower himself to one knee. With a hand outstretched, he slowly, carefully brushed your damp hair aside, and pressed his fingertips firmly into your cheek. You shuddered as they moved downwards, probing around the soft spot beneath your ear and the curve of your jaw. He tilted your chin back and slid his whole, grubby hand down your neck…and with the most tentative squeeze around your throat, you swallowed and he all but jumped back. Your skin ran cool again as his warm hand ripped away from you, but with just as much hesitation he grazed your lips with his knuckles and trailed them across your forehead, leaving smudges of wet blood behind.

“Tommy!” A harsher voice tore through the quiet night, yanking his attention away from you again. The sheriff–the fake sheriff, that is–came stomping up from around the back of the barn, the shotgun hanging at his side causing you enough panic to scramble to your knees. But you wouldn't get far. Not even a couple feet. Your body hit the earth within moments of you climbing to your feet, and you heaved out a pained moan at the mountain of weight that pinned you down and crushed you underneath him. The giant had thrown himself forward and taken you down without thinking twice; his beefy arm came around your neck and tightened, his muscles flexing under the coarse fabric of his shirt for him to hold you in place.

“Attaboy, Tommy.” The older man came around his side as you struggled, clawing at the bicep that was crushing your windpipe with barely any effort. The sheriff kicked your flailing leg with a holler, cackling at the way you squirmed under his nephew's brute strength. “Stupid bitch. Gonna learn your lesson now, aint'cha?”

Dying squeaks for mercy escaped your throat, your words barely tinged with any discernible syllables. Thomas’ grip only grew tighter. Your arms went slack, then your legs slowed to a trembling halt…and before long your head slumped forward as you passed into unconsciousness, hoping to god this would be the last time you woke up in this sweltering Texas hell.

Clink. Clink. Clink. The chatter of voices melted into the gentle clatter of silverware. It wasn't the sounds that stirred you from your sleep rife with nightmares, though–it was the sliver of a sunbeam cast through the window that shone gently on your face. You blinked blearily as your head lolled in a stuttered circle, slowly and quietly coming to. Clink. Clack. Eyelids cracked half-open, you raised your head up despite the weight of a pounding headache, and watched a pair of wrinkled hands set down a teacup on a saucer in front of you.

Although there was much to see, you instantly turned your gaze to the woman you'd seen on the porch. Your nerves jittered and you flinched as she reached out to touch you, but it passed with her gentle shushing as she tenderly caressed your cheek. The age showed in creases all across her face, her eyes soft but wet with something terribly uneasy behind them.

“Such a pretty girl,” She crooned, a smile like nothing had happened plastered across her face. The eagerness with which she watched you unsettled you to your very core, but it would be second to the nightmare that was waiting to explode on you across the table. “I always wanted a little girl. Never seen one so pretty.” Despite the sweetness of her words, a shift of your hand rattled the chair you'd been tied to; both wrists buckled under the tough ropes used to bind you, indented where you could see dry blood crusted over the fibers. Either you moved a lot in your sleep, or someone really wanted to punish you for trying to get away.

As tenderly as if she was your own mother, the lady brought your teacup up and tilted it for you to drink, which gave you a moment to let your eyes wander. With a glance around you took a mental sweep of the place. Your chair sat at the end of a dining table, and aside from the woman you spotted two other older men; the frightening man with the shotgun, and an elderly man in a wheelchair. Framed photos hung around the room against peeling wallpaper, and aside from a decent amount of clutter and antique decorations of a house long lived in, nothing struck you as out of the ordinary from the cutlery to the frayed rug that cushioned your bare feet.

The aging woman tottered around the table to pick up a plate and slid a few eggs on from a saucepan in the middle. That and a few strips of bacon made their way down to your placemat, still sizzling.

“Why're you givin’ this bitch special treatment, mama?” The fake sheriff glared you down from his seat at the head of the table, spitting off to the side with his hands still clasped in front of him. “Already got enough mouths to feed.”

“Hush.” She finally snapped, and gestured with the spatula still in hand. “This is your fault. You wanna play sheriff so bad, Charlie.”

“It's Hoyt, mama, for god's sake!”

“Don't you cuss at me!” The old woman warned, aiming the spatula right at his chest.

“U-Um,” You whimpered softly, and drew the attention of all three of the frightening strangers, who turned their heads in your direction. The focus on you made you falter, but the problem at hand was far more pressing than fear. “Th-The rope…please..” You managed to squeak out, and only then did they seem to notice your hands were changing colours. They were so tight the blood wasn't circulating, and you feared even a few moments more of the ache would result in something very unpleasant in the near future, especially when you knew there was a chainsaw floating around here somewhere.

Just then, the floorboards creaked at your back. Too afraid to turn your head you only shifted your gaze, and in your peripheral you saw it. Two thick, fat-fingered hands reaching downwards to tug at the binds round your wrist. For someone so huge, he made short work of untying you even without the aid of one of the knives scattered round the table settings. The rope loosened and dropped to the floor in a coil like a dead snake, but as he reached over you to undo the other–and you got a whiff of soap amidst his sweat in the process–the man naming himself Hoyt grumbled and slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the plates and silverware.

“Goddammit, boy–what'd I say? We ain't keepin’ her, for Christ sakes!”

“Watch your mouth!” The woman–mama–shrieked, and her fist shook as she dumped the spatula down on the table with a thunk. The other cuff came loose and you released a sigh of relief as you touched your wrists, wincing at the open cuts that had only half dried over. And while the two continued to bicker about one thing or another, a great shifting of clothes and a thump beside you caught your gaze. Thomas, the giant that you'd watched haul the others off to the slaughter, had knelt down by your chair like a dog and still came up to eye level. God, he was just massive. Somehow it made him less intimidating though, since he looked at you like he was waiting for scraps from your plate. It was somewhat pathetic, but…endearing? Was that a word you could even consider using for a maniac like him, or was it beyond all common logic to even think of him in such pleasant terms?

“A-Are you…hungry?” You whispered, only to be met with a slow shake of his head. Thomas raised a melon-sized arm and pushed the plate closer to you, as if to say ‘eat up, it's getting cold’. Emboldened by his tender gesture, you shakily plucked your fork off the placemat and leaned in to examine the bacon. It looked like…bacon. Hot, crunchy, cut in strips like you would see any day in the supermarket. Still, you tentatively went for the eggs first, and raised the tiniest bit to your mouth as the two older ones finally managed to settle down whatever argument they'd been having.

“Boys, time to say grace.” Suddenly flushed hot with embarrassment, you lowered your fork in an instant and followed their lead. You bowed your head with them, listened to mama say her standard prayers of thanks–and then, when everyone else began to eat, you cautiously lifted the bite to your lips and chewed thoughtfully. It felt like forever for you to discern whether or not it was normal, if it tasted like it should, but after a while of chewing you had to relent to the fact that it didn't taste abnormal, so it was about as fine as you could expect. You ate in silence alongside them, but just when you pondered whether the food might be drugged or other awful possibilities, the sheriff cleared his throat and drew your attention to him once again.

“Now,” Mama scowled at him, but he continued to speak nonetheless. “You got two options here, kid: eat, or be eaten. Them's the laws of life.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, readying himself to say more, but an interruption came with a grunt from your side. Hoyt raised a hand and waved the wordless concern off. “Don't you mouth off, boy. Gettin’ to it.”

You shifted your gaze to Thomas, who only nudged your plate closer to you to urge you into eating more. Something gnawed at the back of your mind. Their behavior was so strange, the looks exchanged even stranger–there was something that wasn't being said, like a plan was brewing right under your nose.

“See here, this is how it is. You got choices. Now, my nephew here happens to like you,” His honeyed southern drawl couldn't hope to mask the hopelessness that stirred in you at those words. “Ugly as sin, but he's a good enough boy, ain't that right?” He looked to Thomas, but the ‘boy’ in question stared right at you when he nodded. “So you choose. You wanna eat-”

“I'll eat,” The answer flew from your mouth without hesitation, so much so that even the most uninterested of folks around the table caught your gaze. Your breath hitched in your bruised throat. “I'll eat, I swear. I'll eat.”

“Mm-hm.” Hoyt eyed you and nodded. Something about the way he watched you made you feel overexposed, like your skin had been stripped raw from the bone and he was peering into every inch underneath. “Fine then. Whore's all yours, Tommy-boy.”

At those words, your world shifted with a violent blur of motion. Before you could even gasp there were huge, strong hands under your armpits, and you were lifted out of your seat like a child who weighed less than nothing. You'd be thanking yourself later that you at least polished off most of your plate, because aside from an accidental thump of your foot hitting the table on the way by, you wouldn't be touching the rest of your breakfast again. Thomas slung you over his shoulder and cradled your lower half in the crook of an enormous arm, and with a shriek you felt yourself being carried off by the giant and taken away into another world.

The basement.

It had been a month and a half since you'd been taken in, now. Life had gone on despite you vanishing from the world you knew, and regardless of whether or not you woke up each morning and wondered why you were still kept alive, the earth continued to turn. Time went on and you adjusted, albeit shakily, to the routine of a life in the backcountry of rural Texas. You learned to help on the farm and Luda Mae, or momma as you were taught to call her, passed on her generations-old knowledge of cookery and cleaning and caring for the household. Sometimes you'd get driven out with momma and one of the uncles to tend the store, but that was on the rare side since they didn't trust the locals not to mess with you. Pretty things like you didn't come by often and you had values to uphold, now.

Plus, you had a man at home. Tommy was the reason you survived that awful first night, but now it was expected that he was also the reason you kept on living.

The rest of the family kept out of your business together for the most part, but you'd long been perplexed by the dynamic that had ensued since you'd first arrived. For as hulking and strong of a beast he was, you came to find out that Tommy's appearance was a shell that sheltered a soft-natured, sensitive boy at heart. His penchant for murder was not so, rather it was a duty carried out regardless of will in the service of a family he was lucky to have, despite you certainly thinking otherwise. He liked to work, and eat, and make things. His rage could certainly be a problem, but it was a rare thing that only cropped up once in a great while. He would endure more than ten times a normal person before he finally snapped, and even then he wouldn't ever let you see it. The few times he got mad, he would stomp out to the barn or head to the now-abandoned slaughterhouse, and take out his aggression on the thing he knew best. Meat. And most of the time it was a beating from Hoyt or a few too many bouts of yelling before he felt the need to get away.

After all, it wasn't anger that led his interactions with you. It was odd; he'd pointed you out specifically as the one he wanted to keep, but he seldom showed any entitlement in taking whatever it was he wanted from you. He'd lean in for kisses but most of the time he missed anyways. You weren't exactly sure what you could call your one occasion of intimacy with him that you recalled, because he didn't ask if you wanted it, but you didn't really tell him outright that you didn't. Would it have even mattered? Maybe not. But he barely managed to find the hole he was looking for anyways, and by the time he did it was obvious he had no clue what he was doing. Fumbling hands and a bit of awkward thigh-humping later and he'd finally left you be, albeit soaked and sticky with sweat and the residue he'd clumsily left behind on your bare stomach. Since then, it'd been just a few fingers on your thighs and some tame through-the-mask kisses, nothing more.

Not that you should really be questioning the love of a serial chainsaw butcher, but as the days passed it grew harder to see him in that light alone. You witnessed too much of the deformed, mentally-disturbed man who refused to eat before you did, who wouldn't lay a hand on you like he'd had laid on him all his life. Thomas showed affection in odd ways but they were more endearing than you thought they would be, from picking you flowers off the side of the road to cleaning up the small room you shared so you'd feel more at home. Sometimes his arousal would grow against your back while you laid in his arms, but a bit of shuddered hip-rocking through your pajamas while he thought you were asleep and the moment would pass. He was pretty easy to please.

There came a time when new visitors drove through town, however, and you knew what was going to happen as soon as Hoyt came home and called for Tommy to come upstairs. You stood at the sink washing dishes while you peered through the window; out in front of the same cornfield you'd crawled out of nearly two months ago, a van sat parked next to Hoyt's stolen Dodge. You watched with your breath held tight in your throat as five people hopped out the sliding door one by one, all seemingly chipper for where they were. Three girls, two guys. Their sunbleached hair and fancy beach clothes said all you needed to know about what type of people they were. One of the girls had a pendant hanging round her neck that caught the light just right, and you found yourself staring at it as it jostled against her sweat-soaked collarbone.

Chnk, thuuunk. At the sound of the basement door sliding open you turned your head, and there stood Tommy in the kitchen. Quiet as ever he came walking up and placed his thick hand on your head. The look in his burning eyes said it all. “Everything's okay. Don't fret.” He touched your hair a moment until Hoyt's voice rang out again, and with a silent huff he stepped away and made his way out to the lawn.

The light in each and every one of their eyes left the moment they spotted him approaching. One of the girls even grabbed her friend’s arm, stepping behind him halfway out of fear of the hulking giant that couldn't sleep without cuddling you at night. A dish slipped from your hand into the sink and splashed you, but as you pulled a rag from your apron pocket to dry the counter a bang and a high-pitched scream cut through the peaceful din of your quiet afternoon. You hopped up to see what was happening, but struggled to piece together the aftermath of the last five seconds.

On the ground lay one of the girls with a cavernous opening in the back of her head, collapsed in a steadily-growing pool of her own blood. Her lifeless eyes stared through you from across the lawn, they pierced into your very soul as she choked listlessly on her own blood, and you dropped to your knees behind the counter. Hands clamped over your mouth, you heaved each breath and hoped not to puke all over the freshly-mopped floor. Momma would have a fit if you ruined your own hard work.

Blind to whatever senselessness resided in their screams, you held back the churning of your stomach on your own bruised knees while the two of them took care of the rest. Within a few minutes you'd managed to pull yourself back up on shaky feet and finish washing the dishes. Within the hour, Tommy and Uncle Hoyt had gathered up the remaining survivors and taken them in. Two in the barn, one in the guest bedroom…and one locked up in the basement.

“Momma?” You called out softly into the hallway, wiping your fingers on your apron. Your chores for the day were finished, and the sun was starting to set on the horizon. Now would usually be the time you headed out to the chicken coop to lock it up, but with new visitors around, you didn't know the protocol. The last time this happened was…well, you didn't like to think about it.

“Down here, darlin’.” Luda Mae popped her head out from the living room, and you hurried down the hall with your skirt fluttering around your legs. All your dresses were pretty modest and most of them were out of a trunk stored up in the attic, since momma had a whole collection of clothes she'd worn in her younger days that she figured would suit a young lady just fine. When you stepped in, you weren't expecting to see what you saw lying on the couch near uncle Monty's favourite spot.

It was one of the guys from the hippie van. His long hair had been soaked with blood and he was gagged, his face sporting bruises from an undoubtedly rough encounter with uncle Hoyt, who stood on the opposite side of the living room glaring at him.

“Fucker tried to escape.” He sniffed, nursing a bloody nose with a hanky as he spoke with momma. “Other one's putzin’ around somewhere. You two keep an eye out, you hear me?” He pointed in your direction and you nodded out of instinct. Your eyes flicked towards the bound man on the couch as he made muffled noises of panic, but he was soon silenced by Hoyt whacking him over the head with the butt of his shotgun before he left to continue the search. Meanwhile, uncle Monty sat in his wheelchair unbothered, listening to the radio as it played on the windowsill and reading without a care in the world.

“Momma-” You tried again, but she turned to you with gentle eyes and gripped your shoulders lightly.

“Go clean up the kitchen for me, sweetheart?” She asked in earnest, and the plea you had to beg her not to make you take part died on your lips.

“Yes, momma.”

“That's my good girl.” Your hands fell at your sides, while she petted your hair lovingly and turned you away from the scene, patting you on the back as she ushered you back towards the kitchen. Blowing your hair out of your eyes, you resigned yourself to at least being a bystander to the horrors that were about to come, and made your way down the hall with your arms crossed over your chest in contemplation. Was there nothing you could do? No way to get out of playing a part, or at least ensuring they wouldn't ask? You had no doubts that you didn't have the stomach to do anything to the visitors, but then again, momma didn't have to do much either. Maybe you'd be saved by the tradition that dictated the six generations-deep household, and be regulated to the homely chores you'd tended to since first becoming a part of the family.

As you pushed through the door that led into the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans clattering already grabbed your attention. It would be too late to do anything, however–because before you could even take a breath, someone's chest hit your back and there was a knife pinned to your throat.

“Don't you fucking move!” An unfamiliar voice whispered harshly in your ear. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on the hand he had at your neck, but he jolted and the blade sunk deeper into your skin, causing you to cry out–and immediately be hushed by the stranger now holding you hostage. The bruising grip he had on your wrist now moved to clamp over your mouth, his body moving with you as you struggled in a momentary panic. Despite his warning, you brought your elbow backwards and loosened his grip on the knife as he choked in pain, throwing his arms off you as you stumbled forward and tripped over one of the dining chairs. Your skirt ripped as he tried to grab ahold of you again, but in his scramble to pick his weapon back up you kicked it away; and that was when fear truly started to pulse through your limbs like a heartbeat, when he glared daggers into you with a murderous rage, and you cried out the one name through tears that came to mind.

“Tommy!” You sobbed, crawling away and trying to use the table to hoist yourself up, only to be kicked down again with a harsh shoe planted in the middle of your spine. Coughs ripped through your lungs as they seized in desperation, the wind having been knocked clean from your chest, and the sticky wetness of blood started pooling under your chin from hitting the floor face-first. Your nose wept with scarlet-red blood into your trembling palm, but that realization couldn't come close to the terror you felt at being grabbed by your hair and painfully lifted up off the ground.

“You fucking bitch!” He screamed, voice hoarse and frighteningly loud so close to your face. “I'll kill you–I'll kill all you psycho motherfuckers!” He brought the knife so close to your heart you felt it cutting through the air–but before he could bring it anywhere near your skin, a muffled thump from close by yanked him right to attention. He turned his head frantically towards the source, and you took the opportunity afforded to you. You brought your foot up hard into his groin, and released his grip on you for the second time for you to drop to the floor in a heap. Your dress smeared the blood you'd left on the pristine, freshly-mopped floorboards as you shuffled away from him, fearing the worst of retaliation from the panicked, indignant captive.

That is, until the thumping grew so loud you heard it clearly coming up the stairs, and without so much as a hint of ceremony your savior burst through the kitchen door; his eyes wild, his fists clenched with indomitable rage. His gaze swept over the scene to you, so small compared to him, huddled in the corner between the cabinets with a blood and tear-stained face. What could only be described as a growl erupted from his broad chest, and he grabbed the legs of your hunched-over assailant and dragged him closer between his feet.

“No!” He cried, but it was far past too late. Tommy grabbed him by the back of his head, yanked him upwards to the height of his shins, and slammed the guy's head so hard into the floor that you could hear the sickening crack of his skull. Dazed but still semi-conscious, he fumbled for the knife he dropped or for anything that could save him, but it wouldn't be enough even so. With his nose ten times as smashed up as he'd done to you and his eye sockets bruised, Tommy's grip trembled on his head like he was considering whether or not to end him right here, right now. Evidently he figured that would be too easy, and before your very eyes he hauled the man up and carried him screaming down into the basement, where you heard the thwacks of him being cuffed down to the workbench before footsteps came echoing back upstairs. He found you in the same spot, still shaking like a leaf, and pushed the table aside to waste as little time as possible getting to you.

“Tommy..” You winced, touching your own face for your fingers to come back bloody. He knelt down like a mountain sinking into the sea and felt around your neck, his concerns for the shallow slash you'd gotten in the struggle that you hadn't even noticed was bleeding. He grunted in reply; one hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, while two meaty fingers lightly pinched the sore bridge of your nose. Knowing what he was about to do wouldn't make it hurt any less, but you still gave him the go-ahead to do it anyways–he forced the bone back with a gut-churning twist, and you squealed out in pain, but it was momentary and the ache that followed was a dull one, thank god.

But still, you sat with a face full of blood and bruises and cried, half out of pain and half out of pure misery. This wasn't the life you wanted to lead, and you hated that you had no choice in the matter. You wanted to go but you knew it would mean the end, and you hated that whenever you thought of all the things you despised about this life, your mind would always wander to Tommy and you'd feel guilt over hurting him or leaving him behind. You hated it all, but somehow you couldn't really hate him, and it left you trapped in this cycle that you loathed to think would never, ever end.

While the tears continued to streak down your face, Tommy took to patting your cheeks gently. He held them and squeezed them carefully, so tender and cautious when it was you that was the meat between his destructive hands. He moved in close, his breathing hot and stifled beneath the mask he never took off in front of you. His head tilted, tongue wetting his lips in anticipation, and he-

“Boy!” Uncle Hoyt roared as he burst through the kitchen door, alerting you both and tearing Tommy's reverent gaze away from you. He stood fast and took you with him, your elbows cupped in his rough hands as he hauled you singlehandedly to your feet. “You find that fucker yet?!” He swung his shotgun around and you flinched at the way he aimed it so carelessly. The ‘boy’ in question tucked you under his arm out of habit and shielded you almost entirely with the sheer enormity of his titan-esque frame. Wordlessly, he gestured towards the direction of the basement door with your trembling self still pinned tightly to his chest. The pseudo-sherriff narrowed his eyes at the both of you, namely the blood caking your otherwise pretty face, and scoffed. “Hose her down, Jesus almighty..” He muttered that last blasphemy under his breath as he moved past out the back door, leaving the two of you wide-eyed and uncertain; his arm squeezing you tight against him, and your calloused fingers digging into his dirty sleeve as the crickets chirped outside the screen door.

“You..” You swallowed dryly. The words came to you when no others did the same justice. “You're a good boy, Tommy. You did a good job.”

Your praise hit his ears just right, as it always did. Tommy nuzzled his face into yours just so gently, barely grazing your skin with the damp leather as he tended to your wounds. With your broken nose already re-set, he rummaged through the drawers around you without taking his hand off your arm, sparing little time before his hand clasped around a roll of familiar gauze and he nudged the drawer closed. Though it was shallow enough to have stopped bleeding already, he wrapped some around your neck for the cut that would surely leave a scar, and used a clean rag to mop up your face with a bit of water from the tap. As he moved down your body to your waist, clearly concerned by the generous bloodstain marring your pretty, cotton dress, something caught his eye that froze him in place and sent a throbbing anger right into his dense fists. Worried, you set your hand on his shoulder, but it would do no good at comforting him after what he saw.

Your skirt. Torn like it had been yanked apart, desperately, and it had. Was he worried you'd be upset over the damage? You wondered for a passing moment, but as his fists shook with rage and your dresses’ hem balled within them you knew it to be a different reason entirely. He thought–

Oh. So that's what he thought. You sought to comfort his fears but he'd had enough. Your delicate hands tugging at his mammoth arms made barely a dent in his intense march towards the basement, your begging too saccharine to even reach his ears. He walked with purpose into the hallway, wrenched open the sliding door with a force that bent it slightly, and with a palm outstretched to ward you off from following, he slammed it shut with an enormous bang that rattled the whole house. Standing there in shock and horror, you listened to his footsteps pounding the stairs before turning away and heading back towards the kitchen.

You had quite the mess to clean up in there, and there was nothing better to distract yourself from the howling screams of agony that would persist until dinnertime.

Maybe this was exactly how awkward it was when you'd been sat in that familiar chair. You remembered little of your first meal, the very first breakfast of many you would share with the family that had adopted you in to their home.

This was a lot less…friendly, though. Out of the five people who had arrived, two of them were dead. The one that had attacked you in the kitchen had grown silent in the basement. The other two–the hippy with the long hair and a redheaded girl–had their wrists bound to two chairs diagonal from each other. The guy sat at the very end where you'd once been, and the girl to his right with tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing softly as you filled everyone's bowls. Luckily for you, Monday was chicken soup night, so you had no worries over what kind of meat Hoyt would want to prepare for the special occasion. You'd been the only one to stir the pot, and the only one who made it at all for every Monday that rolled around. It had quickly become Tommy’s favourite, hence why he was only a few minutes late to arrive outside the dining room for dinner. Though you could tell that he'd barely cleaned up, his apron and his pants still soaked liberally with clotted blood.

“Hands?” You questioned, your ladle poised over the pot of hot soup, and waited until the hulking giant tentatively stepped in the doorway to hold out his massive hands for inspection. When it was your turn to cook, you learned that you held the authority over the table for that evening. So you rarely followed the lead of uncle Hoyt or the others, and wouldn't wait until after grace to invite Tommy into the room. You checked over his knuckles–bruised, but scrubbed clean–and only then did you nod towards the seat you saved for him and waited until he settled uncertainly into the chair to pour him a bowl and set it down in front of him.

If not for the whimpering captives at the table, it would be a better-than-average night. You'd improved on your recipe with a bit of creative seasoning, and the night had cooled off considerably to offer a bit of respite from the oppressive heat. You led grace, and smoothing out your fresh dress to fan out under your thighs as you sat, the table commenced with clinking spoons and bread being buttered that you thanked the stars hadn't gotten stale yet. Though of course, the unexpected visitors weren't so keen on your homemade cooking and didn't so much as look down at their bowls.

Tommy was too distracted to be frustrated by it, though. With his head dipped down to the table like a mutt, he slurped up his soup through the mask and chewed noisily on bits of chicken and corn. You'd saved the biggest roll for him and he tore into it like it was nothing, ripping chunks of bread off with his teeth and enthusiastically gulping down broth to wash it down. You hadn't even had time to butter his bread for him first like you usually did, but it pleased you to see him enjoying your cooking even more than usual.

“Please,” A wobbly voice pricked at the tense silence. The redheaded girl pulled at her restraints again, shaking the table in the process. “We didn't do anything…please, please, let us go!” She sobbed, wailing even louder as she thrashed against the stiff arms of the old chair.

“C'mon, man! We won't tell anyone, swear!” The hippie chimed in, only for Hoyt to slam his fist down on the table to silence the whining of his two captives.

“Shut the hell up!” He snarled, whipping out a revolver from his holster to point at each one of them. “Had enough of your shit today. Shut your mouths.” He motioned towards his still-bloodied nose, and endured yet another scolding from momma for cussing at the table as he tucked the gun back into its place. You peered over at the two of them, but regret came immediately when the hippie's green eyes locked on yours like he saw a glimmer of hope within them. You forced your gaze back down to your bowl. You couldn't be their saviour, no matter how much they wanted you to be.

“Lovely soup, sweetheart.” Momma smiled over at you, while uncle Monty nodded quietly in agreement.

“Mm-hm. Momma taught you all her secrets, eh?” Hoyt added with a slurp off his spoon, the irritation from earlier having vanished. You thanked them politely, keeping your pride to yourself at the coveted praise directed your way. In a household where anything could go wrong at any time, you had to hold the good things as tight to your chest as you possibly could.

From beside you, Tommy lifted his head from an empty bowl and sighed softly with satisfaction. The remnants of spilled soup dribbled down his mask and his grimy neck, so with your own cloth napkin you reached over and did the job that was normally momma's; you wiped his face clean with a gentle hand, and he sat still for one of the only people he didn't flinch away from when you touched him.

“Good, Tommy?” He wasn't used to being asked his opinion, much less on something as scarce as food, when you didn't have much choice on what you ate. He nodded slowly, looking at you like you held the world as you finished wiping up the mess he'd left on the table.

Just then, one of the captives–maybe both of them–kicked their legs out in frustration, and shifted the table with a jolt that sent hot soup splashing out of the pot. The redhead's bowl tipped over and dumped her untouched meal all over her lap, but the porcelain shattering as it hit the floor wasn't what had Tommy rising out of his seat.

Wasteful. That's what they were. Insulting your cooking. You saw it in Tommy's eyes as anger overwhelmed him again, and for the second time tonight your reassurances weren't enough to halt him in his tracks. His chair legs scraped the floor loudly as he got up and maneuvered around the table, the tense quiet peppered by the screams of the girl as he grabbed the back of her head and slammed it down into the slick tabletop. Not nearly as hard as he'd done to the other guy, but enough so that he brought her back up with a nose gushing blood and a harsher sob on her lips.

“You teach her a lesson, Tommy!” Hoyt eagerly encouraged the violence, but you reached your hand out over the table and pressed your palm flat against her forehead. At the resistance you gave her, Tommy's grip grew slack and a look of panic came over him at the distress etched clear on your face. He looked conflicted, peering over at Hoyt and then back at you. Was he being bad, or being good? Was what he was doing right, or was it wrong? Hoyt started shouting and cussing at you for stopping him, but Tommy skirted back around the table to your side and put himself between you and his furious uncle. A swat to the back of the head wasn't totally uncommon for you, even if it didn't happen often, but the punishments Tommy received were always far worse. The belt or a two-by-four were considered light work in Hoyt's sadistic mind, but after what you'd been through today you were certain Tommy wouldn't be keen on letting you endure any more pain. He would take punishments and beatings for you whenever he had the chance–sometimes Hoyt had even asked him what he preferred, and not once had he put you up for the chopping block if he could take it for you.

“Enough of this shit!” Hoyt finally roared. He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the basement and shoved both you and Tommy towards it. “Take these sons a’ bitches downstairs, and don't come up until they're meat!”

Both of the captives shrieked and flailed in their chairs at his demand, but you managed to undo their binds despite the struggling and let Tommy haul each one up in his arms; one over his shoulder, and one tucked up under his armpit. Your heartbeat thudded in your throat as you followed Tommy's lead towards the stairs, and when it came time to shut the door, you had to swallow your fear with a gulp as the metal scraped on metal and a heavy thunk pitched you into darkness.

The only times you'd watched Tommy work before was when he'd taken you to the slaughterhouse. It was an aging, now-abandoned building that had seen generations of hard workers come and go, and despite it no longer being in business he still came by to do some work when he wasn't needed for chores at the house. You weren't sure why he didn't usually take you along or why he decided to on those few occasions, but regardless of the stench, the blood, and the intensity of chopping and cleaning meat, it was easy to tell that Tommy was good at it. Real good.

It was a little different today. About a week had passed since the visitors came through town, and by now all five of them were taken care of. You'd barely eaten since you couldn't stomach the fresh meat, and with you excusing yourself to throw up that first dinner after you'd had guests, the rest of the family had been looking down on you. Momma was sad for you, and Monty was mostly indifferent when he wasn't straight up disappointed in you. But Hoyt was vindictive and angry. He thought you were turning your back on the family, judging them, acting “all high and mighty” and worst of all, risking your family's safety. You'd gotten caught leaving the locks loose on the two survivors' shackles, and they'd nearly escaped out the basement before Hoyt caught both of them in the cornfield and finally shot them dead.

You swore it was an accident. Hoyt thought otherwise. He would've killed you right then and there if Tommy hadn't stepped in for you, and even then the air had been strained in the house ever since, as uncle Hoyt demanded you be properly punished for your sins.

That's why you'd been dragged along with Tommy to accompany him to the slaughterhouse. By the end of the day, Hoyt wanted a proper apology–one in the form of a bloody limb, an organ, or maybe just your head on a platter as recompense for betraying your family. And worst of all, he wanted Tommy to be the one to do it, to decide what would be a fitting price for you to pay. To ‘grow some balls and be a man’, as Hoyt put it so delicately.

But since morning, he'd just been chopping meat. Tommy hadn't even looked at you the whole time you'd been here, not even on the walk down the side of the road to get here in the first place. He'd picked you up under your arms and sat you up on the table behind him, and then he'd turned his back to you as he brought down his cleaver on the piles and piles of dripping meat. Sometimes he would turn around and hand you chunks to wrap up in butcher's paper, but for the most part he indicated nothing towards the task he had primarily been sent here to do. Somehow it just made it all worse; you felt on the edge of snapping from the anxious terror that tightened up all your muscles, wondering what on earth Tommy would do to you before the day was done. Was he just procrastinating? Because if he arrived back home with nothing to show for it, it wouldn't save you in the end–it would just make it worse for both of you when he got punished too.

“Tommy.” You gnawed on your bottom lip. He brought the blade down on the chopping block with a thunk. With the bone separated, a squelch hit your ears as he slid the sections apart and dragged over another hunk to slice through. “I'm sorry.”

Thunk. Not even a passing glance over his shoulder. And it was hard to tell if he was mad when he wouldn't even look at you.

“I didn't want to get you in trouble…”

Thunk.

“I was just scared.”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“Tommy-”

The slow escalation of his measured cuts finally culminated into an uproarious clatter, his cleaver smacking down on the soaked table before he turned himself to face you. Blood marred the clothes you'd taken off the laundry line for him that morning, apron slick and sticky with viscera as it almost always was. Sweat poured down his arms and his hairy chest and beaded at his dense forehead. Every inch of him was dirty, and yet you didn't cringe away from it when he closed the distance between you and came up harrowingly close. The stench of blood and meat wafted off of him from barely an inch away. His hips edged in between your knees as you sat on the lip of the counter, keeping personal space far from his mind when he grabbed your arms and dwarfed them under his massive fingers. Each breath heaved beneath his mask like swallowing a bubble, ready to pop.

This time, Hoyt was nowhere around to interrupt him. Momma wasn't there to scold him. Nobody would hear for miles what he would do to you, and you had no idea what he'd had brewing in his mind since he'd choked you out in the cornfield that first meeting. That intense stare of his was like a bear honing in on a rabbit, and if you had the thought to run, it was already too late.

Thick fingers clamped down around your neck, dug into the scar that had formed from the asshole that had sliced you, and you felt your heart stutter as Tommy pulled you along the length of the table and slammed you down into it by the throat. This way you were laid out like a cow would to be butchered, plenty of room for him to work as he held you down and reached over to pull a leather strap over your midsection. He affixed the buckle tight to the opposite side and tightened it more when you squirmed against the pressure, but not quite enough to be as painful as the ropes that dug into your wrists at your first family meal. With that in place he didn't need to hold you down to keep you pinned against the table, and although you whimpered in fear and fought against the bindings he paid your resistance little mind, instead looking through his tools on the cutting table to find a decently-sized paring knife–drenched liberally in blood–for him to hook under the neckline of your dress and make a cut down the middle. Once he hit the tough leather over your stomach, the tool skittered across the table as he abandoned it in favour of ripping your skirt apart with his bare hands, the thin layer of cotton offering no resistance to his brute strength.

Why did it make you so wet? You couldn't shake the feeling of arousal from how animalistic he was behaving, nor the sheer, overwhelming musk of man and sweat and blood. Tommy was never rough with you but he was certainly making up for it now; you flinched at the firmness of his fingers digging into your skin, leaving trails of thin blood and dirt behind as he tore your cotton bra into loose pieces. His hands trembled at the sight of you exposed like this, too much skin to handle, and such soft flesh that filled out his palms when he cupped your breasts in each eager hand. A hitch of breath was enough to show him that you liked it, whether it was the attention itself or exclusively because it was him touching you. It didn't matter.

Tommy massaged each one with such eager reverence, his handwork clumsy compared to the ease with which he handled so many other forms of meat. He wasn't keen on ripping these off your body and eating them; although he did want to test how they would feel in his mouth, especially those plum, soft nubs of yours that perked when he brushed his thumbs over them. By now you weren't completely certain he wasn't going to butcher you, but you had a pretty good idea that this was his plan B–take out that inner aggression on you that would not make his god-fearing family proud.

A deep, weighty groan slipped out of him at the taste of sweat on your skin. Every bruise he left with his teeth would have to be covered up and powdered, but god, god it was so easy for him to undo every vestige of purity you'd put on for show. Your back arched and your worn shoes squeaked against the steel table as you wiggled, the globes of fat he held in his palms jiggling with a mesmerizing glow every time you moved. As much as you wanted to wrench yourself free in some moments, in most others you couldn't bear the breaks he took to catch his breath, leaving your chest prickling with goosebumps as a draft hit your spit-sticky skin. He squeezed and kneaded to his heart's content and took a twisted glee out of making you squirm, especially when you made those gurgly noises that were so traitorous to the pristine image you painted for momma. She'd made it clear that you weren't to go off messing with boys when they came strolling up to the store's counter, or return any of their flirtations no matter how many times they called you pretty.

Obviously she didn't think her son would be the one you had to keep from tempting, but that train had long left the station now. Thomas’ index finger tore through the thin fabric of your panties with a swipe, and there you laid bare and naked to his wandering eyes while he yanked the shreds of them down the rest of your legs. He probably didn't know what positions were which and how girls had their periods, but he knew enough to slide those thick fingers through your folds and to keep going when you moaned like a dying animal. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy”, it was a mantra that hit his ears just right and urged him into clambering on top of the table with you with wild eyes. They drank in every inch of your sweltering body, the pulse of your heart through the hole he was jamming his fingers into, and on instinct he was guided to push down his waistband and throw off his apron as he knelt back on his haunches.

You might've thought he was nothing but hair if he wasn't so thick. Clearly he'd never shaved in his life with the erroneous bush he sported, curly hair matting down his thighs and his belly too once his shirt started riding up. But that fat, drooling knob of his swayed to hit his thigh, and you got an eyeful of pure, veiny, gut-smashing terror that you were sure would kill you if you didn't manage to relax. The further he leaned over your body, the more you felt like he was going to crush you as soon as he lined himself up with the hole he'd be stretching out like a little homemade cock sleeve. His hands slid under your knees to prop them up, but rather than sling them over his shoulders he bent them back and pinned them to your chest. An aching burn raced up your thighs but he paid no mind to your trembling; Tommy knelt over you and settled between your legs, and without warning, started sinking slowly into that hot opening he'd been dying to get deeper inside.

“H-Hold–wait, T-Tommy, hold oh-!”

Were you really so convinced he would play nice with you? Maybe you'd become complacent with the gentleness he showed you at his best, because when Tommy finally pressed in past the tip, he was gone. Forcing your knees back even further, he let out a groan and pushed himself up higher over you; all just to settle himself into your deepest pits and trap you in a violating mating press. After doing nothing but enjoying your heat, smushing his hips down against yours in a grinding motion, he soon seemed to realize he could move–and move he did, drawing back just to crush your hips with a deep, stomach-punching stroke.

“Unh,” What most resembled a moan fell from his scarred lips, and he fumbled around the back of his head to unclasp the leather from his face. This was the first and only time he'd ever felt safe enough to take it off since you'd met, and it was when he'd finally listened to his body and acted on his need to force every inch of him inside you. To be one. Now you finally were, and his synthetic face dropped on your chest before slowly sliding off to hit the floor.

If your jaw hadn't already gone slack from his violent thrusting, it would probably fall from the realization of what hid under that mask day after day. The sallow, sunken nose, the scars, the jagged skin and self-inflicted wounds…why wasn't it as scary as you thought? You figured, in the moment, you'd just gotten too used to him in personality, or maybe because you were just too distracted at the moment, but…

“Tommy-!” You squeaked out. The wet smack of his balls on your ass stuck in your ears, the strings of creamy slick linking you flesh-to-flesh as he went to town on your pussy. If he truly was losing his virginity to you, then all that pent-up frustration must be the source of him absolutely ruining any semblance of tightness you might've had. “A-Are you tryin’ to–you wanna gimme a baby? S'that it?” You slurred, slowly losing your good sense the longer he showed you your place.

Though you thought it would be to your horror, his slow nod only sparked something dark and tremulous within your loins. Something more than sweat and slick and the vile squelching of his seldom-washed dick rubbing up to your womb. It hit you then; this was your punishment. Every clap and sticky smack of flesh on flesh was a promise, an urge fulfilled to tear your meat from the bone and thrust a new purpose unto you. A homemaker. Tommy's little bride. A momma. Make his momma a grandmama like she was always praying for.

Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. No doubt in your mind that was exactly what he was doing, and exactly why he brought you all the way out to the slaughterhouse to do it. The leather strap over your stomach kept you from wriggling away, but that would only be if you could somehow get him to pull out, and that for sure wasn't happening. He didn't bother with long strokes and leaving the tip in, your cunt was a home for him to bury himself in and he wasn't about to waste a second of this. His thick thighs trembled over yours, and he ground the swollen head of his cock deep against your cervix. So deep it was painful, but why would he care? He was doing a good thing. He was being a good boy, giving you what uncle Hoyt told him all women wanted, even if they didn't say it out loud.

Tommy's moans grew to a higher pitch once he affixed his hand like a necklace round your throat, swelling with the faster, faster, faster pace of his thrusts downward. He pressed his other meaty hand into your knees and shoved each one further apart, which made you whine but gave him easier access to pound you into greedy, delectable mush. Whereas it might've turned off weaker men, your nails digging deep, long scratches up his back made Tommy groan and tilt his head back in delirious pleasure. His knees kept you pinned at your sides and his weight–his stomach squishing into you from above–held you down where you belonged, where you'd be the most beautiful and of best use. Beneath him with a womb spilling over with cum, sown by his seed and his seed alone. His picturesque, pretty little wife. Hewitt property. He wouldn't stop, and you wouldn't beg him to even if you weren't being choked of any air you had left, and the world started to spin as the ecstasy took hold and Thomas was squeezing your moans out of you with trembling fervour. It felt as though your lower half exploded and left you with a warm, full, tingly sensation, marred by pearly-white globs of a load he'd had saved up since birth.

In contrast to the violent lovemaking he'd just shown you he was capable of, you were slowly brought back to life by small, soft little pecks. Kisses like the fuzz of a bumblebee brushing by your cheeks, pressing into your lips with a sweetness you weren't used to. This felt like Tommy again, like the gentle touch he used when nobody was around to laugh at him for being so sweet on you. He shuddered with bliss as his cock pulsed with your heartbeat and milked him of what little he had left, but with his chubby fingers rubbing at your jaw and brushing your sweaty locks aside he managed to drag himself off of you. Slowly, like molasses on a cold day, he brought himself back down off the table and let his feet hit the floor, having to brace himself against the table to keep from stumbling to the ground. Click-shuuunk. The leather belt snapped back into its holder as he released it, which left a sizeable indent across your abdomen that you'd have to hope would be covered enough not to show bruises. All you could do was watch as Tommy did up his pants on his way around the table, only to return to your side with the biggest, sharpest knife you swore you had ever seen. You flinched away and nearly cried out-

Shlip. With a strand pulled taut, Tommy made quick work of separating a lock of your hair from your head. Just a short one, so as not to make much difference–but he held it to his face and sniffed deeply, and it ashamed you to say that the gesture in itself just made your clit throb with need you thought you'd been completely overdosed on. Despite that, you laid still while Tommy reached over and retrieved his mask, tucking the tuft of hair inside it so he could smell it all the time. To calm him down, to cool him off, to just enjoy…all the things that you brought to him when no one else did, or could. From his pocket he produced something small and shiny, and dangled it over your face to show you before he set on fixing it around your neck. The pendant you'd seen that girl wearing a week ago now hung against your collar, the gleam of gold in it polished clean of the blood spilled to take it.

You barely let out a moan as he set on rearranging your limbs, turning you over, letting his cum spill down your thighs and all over the table like the blood from a fresh cut of beef. His calloused digits traced down your spine and up again til he found a sweet spot, and padded down your springy flesh that separated bone from his fingers. The carving knife had tinged when he'd sharpened it but he didn't show it to you–that would be too much for you, given what he was about to commit to.

Every arc, long and curved or short and straight, burned. The tip of the blade dug into your flesh like a red-hot needle, but Tommy's warm palm on the back of your neck kept you from moving out of his reach. He needed to start and to finish and his hand was already unsteady, mostly from the way his breath still hitched and his cock stirred all over again at the sight of your writhing body. Your blood turned him on. He hadn't touched any of the victims before you, not in that way, but you weren't really the same as them–no, you were special. If you weren't, Tommy wouldn't be carving those words into your back, and putting on display his ownership over the one and only thing he would ever see as more than meat.

If you didn't get pregnant this time, then this would surely be enough for the family to forgive. The letters scrawled in bloody ecstasy that would heal over, scar, wounds to be reopened over and over again.

Tommy's girl

forever

[erinaeris]

Laios Touden and the Responsibility of Power

First off, let me gush just a bit about how fucking STRONK this man is. Olympic weightlifters are dying of sheer envy and lust over this man. He is a FUCKING POWERHOUSE.

My favorite panels ever, and judging by the cropping of the second photo, Tumblr agrees.

AHEM, where was I?

Ah yes. He's not just strong and incredibly hot, my man is literally an invasive species in this dungeon. He knows every single weak spot of every monster Thistle tried to throw at him and when he finds it he just fucking RAMS HIMSELF AT THEM AND TAKES THEM DOWN.

And when he's a dwarf HE LITERALLY BENDS STEEL.

"Beat Namari at arm wrestling"? My boy, she wouldn't let you anywhere near because you'd FUCKING BREAK HER HER HAND ALONG WITH THE TABLE. (It's such a fucking shame we didn't see Senshi at least raising an (perfectly plucked except it just grows that way naturally) eyebrow in the background when he sees this. Alas, he was too distracted by his hair.)

But I mentioned responsibility, didn't I? Strength is power in the dungeon, and we all knows what comes with great power. And Laios is, in fact, very responsible with that power!

(Futther examples under the cut, wee bit spoilers for anime watchers)

This scene lives rent-free in my head forever, because of two things: Thistle suddenly realizing just what the hell he's up against,

And Laios breaking Thistle's arm.

Now, I think Laios didn't mean to actually break his arm here, he's just half-blind and dizzy and knows he has to restrain Thistle or it will all go to shit. So that's what he does. The move you see above is a restraining hold. The point is that the person pinned down can't struggle much because the position of the arm presses the suprascapular nerve, so it hurts a lot, but unless they're held that way for too long they'll be fine.

But Thistle is TINY and elves are generally fine-boned. I think Laios really did just underestimate his strength.

And the moment the dragons aren't an IMMEDIATE THREAT anymore?

Laios heals him. Thistle's a better mage than him by miles, he could have done it himself. But no. Laios does it. He was too rough, too careless with his strength, and he immediately backtracked, fixed what he broke, and continued with more mindfullness.

And these are just the examples that stuck in my mind the most. And it happens often enough that the team isn't even fucking surprised! Laios' strength would 100% scare people who only saw him in a barfight and didn't know anything else about him. Hell, the other adventurers they meet fucking quiver before this guy who just took down a monster they had nightmares about in one blow, up until he opens his mouth and they relax. You put more malevolent software in that sort of hardware and he'd be the next Shadow Governor.

But Laios is Laios. He's a gentle soul at heart (a Great Pyrenese, specifically, the gentlest souls ever unless you're out for their flock) and he is VERY CAREFUL with his strength, ESPECIALLY around his team. Chilchuck, who is literally half his size and underfed to boot, can smack Laios as much as he wants with ZERO fear because Laios is aware he can hurt Chilchuck by literally tripping over him, so he just stays still and lets Chilchuck smack at him. I'd be surprised if he ever managed to leave a bruise. Chilchuck has to aim at Laios' weak spot (back of the knee here) just to get Laios to notice him!

But because I have some experience with marital arts and close combat, I think the fight with Shuro exemplifies my point so fucking well! Laios is HURT here, he's living every autistic person's worst nightmare.

And he HOLDS BACK. His restraint is fucking IMMACULATE.

Shuro is fucking lucky Laios still liked him when he started talking shit, because he would have broken his spine otherwise. Laios doesn't even take the fight seriously! He starts with a fucking SLAP.

Shuro retaliates with an actual punch (that does nothing but piss him off)

Laios wobbles. Shuro HITS THE DIRT.

And this is the part where he realizes just how outside his weight category he is. Shuro definitely has technique on his side, but that means jackshit when you need ten blows to to even bruise your opponent, but one hit from them will leave you drinking through a straw for a week. For a second there, Shuro thought he was in ACTUAL DANGER.

But instead of finishing the job, Laios tries to talk him down, which just sets him off again. Man was at his fucking LIMIT, and it snapped. Self-preservation who?

And the best part is? Shuro is throwing all his strength behind his punches and Laios just takes them, but Laios? He mostly pushed Shuro around!

They're mostly grappling here, precisely because Laios is very conscious his friend is pretty fragile right now.

And when he does have enough?

Shuro is flat on the ground again, and Laios has a black eye and a bloody nose. He sits down and five minutes later he's ready to go! Like yes, Shuro was at a low point here, but he's been mowing through monsters at only a bit slower pace than Laios' party. He's no weakling regardless. And Laios had to HOLD BACK SO HE WOULDN'T HURT HIM. And it's so obvious that Maizuru takes one look at the two of them and leaves them to their toussling.

When I saw her reaction I had to scroll back and take another look, because I was sure she would intervene! But she doesn't! She is aware of Laios' strength, she has to be, and she doesn't lift a finger to help her precious charge. She knows the big dog he's wrestling with knows to watch his strength.

And that's my whole point: my boi is STRONK AF! And he is very aware of his strength, and how he could hurt the people around him is he wasn't careful, so he is ALWAYS CAREFUL. He has deeply internalized the fact that to have strength is to be careful with it, to use it in service of people rather than to hurt them (possibly from his dad). He is going to SUCH a good king! He's not going to like the job but by GOD he will do it really well.

And I will give my right arm to see a fic about the first corrupt lord/governor/courtier who attempts to misuse their authority for their own gain. Kabru's gonna have to talk Laios out of an execution.

[rainintheevening]

They're his children of course. Richard still recognizes them; it's only been two years.

And yet...

Peter is a man. Still six months shy of his draft papers, but he stands, walks, sounds like a man. He always has a pocket knife, he tips his hat to all the females, he sings in a baritone that will only get deeper and richer. The tea he makes is decent, but sometimes he drinks coffee now. He talks about horses and crops and reads Augustine. He can drive a car. He gives orders, and expects them to be followed.

They all look to him, to Peter. Helen calls him to open a jar, Susan questions how her hair looks, Lucy runs to him in tears. As for Edmund, he and Peter are curiously joined, they turn to each other with their laughter, their thoughts, their books and newspapers and letters. As often as his family swirls around him, Richard sees them swirl around Peter, a habit, he knows, born of necessity, but that doesn't prevent it from being strange. Even painful.

Peter moves to take the head of table, catches himself. They both start to say grace, stop, glance at each other. Peter takes the newspaper over breakfast, and is a page in before he remembers. And every time he apologises. Each time he smiles at his father, and it is warm, glad, even benevolent.

One of the first nights, shortly after Christmas, Peter finds him sitting in his old armchair, staring into the fire, after everyone else has gone up to bed. "Dad?" comes the question, and he looks up blinking at the tall man, lamplight crowning him in gold, blue eyes deep and dark with knowledge and certainty.

"I'm not who I was," Richard says, a confession, the kind a father shouldn't burden his son with he thinks immediately, but then Peter is down on one knee, reaching for the mangled hand, tender with the three fingers as he clasps strong calloused palms around them.

"Neither am I, Dad. None of us are." Peter's gaze is earnest, bright. "But you are still my father. And I will always be your son. I am forever grateful for that."

It is as if a great burden rolls off of his shoulders, and he finds no shame in leaning on Peter's hand to rise.

When the holidays end, and the four go back to school, Peter says I love you to each of them at the station.

If Peter is a man now, Susan is a lady.

She sits straight, she walks gracefully, she can cook anything as well or better than her mother. She reads the newspapers with Peter, she scolds Lucy for coming home with twigs in her hair and a tear in her stocking and wet shoes.

She talks less than her father remembers, and there is a woman's sadness in her gazing out the window or into the fire. She is also very admiring of the boys in uniforms, and Richard requests her arm on the way out of church with a father's righteous sense of protection.

But she is also gentler than he recalls, she does not shy away from his injured hand, she takes care of him without making him feel as if he needs care. She sits on a cushion by his feet as she braids her hair in the evenings, leans on his knee as she reads aloud, and Richard thinks, Not my little princess, but a queen now.

At the train station, she kisses him goodbye, and he hugs her close, and there are tears in her eyes as she says I love you.

Edmund is the closest to unrecognizable, the once-obvious four year span between he and Peter seemingly halved. He greets his father wordlessly, all shining eyes and bright smile, and his face is so close to Richard's own it makes his heart break a little.

Ed is no more little boy, he is tall, slim, oddly graceful, but his handclasp is strong. He holds himself the same way Peter does, with squared shoulders and lifted head, but he wears that nobility in a quieter fashion. He's quick to see, quick to hear, quick with a wisecrack that makes Peter laugh out loud. He plays the violin now. He returns the family Bible to the living room with an apology for having kept it since the summer holidays. He reads Agatha Christie as a personal challenge, whispers to Susan in French, and his chess games with Peter are fierce battles of strategy that Richard cannot keep pace with.

In discussions of the war and its movements, he is sober and considerate, he meets each of Peter's moods with a balancing counter, he has a way of phrasing questions that pull out stories Richard had never planned to tell.

A few nights before the children return to school, Richard sits up in bed, certain he has heard a faint cry, and he slips away from his exhausted wife to check on his children, remembering how Edmund had suffered from night terrors as a child, imagining little Lucy inflicted with some dark dream.

But all he finds is shadows in the boys' room, and quiet whispers—Peter's apologies, Edmund's reassurance, and allusions to things Richard has no context for. He lingers by the door, an outsider in his home, until silence falls, and he returns with morning light to find them curled together in Peter's bed, Pete with an arm over Ed, and the father's love is bittersweet.

They have fought their own battle over here, on the home ground, Richard reminds himself. In their own way they have each faced terror and learned to conquer or be conquered, but perhaps he can meet them somewhere in between. Only time will tell.

On the train platform, Ed hugs his father tightly, gives him a smile, tells him to keep out of trouble.

Lucy is the least changed, though she too is taller and stronger, and her eyes are deeper. She still sings, still dances, still tries to make friends with all the animals, still smiles and speaks kind and stares dreaming at the Christmas tree.

She still gives fierce hugs, still climbs into her father's lap, though her head comes up higher on his chest, on his shoulder.

But then he finds gaps in his library, and Lucy returns the medical books with a winsome apology, she asks questions about his practices in the field, she winces but does not shy away from the blood and broken things he speaks of.

Then she recites long poems, words spinning off her tongue until they become half song; she dances swift and graceful, she and Peter laughing and stepping and clapping and spinning in intricate patterns to the swing song on the radio; and it is she who, breathless, quotes Byron: "On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined!"

Her comfort is both generous and thoughtful, and she strokes her father's hair with a motherly hand that makes his eyes sting, and he kisses her fingers, looks up at her to whisper, "Don't- don't grow up quite so fast, my darling."

When she hugs him on the platform, Susan waiting for her, the boys already gone, she doesn't want to let go, and there are tears on her cheek, that he wipes away gently. "Be careful, Daddy," she whispers. "Get strong. Take care of Mummy."

"Yes, little mother," he smiles back.

And then they are all gone, and he takes a cab home, weary of his still-recovering body.

He will have to learn his children all over again, he thinks. But he is proud of them still. That has not changed.

[sublimitymp3]

Do you, brother?

Pairing ✵ Aegon Targaryen/Younger sister!reader

Warnings ✵ Hotd season 2 spoilers, incest, swearing, smut (Dub-con, p in v, fingering, choking, slight breeding kink), mentions of death, mentions of child loss, descriptions of birth, and heavy themes

Word count ✵ 2.6k

Summary ✵ The death of your son leaves behind a shadow upon everything, and after an overwhelming funeral procession for him, your evasive brother finally comes to you in the night.

Jaehaerys

Your little boy. Jae-hae-rys. The syllables roll off your tongue in a smooth manner, as they always have done. Sweet Jaehaerys. The very thought of the name conjures memories in your mind of the day you labored him and his twin into the world, screaming and writhing in pain as you felt as though you were being torn apart at the seams. He was a small, splotchy babe, who exited you covered in blood and wailing and squirming in the maester's arms. But even through your delirium and searing pain, you knew then what love was.

He was a precocious boy, eager to learn and to explore the world. "He has the makings of a very fine king," you recall your grandfather telling you once. The thought of Jaehaerys on that throne made your stomach feel uneasy, and the words loomed over you, lingering in the back of your mind and refusing to leave.

Even now it still lingers.

The once dreadful notion has been reduced to a silly daydream, for Jaehaerys will never be king. He will never grow, never explore the world, never ride his dragon, and you will never cradle him in your arms again.

It feels wrong to carry on. It feels wrong to do much of anything with the knowledge that your sweet Jaehaerys will exist only in memory now. Your mother tries to console you, to hug you in her cold arms, but you do not want her now. After all, what does she know about losing a child? The funeral procession your grandfather insisted on felt even more wrong than anything else.

Your son, the martyr.

Hundreds of the smallfolk clambered over each other to catch a glimpse of your little boy, and you. Your tears bought their sympathy and a new resentment for Rhaenyra, but it mattered little to you. They had sewn his head back on, you saw. It was an ugly sight, where black thread met severed skin.

Jaehaerys

How you longed to climb over to the cart carrying his body just so you could hold your boy one last time, but your mother's steadying and sobering grip on your knee kept you from doing so. "Deepest sympathies, my queen!" "Curse Rhaenyra!" "We love you, our queen!" Their shouts of support felt more like a ringing in your ear than anything. You didn't want this. You only wanted everything to be quiet.

You had a headache and felt nothing but exhaustion, and you couldn't even bring yourself to weep any longer. It was as if you were wrung dry. You cursed under your breath at the seemingly endless flights of stairs in the Red Keep, for all you wanted to do was to go and lay in bed. But then you saw him. First, you saw his hair, hair much like yours, only it was messily cropped short. Next was his eyes, violet in color and mirrors of your own. The scowl upon his handsome face, well, you didn't care for it, but you couldn't pry your eyes away. You found yourselves gawking at each other on the stairwell, and only then did you remember how much Jaehaerys looked like Aegon.

"Your grace, I-" Is all you can say before Aegon quickly turns away from you and hurries down the steps. You stand there, watching as the head of silver hair swiftly disappears from your line of sight. You snap your mouth close, pressing your lips into a firm line and continuing up the stairs. 'Foolish girl, when has he ever confronted anything in his life?' you cannot help but think.

You don't see your husband for around two weeks. Fleeting glimpses in the hallways, mentions of him from your mother, and murmurs about the king from the courtiers are all you have of him during that time.

As you prepare yourself for bed, you try to banish all thoughts of him from your mind to get some semblance of much-needed sleep. The nights seemed so long and torturous now, and yet you hardly could find sleep no matter what you did. Tonight was the first night in what seemed like centuries that you finally felt tired, and you wasted no time settling into bed to drift into a slumber.

You dream odd things, nonsensical things you'll forget when you wake, mostly. And even more odd, you begin to dream of Aegon. Of his strangely soft hands on you, of him pushing your nightdress up to your hips, and of him maneuvering you onto your back. It feels real, but you know it isn't. He won't come near you, no, not now. But even your mind begins to suggest otherwise.

With an irritated whine, you feel yourself being pulled from your sleep. It is only when you open your eyes to curse at what you assumed was a maid disturbing you, that your assumptions are quickly proven wrong.

Aegon is on top of you, staring unblinkingly into your eyes. Salty, hot tears drip from him onto your face, and his hand clamps down over your mouth before you can question him. You must make a face unwittingly, for he begins to speak,

"Shh, shh, it's alright, it's just me...just me," Aegon soothes, and you smell the wine on his warm breath. He's drunk. Or at the very least near drunk. "I-I am sorry, sorry for you, sorry for our boy. Oh, my poor son," his words are ever so slightly slurred, and he retracts himself to sit on the edge of the bed and weep in his drunken stupor.

You sit up, a bit startled to discover your nightgown bunched up by your hips. Your smallclothes were even pulled down a bit, but not fully. You realize now what he was attempting to do, and you can only sit in a tense silence with him. "He was my son too, you know," he mumbles like a petulant child, once he catches a glimpse of your resentful face.

"I grieve him just as much as you, mayhaps even more. He was my heir, my only heir," his words linger in the stagnant air, not sitting well with you. His gaze unnerves you even more, staring at you expectantly. The implications in his voice are clear to you; he means to beget another heir.

"Take another wife then, I am tired," The brazen words escape you (before you can think) in a whisper, and you lay back down, wasting no time to turn your back to him. "I don't want to again, I can't again. No more, Aegon." and you close your eyes, letting your tears roll down the side of the face.

You refuse to subject yourself to it all over again. To the aches, the uncomfortable swell of your belly, and the terrible pain birth brought. You know what it will all end in. It's a deep knowledge that has burrowed itself between your bones, embedded itself in your brain, and wrapped around your heart.

The Stranger will come for you all, surely.

The bed dips again as he shifts himself closer to you, and he grabs your shoulder in a bruising grip to turn you onto your back. His face gets so close to yours that the tip of his nose nudges your own, and you feel his warm breath fanning against your lips.

"I wasn't asking what you thought of it. You're my wife, my little sister. You were born for me to have. A king needs an heir, surely you understand that? You're not a stupid girl," he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, mockingly, almost.

He manages to wedge himself between your thighs, and you feel his wandering fingers pull down your smallclothes. "Aegon-" "Don't say a word, don't say a damn thing," he interrupts, irritated by your unwilling mood. "Wouldn't it be nice to have another little babe to rock in your arms? Hm? We'll make more, yes? Enough to fill this fucking castle," Aegon grunts, pushing his fingers past your folds. A whine involuntarily escapes you at the invasive feeling, and even more so as he pumps his fingers in and out.

In and out, in and out, in and out.

You feel your body give into his ministrations and get wet. 'Betrayal,' you think. A pleased hum escapes from him as you leak onto his fingers, and you feel your cheeks burn with shame. This isn't right. No, no after what has happened.

"You weep down here too, did you know, sweet sister?" He mumbles, pulling his fingers out of you just to drag them along your dripping folds. A shiver runs up your spine at his actions, forcing you to bite your tongue to muffle any noises. You don't want him to hear you. You don't want to give him that satisfaction.

He fully retracts his fingers, and you know what is next. He undresses himself quickly, untying his breeches and tunic with a practiced speed before pulling your nightdress off of you, leaving you vulnerable and cold. He chuckles at your little shivers and the way you wrap your arms around yourself protectively. "Shh, do not worry, you'll be warm soon enough," he laughs as if this is a lighthearted moment between two lovers. Your stomach churns slightly.

"You're so beautiful, you know. I've never thought otherwise. So pretty like this, all for me," he whispers against the shell of your ear as he lines himself up with your cunt.

The burning stretch of the intrusion is what you feel first. It has been long since he bedded you, and your body had forgotten the feel of him. "F-Fuck, how are you so tight? Like you're trying to squeeze me to death," he groans against your neck, before suckling bruises into your soft skin. He bottoms out completely, and you feel his tip brushing against your sweet spot.

It's overwhelming for you. It's too much. You close your eyes and let your mind drift to happier days. Days long before you called Aegon husband, days when you would play with your sister by your mother's skirts. Days when the most daunting task was getting out of bed or letting the maids bathe you. It almost brings a smile to your face. Almost.

Your blissful daydreams and nostalgia are interrupted by Aegon gently slapping your cheek repeatedly, rudely reminding you of where you are now. "Hey, hello, where are you? Look at me, for fucks sake," he grumbles, slowing his thrusts you only now are noticing. He grips your face in his hands, forcing you to stare into his familiar violet eyes.

It's cruel to have to stare into your own eyes while this happens, you think.

"Don't do that again. Think of me," he whispers against your lips, his voice a bit shaky and heavy with lust. "Only me, and this."

His thrusts resume, and his lips are soon pressed against yours. He kisses you with a greedy, bruising force as if he's trying to devour you whole.

"Messy girl," he muses as he wipes drool off your chin with his thumb, and the action is oddly tender to you. The tip of his cock keeps brushing against your sweet spot, making your mind turn to mush and your legs turn to jelly.

You hate how Aegon has this talent to make your resolve slip with only a few touches and kisses. You could be upset with him for weeks on end, and yet all he had to do was hold you down and you'd soon forget whatever grievance you held against him.

"A-Aegon, brother, please-" you whine, even more so as he maneuvers your knees to press against your chest. He holds you down like this and the new angle allows him to push further into you. The sound of skin against skin reverberates in your chambers around you as he drives into you at a faster pace.

"Stay still, stay still. Quit squirming, don't you trust me, sweet girl?" He huffed, still irked by your light resistance. His hand reaches back down to your weeping cunt, and his thumb rubs gentle circles into your bud. The added stimulation makes you cry out with overwhelming pleasure, and you feel like your very bones are gyrating.

"There we go," he smirks, dragging out his words. He's found the combination that makes you fall apart around him and he finds it satisfying. "You like that, don't you? 'Course you do, sweet girl. You were made for me, made to take my cock and bear my children. You were born to be mine. Nothing more, nothing less," He groans, his own peak beginning to build up.

His words ignite a fire in your belly, and it feels so wrong. His words are mocking, demeaning even, and on any other given day and situation you'd have retorted and isolated yourself from him until you calmed down. But this night was not simply any other night. His words and his movements bring you closer and closer to the edge, and the coil in your belly tightens up as it prepares to snap.

"Aegon, gods, keep going, please don't stop-" you moan, lost now in the bliss of it all. You selfishly buck your hips against his, desperate for your own impending release.

"I got you, pretty girl. Go on, let go for me, sweet sister," and with his words, the tightly wound coil in you snaps. It is a white-hot pleasure that wracks through your body, and you feel as though you are floating.

You come to when you feel Aegon increasing the pace of his already rough thrusts. He is close, you can tell. You have no strength to tell him to pull out, to beg him not to finish inside. He's fucked you too good for that. Maybe that was his plan after all, you think.

"F-Fuck, I'm so close, sweetling. I'll fill you up, make sure you're nice and full with my seed. In nine moons time, we'll have another little boy, hm? Another silver-haired beauty," he pants, before his grip that still pushes your knees against your chest tightens. He brings one hand to squeeze around your throat, and you feel his fingers dig into the sides of your neck. There will be a bruise there in the morning, no doubt.

His movements are rough and fast as he chases his release, and soon, his steady pace falters and his hips stutter to a halt. "Gods be good," he moans, slumping over to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Spurts of his warm and sticky seed coat your velvety walls, a familiar feeling. Surely you will be with child by the next month.

Exhaustion is what you feel. Exhaustion, and a pang of sadness in your heart. Another babe you will have to labor into the world, another pawn in this war. Another victim of this needless bloodshed, as brother and sister tear each other apart.

Aegon gently kisses your lips, rubbing your stomach with his hand, no doubt imagining you are pregnant already. "I love you, I really do." He whispers, holding you close and breaking you from those thoughts of impending doom.

Violet eyes meet violet eyes, and you gaze upon his features that are not dissimilar to your own. The very same blood that runs through you, runs through him. The same blood that ran through your son, you think. You do not know what to make of his drunken declaration, and it is like your body speaks for you then;

"Do you, brother?"

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[starryhyuck]

pairing: enemiestolovers!yuta x afab!reader

words: 13.1k+

summary: yuta doesn’t care how adored you are. all he sees is a spoiled, narcissistic brat who has her daddy wrapped around her finger. hell must freeze over before he ever entertains the idea of being with you.

genre: smut, fluff, angst

warnings: reader is doyoung’s sister, reader calls her father daddy in the beginning but yuta becomes the real daddy, throat fucking, public sex, collaring, rough sex, pussy eating, squirting, spanking, lots of degradation, creampies, tiny bit of somnophilia

Since he was three years old, Nakamoto Yuta has always been told that he could never trust anyone but himself. Ironically, the words came from his mother, who he was supposed to trust above all.

His father was a businessman who dominated the industry, being both charming and captivating enough to earn the trust of many powerful people. However, his increasing rise in power also led to an increasing role of danger. Yuta had to start being escorted by security at public events, ensuring that the future of the family is established. He became isolated from the rest of the world except for school, where he eventually met a group of boys who made him feel whole.

His parents disapproved of the friendship, considering some of their fathers rivaled his own. He refused to succumb to their wishes, and to this day, it was the only battle he had ever won against his parents.

The only problem Yuta really has is you.

You’re Doyoung’s sister and the most spoiled girl he’s ever met in his life. He previously knew almost nothing about you since when they first met, Doyoung kept most of his personal life a secret. However, when you started attending university together, Yuta discovered your personality little by little and it crept under his skin.

It’s easy to sum up who you were — a rich girl who had her father wrapped around her finger.

Doyoung complained about you constantly after the rest of the guys had finally met you. Even post-graduation, you still found every opportunity to locate your brother’s group of friends and give him an irritating headache.

"Jesus, what are you wearing?"

Yuta observes as you blink your eyes innocently at Doyoung, staring down at your ensemble. You were wearing a crop top and a miniskirt that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

"It's called fashion, Doyoung. Try it sometime, seriously. I'm tired of you looking like a slob next to me at gala events."

The group is seated in one of the exorbitant steakhouses in the city, where they often frequent for an occasional chat. The owners of the restaurant are close family friends with Jaehyun’s parents, so any service worker helping them understood that discussions at the table were never to leave the ears of the building.

You slide into a vacant seat next to Taeyong, flagging down a waiter and ordering a strawberry margarita.

"Why are you here?" Doyoung questions in an agitated voice.

"Maybe she wants to see someone special," Donghyuck suggests, wiggling his eyebrows at you from across the table.

You pretend to vomit. Yuta snickers and Donghyuck glares at him.

"In your tiny dreams, Hyuck. I'm here because daddy wants us to all be together for dinner tonight. Apparently, he has a very special announcement," you smile mischievously.

Your brother raises an eyebrow. Yuta knows Doyoung’s father barely calls him to any important meetings, so this must be something big. "And what exactly is that?"

"It's obviously the announcement that he's chosen me as the heir to his company,” you say confidently.

At this, the whole table bursts into laughter. Yuta clutches his stomach when it begins to ache from the exhilaration.

"What?" You fume, eyes narrowing at the men before you.

"Babygirl, I really think you've got it all messed up in your head," Taeyong chuckles condescendingly.

You roll your eyes and flip your hair over your shoulder, and Yuta catches the scent of your perfume. It makes him slightly dizzy.

"I'm not wrong about anything, you losers. Do you seriously think you could run daddy's company, Doyoung?" You scoff, and your brother glares at you.

"What would you even know about business?" He challenges in response.

Yuta grins at the clear sibling rivalry. Doyoung would never dare to admit it, but he has always been slightly jealous of you. Ever since the two of you were younger, you surpass him in everything — grades, beauty, charm, and even networking connections. Your contribution to charity is constantly promoted in the tabloids, and you became the model for multiple designer companies, just so Doyoung could not turn a single inch without seeing his baby sister's face plastered on a billboard.

Your father adores you the most, pushing Doyoung to the side most of the time. Yuta knows it hurts his friend a lot on the inside, but Doyoung would never tell you about it. No matter how jealous he gets or how broken your relationship is, you still look up to your brother and care about his opinion and he knows that.

"I know plenty. Daddy always brings me to his work meetings, remember? I have all those stubborn businessmen ready to bend down and kiss my feet. I bet you can't say the same," you laugh, raising an eyebrow at him.

Doyoung opens his mouth to argue against the insult but another customer walking in steals your attention. Park Jinyoung enters in all his glory, and Yuta watches as your head spins around, a smile spreading across your face. Jinyoung’s parents owned a global technology company that was slowly gaining traction, allowing him to enter the elite circles of society.

"Jinyoung!" You call sweetly, eyelashes batting. You quickly lean closer to the table so Doyoung can clearly hear you. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to take care of personal matters. But I mean it, Doyoung, you have to be at dinner tonight."

You quickly leave with that remark, looping your arm through Jinyoung's and pulling him out of the restaurant with your margarita in hand.

“I hate her,” Doyoung grumbles when you’re finally out of eyesight.

“No, you don’t,” Jaehyun laughs, nudging him. “She just gets under your skin sometimes. That’s what siblings are supposed to do.”

“Are you nervous? Your dad’s never asked for a meeting like this before,” Taeyong brings up, analyzing Doyoung’s tense form.

Doyoung shrugs and tries to play it off. “A little, I guess. But there’s no point, my sister’s right. If anyone’s taking over the company, it’s her. My father never prepared me for anything and he prepared her for everything.”

Yuta rolls his eyes. “Come on, Doyoung. A spoiled rich girl like her? She could definitely charm some businessmen but she would let people walk all over her. She’ll never be respected with the reputation she has.”

You were well known as a rich socialite who dated around, and although your father allowed you to be by his side during important meetings, Yuta believes your reputation would be the cause of your downfall.

“A little harsh, Yuta,” Donghyuck frowns at his friend’s criticism.

“It’s true,” Yuta says with no remorse. “The corporate world is brutal like that and your sister’s just not cut out for it.”

Doyoung hums softly. “We’ll see.”

—

“I’m here!” You sing, slipping off your heels and handing your purse to one of the maids standing nearby. She informs you that your family’s already seated in the dining room.

You smile when you see your father sitting at the head of the table, and bounce over to greet him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi, princess,” he beams.

You take the seat next to your father and across from Doyoung, who looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him.

“Hi, daddy. How was work today?”

“Very well, thank you, sweetheart. The merger with Lee Corporations is working out perfectly.”

You huff. “I wish you had picked a different company, daddy. You know how I don’t like Donghyuck.”

“Hey!” Doyoung interjects for his friend. “Hyuck’s a great guy.”

“Who flirts with your sister all the time,” your father reminds him, raising an eyebrow. “Not a very respectable man, Doyoung. I wish you would find someone else to occupy your time with.”

You smile in victory and Doyoung glares at you.

Your father clears his throat. “Anyways, I’m sure you’re both wondering why I called you here tonight. I have some good news and some bad news, depending on how you take it.”

You lean forward in anticipation, eyes sparkling at the thought of finally getting responsibilities in the company. Even though your father allows you to shadow him at work and gives you top secrets about your company rivals, he’s never given you any real tasks.

“The good news is that we’re opening a new branch in Osaka, very similar to the one we have here at home. Day-to-day operations will virtually be the same and all major decisions will still be handled by me. The bad news is that only one of you can run the division.”

You and Doyoung lock gazes, eyes both filled with determination.

“I can do it!”

“I can do it!”

Your father chuckles. “I’m glad you’re both willing. I haven’t made any decisions yet, but I want the both of you to start thinking more maturely about your future if you’re considering running this branch. Doyoung, you’ve barely been involved in company activities and you don’t have a good presence in the media. This is something I’d like you to focus on.”

“I’ve been doing both of those things, daddy, if you don’t remember,” you smile at him, watching your brother’s shoulders deflate.

“I do remember, princess,” your father chuckles. “And I have no doubt in my mind you would rule this company with an iron fist.” You giggle while Doyoung scoffs under his breath. “However, the company has received complaints from several of our partners about your behavior towards potential suitors.”

You swallow. Ever since you turned eighteen, you’ve had multiple men from big corporations try to take your hand in marriage. All of them have been political actions, of course, so you’ve never entertained any of their ideas.

“I heard Yang Hongseok proposed to you last month and you dumped a milkshake on him,” your father recalls, raising an eyebrow. “You humiliated him in front of the press.”

“Proposed?” Doyoung questions in shock. “She’s too young for that!”

“She’s already gotten many proposals, Doyoung,” your father corrects. “And, if I’m not mistaken, every single one of them has ended in public embarrassment for the other party.”

You smile nervously. “They’re just not good enough for me, daddy. What can I say?”

“No one will ever be good enough for you, princess. But that’s not the point. The point is that many of these engagements could be worthwhile for both you and the company. You have to see the bigger picture here.”

“So what?” You reply in a bratty tone, feeling frustrated. “Doyoung just has to show up to a few galas but I have to get married?”

“I didn’t say that,” your father frowns at your attitude. “I just think you should take these proposals a little more seriously. You haven’t gotten to know all of these boys, sweetheart.”

“That’s exactly why I said no to all of them. I don’t know them, daddy.”

Your father sighs. “I understand this is difficult for you, but until I see you start acting more mature about this, you and Doyoung will both be in the running for the leadership of this branch.”

Your eyes meet your brother’s across the table.

Game on.

—

Yuta is bored.

This party, hosted by Johnny, seems a little tame in comparison to last week’s. Yuta guesses it’s because of the negative media attention Johnny’s family has been receiving over his extravagant house parties. Although Johnny won’t say, Yuta knows his family chewed him out about it.

“Yuta!”

He smiles when he sees Seungcheol approaching him, and they exchange a handshake.

“How’ve you been? I can’t believe Johnny’s doing this after all of that insane press coverage.”

Yuta shrugs, glancing around at the small house party. Full of rich kids getting drunk and making mistakes.

“You know Johnny doesn’t care about that. It’s pretty dull tonight anyways.”

Seungcheol nods in agreement. “Did you see that Doyoung’s sister is here?”

Yuta barely notices your presence most of the time, so he’s not surprised that he didn’t see you walk in. You’re probably causing havoc with an outfit that’s more revealing than it should be, and it’s likely giving Doyoung a mild heart attack.

“Don’t care,” Yuta replies with disinterest.

Seungcheol laughs at his curt attitude. “Are you kidding me? She’s the hottest girl I’ve seen in ages. How could you not care?”

“She may have you fooled, but I know her well enough to recognize there’s nothing special under that facade.”

Seungcheol shrugs. “Suit yourself, but you clearly haven’t heard the big news.”

Yuta can’t deny that his interest is peaked.

“What news?”

Seungcheol smirks, leaning in to ensure no other guests would hear this tidbit of information.

“She’s looking for a serious relationship, apparently to ease her father’s concerns about her taking over the business. There’s a line out the door of guys begging for a spare minute of her time.”

And that’s when Yuta finally spots you across the room. Just as he pictured, you’re wearing a skimpy black dress that barely reaches the tops of your thighs. He thinks he even sees a guy trip over the even floor from staring at your legs too long. You’re giggling as Na Jaemin leans down to whisper something in your ear, hand wrapped around your waist like it’s another accessory. It isn’t long before his mouth is connected to yours, hand drifting lower and lower down your back.

“Have you seen my sister?”

Doyoung approaches Yuta and Seungcheol, slightly out of breath. His head turns in every direction in an attempt to locate you. He clearly hasn’t ventured to the other side of the room yet.

“Why?” Yuta asks since usually, Doyoung doesn’t care where you are at these parties and he sure as hell never searches for you. As long as your brother doesn’t have to endure hearing demeaning comments about your choice of dress, he lets you partake in whatever activities you like.

“Donghyuck is here with an engagement ring and he’s planning on causing a big scene. She can’t afford for our father to see her publicly reject him right now,” Doyoung sighs, looking more stressed as the minutes pass.

Yuta has always been confused by Doyoung’s soft spot for you. Even though you two are clearly competing for a chance to take over a major part of your father’s company, Doyoung still wanted to protect you.

“Listen,” Doyoung says frantically, watching as Donghyuck slowly slinks around the floor like a predator hunting its prey. “If you see her, could you please just get her out of eyesight? I’ll owe you guys big time.”

When Doyoung disappears into the kitchen, Seungcheol informs Yuta he’s going to grab another drink. Yuta’s left to stare at you and Jaemin, observing as Jaemin’s touch slowly gets rougher and more intimate.

Against his better judgment, Yuta finds himself walking to you, grasping your upper arm and pulling you away from the younger male.

“What the fuck, Yuta?” You hiss, not pleased in the slightest by his sudden appearance.

“Fuck off, Jaemin,” Yuta growls, and as much as Jaemin wants to object, he admits he’s slightly scared of Yuta’s threatening stare.

You watch pathetically as Jaemin gets further and further out of view, mixing into the crowd. You push at Yuta’s chest, ready to give him the beating of his life.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“Donghyuck’s going to propose to you,” he replies nonchalantly. “Better start running unless you want the news to spread to daddy.”

You curse under your breath and pray to the gods that a demon would come up and swallow Donghyuck whole. Your eyes widen when you catch him from the corner of your eye, a black velvet box tucked securely in his palm.

It’s in this moment that you execute the only plan that pops in your head. You press your back against the wall, forcefully grabbing the hem of Yuta’s shirt to pull him closer to you. He grunts in surprise when he finds himself being pressed against your front.

Your hand grips the back of his neck and you smash his lips to yours desperately.

Yuta would never publicly admit how much he enjoys kissing you. Your lips feel like velvet on his, and his frame cages you against the wall. His hand inches around your waist and he realizes he’s in the same position Jaemin was moments ago.

As sadistic as it sounds, Yuta loves seeing you being put in your place like this. Vulnerable underneath him, hands grabbing whatever piece of him they can find. You’re in the palm of his hand and it turns him on to no end.

In fact, the two of you are so enraptured with one another that you fail to hear the click of a camera.

—

A newspaper slams in front of you during breakfast the next day.

You tilt your head in confusion when you see you and Yuta on the front cover, looking like a scene straight out of a trashy teen romcom. Your eyes flicker upwards to catch the intense glower of your father.

“What is this?”

You put on your best expression of innocence. “Just me and Yuta having a little fun, daddy.”

“This isn’t fun, sweetheart,” he clicks his tongue in disapproval. “This is softcore porn of my daughter on the front page of every tabloid in the city.”

You glance back down at the photo and wince when you realize you’re clearly grinding against Yuta’s thigh with no care in the world.

You frown, lips jutting out into a pout. “I didn’t realize there would be cameras at the party, daddy. I’m sorry.”

He sighs and shakes his head.

“I’m not mad at you, princess. Would I feel better if you weren’t exposing yourself in public like this? Of course. However, your brilliant mind has stumbled across an amazing opportunity.”

You raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

“The Nakamoto family are highly regarded and respected in Japan. Showing a united front with them to the public can work wonders for the business,” your father smiles deviously, and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach at the implication.

“But daddy, I don’t even like Yuta. It was just a one time thing!”

He shakes his head at your pushback. “It doesn’t matter what your intentions were. I want you to make an acquaintance out of him, and ensure the press sees you two together in a flattering light. If you pull it off, the Osaka branch is yours, sweetheart. No questions asked.”

You huff and lean back in your chair, exasperated by the degrading task.

Across town, Yuta finds himself in a slightly different position.

“The Kim girl? Really, Yuta?”

His mother stares him down fiercely, her eyes expressing all the curses she wishes to throw at her son. She nearly hits him in the face when she launches the newspaper to his chest.

Yuta smirks at the sight of him pinning you down for the whole world to see.

“This isn’t funny, Yuta. Hide that ridiculous look on your face,” his mother scolds him. “I don’t want you to be associated with this girl. Her father is an imbecile for allowing her to be involved with the business in the first place — she’s nothing but a girl blinded by the glitz and glamour, and I don’t want that for you.”

Yuta rolls his eyes. As if his mother even cared about what’s best for him.

“Relax. We were just having fun. You know I’d never touch a spoiled brat like her.”

Especially not after you left him high and dry at that party.

His mother smiles. “Good. I don’t care what you have to do, but stay away from her. She’ll only ruin the Nakamoto image.”

And deep down, Yuta knows his mother is wrong. You’re the most beloved influential figure in the city and any family would kill to have you join them. Every man is praying that by some miracle, you choose them as your future husband. The Nakamoto family would be honored if you even threw them a glance.

But Yuta would never tell anyone that.

—

Doyoung is fuming the next time Yuta sees him. Taeyong has to hold him back when Yuta approaches their regular table at the restaurant.

“You disgusting creep! What the fuck were you doing with my sister?”

“Yeah!” Donghyuck chimes in, looking less than pleased. “You don’t even like her!”

“Calm down,” Yuta sighs, taking his seat and ignoring Doyoung’s death stare across the table. “I had to play into her game since someone decided he would propose to her in the middle of a fucking party.”

Donghyuck scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Besides, we didn’t do anything. We made out and she left when Hyuck disappeared.”

Jaehyun snickers from his spot next to Doyoung. “But you wanted to do more, didn’t you?”

Yuta doesn’t respond, keeping a poker face on. He refuses to let this group of ingrates discover that yes, he wanted a lot more from you that you weren’t willing to give.

“Imbeciles,” Doyoung mutters under his breath. “I told you all that none of you are allowed to touch my sister. You’re lucky I even let you come within three feet of her.”

“Are you kidding me?” Donghyuck bursts out again, eyebrows furrowed. “You complain about her all the time! You always say you wish someone would take her off your hands!”

“I didn’t mean you!”

“What are we talking about?”

You comfortably occupy the seat next to Taeyong, lips wrapped around a cherry lollipop. Yuta watches as you swirl the candy inside your mouth, tongue carefully savoring each lick. He wills his dick not to sport a hard-on in public right now.

The sight urges Doyoung to grab the sweet from your hand and crush it under his glass of whiskey.

“Hey!” You whine. “That was my last cherry!”

“Yeah! What the fuck, Doyoung!” Donghyuck complains, indiscreetly fixing the tent in his jeans.

“Can you be a normal human being for once?” Doyoung snarls at you, and Taeyong almost has to hold him back again. “What were you doing kissing Yuta like that for everyone to see? It’s like you have no dignity!”

“Haven’t gotten ass in a while, huh?” You inquire, giggling into the palm of your hand. Your brother’s face continues to bloom into a terrifying shade of red. “Relax. Yuta was helping me out after someone tried to pull that stunt last week.”

Donghyuck pouts. “So you would’ve said no?”

“I would have crushed that box between my fingers and stuffed it down your throat.”

“God, you’re so hot.”

Doyoung glares at Donghyuck once more.

“Anyways, Yuta, outside?” Your question is phrased more like a statement, and you don’t even offer him a chance to respond before you’re strutting out the door.

“Don’t marry her, please!” Donghyuck begs when Yuta gets up to follow you, clinging onto his wrist desperately. “I’ll do anything to have her. Don’t ruin this for me!”

“I’ll murder you right here, Hyuck,” Doyoung warns.

“I’d love to see you try.”

When Yuta finally shakes Donghyuck off and makes it out the door, he pauses when he sees you’ve suddenly become preoccupied by Lee Jeno in the alleyway. Jeno’s family owned one of the largest designer brands in the country, and Yuta recalls that you just became a spokesmodel for their new line. Jeno’s fingers are tracing your midriff, captivated by the sparkly butterfly chain hanging across your stomach.

“Why don’t you let me take you out this weekend, pretty girl? I’ll even let you choose the music this time.”

You giggle, batting your eyelashes up at him. “But you were so picky last time. How can I trust you again?”

He smirks. “You know I’ll take care of whatever you need, baby. You can trust me.”

Yuta clears his throat, feeling his chest swell with unanticipated rage. He doesn’t like seeing Jeno this close to you, talking to you like you’re a shiny new toy. That condescending language should only be reserved for Yuta.

You look back and catch Yuta’s stare, rolling your eyes at his presence. He clenches his fists angrily. You whisper something quietly in Jeno’s ear and he seems pleased, grinning ear to ear and kissing your cheek before he leaves.

“Did you make me come out here just to waste my time?”

You cross your arms over your chest, and Yuta tries his best not to focus on how the action pushes up your breasts in your tiny crop top.

“I brought you out here to make a proposition.”

He scoffs. “Thinking that I would want anything to do with you is laughable.”

“Oh, please. Don’t act like you didn’t have a hard-on when I was riding your thigh last week.”

His ears redden out of embarrassment. He has shamefully pictured that moment with you more times than he would ever admit. Lately, it’s the only vision that can get him off at night.

“It’s not my fault you were making a spectacle of yourself in public.”

You simply smile, mischievous in the way your hand slinks its way around his bicep, squeezing gently. “You liked it, didn’t you? Showing everyone I belonged to you? Putting the pretty Kim girl in her place?”

You take a step closer and his breath nearly hitches at how you’re inches away from his face. He thinks about your perfect lips puckered in a pout. You surely know better than anyone how to get a man to succumb to your wishes, and Yuta is no anomaly to your power.

You bat your eyelashes at him like he saw you doing for Jeno. “Why don’t you help me out, hm? Go on a few dates with me.”

Yuta freezes, shaking his head in an attempt to take himself out of your alluring reverie.

“Why the fuck would I ever do that?”

“Because I get to show daddy that I’m finally taking a man seriously, and you get to do whatever you want with me on date nights,” your voice lowers to a whisper, lips brushing by his. “I heard around the grapevine that you’re a little rough in the bedroom.” He swallows, recognizing that you have him in the palm of your hand with your sugary sweet voice. Your nails scratch down his torso until you’re cupping his growing length. He swears he’s nearly bursting out of his jeans. “I like it a little rough, and it’s just so hard these days to find a good man to please me. You’ll help me out, won’t you, Yuta?”

He tries to regain control of the situation, fingers curling around your scalp and pulling harshly. He grows even harder when all you do is smile at him, taking pleasure in the pain.

“You do this with everyone? Whore yourself out to climb up the company ranks?”

You grin. You both know that Yuta has already agreed with the way his hips are slowly grinding against the front of your skirt.

“Just you. I only need you, Yuta.”

Fuck, he’s in trouble.

—

Yuta thinks he’s reached the peak of ultimate desperation as he stands in front of your door.

Since last night, he’s been attempting to convince himself that he only agreed to your proposal because he hasn’t gotten his dick wet for quite a while. It also doesn’t help that you have been constantly infiltrating his dreams and every lewd fantasy his brain manages to conjure up.

You laid out the simple terms — he takes you out on public dates, ensuring many photos are taken for your father to see, and you agree to go back to his place and allow him to use your body as he pleases. Yuta might as well have a sign hanging above his head that reads pathetic loser with how easily he obliges.

When you swing open the door to your apartment, he notices that you’re half-dressed and slightly surprised by his presence.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” you say, pulling him in and locking the door.

He has to grasp at whatever ounce of self-control he has left, eyes raking over your exposed body. You’re adorned in nothing but a black, lacy lingerie set and a silk robe draped open. It’s like you’re trying to test him.

He balls his hands into fists. “Hurry up and get dressed. I already called the press and they’re on their way to the restaurant.”

You pout at his hostile tone, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt and blinking innocently at him. He grits his teeth as you press your body against his. It reminds Yuta of that night at Johnny’s, when you were wedged so perfectly between him and the wall, your lips chasing his in a frenzied play for power.

He’s never been so easily affected by someone before. Usually, it requires an abundance of work on the other person’s part for Yuta to even spare them a glance. When it comes to you, however, he can’t decide if he wants to fuck you until you beg him to stop or if he wants to argue with you until you’re both screaming.

Maybe a little bit of both.

“Are you sure you don’t want a little gift before we leave? You know, to thank you for doing so much for me,” you hum, fingers dancing across his stomach teasingly.

He grabs your waist tightly, scrunching up the fabric of your robe. He gives you a squeeze in warning.

“Get. Dressed.”

You smile at him before obeying, heading off to your room. You do so with a sway in your hips and he curses lowly, forcing himself to move his eyes away from your tempting figure. He glares down at the growing tent in his pants, willing it to go away.

You return to the living room in record time, and Yuta can see why it took you such a short time to change — you’re clothed in nothing but a lavender slip dress, and it’s clear you got rid of the skimpy underwear as he stares at your hardened nipples poking through.

“Don’t worry,” you giggle when you notice his gaze lingering on your chest. “I got rid of the panties too, just to make sure it was a matching set.”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

You’re nothing but a heap of laughter as Yuta pushes you into the backseat of his car. It’s grating to his ears, especially since he knows the root of your joy is his pain. He nearly growls at his driver, who flashes a raised eyebrow before taking off. He awkwardly shifts in his seat, still begging his erection to lower.

You grasp at the opportunity. “Need help?” You cup his bulge and he groans loudly. “You can fuck my throat if you’d like.”

He mentally calculates how much time you have left until you reach the restaurant before grunting at his driver.

“Take the long way.”

You grin when he pulls down his pants and releases his cock from the confines of his briefs. He can practically see your mouth water as you wrap a hand around his base, causing him to twitch in your palm. He praises the inventor of tinted windows, which allows him to expose you publicly like this.

“Mmm,” you hum happily, sucking on his reddened tip gently and lapping the spurts of white pumping out of him. He pushes your hair out of your face while you eagerly sink down on him. It isn’t until he hits the back of your throat that he offers his first thrust. You gag a little but squeeze his thigh, giving him the green light. He throws his head back and pushes his hips upwards, wanting to fuck your throat until it’s raw.

“Look at you. Fucking pathetic,” he hisses. You whimper around him at his degrading tone. “Whoring yourself out in front of me until I snap, hm? Is this what you wanted? For me to fuck your throat until you cry?”

You moan and he shuts his eyes when he realizes you’re actually crying, tears flowing down your face and mixing with the spit running down his cock. He pulls you up by your neck and allows you a few seconds to breathe before sending you down again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants. “Gonna cum. You better fucking swallow it all.”

He groans when he reaches his climax, holding you steady as he pumps his seed into your waiting mouth. He lets go of you when he’s finished, and you lick up the remaining mess on his cock.

“Good girl,” he praises, watching you clean him up. You beam at his approval and he smiles.

“W-We’ve arrived, sir.”

“Park the fucking car and get out,” he bites at the driver, not caring how much of a dick he’s being. His driver practically launches himself out of the car once it’s in park and you frown at Yuta.

“We’re going to miss our reservation.”

“They’ll make an exception for us. Now get face down so I can eat your pretty pussy.”

—

You can’t get enough of Yuta.

It’s only been a week since your agreement yet you’ve gone on a date every single night, ending with Yuta fucking you wherever and however he pleases. You didn’t lie when you said he could do whatever he wanted to you. Spending continuous nights together, however, prompts the tabloids to swerve into a frenzy of ridiculous headlines.

Nakamoto and Kim — The New Dynasty?

Yuta Nakamoto Seen Eyeing Engagement Rings!

Wedding on Horizon for Nakamoto and Kim Conglomerates

“Yuta!”

But you could care less about the suggestion of your engagement, especially when Yuta has you sprawled out underneath him, ramming into you from behind. Tonight, he was too impatient to finish dinner with you, allowing the cameramen their fair share of pictures before pulling you into the backseat of his father’s car. He instructs the driver to head to his apartment before he’s plowing into you until you cry.

You feel slightly bad for his driver, who hasn’t received a break from the constant fucking all week.

“Ungh, ungh, ungh,” you whimper at the force of his thrusts. It really was true that Yuta was rough in the bedroom, refusing to grant you even a second to breathe until he got his way. You had never felt so used and it aroused you to no end. You’ve had a higher sex drive this week than ever before.

“Why do you even bother to wear panties?” He growls down at you. “You know I hate it when you give me an obstacle.”

You haven’t dared to put on a pair of pants since you began your arrangement. He loves being able to take you anywhere he pleases, flipping up your skirt or rolling up your dress at any time of the night. You suppose he’s even grown weary of your underwear being in his way as well.

“It matches my dress, daddy!”

You never considered calling another man daddy because that term was used exclusively for your father since you were little. However, after discovering Yuta’s liking for the name, you haven’t addressed your father as daddy since then, transferring the moniker to Yuta.

“Who cares?” He laughs devilishly. “You know I’ll rip it off of you before the night ends anyways, sweetheart. And you’ve already made it abundantly clear that you’re all mine. Nobody else would be brave enough to sneak a peek at a pussy owned by me.”

You giggle at the thought of how large your presence has grown in the media. Your father was thoroughly pleased by your association with Yuta, even though Doyoung almost threw his friend off a bridge when he discovered the affair. Your father’s all but signed the Osaka branch over to you, and you can nearly taste victory. You’re certain if you offered yourself to Yuta during the daytime too, he would probably secure an engagement ring on your finger, which would make your father more elated.

Yuta flips you over, pressing your back against the car door and sliding down the window halfway.

“Yuta! They’ll see us!” You squeal, laughing at his carelessness.

“Let them watch then.”

He presses back into you, causing you to moan loudly. You catch the eyebrow raise of the driver through the rearview mirror and smile when you hear the chatter of people on the sidewalk outside, observing your lewd behavior. You pull Yuta down to press his lips against yours, tongues tangling together as he grips your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist. The angle allows him to push deeper into you, and your whines grow louder at the force of his thrusts.

At every red light, you see the flashes of cameras grow brighter and brighter to capture the sight of you and Yuta. You’re frankly too enraptured by him to care, reaching the edge of your climax. He recognizes your telltale signs, and you’re far too gone to be embarrassed by the squelching sounds your cunt makes when he bottoms out.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for daddy?”

You nod, chewing on your lower lip. You shriek when his teeth graze your neck, biting and sucking until he’s left a mark on you. You love how possessive Yuta is, how determined he is to prove to the world that you belong to nobody but him.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you topple over your peak, gripping his forearms as he continues his assault on your neck. It’s only after the ringing in your ears ceases that you realize you squirted all over his lower torso and the backseat.

“So fucking messy,” he grunts before following you, spilling his warm seed deep inside you.

You giggle when he collapses on top of you, fumbling around until he finds the button to roll the window back up.

“That’ll give them something to write about tomorrow,” you hum while he licks a stripe up your neck. The car comes to a screeching halt and the driver awkwardly announces your arrival to Yuta’s apartment.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m not done with you yet.”

—

“Nakamoto Yuta, hm?”

You’re not surprised when another newspaper lands in front of you, but you are a little startled to see Johnny being the culprit behind it. You raise an eyebrow, pushing your laptop to the side as Johnny occupies the seat across from you in this tiny coffee shop.

Once again, you and Yuta are plastered on the front page. There are multiple blurry photos the paparazzi managed to catch of the two of you tangled together in the backseat. No questions need to be asked about what activity you both are engaged in — although the camera doesn’t capture everything, Yuta being shirtless and glimpses of your wild hair is enough to paint a solid picture.

Johnny chuckles dryly at the sight of the grin pulling at your lips.

“He’s not going to last for you in the long run.”

Your eyebrow raise grows higher. “And what makes you say that?”

He smirks. “Because I’m your friend and I know you well enough. You’ll get bored of him. He’s nowhere near your level.”

You fold up the newspaper and slide it across the table with a tantalizing smile.

“Just because I got bored of you, John, doesn’t mean I’ll get bored of Yuta.”

A fire blazes behind his eyes and you know you’ve struck a nerve. You’re not ashamed to acknowledge you’ve slept with most of the men in your elite social circle, considering they’re usually harmless flings and a way to build connections in the industry. Occasionally you’ll come across the type of man who wants more from you, a man who covets the allure of the Kim name.

At this moment, that man happened to be Johnny.

“I heard your father’s offered you a proposition for the Osaka branch,” he comments, taking a sip of his coffee to fake nonchalance.

“So you’ve been prying Doyoung for information?” You guess, playing into whatever game he wanted to lay out for you.

Johnny was a great guy, honestly, and he treated you well when you shared the same bed. But since Yuta took you on your first date a week ago, the thought of being with someone else hasn’t crossed your mind.

“The Nakamoto name — it’s strong now but no one sees them lasting in another decade. Their stocks are down and rumor is that their Tokyo branch is on the verge of collapse. Your father may play with the idea of them at the moment but he’ll soon learn they have much more to gain from your union with Yuta than you do.”

“Such splendid business talk,” you reply with a joyous lilt in your tone. It slightly amuses you that Johnny is so peeved by your newfound relationship. “One would think you’re trying to imply something.”

He leans forward, eyes a little more determined. “The Suh name has been around for decades and has already proven to be stable enough for the market. Our union would play a lot steadier than you and Yuta.”

“The Suh name?” You muse, swallowing a laugh threatening to climb up your throat. “The same Suh name that’s been tainted by their youngest son throwing reckless house parties until the police show up?”

He says your name with rehearsed casualty, though you both understand you know how to play a strategic discussion much better than he does. Your clever wit and the ability to see the argument from all angles is exactly why you’ve been in the running to take the company since you were born, and why Doyoung was lagging so far behind. In this conversation, Johnny is not your friend but simply a business mogul looking to get ahead.

“Come on. I know he’s not the one for you. You’ll miss the chase and you’ll hate the familiarity. I know you.”

“You don’t know shit.”

Yuta approaches the two of you, jaw clenched. Johnny straightens his posture, slightly embarrassed to have been caught talking behind his back. You beam at the sight of Yuta, tugging his hand and pulling him close to you. He continues to glower at the other man before you.

“Ah, so you date in the daytime now too?” Johnny chuckles, attempting to recover from his apparent blunder. “I don’t see any cameras around.”

“You can fuck off, Johnny. You and your ridiculous parties are the reason why you’re groveling at her feet,” Yuta hisses. “Handle your own shit first before tainting another family name with your mess.”

Johnny stands from his spot, causing the chair to squeak from the pressure on the wood flooring. Although Johnny has inches on Yuta, he knows better than to raise a challenge with the growing rate of Yuta’s temper.

Johnny offers one last nod towards you. “Good luck.”

Once he exits the coffee shop, Yuta’s mood sours. You pay no attention to his signs of irritation, pulling him down in the chair next to you and nearly climbing in his lap. You discovered a week ago that you throw your self-respect out the window whenever you see him.

“Daddy, you’re here,” you giggle into his ear, shutting down your laptop that was filled with boring spreadsheets and finance articles. “I missed you. You never come to see me during the day.”

It’s quite obvious that no other man has gotten to know your body the way Yuta has, bearing in mind that you’ve never held a steady boyfriend. Despite the intimacy on your part, Yuta still treats you indifferently during the day, ignoring you whenever you stop by the restaurant they hang out in and refusing to answer your texts until the sun sets. However, when date time commences, he does nothing but shower you in affection and insist it’s hard for him to stay away from you.

It’s very confusing, but you would take confusing and good sex over certainty and boring businessmen any day.

“What else did he say to you?” Yuta asks, brushing off your whines when he doesn’t hold you close.

“I don’t know and I don’t care. Let’s go back to your place,” you propose, already stuffing your laptop into your bag.

You nearly squeal in delight when he tugs on your wrist to take you out of the coffee shop. You watch as he tosses your bag to one of his security guards, telling them to take a stroll while he handles you. You’re skeptical about his behavior until he brings you into a nearby alleyway, shoving your front against the brick wall and flipping your skirt up.

“No panties?” Yuta hisses in your ear, sounding irritated.

“You told me not to!”

It hurts a little when he presses inside of you with no preparation. He takes it slow at first, kissing your shoulder and whispering harshly.

“I never want you to see him again, do you understand?” He questions in a demanding tone. His possessive side turns you on to no end and you nod eagerly, more arousal gushing out of your pussy.

“Whatever you say, daddy. But you know I never wanted to be with him, right? You’re the only one I want to be with.”

“Of course I fucking know that,” he grunts, steadily picking up pace. “I know that because no one else can fuck this pussy like I do. No one else has you wearing a collar with my name on it.”

You giggle at the mention of the collar Yuta had custom made for you days ago, with his name engraved on the little heart emblem dangling from the chain. Many would think it demeaning to wear it and have him attach a leash to you, pulling whenever you disobeyed, but you find it terribly arousing.

It doesn’t take long for you to orgasm, not with him muttering provocative fantasies in your ear and a tight grip around your waist to showcase that you’re his. He takes pity on you and shoots his release on the ground of the dirty alleyway, and you internally mourn the waste of cum that could be filling you up and dripping down your legs. You suppose it could be mortifying to someone else to have their pussy stuffed full of cum with no panties on in public, but you take gratification from it.

He quickly buttons himself back up as you turn around and readjust your skirt.

“So what happens when you get the Osaka branch?” He suddenly asks you, disregarding your inquisitive look.

You frown while fixing your hair through your phone camera. “What are you talking about?”

“The Osaka branch — the reason behind our deal. What happens when you sign the papers? We don’t have to be seen together afterwards, I assume?”

You shrug and tuck your phone away. Despite spending nearly everyday together for the past week, you still can’t get a read on Yuta’s feelings. You’ve taken multiple business classes in the past to overcome this type of difficult feat yet when you gaze into his eyes, you fail to understand the intentions behind his sudden line of interrogation.

“I guess so. We can still see each other in private, though,” you say with a flirty tone, squeezing his upper arm.

He doesn’t return your playful gesture. “See each other until you get married, that is.”

You tilt your head in confusion. Yuta has never brought up the topic of marriage before except to scoff at the headlines speculating the depth of your relationship.

“Um, yes, I suppose we could see each other until I marry.”

He nods and looks distantly off to the side, avoiding your stare.

“I’ll have my driver take you home. I have some business to take care of but I’ll come pick you up for dinner tonight.”

He spins on his heel at his last statement, leaving you alone in an alleyway, more confused than ever.

—

Weeks go by with no more discussions of marriage.

Yuta is on the way to your apartment as the two of you have been recently attending a handful of gala events together, skyrocketing your status as more serious to the public. Tonight was an event hosted by your father, and you hoped it would be the night he announces you as the new director of the Osaka branch.

It’s an important evening for you and Yuta wants nothing more than to be by your side. However, he dreads the moment you sign the Osaka contract, virtually releasing you from all of your duties to be seen with him.

Yuta always thought you were nothing but a spoiled brat until he finally cast aside his own assumptions. Often, during nights when you would sleep over, you both talked about the structure of your family's businesses and what future you envisioned to keep it thriving. It was in these discussions that Yuta really understands how intelligent you are. He used to think you only dreamed of sequined dresses and designer bags, but he can see what a fool he had been.

Your father seriously raised you for the business. After being friends with Doyoung for so long, Yuta knew he wasn’t privy to any of the company secrets or important business meetings. But he hadn’t known that you knew all of it — you possessed every secret that would put the business under, and no one could sweet talk their way out of a dreadful situation better than you. Every heir you’ve slept with usually spills a secret or two during late night pillow talk, and you bring the information back to your father, who uses it as leverage to elevate the company higher and higher until he gets what he wants.

Yuta admires you now more than anything, and that is why he is so afraid to lose you.

Along with the sex being the best he’s ever had, you are truly a magnetic being he can’t separate from. He likes you more than he’s ever liked anyone else, and the idea of you marrying someone other than him terrifies him to his core. You started spending your mornings together instead of simply meeting at night, which was something Yuta tried to prevent for a while in fear of growing too attached to you. It seems far too late to reverse history now, seeing as you have been joined at the hip for weeks.

When he knocks on your apartment door, you swing it open with a glimmering smile painted on your face. He tries to ignore the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

“Hi, daddy,” you greet with a giggle, kissing him gently and pulling him inside. “What took you so long?”

He watches you cross the living room in search of your other earring and he chuckles.

“Can’t last a second without me?”

You laugh and walk back over as soon as you’ve got your bearings. You kiss him again.

“Don’t get such a big head. I was just wondering when you lost all your manners since it’s impolite to keep someone waiting for you.”

“I like this dress,” he changes the topic, fingers gripping your hips and squeezing roughly. You’ve gone for a simple floor-length red number, one that properly showcases your curves.

“Yeah?” You question, fingers curling around the nape of his neck and tugging gently. “I thought it would look really good with your collar.”

He growls. “Don’t tempt me. Get in the car and let’s go.”

The gala is in full swing when you both arrive, hands locked together as you smile and wave at the flashing cameras. Yuta keeps you close to him when you finally enter the grand ballroom. People immediately flock towards you, desperate to get a chance to chat with the season’s hottest new couple.

Doyoung finds a way to mow through them, approaching you with a bored look. “Congratulations,” he says with a curt tone.

You grin and pinch his cheek. “Aw, don’t be so sad, dear brother. I convinced father to let you shadow him at the headquarters here.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at the demeaning task but says nothing else to you. Despite his numerous attempts to get his name out in the media, the only question people wanted to know was what designer his sister planned on working with next. Doyoung decided to accept his defeat with grace instead of humiliating himself by taking interviews solely about you.

His stare shifts to Yuta, cold and unforgiving. Doyoung still hasn’t forgotten waking up one morning to the sight of his friend fucking his sister in the back of a car for the whole world to see.

When he turns and walks away without speaking a word to Yuta, you scoff. “What a diva.”

You continue to address the bombardment of excited greetings from fellow guests. By the time you’ve finished a round on the floor, Yuta’s social battery has depleted significantly. With one look at your beaming face, however, his exhaustion spins into adoration.

“I’m nervous,” you whine into his ear, gripping his hand for dear life. “What if they don’t want me?”

“Then they’re idiots who deserve to burn alive.”

You laugh and press a kiss to his cheek. Yuta tries to quell the butterflies swarming his stomach.

“You can burn them for me, daddy.”

The room is silenced when your father steps up to the microphone on stage. You clutch Yuta’s hand tightly and he returns the gesture, afraid of letting you go.

Your father raises his champagne glass and chuckles. “Welcome, everyone. I am thrilled to see so many familiar faces here tonight. As many of you know, Kim Enterprises is looking to branch out and expand our thriving business as we celebrate the continuous growth of our company. And it is my honor to announce the opening of our Osaka branch, which will be spearheaded by my lovely daughter!”

Applause fills the room and all eyes turn to you. You bask in the spotlight, radiating pure joy. Yuta can’t help himself as he leans over to press a kiss to your lips proudly. You return it with as much vigor, giggling and gripping his hand happily.

He catches the sight of your father grinning down at you two in approval. Your father beckons you forward to join him on stage and offer a speech of your own. You squeeze Yuta’s hand one last time before letting go, taking his heart with you.

“Thank you for such a warm reception,” you say cheerfully, extending your champagne flute to the crowd. Yuta catches sight of Doyoung near the stage, who is trying his best to conceal his smile. “I am honored and grateful that my father has chosen me as the new director of this branch, and I will carry out my duties faithfully. I want to thank my brother, who has always allowed me to shine since we were younger and has never hesitated to be there for me.” The audience claps at the mention, and Yuta can tell Doyoung is trying to hold back tears. “And I also want to thank my devoted partner, Nakamoto Yuta, who has become my number one support system these past few weeks.”

You blow a kiss to Yuta, who fails to contain his grin. The audience claps even louder at the mention of your lover, with whispers filling the room about how serious the two of you are.

You finish your speech with as much grace as everyone expects of you, giving your father a kiss on the cheek before he whisks you away to introduce you to important members on the board of directors.

Yuta locates the nearest balcony to catch some fresh air, huffing to himself as he leans over the railing. The silence allows his mind to wander, filled with visions of you eagerly signing the contract to your future. Your father is likely strategizing the next best suitor for you, pushing all thoughts of Yuta to the side.

He can feel the clock ticking away on the time he has left with you.

“You really like her.”

He jumps at the sound of Doyoung’s voice and turns to see his friend with an eyebrow raised.

Yuta coughs awkwardly. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”

“And I thought you said my sister will never be respected with the reputation she has. That she’s just not cut out for the corporate world,” Doyoung recalls with a knowing smirk.

Yuta scratches the back of his neck. “I was a dick about that.”

“But you like her,” Doyoung states the obvious, joining Yuta’s side by the railing.

“I-I don’t know. We’re supposed to be temporary, and I think that’s all she wants it to be.”

It’s the first time Yuta is voicing any of these thoughts aloud, and the way he’s so affected by the idea of you walking away from him rattles his brain.

“Well, if I know my sister, I know she’s never smiled at anyone like the way she smiles at you. And I know you, and you’ve never volunteered yourself to be willing eye candy at a boring event like this.”

Yuta sighs, wishing he had snagged a good bottle of rum before he came outside. “What am I going to do, Doyoung?”

“Not my place to say,” Doyoung shrugs like the asshole he is. Yuta is very aware his friend is taking a small sense of pleasure in his misery. “Just please, no more fucking in the backseat of cars. Your driver has been gossiping with Taeyong’s about your active sex life and he won’t stop torturing me with the details.”

“Front seats are okay?”

Doyoung’s seconds away from punching him when you run outside, throwing your arms around Yuta’s neck while his hands instinctively slide around your waist.

“Let’s go home, daddy. My feet hurt and I want to give you a good blowie.”

“I’m right here.”

You glance to the side and raise an eyebrow at your brother. All of the sentimental thank yous from earlier are long forgotten.

“Feel free to leave, no one’s stopping you.”

He grumbles at you but does as instructed, heading back inside. You smile when the two of you are alone, pressing a kiss to Yuta’s lips.

“Are you sure you want to go?” He treads carefully. “I’m certain people will notice the guest of honor has gone missing.”

“Who cares?” You scoff, pulling him closer to you. “I just want to curl up with my boyfriend and wear his pretty collar around my neck.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever addressed Yuta as your boyfriend, and he’s not sure that you’ve realized you let the name slip. He kisses you regardless, and sweeps you away in his car. You’re on top of him before he can get a word in, kissing down the column of his throat.

You hum. “I wish you had fucked me before we left, daddy. I’ve been dripping since I saw you.”

“Yeah? You were being a bad girl in front of all those people, waiting to choke on my cock?”

You pull back to respond, but your head tilts in confusion when you catch a glimpse at his gloomy expression. You cup his cheek gently.

“What’s wrong?”

He fails to realize that you can read him like an open book. You look at him with worry, no longer grinding on him like a cat in heat.

“Nothing,” he replies with what he hopes is a convincing smile. “I’m just so proud of you.”

“Liar,” you whisper, pressing a softer kiss to his lips. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m just, um, I’m just not in the mood tonight.”

“Oh,” you say with astonishment, and he can’t blame you. Until this moment, Yuta has never turned down your advances. You awkwardly shuffle off of his lap.

He swallows nervously. “But I’d still like it if you spent the night. You know, only if you want to.” He’s never seen you look so shocked in your life and he immediately takes it as a bad sign. “Fuck, sorry- Just forget I said anything-“

“No!” You squeak, interrupting his rambling. He doesn’t miss the constant back and forth of his driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he watches the two of you finally communicate in something other than dirty talk. “I mean, of course I would like to stay over. We don’t always have to fuck for me to be with you.”

“Yeah?” He says, eyes hopeful.

You smile and lean over to kiss him. “Yeah.”

—

Yuta is a strange creature.

Ever since the night your father announced the launch of the Osaka branch, you feel like Yuta has completely changed his personality from a sex-crazed monster to a loving and doting partner. Oh yes, you two definitely still fuck daily but it’s somehow shifted into sweet, gentle sessions. Instead of bending you over the kitchen table without question, he gently turns you on your side first thing in the morning and presses slowly into you. He also kisses you a lot more when you’re together, and holds your hand whenever you step out in the public eye.

You’re surely not complaining about his behavior, but you are mildly curious about what exactly spurred this on. As far as you know, he thinks you’re a spoiled rich girl who doesn’t deserve everything handed to her. But lately when you’ve been discussing ideas about how to run the Osaka branch, he’s completely attentive and praises you for your progressive thoughts.

Thinking about his changing behavior for too long gives you a headache.

“Do you want to order in tonight? I’m too lazy to cook,” Yuta asks as he fights through a yawn, scrolling through his phone mindlessly while he sits cross-legged on his living room couch.

You’re pulling one of his old shirts over your head since it’s become your new form of pajamas, along with a comfortable pair of panties. You walk out of his bedroom and join him by sitting on his lap.

“Takeout sounds good,” you nod in agreement. He hums and kisses your cheek before checking for available dinner options. You contemplate approaching the topic of his newfound affection, fumbling around with his shirt while you think. “Hey, Yuta?”

“Yeah, baby?” He replies, focus still directed at his phone.

“Do you- Do you not like having sex with me anymore?”

He completely freezes, gathering himself before turning off his phone. He frowns as he looks over at you.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We just had sex in the shower an hour ago.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, but now you just treat me like I’m some porcelain doll that’s about to break! I’ve never seen you like this before.”

He sighs and gently nudges you off of his lap. When he stands and starts to pace around the coffee table, you begin to grow worried. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought this up, especially when you see the distressed expression haunting his face.

“Yuta-“

“What are we going to do when you move to Osaka?”

It’s a topic neither of you have broached. You’re supposed to fly out in two weeks to spearhead the launch and oversee all of the new changes. You brought it up to Yuta in passing over a month ago, but you haven’t talked about it since then.

“I-I don’t know,” you say honestly, starting to feel like a child being scolded by their parent. “I thought you would come with me.”

His shoulders relax slightly. “You did?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, feeling smaller than ever. “Do you not want to?”

He kneels before you, taking your hands in his and offering you a solemn look.

“I do, baby, you know I do,” he sighs. “But I don’t want to go if your father just plans to replace me in a couple of months.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Why would he replace you?”

He looks equally as confused. “Because of our deal? I’m not as valuable to him now since you already signed the contract.”

“Who cares about him?” You hiss, nearly glaring at Yuta. “You’re my boyfriend, I get the final say if you stay or if you go.”

His expression crumbles and you can tell that although you assumed you had been dating for months now, passing the line between casual to serious, he had not been on the same page.

“So you meant it then? That night of the gala — you meant it when you called me your boyfriend?”

“Duh,” you reply as if he’s grown two heads. “I’ve been seeing you exclusively, of course you’re my boyfriend. I don’t just let anyone collar me and hold my hand in public. We haven’t even called the press to take photos of us in weeks.”

He’s kissing you before you realize it, hands cupping your cheeks as he pins you against the couch. You moan into his mouth, feeling his hardened length press against your belly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” he says through a hoarse whisper. “I’ve been treating you like fine china because I thought you were going to dump me.”

“Why?” You pout, suddenly feeling whiny. “I like you and I like it when you throw me around. I don’t want anyone else to use me like you do.”

“Yeah? You mean it, baby?”

You nod and start to feel him manhandle your body until you’re lying on the armrest of the couch. He shoots you a devious look as he hovers over you, slowly slinking down your form. Your breath hitches when his thumbs loop around the sides of your panties, pulling them down your legs and smirking when the fabric clings to your core from your arousal.

“Daddy,” you whimper. “Don’t tease.”

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh and flings your underwear across the room. His tongue runs through your folds before he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking gently. You moan and tangle your hands through his hair. His eyes stay focused solely on you, staring at you as he laps at your cunt. One of his fingers prods at your entrance before pushing in, and you’re almost embarrassed by the squelching sound filling the room. He brings his tongue to your clit again, flicking at the nub.

You can’t help yourself when you start grinding down on him as he presses another digit inside of you. You throw your head back, overtaken by the sensation of him. His nose bumps against you as you messily ride his face.

“D-Daddy- O-Oh fuck, daddy-“

A wail rips from your throat when your pussy gushes, squirting all over Yuta’s face and fingers. You hold him close as he drinks in the remnants of your climax and push him away when it starts getting too overwhelming for you.

He licks his lips in an obscene manner, grinning to himself while you struggle to regain your breath. “Poor baby,” he mocks you, clicking his tongue. “Wants daddy to be rough with her but can’t handle the pressure.”

You don’t even notice he’s left the couch for a short period, blinking away the tears springing up in your eyes at the waves of pleasure still coursing through your veins. Yuta returns with your collar dangling in his hand and you perk up at the sight. He hasn’t used it with you since the night of the gala, and you’re desperate to feel it tugging at your neck. You eagerly sit up and bare your throat to him.

“Good girl,” he praises, snapping the collar tight and hooking his leash around it.

You yelp when he yanks you forward and off the couch. On your knees, you shamefully follow him into his bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed, peering down at you as you kneel in front of him, your legs tucked neatly below you. He pulls at the leash until you whine, blinking virtuously up at him.

“You’d never do this for someone else, would you? All for me?” He clarifies and you nod fervently, keeping your hands at your side diligently. He strokes your cheek gently and you preen at his touch. “That’s right. You’re mine, baby, and I never want you to look at anyone else the way you look at me, do you understand?”

You nod again and he grins. He leans back and pats his lap, causing you to scramble as you climb on top of him. You straddle his hips, whimpering a little when you feel his clothed length poking at your core.

“Want my cock, baby?”

“Yes please, daddy!”

“Go ahead and take it then,” he says, watching hesitation take over your form.

“B-But you always do all the work, daddy.”

“I know, baby, and I’ve spoiled you way too much. Maybe if you can prove to me you’ve earned it, I’ll be as rough with you as you’ve been craving.”

You frown at his words but you’re not one to back down from a challenge. You pull his cock out, biting your lip at the sight of his leaking tip. He feels heavy in your hand as you line him up against your entrance. He tugs at the leash when you take too long and you cry before finally sinking down on him. A shudder runs through you, still sensitive after your last orgasm.

Yuta is usually the one to set the pace so you struggle to recreate it, whining when you finally take all of him and begin to move. He says nothing as he observes the clear strain this takes on you, your thighs already starting to ache. You ride him as best as you can, twisting your hips in a frenzy while you search for some sort of coordinated rhythm. You hear Yuta chuckle dryly but you ignore him, mind set on proving him wrong.

“My poor girl,” he murmurs in a degrading tone. “Need some help?”

You shake your head even though you’re craving for him to fill you as he normally does, hitting all of the right spots that make you unravel. Tears begin to fall as you press down on him in desperation. You give in, so miserable by your own pathetic attempts.

“Daddy, I can’t-“

“I know, sweet girl,” he coos at you, pulling at your leash until he adjusts you face down on the bed. You mewl when his cock slips out of you, and his hand presses down on the curve of your spine until your ass is perched perfectly for him. His hand kneads at your flesh, cock rubbing through your folds teasingly. “Look at you, can barely do anything for yourself. Such a useless little whore.”

“Daddy, daddy,” you chant, head filled with nothing but Yuta.

You feel complete when he drives the tip inside of you but whine when he pulls it back out.

“Don’t think you deserve it,” he mumbles, spanking you roughly. You whimper as your body lurches forward from the impact. “Spent so long thinking about you, you know? Wondered how I could fall for a spoiled princess like you. Wanted nothing but for you to call me your boyfriend and let me fuck your pretty little throat.”

“I want that too, daddy.” Your picture perfect future includes waking up by Yuta’s side, engaging in a morning quickie, eating meals together, and shopping all day with a few blowjobs in between. You blink away the tears threatening to spill over your eyelids from the overstimulation. “Please, please daddy. I’ll be a good girl for you, I promise. I won’t let anyone else fuck my pussy but you.”

He wraps a steady hand around your leash before putting you out of your misery, pushing his cock through your folds. You moan, head thrown back as Yuta tugs at your leash with every thrust of his hips. It’s exactly what you’ve been missing — the emptiness being replaced with his swelling member stretching your tight cunt around him. The collar makes it hard for you to inhale but you prefer it this way, offering your body in his hands for him to use as he pleases.

“I love you,” he suddenly grunts when his cock angles just right, rubbing against your walls and nudging at your sweet spot. You sob, feeling your orgasm building in your stomach. “I won’t ever love anyone else but you, my sweet girl.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when your climax hits, spurting around his cock as it drips down onto the sheets. “Fuck, you squirted again? Did you really miss me being rough with you?”

You can barely form a coherent word while he releases his hold on the leash, causing you to collapse onto his pillow like a lifeless doll. You begin to fade in and out of consciousness, but you manage to utter, “I love you too, daddy,” before completely falling into darkness.

When your eyes flutter open again, you’re not entirely certain how much time has passed. Your neck is free from the collar, allowing you room to breathe. Yuta’s body is pressed against yours as you now lay on your back. His cock is still seated warmly inside you and he’s slowly pumping more gentle thrusts. The bedsheets are completely soaked with the evidence of your orgasm.

He hasn’t noticed you’ve awoken again, eyes shut tight and face buried in your neck. He’s groaning lowly, trying not to be too loud.

“Yuta?” You whisper, your voice hoarse and scratchy from all of the screaming. Your fingers brush through the strands of his hair as he looks up at you, smiling softly.

“Hi, baby. Got me worried there for a second.”

“I’m good,” you reassure, and he presses his lips to yours. “Just want your cum.”

He rests his forehead on top of yours, the mood shifting to something more intimate and loving. You never imagined you would be in this position, with Yuta of all people. You always believed you would marry some stuck-up businessman who had no care for your thoughts and feelings, and you became content with the idea over the years due to the overall positive sacrifice it would bring the company. You’ve been raised to think of the business first, but now you see that you can get the best of both worlds.

“I love you,” he repeats, murmuring it quietly.

You swear your heart grows three sizes. “I love you too.”

He grunts when his coil unravels, shooting strands of white into you, painting you to stake his claim. When he gets his bearings together, you both erupt in a heap of laughter. You feel warm all over, like your life is definitively joyous. No one could take this feeling from you.

He rubs his thumb over your ring finger, gazing at the empty spot with a glint of mischief in his eye.

“We should get you sized as soon as we arrive in Osaka,” he says with conviction.

You giggle and pull him down for another kiss.

“Just make sure you get me a big one, okay?”

—

“This is disgusting.”

You chortle when Yuta peppers your neck in a handful of kisses, pulling you closer by the back of your thighs. You feel like a princess sitting on his lap with your engagement ring sitting heavy on your finger. It would all be perfect, except for the fact that you’re surrounded by his friends at their regular table in the steakhouse. The blatant public affection is not completely your fault — who can blame two lovebirds who just got engaged?

It’s only been a few days since Yuta formally proposed. The first thing you did was fly straight from Osaka back to Seoul, rejoicing in the happy news with your friends and family. Your father was overjoyed, openly weeping when he saw how happy you were. Yuta’s mother kept her lips shut tight when you shared the news, clearly expressing disappointment but Yuta displayed no signs of caring for her approval. Since you gained leadership of the Osaka branch, you have been actively working with Yuta’s father to arrange a merger between your businesses. Yuta confessed to you one night that his family’s company was slowly going under, and there was no way you could allow your fiancé to be desolate and poor, could you? His mother hasn’t uttered a bad word about you since then.

Doyoung can feel the bile climbing up his throat at the sight of his sister all loved up with his friend. Donghyuck is pouting in his seat, arms crossed over his chest like a toddler.

“There are others who have to witness this, you know,” Jaehyun says with a smirk dancing across his lips in amusement.

“I can’t believe this!” Donghyuck exclaims incredulously. “You were slut shaming her less than a year ago!”

You coo at him. “Don’t get so upset, Hyuck. You knew you never had a chance.”

He narrows his eyes at you before childishly twisting in his seat until his back is turned to you. Yuta chuckles in your ear, tilting your head towards him so he can kiss you again.

The table collectively groans. “There’s no way you both traveled back from Osaka just to do this,” Taeyong sighs. “Isn’t this supposed to be a party for all of us?”

You part from Yuta and glance over at Taeyong.

“It is a party, but I wasn’t expecting you all to be losers and not show up with dates,” you bite back. You can feel Yuta grinning into your neck at your brazen attitude. Now that he wasn’t on the receiving end of it, he loved it when you got snippy with others and put them in their place.

“Maybe we should go hang out at Johnny’s,” Jaehyun suggests, tired of watching you and Yuta grope each other. “He’s throwing another party at his house tonight.”

“No Johnny,” Yuta says with a stern glare. His friends remain confused while you giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek at his possessive nature.

“Johnny’s not going to take me from you, daddy.”

“Alright, I’ve had enough,” Doyoung grunts with displeasure, standing from his seat and throwing a few bills down on the table. “Let’s go. I can’t stand to watch this any longer and my ears are already bleeding.”

The group is quick to obey, offering a few more lazy congratulations before exiting the restaurant. Doyoung shoots one last glance towards Yuta, eyes narrowed.

“If you ever make her cry or call her a whore again, I’ll fucking shred you to pieces.”

Yuta salutes him and Doyoung rolls his eyes, leaving you both to your own bubble of gooey affection. You smile and stroke Yuta’s cheek gently.

“Don’t listen to him, daddy. You can still make me cry and call me a whore in bed.”

“You know I wouldn’t have it any other way, sweet girl.”

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ I could never hate you;

Pairing; fem!reader x nishimura riki Warnings; Suggestive but very very angsty Words; 3.278 Synopsis: When Niki returns to his parents’ countryside home, memories of a past love resurface, along with the regret of losing you. Despite his rising fame and a new girlfriend, Niki can’t escape the feelings he still has for you. As tensions mount, both of you are forced to face the unresolved emotions from your past relationship. Amid stolen glances and painful confrontations, Niki must decide whether to fight for the love he once had or move on, knowing that the weight of his mistakes might be too much to overcome. A story of love, regret, and second chances. My Masterlist;

A/N; Sorry for breaking your heart but I've been having a rough few days and had to let it out somehow haha. Jokes aside, I hope you like reading this, likes and comments are always appreciated, thank you so so much! All the love I've been receiving is just... thank you guys :(

As Niki stepped inside the familiar house, memories overwhelmed him. He vividly recalled the first time he visited his parents' new home in the Japanese countryside. It was a spacious house, tastefully decorated and equipped with the latest appliances. The backyard featured a pool and a small garden for growing crops. His mom took pride in eating the vegetables she had cultivated herself.

Niki felt genuinely happy for his parents—they had finally achieved their dream of living in a tranquil environment. He felt even prouder knowing he had contributed to the house's cost. Secretly, he loved it too: escaping the noise of the cities and enjoying a restful night’s sleep in his serene bedroom.

He also remembered you. You were one year older than him, kind and thoughtful. The first time he saw you was on his eighteenth birthday, when you delivered something to his mom.

There you were, carrying two boxes of eggs. He could still picture the way your dark brown hair framed your shoulders and your shy smile as you handed the eggs to his mom. He didn’t know your name, your age… nothing. All he knew was that you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Niki glanced around the living room and inhaled deeply, the familiar aroma of his mom's cooking filling the air. Letting go of all his worries, he rushed to the kitchen, where his mom was busy preparing his favorite meal.

“Mom!” Niki called softly, hugging her from behind and resting his head on top of hers. He had longed for her motherly affection.

“Riki, you’ve grown even more!” she said, her voice full of emotion as she admired her son. “Sit down. I’ve been cooking just for you!” she added warmly, heading to the fridge to grab more food for him.

Niki ate in silence, his heart brimming with love as he savored the delicious meal his mom had prepared. He had missed it all—the food, the house, the quietness.

Later, as he helped his mother wash the dishes and chatted about his bandmates, the doorbell rang. His mom jumped slightly, glanced at the door, and then at Niki. She removed her wet gloves and looked at him again.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” she said gently, her hands softly caressing his face in a soothing gesture. Niki tried not to dwell on it and continued with the dishes. He finished quickly, but as he walked upstairs, he heard his mom’s voice from afar, accompanied by someone else’s.

A sudden pang in Niki’s chest made him pause and take a deep breath. His body recognized the other voice before his mind could. He missed her. He tried to ignore it and went upstairs to his room, where he threw himself onto the bed and closed his eyes.

His phone lit up with a notification. As he picked it up, his wallpaper caught his eye. It was a selfie from his girlfriend, taken when Niki had asked her to be with him. She had long blonde hair, caramel-colored eyes, and a gentle smile. She was sweet, pretty, and entirely unaware of how Niki couldn’t stop thinking about you. He told himself it wasn’t his fault. When he was in Korea with his bandmates, it was easy to forget you. You weren’t there to remind him of your tender smile or your soothing voice.

But when he talked to his parents, you always seemed to come up in some way. You lived just a few roads away in a stone house surrounded by a farm. Your family worked tirelessly, tending to the animals and crops. They were beloved in the town for their produce at the local farmers' market, and Niki’s parents were no exception. His mom couldn’t get enough of the eggs and fruits your parents sold, while his dad often visited your farm to learn about raising chickens, hoping to start his own small flock.

Riki shoved the phone under his pillow and shut his eyes again, praying a nap might help. But as he reached for the covers, your voice rang out once more, clearer this time. He stood and wandered to the window, spotting you waving goodbye to his mom.

You looked different. Your hair had grown longer, now dyed a deep bluish-black, cascading in soft waves down your back. You seemed fuller, your figure more mature and hypnotizing. The curves of your body highlighted how much time had passed since he’d last seen you. As he observed you, your eyes met his.

Had your eyes always carried so much sadness? he wondered. They hadn’t been like this before—now they were empty and cold. He broke the connection quickly, already regretting getting up. Retreating to his bed, he pulled the covers over himself, wishing you’d leave him in peace, if only in his dreams.

A soft knock at his bedroom door stirred him from his thoughts. He glanced over lazily as the door creaked open, revealing his father, who stepped inside and sat down beside him on the bed.

“Hello, son. How was the drive?” his father asked gently as Ni-ki sat up, still groggy.

“It was fine. I was starving, but Mom already had plenty of food waiting for me,” he replied, his yawn betraying his lingering exhaustion.

“I have something to tell you,” his father began, his tone turning serious. Niki straightened up, now more alert. “I invited Y/N over for dinner. She’s been helping your mother with the crops, and we wanted to show our appreciation… In my defense, I forgot you were arriving this afternoon. I thought you’d come later tonight—”

“Dad,” Riki interrupted, “it’s fine. You don’t need to act like she’s a ghost. I’m okay.” Ni-ki lied, hating how much his parents knew about his feelings for you. His father studied him closely, reading his expression with ease.

“Are you sure you’re alright? She’ll be here soon,” his father said kindly, clearly trying to gauge his son’s comfort.

“I’m not hungry,” Riki muttered, avoiding his father’s gaze and shifting his focus to the window. “I ate a lot when I got here. I’ll just… sleep,” he added, hoping the subtle hint would stop his father from pressing further.

“Alright,” his dad replied, offering a gentle smile as he stood and quietly closed the door behind him.

Niki exhaled sharply, frustrated by the tension now lingering in his once-safe haven. He closed his eyes, determined to rest, but memories of the last time you’d been in his room refused to leave him…

You sat on his lap, his oversized t-shirt swallowing your smaller body. Your hair framed your face in soft waves, and your cheeks were flushed a deep pink. Your hands cupped his jaw, fingers brushing over his warm skin. He was shirtless, dressed only in black sweatpants.

“I hope you stay as sweet as you’ve always been…” you murmured, a soft smile lighting up your face as your fingers glided across his cheeks. Ni-ki was preparing to leave for Korea again to focus on his career; Enhypen was finally gaining the recognition they’d worked so hard for.

“Come with me,” Ni-ki pleaded for the fifth time. “I could probably get you a job at Hybe. Maybe you could start as an assistant in the graphic design department and work your way up. You’re so talented, I—” His words dissolved as your lips silenced him with a gentle, lingering kiss.

“I… will… be here… waiting… for you,” you whispered between kisses, your voice firm yet tender, trying to make him forget about the idea of taking you away. You knew your family relied on you to manage the farm’s administrative side—the vital work that kept everything running smoothly.

Ni-ki stared into your deep brown eyes, his hair falling across his forehead as your hands cradled his face again. He was so attractive, so carefree, and so utterly in love with you. Your cheeks burned, your lips glistened from his kisses, and he couldn’t help the fiery desire growing inside him. His hands traced up and down your bare thighs, as though trying to memorize every inch of you.

You rested your head against his chest, savoring the heat of his touch as his hands wandered gently over your skin.

“Ni-ki…” you whispered, your voice soft as your eyes met his. In that moment, nothing else existed—just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other.

Ni-ki regretted that night. He regretted not making you his. He regretted giving himself to the girl he now called his girlfriend. He regretted it because deep down, he knew you were the only one who’d ever stirred these feelings within him. Maybe it was love, but he had been too scared to name it.

Back in the present, Ni-ki tossed and turned in bed, unable to find comfort. You were downstairs, eating dinner and laughing with his parents, while he lay upstairs, lost in memories, wishing things had turned out differently. Like a coward.

You had ended it, but he knew the blame was his. He’d been too weak to break things off, so he let you take the burden—ignoring your calls and texts for days, going out with his friends, drinking until he could forget, and kissing someone else. It had been just a fleeting moment, but one he regretted immediately. Everyone had known he messed up. The silence from his friends spoke volumes...

“Mom,” Ni-ki called softly as he entered the kitchen, where you and his parents sat eating. His mom shot to her feet, concern flashing across her face as she realized what was coming. She glanced at you briefly, and you responded with a forced smile.

Ni-ki stood in the doorway, his black hair falling over his eyes as usual. He wore a loose T-shirt and sweatpants. His gaze landed on you, seated beside his mom, across from his dad. Your hair was tied in a messy ponytail, and you wore a simple black top. But your eyes—those deep brown irises—looked darker than he’d ever seen them, filled with hurt and emptiness.

“Hey,” he said quietly, trying to sound nonchalant.

You offered a thin, artificial smile, your voice almost breaking as you said, “Hey, Riki.” You avoided his gaze, focusing on your plate as you tried to finish your rice. Ni-ki’s chest tightened at the sound of your voice.

“Is there something you need, sweetie?” his mom asked, concern evident in her tone.

“I’m hungry. Can I sit down and eat?” Ni-ki asked, his voice barely audible, searching for a reason to stay. His mom glanced at his dad, who answered cautiously.

“Of course, son. Sit down,” his dad said.

An uneasy silence settled over the table. Ni-ki’s unexpected appearance after claiming he wasn’t hungry left everyone confused. Dinner continued, but the tension was almost unbearable. He stole glances at you now and then, the longing in his chest growing stronger, but each time your eyes met his, he quickly looked away.

“Y/N, darling, could you go pick a watermelon from the garden? You always know how to pick the best ones!” Ni-ki’s dad said warmly.

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, managing a small smile as you got up to leave.

Outside, the warm breeze brushed your face, but it offered no comfort. Tears welled up and spilled down your cheeks. You tried to suppress the sobs, the knot in your throat tightening painfully. Quickly, you wiped your face and focused on selecting a watermelon wanting to just get this over with. But as you turned to head back inside, you saw Ni-ki leaning against the doorframe.

You thought about walking past him, but then his hand touched your shoulder—warm and familiar.

“Can we talk?” Ni-ki asked, his voice low and raspy. You took a deep breath, turning to face him. His tall frame loomed over you, his presence so close that you could feel his breath on your skin.

“Maybe we should,” you said coolly, trying to maintain your composure. You set the watermelon down and sat on the small step between the garden and the house. Ni-ki followed, sitting beside you.

He couldn’t meet your eyes. Shame and anxiety clouded his face. His hands fidgeted in his lap, and you noticed it. You could see how much he’d changed—his sharper features, his thinner frame, his longer hair. He’d grown so much over the past year, and you hadn’t been there to witness it.

“I want to say I’m sorry,” Ni-ki began, his voice thick with regret. “I never meant to hurt you. I don’t know why I acted the way I did, and I know it doesn’t make it right. I should never have kissed her, not when I was with you.”

“That wasn’t what hurt me the most,” you said, your voice trembling as tears threatened to fall again. You lifted your head to look at him, struggling to hold yourself together. “What hurt was how you ignored me for days, and when you finally did acknowledge it, you wouldn’t let me speak. I was ready to forgive you, Ni-ki. I wanted to, so badly…”

Ni-ki heard the crack in your voice and turned to face you. He saw the tears sliding down your cheeks, each one a testament to the pain he’d caused. That sight broke him the most. You—his anchor, the one who had always been there for him—were crying because of him.

“I couldn’t face you after that,” he whispered, lifting a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You leaned into his palm, finding comfort in his touch, but it no longer felt the same.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You wanted to tell him how much you missed him, how your sister had grown up and found a boyfriend. You wanted to hold him, kiss him, but it didn’t feel right—not after everything that had happened.

“How are the boys?” you asked, breaking the silence. Ni-ki’s face brightened slightly.

“They’re good! We’ve been working hard and promoting a lot. People are starting to take us seriously,” he said with a flicker of pride. “Oh, and Jake bought a new collar for Layla. It’s adorable!” He pulled out his phone to show you, but as the screen lit up, her face appeared as his wallpaper.

Riki froze, glancing at you and noticing your expression shift from curiosity to sadness.

“This is Sun Yeon, my girlfriend…” he said softly, almost apologetically.

“Good for you,” you replied coldly, standing up. Dusting off your jeans, you turned to head back inside. “Let’s just pretend we’re friends so your parents don’t keep walking on eggshells around us.”

Ni-ki stood up and grabbed your wrist, stopping you from opening the door. Slowly, he pulled you toward him, trying to make you face him, but you couldn’t. Tears you had kept hidden for so long began to fall freely, dripping down your cheeks like rain. Your heart ached as if it were being crushed.

“Don’t say that…” Ni-ki whispered, bending down to lift your chin, gently forcing you to meet his eyes. Your face was flushed from crying—cheeks, nose, and lips painted in a deep cherry red.

“What am I supposed to say, huh?” you snapped suddenly, pushing him away. Embarrassed by the tears you couldn’t stop, you struggled to regain control. “Congrats on getting over me so quickly? I hope you have a great life with her?” you yelled, shoving him backwards with force. “Does it feel good to know that, even after a year, I still care about you, and you’re with someone else? Does it feel good knowing I still love you while you love someone else?” you shouted, standing on tiptoes to meet his gaze.

“NO!” Ni-ki yelled back, startling you and making you stumble. “I FEEL LIKE SHIT EVERY SINGLE DAY. I REGRET WHAT I DID CONSTANTLY,” he roared, his eyes locked onto yours as he backed you into the outside wall. “I started dating her to distract myself from you. And it worked for a while, but every time I see you or hear your voice, the guilt is so heavy it makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Then why didn’t you contact me after I said we were over?” you asked quietly, your knees weakening from the closeness between you. “I waited for you every single day…” you confessed, your gaze locked with his. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks, and you instinctively reached out to wipe them away.

“I thought you hated me…” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours as his hand reached up to caress your cheek.

“I could never hate you, Riki,” you replied with a sad smile, more tears streaming down your face.

That was when Ni-ki lost control. He couldn’t bear it anymore. He had to show you how much he missed you. Without another thought, he leaned in and kissed you.

It started as a gentle peck, a test. When you pulled him closer, his heart raced—he knew you were giving him permission for more. His lips crashed into yours, urgent and hungry. You slid your tongue across his lips, deepening the kiss. But Ni-ki didn’t let you take control. Instead, he wrapped his muscular arms around your waist, pulling you tightly against him.

A surprised moan escaped your lips, and Ni-ki used the opportunity to deepen the kiss further. His tongue danced with yours in a passionate battle for dominance. The kiss was fierce, filled with hunger and longing. Minutes passed as the two of you devoured each other’s lips until you finally pulled away to breathe. Your lips were swollen and glistening as if coated in an expensive gloss.

Ni-ki gazed into your eyes, as though unable to believe you were there with him again. He kissed your entire face with passion, then moved down to your neck, biting and kissing the soft skin there. The scent of your sweet perfume overwhelmed his senses. His long hair brushed against your skin, and suddenly, reality struck you.

“Ni-ki…” you called breathlessly, trying to push him away. But his lips stayed glued to your neck. “Riki, this isn’t right. You have a girlfriend,” you said more firmly, pushing him away.

The truth hit him like a brick.

“I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened,” Ni-ki murmured, guilt consuming him once more. Even though he wanted you, and even though you wanted him, Sun didn’t deserve to be treated this way just because he couldn’t figure himself out.

“Maybe we should never see each other again,” you said coldly, anger bubbling inside you.

Ni-ki’s face fell, and he reached for you, grabbing your wrist.

“No, wait—Y/N,” he called, his voice desperate as he realized he’d made another mistake. “I didn’t mean it like that! I love you. Please,” Ni-ki pleaded as you started walking toward the house, ready to leave.

“No, you don’t. You don’t even know what you want. You don’t know anything!” you yelled without looking back.

“I’ll break up with her,” he said urgently, grabbing your hand just as you turned away. “I love you. Please, don’t leave…”

You froze, the weight of his words sinking in. Slowly, you turned to face him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell your parents I had to go and that I won’t be able to come here for a while. Goodbye, Riki,” you said, your heart breaking at your own words. Tears slipped down your cheeks as you walked away.

Ni-ki stood there, his heart heavy. But he wasn’t about to let you go. He couldn’t lose you again.

Taglist; @grandlightcandy @seokseokjinkim @strxwbloody @enhasunghoonishot @contyynishimura @heewanrik @ranwonbin @leanderexists @lovelyyf @youngheejay If you want to be added or taken off the taglist, just let me know!

[oizysian]

04 // Slave training // Good Girl

Summary: Lady Maximoff, the vampire Scarlet Witch, continues to train her new pet.

Pairing: Vampire!Scarlet Witch x Fem!Reader

Warnings: enchanted cocks, humiliation

Word count: 950

Kinktober masterlist

“Kneel.”

I got down on my knees as she commanded, head bowed. As much as I would’ve liked to disobey her, the punishment I would’ve gotten wasn’t worth it.

“Good girl.” She smiled cruelly. “Spread.”

I hesitated and she let the riding crop she had been holding strike my back, leaving a red welt in its wake. My body trembled as I leaned forward, distributing my weight between my hands and my knees, spreading my legs so she could inspect me from behind.

She walked behind me, tilting her head as she looked at my ass and pussy.

“Hm,” she hummed softly, letting the whip fall from my back to my ass, pressing it against me. “Your pussy looks hungry, darling. Do you need me to fill you up?”

I nodded and she pulled the whip from between my legs and struck my ass.

“Words.”

“Yes, Lady Maximoff.” I said through gritted teeth.

She beamed with satisfaction, proud that her most disobedient pet was turning out to be very well behaved.

She undid her pants, pulling them down just enough that her red, enchanted cock popped out, already standing at attention.

“Come.”

I turned around and crawled to her, sitting on my knees in front of her. She looked down at me and smirked, taking the cock in her hand and stroking it languidly.

“Suck.”

She brought it to my lips and I took it in my mouth hungrily, breathing slowly through my nose so I could take her completely down my throat.

“That’s right, pup,” she drawled, licking her lips and running a hand through my messy hair. “Suck mommy’s cock.”

I couldn’t control the wetness that began to build up between my legs at her words. She had an odd power over me, one that I couldn’t quite figure out.

I pulled off of her, swirling my tongue around the tip and licking up the base. I knew she could feel everything I did, so I made sure to do my very best.

She had once given me a cock and the feeling was beyond mind blowing. She had fucked me for hours, milking me for all that I was worth. As much as I hated her, my desire to be good for her and receive that treatment again was far greater.

“Mm, your thoughts are so loud, pet.” She said as she guided me down on her cock, making me choke as I took her to the base. “You want me to fuck you again like I did that first night?”

I hummed around her cock and she moaned lowly, gripping my hair tightly as she fucked my face. I knew she was close, I could feel it on my tongue. She was twitching in my mouth and if the sounds she was making was any indication, she was about to come.

Her cum spurt into my mouth and I was ready to take all of it when she pulled me off of her, her cum going all over my face and chest instead.

She glanced down at me and let out a little laugh at how I looked covered in her cum. Tears filled my eyes at the sound and I tried my best not to cry as I sat there, humiliated.

“Don’t be upset, pup. You’ll be rewarded for being so good.” Her cock disappeared before my eyes and I stayed unmoving, waiting for her next command.

“Lay down.”

I did as she said, laying back on the floor in front of her, legs spread before she even asked me to do it. I could tell from the look on her face that she was pleased with me. She slid out of her pants and tossed them aside, coming to stand next to me. She waved her fingers at my pussy and there, standing tall, was another enchanted cock. I bit my lip in anticipation, knowing exactly what was going to happen.

She stood over me, naked from the waist down, and lowered herself onto me, a leg on either side of my body as she gripped my cock and slid it inside of herself.

“Oh,” she moaned at the feel of me inside of her. “You’re so big, pup. You’re gonna tear me apart.”

I whimpered beneath her, her words making my cock twitch and throb inside her. I raised my hips to meet her downward thrusts, excited to be receiving a reward rather than the punishment I had been getting during these training exercises.

“Faster.” She commanded and I did my best to please her, rutting my hips up towards her desperately.

She smiled down at me, her own hips moving against my own as she admired the mess she was making of me. My hands were balled up into fists on either side of my head, my eyes were closed, mouth just barely opened, and chest heaving. She knew I was close, rolling her hips slowly to prolong the ache.

“Do you deserve to cum, pet?”

“Yes!” I cried, opening my eyes and pleading to her. “Yes, Lady Maximoff, please let me cum!”

She gave me a nod and I relaxed beneath her, getting ready to spill my seed inside of her. This would be the first time I was allowed to cum since that very first night I spent with her.

I let out a high pitched whine as I came and she pulled herself off of me, my cum spurting all over my stomach. I looked down at myself as I came down from my high, disappointment coloring my features. I raised my eyes to look up at her and she was still smiling, now standing above me.

“I didn’t say you could cum inside me, did I?”

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

Idk if requests are open feel free to ignore if they are closed….

But I need Idia x fem! reader (relationship establish if possible) were Idia is just dominant, like I need this man to handle me roughly after teasing him for so long!!! And maybe he also records this with her consent and they just go at it?!

Warnings: 18+, AFAB! Reader who uses she/her pronouns, Reader ≠ Yuu, Horny Dom! Idia, OOC, Rough sex, Oral (both receiving), praise/degradation kink at the same time, orgasm denial (on Reader’s part), hand around Reader’s neck (but doesn’t constrict air), unprotected sex, aftercare

Idia Shroud

He was getting tired of your antics.

First, you show up to his room unannounced. Now, this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. You often did that, and you didn’t need to tell him when you were coming. You were his girlfriend for about a year at this point, and he was comfortable with your visits.

Second, you take off the hoodie he had let you borrow (we all know that it was now yours, but anyway…) and reveal a very small crop-top and some small shorts. From that alone, he was already pitching a tent. However, he managed to get himself under control as he finished up some of his reports for his research with the overblots.

It was only when you started arching your back on his bed when he finally had enough. You had been doing all of this for a while since you were horny and pent-up, and he was pent-up as well because he had been working for the entire week without stopping.

He nearly pounced on you, pressing his lips to yours as his hand went up to your neck, wrapping itself around your throat gently.

“Are you done being a brat, Y/N?” He asked teasingly.

When you shook your head, his smirk widened as he lowered himself on the bed. He was soon faced with your pelvis and what could hardly be considered shorts. He made quick work of them until he was looking at your panties.

“You’re soaking down here…”

All of a sudden, you feel his tongue up against the fabric that was serving as a divider between your pussy and your boyfriend, and his hands held your thighs apart so you couldn’t do anything.

“Y/N, I’m gonna record this… I want to be able to remind you of what happens when you continue acting like a brat.”

He pulled away and grabbed his phone, turning on the camera and switching it to video before propping it up on the shelf opposite his bed. Once he was satisfied with the angle, he looked over at you.

You looked absolutely radiant, and he couldn’t wait to see tears in your eyes. “Get up and kneel,” His words came out as a demand, and you were more than eager to listen. Right in front of him, you got on your knees, and he slid down his grey sweatpants and boxers, exposing his half-hard cock.

It was pale, matching his skin tone, with a light blue tip… and you felt your mouth water before taking it into your mouth. His smirk widened as one of his hands buried itself in your hair, before grabbing on tightly and forcing himself down your throat.

“You’re going to take my dick like the pretty slut you are…”

The sound of you choking made his dick throb in your mouth, making his sharp teeth show in his smirk as he fucked your windpipes. His cock was covered in your saliva, and right before he came, he pulled himself out of your throat and denied himself a release.

He helped you back up onto his bed, his head going back to your panties with a toothy grin before he hooked his fingers on them and pulled them off, tossing them somewhere in his room. Then he moves in, his tongue diving into your pussy with fervor.

Your moans were acting as fuel for him, and he once again held your thighs apart as he continued eating you out. His tongue flicked against your clit, making you writhe under his grip until you got right at the peak, only for him to pull away. “This is supposed to be a punishment, you brat,” He teased, pushing you further on the bed before climbing on top of you. His hand went around your neck, but he made sure that it was just to pin you down and that he wasn’t going to restrict your airflow.

He took his dick in his hand and rubbed the tip up and down your pussy, collecting your fluids before he entered inside you. “You’re such a fucking slut, Y/N… My pretty whore…” He whispered as he just focused on penetration. For a few seconds, he allowed you to adjust to his size, but when you whimpered, he started going at it. There was no break as he thrusted in, out… in, out… in quick succession. Your mind was practically melting away as his pace sped up even more. He was pulling all the way out before thrusting all the way back in, making sure you felt every inch of his cock. He eventually flipped you both over until you were on top of him, straddling him. He placed his hands on your hips and guided you up and down his member, your moans serving as his fuel.

“There we go, baby… Take that dick…”

You reached your peak once again, but this time, he let you cum all over him, smiling as he quickly pulled out before he sprayed all over your stomach. He set you to the side of him so you could rest and catch your breath.

“Next time you act like a brat, you won’t cum. Understand?”

A nod from you was all the confirmation he needed, and he got up and stopped recording before heading to the bathroom and returning with a warm cloth to clean you up. Gently washing off your stomach, he smiled as he saw the video uploaded onto his computer.

[helenanell]

A Breath Of Life || Part Two

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

 Part One 

Pairing(s) :  Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi - Reader x Art x Tashi

CW: MDNI - Smut. Infidelity (kind of?). So much love and lust. ANGST. Manipulative behaviour. 

Notes: Fem!Reader, No use of y/n. This is really just me exploring my own bisexual panic some more.  Spoilers for the film.

Wordcount: 4.2K

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The moment you won the match that sealed your victory at Wimbledon,  the applause was rapturous.

And yet, Tashi’s triumphant shout was louder to you than hundreds of clapping hands. 

The sound of her celebration became yours, and when you let out a yell of your own, your racket falling from your hands, you became one with her. 

After that, her eyes did not leave you. You didn’t look but you knew it to be true, just as you knew the sun was shining onto your shimmering skin; Tashi was an incomprehensible being bearing down on you. 

When you lifted the Venus Rosewater Dish above your head–the silver trophy given to the women’s single’s winner–your smile was beatific. Not because of the rush of adrenalin, or the way your spirit had been buoyed by finally achieving what you knew you could, but feared you wouldn’t, but because you knew that in your victory Tashi had found her own. 

It had taken over a decade, but together you’d realised your dream. 

You knew deep down that you could have made it without her, but it would have been tasteless; a honeyed feast turning to ash in your mouth.

Achieving the title with Tashi by your side had turned everything technicolour. All of your senses were heightened and your sense of self revitalised. 

You lived for tennis and Tashi had helped that life become something glorious. 

When you stepped off the court it felt like a kind of conquest: your domain now stretched beyond the white lines that had so far confined you. You had taken more than a trophy, you had stolen space in people’s consciousness.

 You would not fade into the annals of time because your name had been recorded- it was to be engraved in metal which would be buffed into an unmissable shine. 

Even as you stepped into the plush locker room, you knew the winning moment was already being replayed and analysed. It made you smile to think that as commentators noted your form, they were publicly voicing the effects of Tashi’s coaching on you, to the entire world. 

You felt burned by her, but not as if she had branded you, rather that she had subjected you to such heat, that the very makeup of your body had been altered. 

Now, you're sitting on the wooden bench in the locker room with your head hanging low, sweat still dripping from your face when the door opens. 

You shoot to your feet, your beleaguered body screaming at you to slow down.

When you turn, you find Art standing in front of the now closed door. 

The sight of him takes away your breath. 

He is here too. 

In your greatest moment of euphoria, when you’ve never felt more tangible–more real–you get to be near him. Suddenly, all of the time that had passed between you didn’t matter.

He's with you now. 

Art leans back against the door, hands going into the pockets of his immaculate navy pants. A matching blazer that has been left unbuttoned stretches across his muscled torso, his sunglasses hanging from the neck of his white shirt. 

His cropped blonde hair is messy enough that you know he's been running his hands through it; with anxiety and elation he’d been dragging fingers through the blonde locks as he watched you play.  

Art has become something beyond handsome to you. Retiring has returned his vitality and it has been a stunning metamorphosis to witness. 

But it's change you’ve made yourself witness from a distance. The two of you have not been in a room alone together since he’d hidden in your bathroom as Tashi had convinced you to let her become your coach. 

For the first few months, things had felt far too fragile to acknowledge what had happened between the two of you. You and Art had come to a silent understanding that you needed the time to build back up a foundation with Tashi. 

If you were to remain in each other's lives, you needed solid ground.

But you had just won Wimbledon. You had just given Tashi a victory. Did either of you have the fortitude to go on denying yourselves? 

It has been a solid minute since Art entered the room and neither of you have shifted so much as an inch.

You’re fixed on the spot, watching him as he drinks you in. His gaze is laying possessive claim to your body, noting all the places the white vest and skort are clinging to your sweat-slicked curves. 

But it is when his eyes settle on your face, that a sort of peace soothes his expression.

“You were amazing.”

You can’t help but smirk, allowing yourself to feel cocky for once. “Of course I was, I won.” 

Art’s cheeks dimple with the strength of his grin.

“It’s not about the win. It’s how you moved when you played- like you could bend the whole world to your will. It was so beautiful. And you…” He pushes off the door and walks right up to you, chests almost brushing as he nudges your chin up with his finger. “You are so, so stunning.”

As he leans in, even though you don’t try to stop him, words of weak protest pour out of you.

“Art we shouldn’t. Not here-“

He cuts you off with a taunting kiss, his tongue trying to prize your lips open as his arm wraps around you.

His hand shifts up the sweaty material of your vest and lays his palm flat against the heated flesh of your lower back, all while his other hand trails up your outer thigh and beneath your skort to grab your ass.

You lean into him, hands wrapping around his neck and only when he draws back to kiss his way along your jaw, do you have a chance to speak again.

“Art, Tashi will be here soon. If she sees-“ 

“She won’t care.” 

Your brow furrows, but the confusion isn’t enough for you to stop his lips moving over your neck. “What?” 

As Art answers, his hand leaves your rear to dip beneath the waistband of your skort. You shiver as the pads of his fingers tickle all the way down, toying with the top of your underwear.

“You are all Tashi sees now.” Art clarifies, proceeding to nip at your exposed shoulder with his teeth. “You’re her everything. She could walk in on us right now and it wouldn’t change a thing.”

That gives you pause, indignation spiking at his easy dismal of Tashi.

You pull away from Art and he groans quietly but lets you go, his expression remaining completely content. 

“How can you say that?” You ask, growing irritable even as you let him take your hand in his.

“Because you’re everything that I couldn’t be for her.” He says. 

You sigh exasperatedly. “What does that mean, Art?” 

You don’t know why you’re asking, as you’re certain you already know the truth of it.

Art smiles, his other hand lifting to smooth a few sweat slicked strands off of your forehead. When he’s finished, his fingers settle with running over your cheekbone.

“It means…that you are all of her dreams realised. She resented me because every time I played, no matter how well, she knew it was nowhere near as important to me as it would have been to her had she never been injured. She hated me for not wanting it more….but, you have enough passion for tennis to play for the both of you. I never had that much to draw from. So, as long as you keep winning like you just did, she’ll love you. She’ll love you because you’re doing her justice.” 

After giving that insight that rang so true it almost hurts your ears with its incessant clamouring, Art leans in to kiss you again. You place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. 

“You felt like you were playing for her and it made you miserable.” You argue, hurt by the thought that his behaviour towards you is just rooted in gratitude that you have lifted the burden off of his shoulders. 

“It was different for me.” He answers simply. “I was miserable because I knew none of what I did was enough. I was still failing her. Tashi wants to watch great tennis and I didn’t give her that. You will. You are giving her that.” 

The way Art was speaking was producing within you a burgeoning unease; he was steady and assured, like he’d spent a long time thinking about this. And there was an undeniable undercurrent of pleasure to his speech.

A large part of Art was elated that the burden had been shifted onto you. 

But could you really hold that against him? You had seen how he was bending and breaking under the weight, it was why you’d told him to retire.

It was now your job to keep Tashi’s heart beating, you had known that the moment you’d agreed to let you coach her. That had been your choice and one freely made. 

So Art was right, you had to keep winning and you had to do so spectacularly. 

This was not a fresh revelation of course, but the possibility that Tashi wanting you close to her was entirely contingent on tennis, began to terrify you.

 You estimated you had a good five years left before you’d likely be forced to retire, but then what would become of you? Would Tashi even care to have you in her life after that? You were not bound to her like she was to Art by their daughter.

As if he can feel how your mind is whirring through the skin of your cheek, Art tips up your chin again and claims your mouth for another kiss. 

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing. 

“When I think about all that you are, tennis doesn’t even register.” He says sincerely, placing a sweet peck to your lips.

You cherish his touch and ach for more, but it isn’t quelling the panic ripping into your insides like wind whipping up in preparation to become a storm.

“Art, I can’t- I need to tell Tashi what happened with us.” 

No anger or irritation appears on his face at your blurted words, but his other hand falls onto your back so he can pull you closer and you can tell he’s definitely upset about something. 

“What happened?” He rasps. “You’re placing what we have in the past tense. Is it not still happening” His fingers press into your skin proprietorially. 

“I can’t lose her, Art. But I also can’t lose you.” 

“Then tell her.” He says,  bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it. 

“You’re agreeing just like that? It’ll ruin your marriage.” 

His lip tugs up in the beginning of a bitter smile. “Tell her. It won’t change how she sees you.” he affirms “Then you should ask her about Patrick.”

You barely have time to process his implication when the door opens.

 The two of you pull apart as Tashi’s head pops in. She looks entirely unbothered as her eyes glance off her husband before settling squarely on you.

“Get in the shower, we’ve got to get moving.” 

And just like that she’s gone again.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

“Do you need him?” 

Tashi’s question catches you off guard.

You’ve both been sitting in silence- her nursing a glass of wine and you with herbal tea as you both look out across the London skyline. Lights of skyscrapers are strung out across the black like fairy lights. 

You know who she’s talking about, but you’re terrified to acknowledge it.

You stop yourself from giving into the instinct to peer back through the open sliding door and into the hotel room where Art is watching TV. 

“In what way?” You ask, fiddling with the handle of your mug, still looking forward. 

Tashi huffs, putting her glass down and then turning to you, kneeling beside you on the outdoor couch. She takes the mug out of your hand, setting it on the nearby table before curling her fingers around your chin and forcing you to meet her unflinching stare. 

“Will Art improve your game or will he wreck it?” She sees your eyes widen and shushes you, stymying the words that had been gathering on your tongue. “This isn’t about me. I’m your coach, so I need to know that you’re going to keep giving this your all.” 

“I will.” You nod furiously, still held in her grip.

Tashi’s eyes flicker down your lips before finding your eyes again. Her hair is loose and being blown into your face. 

“I need you to tell me that if he’s watching you in the stands, that you won’t choke.” She says. “What the two of you have needs to light a fire in you, or it fucking dies. Do you understand me?” 

“I won’t choke.” You insist, your tone hard.

Her full lips press into a pleased line. “So are you going to keep dominating?” 

Slightly breathless, your eyes fall to where your fingers have been absentmindedly brushing her knee. You let your digits outstretch and as your eyes return to Tashi’s, you tentatively run them over her scar. You feel her shiver. 

“I’m going to keep dominating.” 

You both go still, and just as the corner of her mouth tugs up, she’s leaning in. You inhale a sharp breath as her lips just skim yours. She holds there, not pressing any further. 

When Tashi speaks, you feel her lips form the words against your own. “Then you do whatever it takes.” 

You truly couldn’t say which of you closes the distance, it feels more like an external, undeniable force driving the two of you to converge.

 When Tashi begins to move her lips against yours, her hand cradles the back of your head, twisting into your hair and pulling. You can’t help but let out a soft moan into her mouth, a hand landing on her waist and digging into the thin fabric of her silk shift.

Tashi draws back first, her hot breaths on your face as she presses two fingers to your throbbing lips. 

The question that comes out of your mouth has no malice or jealousy behind it, just an aching curiosity: you want to know her completely, in the way that you used to, and Art’s words from the locker room told you there was something you don’t know. 

“Tashi, what happened between you and Patrick?” 

She doesn’t rear back, she doesn’t slap you like she might have, she just lets out a slow almost contented breath.  

“I slept with him.” She admits calmly. “A few years ago in Atlanta, and the night before the Challenger match against Art.” 

All at once the visceral passion of that match makes so much more sense and even though you’re aware how twisted it is, you laugh. 

“You forced them to have the best match of their lives.” You say, your tone warring between disbelief and awe. 

Tashi answers with another brief, but ardent kiss to your lips, before she’s rising to her feet, her demeanour steady. Her expression is already returning to the stern set of your coach. 

“You need to get to bed. It’s a busy day tomorrow. Your physiotherapist is here at eight am. Nutritionist at eight-thirty.” 

You nod in agreement, lips still tingling as you rise to your feet. 

The night breeze stirs your hair and the thin fabric of your robe. Only when you turn do you see Art leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, the fabric of his grey shirt strained against his muscles. 

When you meet his gaze he smiles so fondly that, combined with the residual heat of Tashi’s contact, you’re set ablaze. 

Right now you have both of them.

“Stay here with us.” Tashi asserts, running a hand over Art’s arm as she passes him to head inside the room.

“No need for you to go wandering down the hall in your nightgown again.” Art continues, the corner of his lips lifting as he holds a hand out to you.

You take it, letting him draw you inside. 

When the two of you reach the massive Queen bed, Art pulls back the sheets and you crawl happily into the middle of the mattress. 

All at once your exhaustion hits you, the softness cradling your aching form both lulling you into drowsiness and making your limbs remember each strained movement of the day.  

Your eyes fall shut, so you’re not sure who it is who causes the bed to dip, but you lean into the warmth irregardless. 

Art’s toned arm wraps around your torso as he draws the back of your body to be flush with his front.  He’s already pulling hair away from your neck and laying lingering kisses there, when movement in front of you causes your eyes to flutter open. 

Tashi’s standing in the bathroom doorway opposite you, her form backlit by the warm light as she finishes rubbing lotion to her arms.

 She watches Art holding you and she notes how he’s kissing you, a frenetic vibrancy takes over her expression. 

You hold her gaze as she switches the bathroom light and walks over. When she crawls under the covers, one of Art’s hands is moving past the neckline of your robe, his thumb running over your nipple. 

You sigh, your head falling back against Art’s chest, but your hand is moving forward across the mattress, searching for Tashi. 

It’s such a terrible idea-  an act that will join you all in another irrevocable way, but you have to have it. You have to have them. 

If you’re going to play tennis with Tashi as your coach and Art still in her life…you can’t choose. You can’t separate yourself from either of them. 

Your hand makes contact with Tashi’s as she lays herself right in front of you. She intertwines your fingers and leans down to kiss your chest, her lips skimming your collarbones. 

Art draws his hand away from your breast and his touch travels down your body, between your legs. 

You moan as Tashi’s mouth explores your chest, her tongue brushing over the swell of your breasts all while Art is pressing his knees between yours from behind. Now more open to him, he bunches your robe in his hand and rucks it up until it’s gathered at your waist. He pulls down your underwear.

When Art’s fingers begin to tease your centre, your gasp is lost as Tashi covers her mouth with yours, her free hand threading into your hair. 

Between the two of them, you find security in the ecstasy they draw out of you. Your entire body is flushed and sweating, cheeks red and chest heaving.

You’re beyond overwhelmed, but you try to savour every small touch and shift of their bodies.

Mostly you’re trying to remember the sensation of Tashi, because you have a feeling this may never happen again with her: even in your addled mind as Art begins to roll his hips, a finger pressing inside you, you’re aware that for Tashi this could simply be a form of motivation. You know that if she thought you needed this now, in order to keep playing the way you had today, then she’d do it without question. She’s motivating you.

 But is that all this is for her? It certainly means a lot more to you.

Tashi was the first woman you had been attracted to, the first person to make you question the limited nature of your desires as a young woman. And then she’d been your best friend, you’d loved and wanted her…and then you’d lost her. 

You both knew this wasn’t a sustainable dynamic, it would likely never be repeated, but for now you would savour being desired by the woman who had awoken yours so long ago. 

Right as Art presses another finger into you, plunging them the two in almost lazily, as if he has all the time in the world, he whispers in your ear: 

“Are you okay?” 

Tashi is still kissing you, but draws back when she hears the question, her lips plump and glistening. She’s giving you the chance to answer, you realise. 

The glorious tightness inside you worsens, friction growing as they stop touching you. 

“Yes.” You whine impatiently.

Art chuckles into your neck as you grab his wrist and guide him back into you, his fingers curling inside your warmth. 

But Tashi’s lips don’t return to yours, instead she leans down and presses them to your forehead before she’s crawling out of the bed.

You’re not worried by her retreat because you’ve always been able to read her face. As she backs away, your orgasm drawing closer as Art fucks into you with his fingers, you see that she isn’t regretting anything. In fact, she’s pleased. Not necessarily with what’s happening in front of her, but because Art–someone she has loved and still loves in her own way–can give you the intimacy she can’t quite bring herself to. 

You play tennis for Tashi and Art loves you for both of them. You think you can live with that.

 Even though you know you could, you don’t begrudge Tashi for any of it. She’s given you this. She’s given you Art and in as much as she can, she’s given you herself. 

As she slips out of the room, no doubt to go to her Mother’s suite and to her daughter, you are entirely content. 

Once you’re alone, you buck up into Art’s hand, your ass grinding against his hardness. He groans deeply against your neck and you almost cry out in protest as he pulls his fingers from right when you’re so close to release. 

But you are not left bereft of him for long. His arm moves beneath you, bracketing your chest with his hand and settling with a soft grip against your throat. He pushes down his pyjama pants.

It’s all too much when he begins to tease his hardness against your core. 

“Art. Now.” You reach down and dig your nails into his now bare thigh with force. 

As his grip on your throat tightens ever so slightly, Art complies and pushes himself into you from behind. He sounds drunk as he whispers into your hair:

“This will never be enough.” He thrusts into you with sweet slowness, letting you feel every tiny thing. “I’ll never have enough of you.” 

So lost in the pressure of him moving inside you that you’re alienated from your capacity for speech, you can’t find the language to tell him how this feels for you; you can’t tell him how much it means. 

Then he speaks again, his movements becoming more forceful: “I’ll never have all of you will I?”

You whimper as his hand that’s not on your neck dives between your legs, adding pressure with his fingers even as he fucks you.

“You do have all of me.” You answer raggedly, relinquishing free movement entirely as he cradles your body so restrictively.

He’s like a snake, tingling around your form before consuming your entire being.

“Tell me it wouldn’t change anything if it was just us.” Art begs, his breath catching in his throat and body shaking. “Tell me I’d be enough for you.” 

He thrusts again and you almost break with your shuddering release. You don’t try to remain quiet, crying out into the night. Art continues to move in you, desperate in more ways than one. 

“I can’t Art.” You admit, tears of pleasure and a sweet sort of pain gathering in your eyes. “I can’t tell you that. We need- we need them. B-both of them.” You stutter out, relinquishing yourself to your euphoria. 

Them. Them being Tashi and Patrick.

 You don’t understand Art without either of them. You don’t understand yourself without them. 

Everything was in relation to them, even the sex you and Art are having right now isn’t just about the two of you. And you both know it.

An indecipherable noise comes from Art as he pulls out of you, and in a blink, he’s rolled you onto your back and is pressing himself into you again.

His pace becomes rapid as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, hips snapping against yours.

You wrap your legs around him, driving him deeper as his body begins to tremble.

When Art comes apart, draping himself over you as he gathers himself, a tear of utter confusion rolls down your cheek and falls into his hair. 

Whatever comes next, at least you know you’ll never be alone. Art is a part of you. Tashi and Patrick are part of you. 

Without each other, there is no survival.

[fayes-fics]

Absolution

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: After an argument, Benedict seeks forgiveness.

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI. Sub!Benedict, domme!reader, established relationship. Strip tease, slight begging, praise, massage, sexual tension.

Word Count: 2.0k

Authors Note: Anon request fill from HERE, where sub!Benedict begs reader to let him touch her. I'm not sure this is begging enough for you, Nonny, but it's what my muse chose - and after being unable to write for 2 months, I went with it. I hope that's okay. Unbetaed, cos if I ask someone to read this, I will chicken out of posting it. Errr, enjoy?

You feel as much as you see him—a hovering, hesitant presence in the doorway.

“May I… join you?” 

His request is sotto voce, tinged with a gauzy hope that pulls your attention, eyes flicking to his reflection in the mottled glass of your vanity table mirror.

“You are not yet forgiven….” 

Your response is a touch sharp, perhaps, as you restart your motions, untangling your hair with an ornate silver brush, the bitter edge of your dispute still ringing in your ears, even now, hours later. Yet there’s a metallic taste of victory on the tip of your tongue that he is the one attempting to broker the peace between you. 

“Understood.” 

Benedict nods, stepping fully into the bedroom now, the door clicking closed behind him as he continues talking. 

“Perhaps I may find another way to apologise?” 

He bows his head, lacing his fingers together loosely in front of him as he looks upon you through his lashes—a gentle, reproachful demeanour that softens the sharper edges of your irritation. After a beat, you twist around and stand up, moving towards him, the silk of your night robe a balm on your flushed skin, your body reacting to him in this room as it always does, despite what has transpired, something very Pavlovian about it. His light eyes seem to dance with the reflective candlelight from the nearby sconce as you stop just beyond touching distance.

“What are you proposing?” 

You don't miss the way his gaze is drawn to the pull of fabric taut over the swell of your breast as you cross your arms, perhaps still a shade defensive.

“I seek absolution…” 

His words are a sighed exhale, eyes pleading. You know precisely what he is referring to—that power dynamic play that neither of you can resist. And sure enough, a twitch of a smile ghosts over your lips in spite of yourself.

“And will you do as I tell you?” 

You don't mean your voice to be quite so throaty, but the rapid dilation of his pupils and the jump of the vein in his neck speaks volumes.

“I will do anything for you…” His murmur draws attention to his pink, damp, plush, distracting bottom lip as if he has bitten it for your delectation. “My Lady.” It’s a goading, blatant addition, an invitation you are powerless to turn down, especially when he looks at you like that, all large pupils and quivering lip.

“Strip for me,” you command, a surge of want in your veins as his lip quirks up, his hands flying to his buttons instinctively. 

You watch greedily as he fights off the cropped jacket, and his dextrous fingers start to pluck at the pearl buttons upon his paisley silk waistcoat. He is always so exquisitely wrapped in jewel-toned fabrics that it seems nearly a shame to ask him to remove them. As both items fall to the thick rug with an audible thump, you take a step to the side and sit in a comfortable chair in the corner of your bedchamber. You cross your legs, enjoying the bob of his Adam's apple as your legs are revealed through the parting of your robe. He has probably correctly guessed you are naked underneath; a keen flare of his nostrils as you sit back to get comfortable, gesturing for him to continue. 

You lick your lips reflexively as you watch his elegant hands unwind his soft gold cravat, the candlelight catching the signet ring upon his little finger as he throws it to the floor and takes a step towards you, a nascent trace of that troublesome smirk toying at the corner of his lips.

“All of it, Benedict,” you warn, taking the upper hand as he seems to be advancing upon you still in his boots, shirt and trousers. 

He stops short when he is a couple of paces away, close enough you can scent his cologne but too far to touch—perhaps an intentional tease. He will sometimes push up against your boundaries, that cheeky nature flaring under those beseeching, wanton looks. He follows your command, though, your skin flushing as he obediently pulls off his boots and tosses them aside haphazardly.

He takes another half-step forward, watching your eyes tracking the movement of his hands as he pushes down his braces, bouncing once on the outside of his upper thigh as they fall. Subconsciously, you squeeze your thighs together, tamping down the pulse of arousal, the sensual tension between you already heady and delicious, thick in the air, despite so many crossed words earlier.

“May I touch you, My Lady?” 

His soft, yielding tone makes a thrill prickle across your scalp, but your tongue is still sharp with a barb.

“Earn it.”

His eyes flash at your challenge, and there is a flutter behind your ribs—you are as under his thrall now as he is yours. 

And then he does something that makes your body surge with want. He suddenly buckles to his knees before you, looking up at you imploringly again through those long lashes.

“How may I earn it, My Lady?” 

His ask is tender even as he makes short work of the buttons of his frilled shirt, kneeling temptingly beyond your kneecaps.

“I am still awaiting your fulfilment of my last command…” Your response is accompanied by a raised eyebrow, emphasising your point. Benedict is indeed still in shirt and trousers, although the shirt now hands lose from his broad shoulders, framing that lithe, toned torso.

“And once I am naked, what then, My Lady?” 

“Patience, my love…”

Your tone is portentous, but you don't miss how something warm melts in his expressive eyes at the term of affection. His shirt sails down onto the rug, his movements carrying more urgency than before, keen to here your subsequent plans for him, no doubt. 

With him still upon his knees, your breath quickens as he reaches for the buttons of his trousers, knowing as you do what lies beneath. Indeed as the front falls away, you are unsurprised to see he is without underwear as usual, a thatch of dark hair teasing before his cock springs free before you, you canting yourself forward slightly to see.

As he pushes the trousers down around his bent knees, you see the little half smile, noticing your lean-in, your eager stance to see him nude as requested—the flash of that playful nature, which makes his obedience so much more delicious. Your eyes focus upon the constellation of freckles upon his left shoulder as he does, temporarily transfixed by the play of muscle under his skin as he fights off his trousers the rest of the way while still on his knees. His triumphant huff and hurling aside of the item snaps you back from your short reverie, and indeed, what a sight it is to behold. A beautiful, toned, naked man before you on his knees, raptly awaiting your next word, his smooth chest rising and falling a little with shortened breaths of anticipation.

“My lady…” he prompts, but there is a trace of prideful preening, knowing he has you captivated, your legs uncrossing reflexively as you lean in further, your eyes drinking in the sight before you, his gaze falling briefly to your lap, hoping for a glance under your ribe.

“You may touch my feet, my love,” you offer, and you let out a ragged sigh as those large hands cup your arch and a thumb presses into a sensitive spot that makes you collapse back, putty in his hands already. 

“Thank you, my lady; I hope I can soothe you…”

His light whisper falls onto your skin like feathers, your eyelids fluttering shut as his hands work their magic upon your feet. Indeed, you have been promenading today and his assured touch seems the perfect salve to the ache of miles walked. Tension drains through the soles of your feet as he works. 

Before you know it, his hands have moved up, and you do not protest as he starts to massage your ankles and the lower part of your calves. Your whole leg becomes less stiff, your eyes still closed, breathe deep and even until he makes a sharp inhale that has your eyelids flying apart.

In your relaxed state your thighs have parted, and your robe following suit. His heated gaze is upon the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs, not yet open enough to betray how aroused you truly are.

“You may not touch.”

It's a clipped statement, an attempt to wrestle control when he had you compliant under his touch. A slight pout claims his handsome face as if hoping a puppy dog expression will make you yield.

“You are the most beautiful creature, please, please, My Lady…”

“Not yet,�� you modify, his adulation weakening your resolve a touch.

He massages your left calf muscle, placing your foot upon the warm fuzz of his bent quad muscle, feeling the warmth emanating from his nearby cock, a temptation you resist moving your foot to brush against. But you can no longer tamp down the need to moan gently as your body responds to his expert touch. It makes his fingers dig into your flesh temporarily, and you hear him take a steadying breath, knowing he is fighting his desire to pick you up and take you to the bed—a desire raging just as brightly in you.

And so, as if catharsis for your earlier argument, you tease him more. Begin to writhe slightly in your seat, an undulation that inches your foot higher on his thigh, your toes curling into his flesh there as your noises become less restrained, his touch heavier, still soothing but with an undercurrent of urgency that speaks of pent-up passion. You can almost feel the increase in his heartbeat, the blood thrumming through his body, his cock no doubt leaking even though you dare not glance at it—too tempting a prospect, wanting to elongate this tease, this foreboding simmering between you ratcheting up the tension between you.

“You are heaven itself, My Lady, I live to bring you succour….”

There is nothing like his lilting, wanton poetic praise. When his hands round your kneecaps, you let him continue higher, dextrous hands cupping your lower thigh and squeezing the tension from your muscles there. His breath is laboured as the movement parts your legs, and he can see what he has wrought, a glistening warmth you can feel deliciously as the cooler air swirls between your now parted thighs.

“Please, My Lady…. Please let me touch you there…”

His tone is broken now, fawning words tumbling from him between deep breaths as if scenting you, his whole body tilted over your lower half, looking up at you from your lap, supplicant arousal humming in his being, feeling the heat of his cock against your toenails as he leans in.

“Undress me.” your voice a breathy whisper.

The tiny noise of victory he makes has your heart skipping a beat as his fingers instantly fly to the sash, holding your robe cinched at your waist. Watching him work through a hooded gaze and a fluttering chest as he unloops the knot and then, as if unwrapping the most precious gift, parts the material from around your body, pulling it down from around your shoulders until you are as naked as him.

“My Lady…..”

It's a stuttering, wrecked sigh, trembling hands ghosting over the quivering of your stomach, your ribs—not touching without permission, but still making your pulse race, your skin tingle. And you hunger for him like nothing else, uncaring of the disagreement you had earlier, irritation and pride usurped by the burning need you have for him as much as he has for you.

And so you relent.

“You may touch me anywhere, my love.”

Your greenlight has him almost howling, and before you know it, you are scooped up from the chair and carried to the bed, his body flexing deliciously against yours, your lips meeting in a hungry, inelegant kiss, tongues tangling. Words of apology will come later—after your bodies have what they crave.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

backseat ride (paige x reader)

summary: paige looks too irresistible wearing a crop top

content warnings: smut! ab riding dirty talk all the good stuff you know how it goes

inspired by this request! 💋

“You good ma?” Paige asks as she hands you your drink, a vodka cranberry. It’s another Friday night in Ted’s with Paige and her friends, you met them here a few minutes ago after taking longer than expected to get ready.

“Uh huh.” You nod, sipping on your straw and chewing it slightly. You already had alcohol in your system after pre-drinking with your roommates and the way Paige looked tonight had you feeling some type of way.

“Are you sure? You’re acting weird.” Paige presses, a frown on her face and head cocked to the side. Her hair was pulled into a half up, half down style with two pieces left out framing her face. She had on black cargo pants, that hung low on her waist, the perfectly sculpted ‘V’ poking out just enough to have you feeling dizzy and the crop top she wore left very little and at the same time, too much to the imagination. The way the silver chains hung around her neck so delicately, had you yearning for them to be dangling in your face as Paige topped you.

“You just look so fucking hot.” You murmur and you watch as Paiges lip curve into a small smirk.

“Sorry ma, I didn’t quite hear you.” Paige teases, dipping her head down, “Say that again.”

“You. look. so. fucking. hot.” You drawl out into her ear, eyes flicking down to her exposed torso and you salivate at the way her abs look in the low light of the bar, even more defined than usual, the lights reflecting off each ripple.

“My eyes are up here.” Paige chuckles, lifting your head by your jaw to resume eye contact.

“You know how I get when you wear these little tops.” You rasp as you run your finger along the hem of the crop top she’s wearing and down her stomach, finally getting a touch of what you’ve been staring at since you set eyes on her, just minutes ago.

“I do.”

“So you did it on purpose?” You fake pout at your girlfriend and she just smiles, looking way too smug for your liking.

“Well, great minds think alike because I hope you know this dress is far too tight to wear any panties.” You smirk and Paiges eyes widen before narrowing and she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth.

Not so smug anymore.

“My car is outside.” She stated and she grips your wrist firmly as she leads you out of Teds into the parking lot. Your confession had fired her up and you were gagging for it.

Her car is parked in a far corner and your stomach tingles in anticipation as you both take hurried steps towards it. Paige opens the back door and practically pushes you inside before scanning your surroundings making sure no one could see you both and what you were about to do.

“Have you lost your damn mind? No panties in a little dress like this?” Paige asks as she slips into the car, closing the door behind her, her eyes raking over your figure in the tight, silk dress you chose to wear.

“You could see the outline. It ruined the outfit.” You protested as Paige continued to gawk at you. She was undressing you with her eyes and it made your cunt throb.

“Such a little slut.” Paige hisses, finally reaching out to touch you, her hand inches up your thigh and your legs spread needily.

“Only for you, P.” You gulp as her veiny hand moves further towards your core.

“Come and show me just how much of a slut you can be.” She asserts, slouching down in the seat, lap open and ready for you. Her rippled stomach calls your name, abs begging to be ridden.

You straddle your girlfriend and your dress rides up as you do, she wastes no time pushing it all the way, exposing your bare cunt and she takes a sharp intake of breath, “Such a pretty pussy.” She purrs before tracing your folds with her thumb, “Shits already wet for me baby.”

“Uh huh.” You choke out and can’t stop yourself from bucking your hips at her tender touch.

“We both know what you want. Ride my abs like the dirty girl you are.” Paige breathes out, eyes piercing into yours.

You lift yourself slightly, hands planted on her chest for stability as you position your pulsating cunt over her toned torso. You begin to lower yourself but Paige slams her hands on your thighs and pushes you down so you’re flush against her.

You whimper at the initial touch of her skin on you, it already feels so good, hard and firm under your puffy folds. You begin moving your hips at a pace to create enough friction to stimulate your clit, “Shit.” You grunt, heading dropping down in pleasure and you watch as Paige abs grow wetter and wetter with your leaking slick.

“Look at me.” Paige demands, “I want to watch you.”

You flick your eyes up and lock them on to Paiges, her eyes are hooded and pupils dilated as she watches you get yourself off using her body.

“Fuck Paige, you feel so good.” You cry as you quicken your pace, one hand on her shoulder, finger nails digging into the skin and the other pressed to the window keeping you up right, leaving a print on the already steamy glass.

“Yeah? Such a little slut, coming out in no panties. Makes me wanna take you home right now and fuck you.” She groans, hands gripping your thighs so tight the skin is turning red.

“Tell me-ugh- tell me how you’d fuck me.” You pant, mouth dropping open pornographically as a searing heat builds between you and Paige.

“I’d bend you over every surface, make you take my cock- fuck, you look so good- with this dress hiked up at your waist.” Your eyes roll back at the image Paige is painting in your mind and it only makes you move faster, more frantic, desperate for the feeling of her rubbing up against you.

“Keep going.” You beg, the salacious words tumbling out of her lips, heightening your arousal.

“I’d pound into you over and over until you couldn’t take it anymore, you’d be crying, begging me to stop but sluts don’t get to make requests so I’d keep going.” One of her hands is gripping your tit and you moan louder as she squeezes it harshly.

“Oh-fuck baby.” You grunt, overwhelmed with everything you’re feeling. One hand on your thigh, keeping you pressed to her, the other kneeding your tit, her rock hard abs beneath your dripping cunt.

“Holding you by your hair, fucking you senseless until you cum, once, twice, three times. You’d make a mess. So wet and sticky, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes! Shit, keep talking like that. Gonna make me cum.” You whimper out, her words were flithy and your need for her was carnal.

Paige chuckles lowly, “Such a dirty girl. You’d be on your knees, mouth open and I’d shove my cock down your throat,” She pushes two fingers into your mouth, “choking you as you tasted yourself. Licking me clean.” You gag as she pushes her fingers deeper.

“Fuck, look at you.” Paige groans and you both glance down at your sopping cunt humping her muscles, your juices pooling in the grooves.

The sight alone has you squeezing your thighs at either side of her torso. Your legs begin to shake, struggling to hold your weight as you feel your climax edging closer.

“Gonna- gonna cum.” Your cries are muffled with her fingers still in your mouth.

“Good girl baby, keep going. Want you all over me.” Paige purrs as her hands attach to your hips and she rocks you back and forth.

“Fuck! I’m so close.” You gasp, head tipping back as the muscles in your cunt contract and release as the pressure builds.

Paige has her lip clamped between her teeth as her eyes focus on your core and it’s reaction to her. Her chest is rising and falling at a quickened pace and her brows furrow as she meets you half way, jerking her body beneath you helping you get to your peak.

“Ugh- I’m cumming! Shit!” You howl, grabbing onto the chain around Paiges neck as you let out a strangled, throaty groan. Your thighs clench around your girlfriend as your orgasm fires through you, your body shaking and contorting in immense pleasure.

Paige wraps her arms around you and you fall forward, her face is buried in your chest and she presses sloppy kissing to your clammy skin, “That’s it baby.” She praises, hands rubbing up and down your back as you pant, breathlessly into the crook of her neck.

You lean back off Paige, resting on the back of the drivers seat and she admires your fucked out appearance as you catch your breath. Her face is filled with contentment knowing that she made you cum from just sitting there, letting you use her body in the way you so desperately needed it. No strap, no toys, no fingers, no tongue, just her abs.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: everyone say thank you anon for requesting this 🙂‍↕️

this outfit and video had me all the way fucked up !! 😵‍💫🫨

[sofiawritesstuff]

Platonic

part 7

summary: When Lando's "playboy" image is setting a bad reputation for him. He turns to the person the trust most in this world for help.

pairing: landonorris x bestfriend!reader

warnings: none

part 6

Following Lando's race win, you offered for him to go out to the clubs or have everyone round for drinks but he decided that all he wanted was to go to dinner with you.

Lando was out driving Max and Pietra to the airport, they had decided last minute to visit her family in Brazil.

You hummed to yourself as you wrapped a towel around you, stepping out of the shower. You went into your now shared closet with Lando looking for something to wear tonight.

"I'm home!" Lando yells closing the door behind him "I'm in your room" you yell back. His footstep came closer and he knocked on the door before entering

"What are you looking for?" he asks sitting on the bed "A dress to wear tonight, I keep forgetting that I need to move all these clothes back into my room" you sigh

"Or you could just keep them there?" he says awkwardly "What?" you ask turning to face him "Well I've just had so much fun with you staying here, would it hurt to just keep your stuff in here? We're staying in the same room for weeks when we're travelling too" he mumbles

“Lan” you stop him, sitting next to him “I would love to keep my stuff in here. I seem to get a better sleep when i’m next to you” you hold his face.

He kisses you deeply, not putting away “My towel is falling” you mumble against him “Is that such a bad thing” he jokes “Get in the shower creep” you push him pulling away

"I won't be long"

"Take your time, we're in no rush" you shout to him, as he walks into the bathroom

You put on one of Lando's shirts and a pair of shorts, moving over to Lando's vanity, brushing out your hair and doing some skin case. By the time your done Lando is finished in the shower.

"I didn't realise we shared clothes now" he smiles, at you "Yeah, we do" you nod turning to face him. He reachers into your side of the closet pulling out one of your cropped shirts

"You're going to stretch that out!” you laugh and he pulls it over his head “Is that a fat joke” he scoffs holding his hand to his chest “Shut up, lemme see you”

He spins around, with his hands on his hips, the shirt barely covering his torso “I’m thinking of wearing it out tonight”

You pick up your phone, taking pictures of him. He quickly rips the shirt off running towards you “No, delete that. Baby you better delete that” he laughs chasing you around the room “My photos now” you tease

He runs towards you, picking you up throwing you on the bed with him on top of you “Didn’t realise you were so kinky Norris” you joke as he pins your hands above your head “You learn something new everyday” he smirks getting off you

“Your pillow is going to be soaked with my wet hair now and thank god you have that towel on”

“My ass is very nice actually” he says shaking it with the towel still on “Now come on, i’ll dry your hair”

You sat relaxed as Lando brushed your hair while drying it, all you wanted was to lean into him while he played with your hair.

Lando leaves you to finish getting ready once he finishes drying your hair put some curls in and put up a little bit of make up and got changed into your dress.

“Hey Princess, are you ready? Wow” Lando says coming into the room “Does this look okay?” you ask him staring in the mirror “I think you look absolutely phenomenal” he says coming behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist

“You clean up well” you turn around, touching his chest “Lemme get a picture of you” he says pulling out his phone “No Lan”

“Baby” he stops you, pulling you in front of him “Look at how amazing you look” he says pointing to the mirror, he kissed your neck and you hear the sound of the phone camera

“I got my picture” he show you, you stare at him, a smile coming to your face “Send me that?”

-

Lando had arranged for a taxi to pick you up, it was a short ten minutes ride and the whole time you sat in comfortable silence with the music playing in the background and his hand on your thigh.

Lando's phone lights up and you notice he changed his lock screen to the photo you had just taken with him. Zak's name doesn't stop popping up.

"If he keeps messaging you it must be something important"

"This is our night, I don't want him or the media or social media bothering us" he shakes his head "Baby, give him a call. Tell him we're going out for dinner and we will call him back later"

"Well he's call me now" he shows you his phone "Zak, now is not a good time, can I call you later?" he says answering the phone. You lean your head on his shoulder to hear what Zak was saying

"Lando, everything is going great but we need more images in public with you. Fans are going crazy, what are you guys up to now?"

"We're going out for dinner now but Zak-" before he can finish Zak interrupts him "Great, send me you location and we will send cameras out to you"

"Zak we want a nice date night without cameras, I'll speak to you tomorrow. Goodbye" he hangs up the phone angrily "You can talk with him tomorrow while I go out with the girls, we will book flights for tomorrow night too, spend a few days back home" you sqeeze his hand.

The driver slows down, pulling up next to the restaurant "Thank you" Lando thanks the driver giving him money. He walks around to your door, opening it for you and taking your hand.

"Gentleman" you smile "For you always"

You rush towards the restaurant and a waiter takes you to your table "This is so nice, I love this place" you smile looking around "I thought you might, we've not tried it yet so I thought tonight would be the perfect night"

The night was spent with jokes between you and Lando, plans for travelling and work. You finish the last drop of your wine and Lando his beer, just as you get your card out to pay, Lando stop you and taps his card.

"It's my turn to pay"

"It's never your turn"

part 8

TAGS

@harrysdimple05 @ironmaiden1313 @charli123456789 @alltoomaples @jule239 @panicsinvirgo @cmleitora @blueberry64857959 @imboredway2much @landoslutmeout @obxstiles @morenofilm @formula1mount @dreamercrowd @brekkers-whore @sialexia @bokutos-babyowl @wobblymug @merchelsea @lexiecamposv @lunamelona @nightlockcornucopia

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

miss raven, i must ask:

what is your opinion on the overblot monsters as a hear me out👀❓

I wasn't sure if this anon meant the Phantom designs or the OB designs themselves when they said "overblot monsters", so I decided to go ahead and drop my opinions on both things. (And if you want my opinion on the non-OB boys and non-OB boys' Phantoms... they're okay? I have no particular commentary to impart on those.)

My personal Phantoms ranking:

My favorite Phantom design is, hands down, Idia’s. I love how it is composed of shapes that closely resemble the style of the Hercules film, notably the arms and fingers. The collar and head resemble a flaring flame while the wrists seem to resemble Greek columns. But the detail I love the most is how the Phantom's arms and body seem to be made of other Phantoms' busted heads. It's really clever visual storytelling, as this tells us about how Ortho lived in Tartarus with the other Phantoms, how he wants them all to be 'friends' with Idia and the rest of the world, etc. This Phantom in of itself just has so much story significance and even seems to be alluded that the multitude of Phantoms in Tartarus yoink Idia (seen at the end of the Ignihyde CM). This Phantom also has a special physical connection to the OB boy in its design; Idia it literally hooked up to his Phantom with wires, symbolizing his close connection to it. (I didn't see something similar in the other Phantoms, but I do know in the light novel Leona is said to be attached to his Phantom by a blot chain on his ankle.)

I find the designs of Riddle, Azul, and Jamil’s Phantoms cool. They resemble their Disney inspirations, but have one or two flairs that make the designs their own. Riddle's Phantom has spade-shaped spikes protruding from its back and wields a rose tree like a hammer to deliver twisted justice. Azul's Phantom has a crown and trident, which is reminiscent of Ursula once she has robbed them from King Triton. It also has a collar that looks like coral branches jutting out and I enjoy how the ink looks like it is dripping down and forming the tentacles. Finally, Jamil's Phantom is inspired by Jafar's genie form on the torso but its lower half becomes coiled, patterned, and snake-like (like the viper form Jafar takes on when fighting Aladdin). It also has a collar unique to it.

I'm slightly disappointed with the Phantoms of Leona, Vil, and Malleus. These literally just look like the original Disney villains that they are trying to emulate, but with very few changes made to them outside of the stitches and the shape of the glass bottle heads. I do like that Vil's Phantom is the hag version of the Evil Queen (which demonstrates her inner ugliness) and how Malleus's phantom is Maleficent's dragon form (which is just cooler overall) with more exaggerated spines, but this doesn't change the fact that the designs aren't that special.

My personal OB design ranking:

I think Leona and Idia’s designs look cool for the most part.

Pretty much the only thing I dislike about Leona’s is the bare feet, which are easily ignored since the game usually only shows us the torso up. Everything else is gucci o3o)bb Slicked back hair, check! corset that calls attention to his Dorito chip shaped-body, check! The jewelry and extra stuff tied around his waist isn't too cluttered or in the way and coordinates well color-wise. Ah, also... AND I KNOW NONW OF YOU PEOPLE WILL BELIEVE ME BUT I FEEL LIKE I AHVE TO STATE THIS FOR MY OWN SANITY. I didn't realize he was shirtless for a long ass time 😭 I JUST THOGUHT THAT MANE WAS A FLUFFY SHIRT OR CROP TOP OR SOMETHING... I know the truth now, and (at the cost of sounding like Rollo) I'm thankful that the mane exists to cover up Leona's bare chest because I do NOT wanna see that out and about.

Idia has the most "different" vibes to his design, and I have to commend him for that. He looks like some futuristic gremlin come to destroy us all, especially when his electronic mask thing simulates new expressions for him. It's neat how the new armor he's equipped with sharpens his features so he, like his Phantom, more closely resembles the art style of Hercules, and there's just enough blue to balance out the black (and same with the orange-red when he gets mad). My favorite part of OB Idia has to be the lower half; it forms a cool vortex that makes me think of the lost souls swirling around in Tartarus.

I like Riddle’s well enough, but I think it’s less of me actually enjoying the look altogether and more of me having nostalgia for it + liking the Alice in Wonderland details in it. I love the ink webbing (especially in the face and its accessories), the gradient flowers decorating his hips, and the cards spilling out. However, I will admit that the design is very busy and chaotic for the head and the lower half (and maybe that was intentional), so it's hard for my eyes to know what to focus on whenever I see OB Riddle.

Azul, Vil, and Malleus are trying but look sort of awkward in several areas:

I like the shoulders and face for Azul, but below that is all downhill; I've never been a fan of his merform, and that really comes through here. The bottom half just looks kinda unadorned (which makes sense; clothing would limit his mobility). Still... it makes most of him look really uninteresting. Not only that, but his tentacles look wrong (though this is an issue with his general merform and not specifically the OB). They're way too short and the shape and size of them makes me think of inflatable mascots outside of used car dealerships.

I appreciate that Vil's OB design gives the vibes of him wandering into an abandoned castle and fastening together an outfit from a tattered curtain, but the end result is... lacking. The halo crown looks super heavy and impractical, the chest looks sort of bland compared to everything else, the waist has these really out of place protruding... spike... things???? And then there's the slapped-on looking peacock feathers on his legs and the odd feathers to blot textured cloak.

I like all the briar incorporated into Malleus’s OB even if the details are drowned out by the excessive black, but I’m not a fan of the neon green on his horns and tail. Malleus’s most focal points—his face and chest—also look kinda weird to me?? Normally I like slicked back hair, but it looks odd and almost balding on this character. The green/green-grey color of his skin is also unflattering and makes him look like a moldy cabbage.

Jamil and Grim (?) are very confused and unappealing.

In all honesty, the individual pieces of the outfit are okay?? I like the gold accessories + how the veil the skirt flares out. The recurring diamond patterns are are an interesting way to incorporate “scales” without having actual snakeskin. The literal snake hair has potential to be cute, but I hate Hate HATE how it’s styled as a turban (poor sentient hair snakes are probably all twisted up) and the little ink goatee 💀 Combined with everything else, he is way too over-designed no matter where you look. At least everyone else has their detailed elements better spread out… I think it might have looked better if it had like 1-2 less detailed elements and eradicate the goatee.

Grim (?) is a random mishmash of traits from the other OB boys. And it looks bad (even if the point is for nothing in the design to go together well). The worst part is the humanish front legs. No further comment.

[atlasthegreatest]

Heat of the Moment / Ning Yizhou x Female Reader

Which, Ning Yizhou can't help but lose herself in the heat of the moment when a very attractive woman looks at her in the middle of a club. But at the end of the night, maybe it stopped just being a heat of the moment.

Word count: 6445

Warnings: Slightly explicit scene (heavy makeout). They can't stop keeping their hands off each other.

A/n: I wrote this while listening to “Into You” by Ariana Grande. Shitty description, maybe ill change it later.

The club was a swirling kaleidoscope of colors—neon pinks and deep blues pulsing with the rhythm of the bass that seemed to shake the ground beneath everyone’s feet. The energy in the air was electric, and NingNing could feel it seeping into her skin, setting every nerve alight. Tonight, she was just Ning Yi Zhuo, not the NingNing of Aespa. No stages, no cameras—just music, the haze of alcohol, and the promise of something more.

Her lips curved in a small, secretive smile as she sipped her drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. She wore a fitted black crop top that shimmered under the strobe lights, paired with sleek leather pants that hugged her legs perfectly. Her hair fell in soft waves down her back, and her makeup—a smoky eye with a bold red lip—was just enough to remind herself that tonight was hers. No rules, no limits.

And then, she saw her.

Y/n leaned against the bar, one arm resting casually on the counter as she spoke to the bartender. There was something magnetic about the way she held herself—like she wasn't just a part of the night but the reason it was burning so bright. Y/n wore an oversized shirt that hung just right over her frame with a black jacket over it, paired with loose black pants and chain accessories that glinted under the dim lights. Confident without trying, effortlessly cool.

NingNing’s gaze lingered a second too long, just enough for the other woman to feel it. And when Y/n looked her way, that lazy grin forming on her lips, the air between them seemed to tighten, pulling her closer without a word.

NingNing felt her heartbeat quicken. This wasn’t the kind of moment she was supposed to chase. But something about the way that woman’s eyes locked with hers—like she knew exactly what game she was playing and was more than ready to join—made it impossible to resist.

With a flick of her hair, NingNing set down her drink and started toward the mysterious woman, each step deliberate, every sway of her hips in perfect rhythm with the music. The crowd melted away as she closed the distance between them, the heat of anticipation making her skin tingle.

When she reached her, she stopped just close enough for their shoulders to brush.

“You’ve been looking at me,” NingNing said softly, her voice smooth but playful, just loud enough for the woman to hear over the music.

Y/n leaned down slightly, her breath warm against the idol’s ear. “You noticed?”

NingNing’s lips curled. “Hard not to.”

The tension between them crackled, subtle but charged, like the space between a match and a flame. Y/n tilted her head, the glint in her eyes making it clear that she was all in, with no hesitation.

“Dance with me,” Y/n murmured, though it sounded less like a question and more like a dare.

NingNing’s heart raced, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she gave the tall woman a look that said I’ve got you right where I want you, even though she wasn’t entirely sure who was leading who. “Alright,” she whispered, the word brushing against Y/n’s skin like silk.

Y/n took her hand, her fingers cool and steady against hers, and guided her onto the dance floor. The music shifted, slowing just slightly, a deep, sultry rhythm threading through the air.

And that’s when it started—something unspoken, something intoxicating.

NingNing pressed close, her body molding effortlessly to Y/n’s as the two of them moved in sync, lost in the music and each other. Y/n’s hands found her waist, drawing her closer, and NingNing could feel the heat of her touch even through the fabric of her clothes. Every movement was deliberate—her hips swaying against hers, Y/n’s breath on her neck—like the world outside this dance didn’t exist.

It wasn’t just the way Y/n moved; it was the way she looked at her like she knew exactly what this night could become. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shift of weight felt like a slow dive into something dangerous and thrilling.

The song melted into another, but neither of them stopped. It was as if the beat was the only thing keeping their feet grounded and the only thing stopping either of them from leaning in too far, too fast. And yet, the temptation was undeniable—just one kiss away from losing all control.

Y/n’s hand trailed up her spine, sending shivers in its wake, and she leaned down once again, her lips brushing the shell of NingNing’s ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

It wasn’t a request—it was an inevitability. And NingNing knew she wanted it just as much as the other woman did. Her breath hitched, her mind buzzing with the thrill of everything Y/n was about to do, everything she shouldn’t.

Without another word, NingNing nodded, her fingers lacing with Y/n’s as she slipped through the crowd like conspirators sharing a beautiful secret. The two of them pushed out into the cool night air, leaving behind the thrum of the club but carrying the same heat between them.

——————

The world outside felt surreal, the quiet hum of the city streets no match for the pulse still thrumming in her veins. Y/n looked at her, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and NingNing couldn’t help but smile—because somehow, she knew tonight was just the beginning.

Y/n tugged her closer, and without a second thought, NingNing let herself fall deeper into her—into this moment, into the spark they had ignited together. No past, no future, just now. And she was ready to burn for it.

“Where to?” she asked, her voice low, a playful challenge in her tone.

Y/n grinned, brushing a thumb over her hand. “Anywhere. As long as it’s with you.”

And that was all she needed to hear. The night stretched out before them, full of endless possibilities, and NingNing was more than ready to explore every one of them—with Y/n.

———————-

The streets felt different now— emptier as they belonged to Y/n and NingNing. There was a charge in the air, crackling between their linked hands, the unspoken promise of everything that could happen. The moonlight dripped over the pavement, illuminating the two of them like a spotlight in the dark.

Neither of them said much as they wandered away from the crowded nightlife, but the silence between them wasn’t awkward— it was electric, filled with the kind of tension that made every glance and every touch feel like a spark ready to ignite.

They walked side by side until Y/n found a secluded alleyway, just outside the reach of the city’s noise. NingNing stopped first, her back resting against the cool brick wall, the smirk on her lips matching the daring glint in her eyes.

“ You’re trouble,” she murmured, her gaze flicking over the tall woman, playful but serious.

Y/n took a step closer, bracing her hand on the wall beside the idol. “ Is that a bad thing?”

NingNing’s lips curved into a knowing smile, her fingers trailing lightly up Y/n’s forearm, sending shivers in their wake. “ No,” she whispered, “I like trouble.”

Before Y/n could respond, NingNing pulled her down by the collar of her shirt, her lips crashing into hers. The kiss was instant heat— no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just pure want. It was slow, deep, and unrelenting, the kind of kiss that left her dizzy, as if the world tilted, and all that remained was this moment between them.

Y/n’s hands slid over NingNing’s waist, pulling her closer until there wasn’t a breath of space between their bodies. NingNing tasted sweetness and something darker— like she had been waiting all night for this, and now that she had it, she wasn’t going to let go.

NingNing’s fingers tangled in Y/n’s hair, tugging enough to draw a soft groan from her, and it only made the Chinese woman smile into the kiss. Y/n knew that smile— it was dangerous. Like she was enjoying every second of unraveling her. And Y/n likes it.

“Careful,” Y/n murmured against her lips, breathless. “You might regret this.”

NingNing’s laugh was soft, but her eyes glittered with challenge. “I don’t regret things I want.”

With that, she kissed Y/n again, fiercer this time, as if daring her to keep up with her pace. And Y/n did. She matched her intensity, each kiss becoming hungrier, more urgent like she was chasing something she knew she couldn’t hold on to but couldn’t resist anyway.

The world around them disappeared, and all that remained was the taste of NingNing, the press of her body, and the heat simmering between them. Time slipped away, lost in the rhythm of their shared breath and the way her hands explored every part of Y/n she could reach.

When they finally pulled away, gasping for air, their foreheads rested against each other. Both of them were breathless, their hearts pounding in sync like a song only the two of them could hear.

“Still think I’m trouble?” Y/n asked, grinning.

NingNing smirked, her thumb brushing lightly over Y/n’s lower lip. “ Absolutely”

Her gaze softened for a moment, just enough to make Y/n wonder what she was thinking— what was hiding behind that playful exterior. But before Y/n could ask, NingNing grabbed her hand again, pulling her away from the wall.

“Come on,” she said, her voice light but full of promise. “The night’s not over yet.”

And just like that, she was leading Y/n deeper into the night, as if everyone was part of a game only she knew the rules too. But Y/n didn’t care. She’d follow her anywhere.

The two of them wandered through the quiet streets, a pair of conspirators lost in the thrill of the unknown. The city felt alive beneath Y/n’s feet, but none of it mattered— only her, only now.

At some point, they found themselves at an overlook, where the skyline stretched wide and shimmering before them, like a sea of stars scattered across the earth. NingNing leaned against the railing, the cool breeze lifting her hair, and for a moment, she looked out over the city with a rare softness in her expression.

“This,” she whispered as if sharing a secret with Y/n. “This is what freedom feels like.”

Y/nleaned beside her, her shoulder brushing NingNing’s. “Does it?”

NingNing turned to Y/n, a spark dancing in her eyes. “Yeah. Just you, me, and the night.”

For a moment, they both stood there, the city buzzing quietly below while the world between them hummed with anticipation. And then, without warning, NingNing pulled Y/n toward her, her lips brushing her in a kiss that felt different— softer, slower. Like a promise that maybe, just maybe, the night didn’t have to end.

And at that moment, with NingNing pressed against her and the city lights flickering in the distance, Y/n knew she’d chase this feeling for as long as she let her.

Because with NingNing, nothing was guaranteed— except that every second with her would feel like diving headfirst into the fire. And somehow, that was exactly what Y/n wanted.

——————

The night stretched endlessly before them, like a dream they didn’t want to wake from. NingNing’s hand stayed firmly in Y/n’s as they both walked through the quiet streets, the world seeming smaller, more intimate—just the two of them and the night sky hanging low above.

NingNing was buzzing with life, radiating a kind of joy that made it impossible not to smile. Every time she glanced over at Y/n, her eyes sparkled mischievously, as if she was daring her to keep up. And Y/n would—wherever this night led, she’d follow her.

“You’re too quiet,” NingNing teased, swinging her hand playfully. “Second thoughts already?”

Y/n smirked. “Not a chance.”

The idol tilted her head, her grin widening. “Good.” Then, as if on impulse, NingNing spun toward Y/n, walking backward with that same reckless energy that had drawn the other woman in from the start. “So, tell me…” She bit her lip, drawing the words out just to watch Y/n’s reaction. “What are you thinking right now?”

Y/n stopped, pretending to consider her answer. “I think…” she leaned closer, her gaze steady on NingNing’s. “I think you like playing with fire.”

Her laugh was soft and dangerous, the kind of laugh that told Y/n she didn’t mind getting burned. “Maybe I do.”

Before she could respond, NingNing was tugging her along again, this time toward a narrow set of stairs tucked between two buildings. Y/n followed without hesitation, feeling the thrill of her unpredictability pull her deeper. At the top of the stairs was a rooftop garden—small but private, with fairy lights strung between potted plants and a few benches scattered about. It was quiet here, the sounds of the city far below, leaving only the breeze and the faint hum of the lights around them.

NingNing let go of Y/n’s hand and wandered toward the edge of the roof, where she rested her arms on the railing, her gaze drifting over the city skyline. Y/n followed her, drawn to the quietness of the moment—a rare softness beneath her playful exterior.

“Do you do this often?” Y/n asked, standing beside the short girl.

NingNing glanced at Y/n, her lips quirking upward. “What? Drag strangers through the city for no reason?”

“Something like that.”

Her smile softened, and for a moment, she looked almost shy—almost. “Not really,” she admitted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just… needed this tonight.”

Y/n understood what she meant without her having to say it aloud. The need to escape, to feel alive, to find a moment that belonged only to you. Y/n leaned her arms on the railing, the silence between them comfortable this time.

“I get it,” Y/n murmured. “Sometimes you need to forget everything else.”

NingNing nodded, her gaze still fixed on the city lights. Then, without warning, she turned toward the tall woman, her expression unreadable. “What if we don’t stop?”

Y/n blinked. “Don’t stop what?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely between the two of them. “What if we just keep going? No rules, no plans. Just… us, until the sun comes up.”

The way she said it—like it was both a challenge and an invitation—sent a thrill down Y/n’s spine. Y/n knew there was something reckless about the idea, but with NingNing looking at her like that, every reason to say no melted away.

“Okay,” Y/n whispered, her voice low but steady. “Let’s do it.”

NingNing’s smile was radiant, a spark of excitement flashing in her eyes. “I knew you’d say yes.”

Before Y/n could say anything else, she closed the distance between them, NingNing’s hands sliding up to cup her face. The kiss that followed was slower than before, but no less intense—a deliberate, lingering exploration that made it clear this wasn’t just about the rush. It was about savoring every second, every breath, every spark between them.

Y/n kissed her back just as slowly, her hands settling on NingNing’s waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. The rooftop, the city, the world—it all faded away, leaving only the two of them tangled together under the night sky.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together. NingNing’s eyes stayed closed for a moment longer as if holding onto the feeling a little longer before the world could intrude again.

“You’re dangerous,” Y/n murmured, brushing her thumb lightly over her cheek.

NingNing smiled, her eyes fluttering open to meet Y/n’s. “I know.”

They both stayed like that for a while—wrapped in the moment, in each other, in the unspoken promise of everything the night still had to offer. There was no need to rush. The sun was still hours away, and the night felt endless.

And somehow, Y/n knew that no matter where the night took them next, she’d follow her—into the fire, into the unknown, into everything and nothing at all. Because with NingNing, the only thing that mattered was now.

——————-

The sky had begun to shift—inky black softening into dark purple, the first signs of dawn creeping along the horizon. The night was slowly slipping away, but neither of them had spoken about it. It was easier to pretend that time didn’t matter when you were still wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s presence.

NingNing leaned against Y/n’s shoulder in the car, her breath soft and steady. The hum of the engine and the quiet city streets felt like a lullaby, making it almost too easy to imagine that the night could last forever. She wasn’t asleep, but she was close—her hand resting lazily on Y/n’s thigh, her fingers tracing absent patterns against the fabric of the taller woman’s pants.

“I don’t want to go back yet,” she murmured, her voice low and drowsy.

Y/n smiled, glancing at NingNing as she turned down a quiet street. “I know.”

NingNing sighed, closing her eyes for a moment as if savoring the last bits of freedom the night had given her. Eventually, she shifted slightly, her fingers tightening around Y/n’s in a quiet goodbye to the wildness of the night.

“They’ll be awake,” she said, half-groaning. “They’ll never let me live this down.”

Y/n chuckled softly. “We can keep driving if you want. Find somewhere else to hide.”

NingNing lifted her head, giving Y/n a playful, tired smile. “Tempting. But I’ll run out of excuses sooner or later.”

Y/n turned into the parking lot of her dorm, the building looming quietly in the early morning light. The parking spot she found was tucked into a corner, almost like it was trying to hide along with them.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The car stays running, the soft thrum of the engine filling the space between them. NingNing gave Y/n a look—half amused, half reluctant—as if she wanted her to be the one to say what came next.

“Well,” Y/n began softly, “we made it through the night.”

She smiled, but it was bittersweet. “Barely.”

Her hand lingered on Y/n’s for another second, as if anchoring herself before she let go. Y/n knew that the moment she stepped out of the car, the magic of the night would dissolve—just another wild, beautiful memory.

“Thanks for… everything,” she said, her voice softer now. There was a vulnerability in the way she looked at Y/n like the NingNing she’d seen on stage was peeling back to reveal something more.

“Anytime,” Y/n whispered. And she meant it.

NingNing hesitated, then leaned in one last time, pressing a kiss to Y/n’s cheek. “You’re dangerous too,” she whispered with a grin before slipping out of the car, leaving the withered woman stunned and breathless.

Y/n watched as she made her way to the entrance, the door to her dorm building illuminated by a faint glow. Just as she was about to punch in the key code, the door swung open—and out stepped Giselle, looking wide awake, with a knowing smirk already forming on her face.

“Well, well,” Giselle drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Look who decided to come home.”

NingNing groaned, dragging a hand over her face. “Please, unnie. Don’t start.”

But Giselle wasn’t about to let this one slide. “Who’s the getaway driver?” she asked, peeking over NingNing’s shoulder and spotting you through the windshield. A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes. “You had a night, didn’t you?”

NingNing shot her a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’m going to bed,” she muttered, brushing past her.

Before NingNing could escape inside, Karina and Winter appeared from around the corner, both of them in hoodies and slippers, clearly having waited up for her.

Winter gave a sleepy yawn but managed a sly grin. “Told you she’d come home with a story.”

Karina tilted her head, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t think it’d come with a chauffeur, though.”

NingNing groaned dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. “Can I please get inside without the peanut gallery?”

Giselle smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You can, but you owe us details. Later.”

As the girls giggled and teased her, NingNing shot Y/n a glance through the car window, her eyes sparkling with exhaustion and amusement. She gave the other woman a small wave, mouthing the words, I’ll text you.

Y/n nodded, smiling softly as she watched NingNing disappear inside with her members. Even from the car, she could hear snippets of their playful banter—Karina telling her to “be more discreet next time,” Winter asking if the night was worth the teasing she was about to endure, and Giselle reminding everyone that NingNing’s mischief was long overdue.

The door finally closed behind them, leaving Y/n alone in the stillness of the morning. Y/n sat there for a moment longer, the events of the night replaying in her mind like a film she didn’t want to end.

And as she drove away from the dorm, the first light of dawn creeping over the horizon, she couldn’t stop smiling.

Because somewhere between the crowded club, the stolen kisses, and the quiet moments beneath the city lights, she’d found something with NingNing—something wild, fleeting, and real. And she knew, without a doubt, that if NingNing ever called again, she’d be there in a heartbeat.

The night might be over, but with her, there would always be another. And Y/n couldn’t wait.

Bonus Chapter:

The next morning, NingNing woke up to the sound of her phone buzzing insistently against the pillow beside her. She groaned, squinting at the bright screen. The group chat was blowing up.

Giselle: Good morning, Miss I-Won’t-Regret-Anything.

Winter: So, did you at least kiss them goodbye?

Karina: Still can’t believe we caught you sneaking back in like a rom-com character.

Giselle: Right? If she’d waited two more minutes, we would’ve missed it.

Winter: Timing is everything, babe.

NingNing buried her face in the pillow, groaning loudly. They weren’t going to let this go.

With a sigh, she rolled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The dorm was quiet now—Karina was probably doing yoga, Winter was most likely glued to her phone, and Giselle… well, Giselle was probably planning even more ways to torment NingNing about last night.

She shuffled out of her room and into the kitchen, where Winter was perched on the countertop, scrolling on her phone with an evil grin plastered across her face. As soon as she spotted NingNing, she held the phone up like a trophy.

“You’re a legend, by the way,” Winter said, smirking. “Look at this.”

On the screen was a blurry picture taken from inside the dorm lobby—the exact moment NingNing had stepped out of Y/n’s car.

NingNing groaned, trying to swipe the phone out of Winter’s hands. “Who even took that?!”

Winter dodged her, laughing. “A fan probably. The caption says ‘NingNing spotted arriving home at dawn. New love interest?’ You’re trending, babe.”

“Great,” NingNing muttered sarcastically, running a hand through her hair. “Just what I needed.”

Giselle strutted into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, clearly enjoying every second of NingNing’s misery. “You were practically glowing when you got home. Don’t try to deny it.”

“I was tired,” NingNing shot back, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Not glowing.”

Karina wandered in next, looking far too zen for someone who had been waiting up just hours ago. She gave NingNing a small, knowing smile. “You should have told us if you were planning a night adventure. We would’ve covered for you.”

NingNing groaned, plopping down at the kitchen table. “You guys are the worst.”

“Oh, come on.” Giselle nudged her playfully. “We’re just happy for you. It’s about time you had some fun.”

Winter’s smirk grew even wider. “So… Are you gonna see them again, or was this a one-night thing?”

NingNing’s cheeks flushed. She hated how easily her members could read her, but there was no point in pretending otherwise. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, fiddling with the cap of her water bottle. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Karina repeated with a teasing lilt. “That’s not the NingNing we saw last night. Where’s the confidence?”

NingNing rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto her lips. “Okay, fine. Yes. I’ll probably see her again.”

Giselle clapped her hands together, clearly delighted. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

Winter leaned in with a wicked grin. “When you do, tell her to park farther from the dorm next time. We don’t need the whole fandom knowing about your secret rendezvous.”

“Shut up,” NingNing muttered, though she couldn’t help but laugh along with them.

She didn’t mind their teasing—not really. It was all part of their dynamic, and deep down, she knew they were just looking out for her in their chaotic way.

Her phone buzzed again, and she glanced down to see a text from you.

Y/n: Hope you made it through the teasing. Miss me yet?

NingNing bit her lip, trying to hide the smile that spread across her face. She typed back quickly.

NingNing: Not sure yet. Might need another night to decide.

As soon as she hit send, she felt the familiar thrill creep back into her chest. The night might have been over, but this thing between them? It was just getting started.

Winter caught the look on NingNing’s face and gave her a smug grin. “Yup. She’s gone.”

Giselle high-fived her from across the kitchen. “We called it.”

Karina just smiled knowingly. “You’d better bring snacks next time, though. That’s the tax for making us worry all night.”

NingNing laughed, rolling her eyes. “You guys are impossible.”

But she didn’t mind. With her members by her side—and the promise of another wild night on the horizon—NingNing felt lighter, freer, and more herself than she had in a long time.

And she couldn’t wait to see where the next adventure with you would take her.

———————

Days passed, but the buzz from that night lingered in the back of NingNing’s mind. The stolen moments, the thrill of the unknown, and the way Y/n’s hand fit perfectly in hers replayed like a favorite song on repeat. She’d catch herself smiling for no reason, lost in the memory, only to be pulled back to reality by teasing glances from the other girls.

Her phone chimed again as she scrolled through messages during a rare free afternoon.

Y/n: What are you doing tonight?

The corners of her lips tugged upward, and without thinking, she replied.

NingNing: Depends. Are we doing something stupid?

Y/n responded almost instantly.

Y/n: Of course. Wouldn’t have it any other way.

She bit her lip, excitement bubbling under her skin.

Y/n: I’ll be there at midnight. Same place.

NingNing knew she was in trouble. The smart thing would’ve been to stay in, get some rest—maybe catch up on some sleep.

——————-

The smart thing would’ve been to stay in, but NingNing wasn’t looking for smart—she was looking for Y/n. And as midnight approached, her heart raced at the thought of whatever the other woman had planned this time.

By 11:30, she was already dressed. She kept it simple: an oversized hoodie, ripped jeans, and a black baseball cap to keep things low-key. As she laced up her sneakers, Giselle popped her head into NingNing’s room, raising an eyebrow.

“Midnight adventure again?” Giselle asked, smirking.

NingNing shot her a playful glare. “Don’t start.”

Giselle leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, thoroughly enjoying the show. “You could at least pretend you’re sneaking out. It’s way more fun that way.”

NingNing rolled her eyes, tugging her cap lower over her face. “You guys are like evil siblings.”

“Just looking out for you,” Giselle said with a grin. “Try not to get caught by fans this time, yeah?”

“No promises.” NingNing grabbed her phone and slipped it into her hoodie pocket. “And don’t wait up.”

She padded through the dorm, careful not to wake Karina and Winter, who were sprawled across the couch in their pajamas, watching a drama half-asleep. Karina gave a sleepy wave as NingNing passed. “Be safe,” she mumbled, not even bothering to ask where she was going.

NingNing slipped out of the building just as Y/n’s car pulled into the parking lot. The sight of Y/n waiting there sent a shiver of excitement through her. She jogged over and opened the passenger door, sliding in with a grin.

“You’re early,” she teased, clicking her seatbelt.

Y/n gave her a playful look. “So are you.”

The engine purred to life as Y/n pulled out of the lot, the city lights blurring in the distance. “I figured we could keep it simple tonight,” she said, her voice warm in the quiet of the car. “I know a spot. Thought you might like it.”

“Simple?” NingNing repeated, arching a brow. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

Y/n smirked. “Don’t worry. It’s still dangerous enough.”

The roads were quieter than usual, the streets glowing with the muted amber of streetlights. With the windows cracked just enough to let the cool night air sweep in, NingNing closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the calm that only seemed to come when she was with Y/n.

“So, where are we going?” she asked after a few minutes, her voice light with curiosity.

Y/n glanced over at NingNing briefly, her expression unreadable. “You’ll see.”

There was something about the way she said it—like a promise, soft and full of possibility—that made NingNing’s heart race. She didn’t ask again. She was content to let Y/n lead, the same way she’d been content to follow Y/n through the night last time.

Eventually, Y/n pulled onto a winding road that led to a secluded hill overlooking the city. When the car stopped, NingNing leaned forward, taking in the view. The city stretched out below, shimmering with lights that flickered like stars. It was breathtaking, quiet, and private—the kind of place that felt like it belonged to the two of them alone.

“Wow,” NingNing whispered, her breath catching slightly.

Y/n smiled, pleased with her reaction. “Figured you’d like it.”

NingNing unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of the car, walking toward the edge of the hill. The breeze tugged gently at her hoodie as she stood there, taking it all in.

Y/n joined her, her shoulder brushing against the Chinese idol. For a moment, neither of them spoke content in the shared silence. It felt like they had found a pocket of the world untouched by time—just the two of them beneath the stars, with nothing to interrupt the moment.

“This,” NingNing said softly, “is perfect.”

Y/n turned to her, her gaze lingering on the curve of her smile. “You’re perfect.”

NingNing looked up at Y/n, her expression caught between surprise and amusement. “Smooth.”

Y/n grinned. “Had to try.”

NingNing shook her head, but there was no hiding the warmth in her eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want,” the tall woman whispered, her voice low, intimate.

NingNing’s breath hitched slightly, the tension between them crackling like electricity. And just like before, the world around Y/n melted away as NingNing leaned in, closing the distance between them.

The kiss was slow and sweet, filled with everything the night couldn’t put into words. Her hands slid up to Y/n’s neck, fingers tangling in her hair as Y/n pulled her closer, holding on like the moment might slip through her fingers if she let go.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cool night air.

“This feels dangerous,” NingNing whispered, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Y/n chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Good. I was hoping it would.”

The two of them stood there for a while longer, the city lights twinkling below like tiny promises waiting to be kept. Neither of them was in a hurry to leave.

Eventually, NingNing sighed, though her smile remained. “If I sneak back in and the girls catch me again, they’re never going to let this go.”

Y/n smirked. “Worth it?”

NingNing laughed quietly, the sound soft and warm. “Yeah. Worth it.”

And at that moment, under the stars with Y/n by her side, NingNing knew she’d follow this feeling wherever it took her—no matter how many teasing texts or blurry fan photos came with it.

Because some things, she realized, were just too good to resist. And this—whatever this was—was one of them.

———————-

The night stretched on, the kind of night that makes you forget morning even exists. Y/n and NingNing stayed on that hill far longer than they should have, talking, laughing, and stealing kisses under the stars. But eventually, the weight of reality crept in. It was getting late—or early— and they both knew it was time to head back before the city woke up and prying eyes made things complicated.

The drive back to the dorms was filled with soft music and stolen glances. NingNing rested her hand on Y/n’s as the latter drove, her thumb lazily tracing circles along her skin. Every touch from her felt like a promise— one that the night wasn’t quite over yet.

By the time Y/n pulled into the dorm parking lot, the sky was still dark, save for a faint purple hue at the horizon’s edge. Y/n parked close to the entrance, the glow from the building’s lights casting long shadows over the car.

As she cut the engine, neither of them made a move to get out. NingNing shifted in her seat to face Y/n, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I should probably go,” she whispered, though her body language said the opposite.

Y/n grinned, leaning closer. “Probably.”

She didn’t move. Neither did Y/n.

And then, as if on cue, the space between them vanished. NingNing leaned in, her lips meeting Y/n’s in a slow, lingering kiss— one that was filled with all the things neither of them had said aloud. Y/n’s hand found its way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as NingNing’s fingers curled into the fabric of Y/n’s hoodie.

“I really should go,” the short girl murmured against Y/n’s lips, though she did not attempt to leave.

“Mm-hmm,” the tall woman whispered back, capturing NingNing’s mouth again in a way that made her giggle softly.

The moment unraveled, becoming less of a goodbye and more of a final, stolen indulgence. NingNing shifted, and before either of them could stop it, she was pressed against the side of the car, Y/n’s hands on her waist as the tall woman kissed her deeper. NingNing responded eagerly, her body arching into Y/n’s, lost in the heat and thrill of the moment.

That’s when it happened.

The sound of the front door creaking open— loud and unmistakable in the still night air.

“Oh, my God!”

They both froze, their lips still inches apart, caught red-handed— or more accurately, red-lipped. Slowly, they turned to the source of the voice.

There they were: Giselle, Karina, and Winter, standing in the doorway in various states of sleepwear. Giselle had her phone out, already pointing it at the two of you like she was recording a scene from a reality show. Winter looked half-awake, a sleepy grin spreading across her face, while Karina just folded her arms with an amused, knowing expression.

“Oh, no,” NingNing muttered under her breath, her cheeks burning as she buried her face against Y/n’s chest.

“Don’t stop on our account,” Giselle said, trying— and failing— to stifle her laughter. “We were enjoying the show.”

“You guys,” NingNing groaned, still hiding her face. “Please tell me this is a bad dream.”

Winter yawned, leaning against the doorframe. “Nope. Very real. And very entertaining.”

Karina arched a brow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You know the front door has cameras, right?”

NingNing pulled back just enough to glare at her members, though she was still pressed close against Y/n. “ I hate you all.”

“You love us,” Giselle sang, clearly delighted by the situation.

Y/n tried to keep her composure, but it was hard not to laugh along with them. “So…this is awkward.”

“Awkward for you.” Giselle quipped. “Hilarious, for us.”

NingNing groaned again, giving Y/n a look that said, This is your fault too. But the other woman could see the sparkle in her eyes— she was embarrassed, sure, but she was also fighting back laughter.

Karina, ever the responsible leader, finally stepped in. “Alright, alright. Let’s get inside before someone does see and post this.” She gave NingNing a teasing smile. “We’ll save the interrogation for later.”

As the other girls headed back inside— still chuckling and whispering— NingNing turned back to Y/n, her face still flushed.

“Well,” she said with a rueful grin. “ that was a disaster.”

Y/n grinned, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “ Not entirely. I’d say it was worth it.

NingNing rolled her eyes, but the smile on her lips was undeniable. “ You’re unbelievable.”

Y/n leaned in one last time, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Text me when you’re done getting roasted.”

“Better believe I will,” NingNing muttered with a playful grin, slipping out of Y/n’s grasp.

As she jogged toward the entrance, Giselle called back over her shoulder, “Goodnight, lovebirds! Or should I say, good morning?”

NingNing shot Y/n one last glance, her smile lingering even as she shook her head in mock exasperation.

And as the door swung shut behind her, leaving Y/n alone in the parking lot, she couldn’t help but laugh. Because even if the night didn’t end as quietly as she’d planned, it was still perfect in its own chaotic, ridiculous way.

And something told her there’d be many more nights like this to come.

[mountainsandmayhem]

Shhh...Just A Little Bit More

Part Three (Spicy Version)

DBF!Joel x Female!Reader - 18+

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 (Soft Version)

Summary: Joel Miller caught you working where you shouldn't be after you promised to quit. Now he's taking matters into his own hands. Word Count 5.7k

CW: DBF!, Dom!, SoftDom!, use of nicknames (baby, sweet pea, baby girl etc.), Sub/Dom, DD/LG, use of toys and a riding crop. no use of y/n. no description of reader except for piercings. Praise, degradation. After care.

AN: THANK YOU for all your love on parts 1 and 2. This is the spicy version of the third part. I'd love to hear which part you liked best!

“Hey, buddy. It’s Joel.”

“Joel?” You can hear your dad’s muffled and panicked voice through the receiver. “Where’s my daughter? Why do you have her phone? It’s 5 am!” 

“Remember that time Sarah ran away to your house and you told me that one day I might be doing the same for you?” 

Your dad is silent for a while, a distorted higher pitched voice filters through before you hear your dad again, “It’s alright honey. She’s with Joel.” He lets out a deep sigh before adding, “I thought we skipped the rebellious phase with her.”

“She’s a good girl. I think she just needs some time to cool off.” Joel says, his voice is friendly and light.

You squeeze your thighs together and nuzzle deeper into Joel’s throat. You know what you need, and it isn’t to cool off. He and your dad have been friends since the day he moved in down the street. You were seven and Sarah was eleven, you thought she was the coolest person on the planet. Wonder what she’d think of you now, cuddled up against her dad after he just edged the fuck out of you after spanking you in an alleyway. You’re lost in your thoughts as Joel talks with your parents for a while.

A sane person would stop being so turned on right now. Fuck, I need Joel. So badly. Maybe I should rile him up some more. 

“I’ll come by this afternoon,” Joel hugs you tighter, bringing you back to the conversation. “Ya, if she wants to, I’ll bring her. She’s ok, just never seen her more - frustrated.” 

You squeeze his side, knowing he’s smirking about how frustrated and needy you truly are right now. He hangs up the phone and brings his lips to yours, kissing you harder this time. You moan into his mouth, hands roaming up his body to tangle in his hair. 

Holy shit, Joel Miller is kissing me. 

As you run your nails along his scalp he lets out a pleasurable sounding gasp and a small shiver racks his body. Oh, he likes that, he likes that very much. 

Got ya, you think to yourself. 

He pulls away to see you smiling at him. “This is why I usually tie naughty girls down,” his voice is completely different from how it was just moments ago; deeper and more commanding. It reverberates through you - right to your pussy. “Because they think they’ve found spots that will get them what they want. Let’s go home now, darlin’.” 

The front door hasn’t even closed before Joel is hoisting you over his shoulder roughly, kicking the door closed as you squeal, his calloused hands gripping the back of your thighs as your stomach rests across his broad shoulder. 

Fuck his ass looks good from this angle. 

“You know I’m not done punishing you yet, right?” He growls, toeing off his boots and taking you to the basement. 

When Sarah was old enough, she’d occasionally babysit you. You remember there being a locked room in the basement, she said she didn’t know what was in there, but you were obsessed with finding out. You asked Joel mercilessly what he was hiding back there and he never responded in more than a grunt or a sarcastic comment like “that’s where I lock up kids who don’t shut up.” 

Joel grabs a key off the holder at the bottom of the stairs and heads straight for that mysterious locked door. The key scrapes against the door knob, you crane your neck to see as he flicks on the light. 

Holy. Fucking. Shitballs. Joel Miller has a sex room. 

“Watch your mouth,” he grumbles as he drops you onto the large metal framed bed. 

Did I say that out loud? 

He stalks away from you towards a large black cabinet, rolling the sleeves of his button up flannel to his elbows. It’s almost concerning how much that simple action turns you on. Maybe you should go back to church, your mom would be so proud. 

You’re intrigued to look around, curious as to what else is around you in this large room, but everything about Joel’s presence draws you in. Freezes you in time. You belong to him, or so he implied when he said he was your Dom now. 

He slides the door of the large black cabinet open just enough to reach in. Your curiosity is bubbling to the surface and just as you’re about to ask he looks at you darkly. 

“Did you come on the drive home?”

Every bump on the drive home had you twitching. You tried your hardest not to gasp and moan but the combination of the gravel road, your insane state of heightened arousal, and the lack of underwear in your stiff denim shorts were all working against you. 

“No, Joel.” Your eyes dance around his hands, trying to see what he took out of the cabinet. 

His jaw flexes, “It’s Mr Miller. Not Joel.” His chin juts towards the corner of the room across from him as he says, “go kneel in that corner. Face the wall and don’t move.” 

You practically leap off the bed and scramble to the corner as Joel mumbles, “So fuckin’ eager,” under his breath. 

On your way to the corner you see all sorts of ropes, chains, paddles and whips hanging from the walls. There's a large wooden x with cuffs leaning against another wall and beside the corner he’s told you to go to there’s a strange looking bench, almost like a gymnastics horse, that also has cuffs. You might be way in over your head here. 

You kneel down in the corner, the carpet is soft and luxurious under your knees as you rest your bum down onto your heels. 

“No, on your knees. Hands above your head on the wall.” Joel barks, making you jump and your pussy flutter. Joel opens and closes some more doors, you hear things being moved around and just as your hands start to go numb above you, you feel his heat at your back. 

“I’m going to finish your punishment now little one,” he rasps. “Have you ever been a sub before?” 

“N-no. Mr Miller. I’m sorry,” you voice trembles. Nervous and excited energy are battling inside you for first place. 

“Don’t be sorry, babygirl. What do you say if you want me to stop?” His strong hands grip your hair, gathering it up in a low ponytail before tying a long ribbon around it. 

“Umm..” you rack your brain. Before his sadistic little countdown he told you to say something if you wanted to stop.

“Cowboy,” you finally say, slightly uncertain until he hums a sultry ‘that’s right’ behind you, his hands grabbing the hem of your shirt before pulling it up and over your head. 

The cool basement air hits your exposed skin and you find yourself arching your back towards Joel’s warm body. Your nipples turn to stiff peaks at the combination of the temperature shift and the anticipation of what’s coming next. 

Your hands fall back to your sides as your shirt glides past your fingertips. Without missing a beat, Joel hits right below your shoulder blade gently with a riding crop. The sound of the soft black leather end against your skin is louder than the pain, but it still burns slightly as you gasp and your arms fly back up to the wall.

“Don’t be stupid, baby. The more you don’t listen, the more I will hurt you. And you are already here because you didn’t listen.” He trails the riding crop around the pink mark forming on your back. “Stand up, but keep your hands above you.” 

You plant one white slip-on van on the carpet and drag the toe of the other as you stand, hands sliding up the red satin wallpaper that lines the room. The soft leather of the crop traces down the black strap of your lace bra, across the back band and then up the other strap. 

“Use one hand and undo the clasp, sweet pea.” You drop your right hand and bring it behind your back. Popping the metal clasp open with a shaky thumb and forefinger. Before you can put your hand back, Joel grabs your wrist and places the crop in your fist before raising it back up above you. His rough fingers graze your back, goosebumps line your skin as your head falls forward and you hum out in pleasure. 

His hands glide around to the front of your body and trail up, pushing under the cups of your bra to squeeze your tits. He stops dead as they land heavy in his palms. 

“Holy fuck, drop the crop and take this bra off right now. Let me see them,” his voice is thick with arousal at what he’s found. 

You do as he says, the crop hitting the soft carpet with a thud. You spin and let your bra fall from your arms. Showing him the golden barbells, and the thin golden hearts that surround each nipple. 

Joel practically snarls as he dives in to kiss you, his tongue parting your lips and making room for him to devour you. “Are those healed?” He asks through the kiss. 

“They’re sort of new,” you say into his mouth. “Six weeks ago.” 

“Fuuuuck, you’re gonna kill me,” his hands hurry to the buttons on your shorts. He rips them down your legs, kneeling in front of you to slide off your shoes. His face is now level with your achy cunt. It’s been throbbing since he spanked you and now he’s so very close. 

He stops to stare at it, then gently uses his thumbs to pull your soaked lips again. He clicks his tongue, “too bad you didn’t listen. She looks swollen and sooo wet,” his thumb barely grazes the wet flesh before he looks up at you as he sucks off the juices. “Mmm - and sweet. But bad girls don’t get rewards.” He lays a quick slap across your clit and you nearly collapse at the sensation. 

The pain. 

The heat. 

The pleasure. 

He smirks down at you as he stands. You crane your neck to look at him, gasping for breath as the pleasure ebbs between your legs. 

“You like pain, don’t you?” He asks. 

A sly closed lip smile crosses your face as you nod quietly. You do like pain, but you’ve never had someone as experienced as Joel before. He spanked you harder than you ever have been before, pushing and testing your limits. While you enjoyed it, and can’t fucking wait to do it again, you aren’t sure if you can handle all these whips, crops, canes and ropes. 

Cowboy. Just say cowboy. 

He steps away, leaving you completely bare in the corner. He stops at the foot of the bed, the things he’s pulled out of the cabinet rest flat on top of the sheets but you can’t make out what’s there. He slides his flannel off and drops it to the floor. You swallow hard at the way his tight shirt hugs his body, you swear you can see every muscle that lines his chest and abdomen through it. He doesn’t leave you guessing for long, one hand reaching behind himself, grabbing his shirt by the nape of the neck before peeling it from his hard body. You squeeze your thighs at the sight of him. 

Joel Miller: Greek God. 

He leans against the tall post at the foot of the bed, crossing his thick arms over his chest. His biceps bulge and suddenly you find it hard to breathe. He is fucking beautiful. 

“Crawl to me, and bring the crop,” his voice is rough as he commands you. 

You get onto your hands and knees and look over at the crop and then back towards Joel, looking up through your lashes. “Think about it for a second,” he says. 

You bend down and pick the crop up with your teeth. “There’s my smart girl,” he praises as you crawl. You’re so wet that your thighs slide effortlessly against one another. You stop in front of him and he reaches down to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. He’s looking at you with an immense sense of pride, you’d do anything to have him look at you like that and when he throws in a warm ‘good girl’ you’re done for. His. His brat. His good girl. His submissive. Just his. 

He takes the crop from your teeth and then walks behind you. “Arch your back,” he presses the leather end into your lower back, guiding you, teasing you, showing you what he wants and how he wants it. 

“Spread your legs, babygirl,” he whispers, again gently pressing the crop to your inner thighs as you spread for him before he slowly drags the soft leather from your clit to your backside. You whimper at the much needed attention. “Good girl. See how much better it is when you listen.” 

You relax your head, letting it fall as you moan. Close. So very close. The leather meets your chin next. “Eyes up, I need you to stay like this for me. Ok?” 

“Yes Mr Miller,” you gasp, holding your head high, looking straight ahead at the metal bed frame that’s lined with hooks and rings. “Anything for you.” 

The riding crop trails down your neck and spine as he walks back behind you. “That right, darlin’?” He says, almost afraid to admit how much those three little words have affected him. You. Offering him anything. 

You let out an agreeable moan before he strikes you twice, each snap of the crop hitting the exactly same spot. 

Joel Miller: Greek God and Accurate Riding Crop Sniper.  

Ok, you’ll have to work on the name. 

The sting takes a bit longer to turn into that pleasurable tingly heat that you love than when he spanked you. Keeping your back arched and head up is already proving to be a challenge, and then he traces your cunt and asshole again with the leather and you’re practically shaking. Closer. Much closer. 

He does it again. Striking one cheek, then the other, quickly followed by a quick slap to the back of your thigh. You cry out in pain, until the leather slides over your soaked clit and the sounds turn downright pornographic. 

“Why am I punishing you?” He demands, tapping your clit lightly and rapidly. 

“I - mmmm - I didn’t q-quit,” you moan. 

“Wrong,” he hits you again. Five quick, sharp snaps, alternating between ass cheeks. Then he slides up and down your folds again. 

Pain

Pleasure.

Sparkling burning heat. 

“M’gonna come,” you mumble and Joel pulls away. You cry out in protest as he lowers himself to the floor, a large warm hand gently rubbing your sore cheek. 

“You come when I say,” his lips land on every spot he’s hit you, but not the spot you need him the most. “Now why am I punishing you?” 

Your mind is mush, overrun by the overwhelming need to orgasm. You didn’t quit. He wants you to and you didn’t. That’s why he’s hitting you. 

“I don’t know Mr Miller,” you whine. His hand trails up the soft skin of your inner thigh, your legs tremble under his touch and you fight against your shaking arms to keep your body how he wants it. 

“No?” He says with a smirk. “On your elbows, forehead on the floor.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say as you get into his new required position. 

“You should be,” he stands and walks towards the bed. Leaving your ass up and on display. “You lied and snuck out, then after your spanking tonight you stayed at work for another two hours. You also used my marks to make money. You, my sweet girl, are a brat.” He’s practically growling by the time he finishes, settling himself behind you. “That’s why I’m punishing you.” 

Deep down Joel knows he should stop. Not for the obvious reasons: best friend's daughter, twenty years younger, four years younger than his own daughter. But because he hasn’t had a real conversation with you yet about your hard and soft limits. Didn’t even ask if you wanted to be his sub. But your smooth little ass is up in the air, pussy glistening in the dim light of his sex room and nothing but your pleasure matters anymore. 

You swallow hard, “I’m sorry for being a brat, Mr Miller.” 

“I don’t think you are,” he says and you hear the distinct sound of a cap of lube opening behind you. “I think that you have enjoyed yourself so much that you’re going to be back on that corner waiting for an Uber to take you to work tonight. You want me to come after you. Because you are a little slut with a very greedy pussy.” 

Something cool presses against your soaked entrance and you cry out as he continues, “so I’ll tell you what. You can go to work tonight, but you’ll have to do it my way,” slowly that cool something slides inside of you, filling you slightly but it’s not enough. “Fuck, practically sucked it in, babygirl.” 

You can feel it, a hard ball that’s pushing right against your g spot, a slender piece staying outside your body for easy removal. “That is going to stay in until I take it out. It vibrates, and if you don’t behave…I will turn it on.” 

His large, rough hands grip you by the hips and pull you back so your ass is flush against his body, his cock stiff as nails under his jeans. “It’s time to get some sleep, sweetheart. Get in the bed, please.” 

“But…” you pout into the plush carpet. “Please, Mr Miller.” 

“What did I say? Bad girls don’t get rewarded. Come on,” he taps your hip. “Bed.” 

You stand up on shaky legs, thankful that the best is only two steps ahead of you. But the toy inside of you has you feeling like a powder keg on the edge of exploding. Joel pulls the covers back and climbs in with you, pulling you in to rest your head on his chest. His arm drapes around your body, the other resting behind his head. 

“How are you feeling after tonight?” He whispers, using an app on his phone to turn the lights off. 

“Horny,” you whisper, burying yourself deeper into his neck. 

“I know. But you know I can’t make you come, right? I can’t reward you for this behaviour.” His lips fall to your hairline, two light lingering kisses melting you further into him. 

“What can I do, Mr Miller?” The moment the last syllable of his name leaves your lips the vibrator comes to life inside of you. “Oh god - thank you. Thank you.” Your body twitches against his, your leg coming to drape across him as you subconsciously hump and grind into his hip. 

“That feel good, baby?” He asks, holding you tighter against his strong body. 

“Yes. Yes. Hnnnng, yes.” You grind harder, your arousal coating his hip and leg, your clit sliding along him with ease now. “Joel, please.” 

Shit. He should punish you for calling him Joel but you’re so goddamn beautiful as you start to fall apart and he can’t hold back any longer. He’s let other subs go days without an orgasm, he’s gotten off to them begging and crying for relief. But you. You sound so damn sweet to his ears and he can’t stand to see you like this anymore. 

He has you flipped onto your back, trapped under his weight before you can even register what’s happening. He’s kissing you deeply, tongue taking what it wants as your legs kick and shake under him. 

“Please!” You cry between kisses. 

His thick fingers sliding between your puffy folds before grabbing the end of the vibrator, you scream out as he pulls the toy from you. 

“Shhh…just a little bit more. I’m going to make it better now,” he says gently, kissing down your neck, swirling his tongue around each nipple piercing. 

“Please. Please. Pleeeaase, Mr Miller. Please. It hurts. I need it, please.” You’re a mumbling mess and the words leaving your lips are practically incomprehensible. 

“I know. Relax baby. Breathe.” He says between kisses down your sternum, his tongue tracing your curves. When he finally settles in between your thighs he swallows hard, he wants to dive right in, make you drench his face as you come. “Look at me, darlin’.” 

His warm breath hits your pussy and you fight your hips from bucking up to his face as prop yourself up on an elbow and try to focus your eyesight on him. You didn’t know it was possible to be so turned on that you practically had tequila vision. 

His voice is serious yet calm as he says, “I’m going to make you come using my fingers and my tongue. Is that ok?” 

You nod your head and a faint ‘yes’, leaves your lips. He doesn’t want to ask permission, and next time he won’t. But right now he needs to know you’re ok with this. 

“Can I lick and touch both the outside and inside of this beautiful, weeping, pussy?” 

It starts to hit you that Joel Miller would never do something you didn’t want and that sets your soul on fire. He cares. About you. Only you. Wants to do things for you. You are not a burden here. 

“Yes, Mr Miller. Please. Touch me.” The room suddenly feels twenty degrees hotter, you can feel sweat beading on your skin. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, sliding his ring and middle finger around your desperate entrance. You cry out, dropping your body to the bed. 

Pleasure. Overwhelming pleasure. 

“No no baby girl, eyes on me.” 

You somehow muster the strength to raise yourself onto shaky arms. His two strong fingers slide deep into your heat with minimal resistance and you immediately start gasping. 

Pleasure. Life altering, heart stopping pleasure. 

“Fuuuuck. Baby. So tight. Have you ever squirted before?” His cheeks are flushed with need. He might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

Your breasts rise and fall with your ragged breaths. You shake your head and moan out a ‘no’. 

He smiles down at your dripping cunt, “I can feel it. Gotta relax for me. Just breathe and let it happen.” 

Nerves flutter in your stomach and then he curls his fingers forward, putting so much pressure on a soft spongy spot that you didn’t know existed until today. On instinct, your knees try to close but his wide frame keeps you open. You yell his name to the ceiling, as all the air whooshes from your lungs. 

“Breathe baby,” he says as he curls his fingers once, twice, three more times. You can hear how wet you are and the pressure becomes unbearable. Stars start to blur your vision, the walls of your pussy squeeze tightly around his fingers and then it’s just a blur. A blur of all consuming pleasure and you turn into a boneless, mumbling mess. 

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Come for me. Soak me. Good girl,” Joel’s free hand pressed down on your mound as a wet heat leaks all over you. “Good fuckin’ girl. Let go for me.” 

You’re not sure if you’re screaming or not, all you hear and feel is Joel. Everything is Joel. Strong hands, deep gravel voice, warm vanilla smell. He’s everywhere and you never want it to stop. 

“Keep going. That’s it. You look so beautiful,” he says, licking a long stripe up your fluttering pussy, drinking and slurping up your juices. “Oooh yeah - gooood giiirrll”

Almost immediately after your orgasm crests it becomes too much. You’re so overstimulated that it hurts and your moans of pleasure become cries of pain. You forget your name, where you are, you even forget your safe word. But Joel knows, he always knows. 

He stops pumping his fingers and says your name, “look at me sweet pea.”

You blink slowly, you’re wrecked, barely able to keep your eyelids open, almost convinced they’ve been replaced with steel. You’re sucking in air, did you not breathe that entire time? 

“Breathe baby, you’re ok.” He says, stilling his fingers until you’re ready. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Miller. I know I called you Joel. I won’t do it again.” 

So fucking cute. “It’s ok, darlin’ girl. I want you to let loose when you come.” He places a few light kisses along your thighs. The sheets and his bare chest are soaked. “I’m gonna pull my fingers out.” 

You fall back to the bed and fist the sheets to ground yourself as he slides his fingers out. “You did such a good job,” he praises as you whimper at the loss of his fingers inside of you. 

He crawls up your body, placing his strong forearms beside your head, moving any hair that has escaped the ribbon from your face. “I’m so proud of you, babygirl.”

“Fuck me,” you mumble. 

He grins down at you. “That’s my little slut,” he says darkly, ripping his jeans and underwear off, kissing you hard and rough - just how you like it. His hard cock lands heavy on your clit and you cry out into his mouth. “You sure about this?” He says cockily. 

“Fuck me, Mr Miller. Please. I need your -,” he slams deep inside you, hips flush against yours. He’s so deep you swear you can feel it behind your navel. The girth of him giving you a painful but pleasurable stretch, “oh god. I’m gonna come again.” 

“Squeeze me, baby. Yell out. Show me what I do to you,” he hooks your knees in his elbows to get deeper. Hips grinding and slamming into yours. “So goddamn good. So tight. Give it to me, little one.” 

The heat in your belly snaps as you come apart for him again. Every muscle goes limp and pliant as he folds you in half, knees practically behind your head like some sort of tantric pretzel. The walls of your pussy clamp down on his dick as cry out in pained moans. Before your orgasm has even tapered off he’s slipping out of you and flipping you around. 

“Hands and knees, like you were on the floor.” He practically yells it at you, like a drill sergeant. 

You don’t have the cognitive ability to even know what your arms or legs are, lying on your belly down in the puddle you created earlier. 

“Can’t,” you moan before the sharp snap of the riding crop hits your ass. Adrenaline spikes as you start to find your arms, bringing them beside you to push up. Another three quick strikes hit your backside. “Fuck. Stop, Joel. Please.” 

He strikes you again. You most definitely do not want him to stop and you already know that he loves when you beg. “It huuuurts,” you gasp as you bring yourself up to your knees. Your all wobbly limbs, like a newborn giraffe, and panting breaths as he hits six quick strikes down your thigh. Crying out with each one, “I’m sorry. I’ll be good. Please just stop.” 

“You should see how your pussy clenches with each hit, my little masochist,” he praises, moving to punish the other thigh in the same way he did the other one. “You could come from this, couldn’t you?”

“No. It hurts. I’m sorry, daddy.” 

Joel stops. The word daddy suspended in the air between you. Fuck, it just slipped out. You’ve never said it to a man before and now you wish you could just crawl into a little hole and die alone. 

“Oh babygirl,” he says proudly, coming up behind you and rubbing his dick up and down your wet pussy. “Do you like that? Calling me daddy?” 

“It slipped out. I’m sorry Mr Miller,” you desperately want to bury your face in the pillows but you keep your head held high, just like he wants you too. 

“Tell daddy to fuck you,” he says, his hand grabbing the base of your tied back hair. 

“F-fuck me, daddy,” you say in the sweetest and most innocent sounding voice you can muster.

With one snap of his hips he’s fully inside of you, his hand pulls at your hair. You scalp tingling and burning, only adding to the pleasure building again in between your legs. 

“You like it rough. Don’t you, little one?” You moan out in agreement, “like it when daddy fucks you this deep. Like it when daddy is in your belly. Don’t you?” 

“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.” It’s like you’re a broken record, unable to come up with anything except moans, cries and ‘oh god’s’. 

Joel’s hand moves from your hair to between your shoulder blades and pushes down. A silent command for you to rest your chest on the bed. You do as he says, “good fuckin girl. You want me to fuck you while I use the crop? Is that what you want my little pain slut?” 

“Yes please, Mr Miller,” you gasp, hands fisting the sheets, muscles clenching as you prepare for what’s about to happen. 

The pace at which he’s fucking you continues. He’s fast and rough, his balls slapping against your pussy with each trust. The crop hits the bottom of one of your feet first, then just to the right of your left shoulder blade. 

“Not gonna stop until you use that safeword. Brats don’t get rewards,” He fucks up into you a few more times as he swats at the front of your thigh. 

Blinding heat and pleasure start to course through you as you come again. “My little masochist,” he says again, pulling back to slap at your ass as you come on his cock. Tears blur your vision, you want to stop but you want to make him proud. You feel his dick getting harder, twitching slightly. 

Just a few more minutes, you think to yourself. Until he strikes you harder than all the other times. The sound of leather on your skin fills your ears and you pull away from him, “COWBOY!!” 

You collapse into the sheets as Joel turns away, unable to stop his orgasm and wanting to be respectful of your need to stop. He cums into the sheets with his hand, biting back your name from leaving his lips. 

He turns to find you facedown, red and purple marks already forming. “Baby,” he whispers, his hand coming to caress your lower back. You flinch under his touch. 

Fuck, I went to hard. 

“Shhh, relax. It’s over now. Let me take care of you.” He sees you visibly melt into the mattress, and why wouldn’t you. His voice is soft and gentle as his fingers trail up and down your spine. “I’m so proud of you for using your safeword. Can you roll over for me?” 

You do as he says, using any last ounce of energy to roll over. He shuffles himself to sit on the edge of the bed, lifting your upper body to help you prop up in some pillows, your eyelids are impossibly heavy. He reaches into the small mini fridge that’s disguised as a bedside table and takes out a bottle of water. 

“I need you to drink this, honey. Then I will put some coconut oil on those marks. Ok?” 

You open your eyes as he cracks the water. He looks wrecked. Beads of sweat line his hairline, curls sticking to his forehead, but fuck is he beautiful. 

Joel Miller. Sex God. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he slides his boxers back up his leg, his still half hard cock pressing against the fabric. 

You’re suddenly unable to stop from giggling. You feel giddy and drunk as you down the water and say, “I feel fucking amazing!” 

Joel shakes his head and lets out a little laugh. “Good,” he says, pressing his lips to your forehead. He pulls makeup wipe out from the bedside drawer and wipes the mascara that’s run down your cheeks. Then he finds himself doing something he’s never done with his other subs. He grabs the coconut oil and reaches a hand out to help you off the bed. 

“Let’s go get some sleep,” he says. Steading you and leading you up the stairs to his room. This is dangerous territory, but he needs to wake up with you. Cherish you. Care for you. Other subs always slept down here. Never in his room and rarely with him. But certainly never ever in his room. 

You follow with shaky legs and nearly collapse onto his bed when you get there. 

“Can we do that again?” You ask as he rubs oil on your tender backside. 

“Fuck yes. But before we do that,” he taps your side and you roll over so he can oil your thigh. “You need to fill out some paperwork.” 

You groan and he lets out a deep laugh. “I promise it’s fun paperwork. Hard and soft limits. Things you want to try.” 

He looks up at you with adoration, mirroring the looks you’re giving him. He nods towards your pierced nipples, “I like those. Very sexy. As soon as they’re healed we are gonna have some fun.” 

You blush, “thanks. You’re - umm, you’re actually the first person to see them.” 

“That right?” He says proudly, lying down beside you and pulling you into his chest. 

“I have an appointment at the piercer next week. Any requests?” You say teasingly as you nuzzle into his chest. Your appointment is to get a second hole in each ear lobe, but may as well have a little fun.

“Hmmm,” he hums, lips grazing your hairline with little kisses. “Belly button.” 

“Oh, I was thinking of doing my clit.” You glance up at him through your eyelashes, bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Fuck me, baby. You tryin’ to kill this old man? I’m gonna have to leave the goddamn continent while that heals.” He pulls you in tighter, pulling the blanket up around both of you. “Get some rest now, we have a big afternoon.”

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