#something quiet... submissive... tender... sad?

[mustainegf]

Hey love!!! Can you write some Dave fluff where he’s really submissive? Like he likes to be in the centre of attention and if you stop caressing his head while he lies on your chest he gets sad and mad. PLS THIS IS SO CUTE AND IF YOU WRITE THIS ITS GONNA TURN OUT SO GOOD.

(Also you know your writing is the best when people start assuming it’s ai)

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐈𝐄 ¹⁹⁹³

I still remember the first time I met Dave. It was at a mutual friend's party, and he immediately caught my attention. His confident charm, the way he presented himself, and that teasing grin he flashed at me from across the room, he was every girls dream.

To everyone else, Dave seemed like a total catch, charming, cocky, and rather full of himself. But as I got to know him better, I discovered a different side to him, a side he rarely showed to anyone.

Behind closed doors, Dave was a completely different man. He would shed that cocky layer and become this sweet, sensitive, and incredibly affectionate man. It was quite the difference to the image he projected to the world, and it made me love him oh so much.

One evening, after a particularly long day in the studio, Dave came over to my place. He walked in with his usual swagger, teasing me about something silly I can't even remember now.

But the moment the door closed behind him, his shoulders drooped, and he let out a long sigh. He looked at me with those soft, pleading eyes I had fallen so madly in love with.

"Rough day?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

He just nodded and walked over to me, slipping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my neck. I could feel his body slowly melt as I held him close.

We moved to the couch, and he laid down with his head on my chest, his favorite spot.

I started running my fingers through his hair, his peachy curls slipping through my slender fingers. Dave closed his eyes and hummed with a smile. For a little bit, we just stayed like that, enjoying the quiet intimacy.

After a little bit, my hand got tired, and I stopped. Almost immediately, Dave's eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at me with a pout. Adorable.

"Why did you stop?" he muttered, his voice clearly disappointed.

I couldn't help but smile at how adorable he looked. "Just resting my hand for a moment, love. I'll start again soon." I giggled.

He huffed and buried his face back in my chest, mumbling something about how I should never stop.

He craved affection, even if his ego wouldn’t let him admit it.

On the outside, Dave continued to be his usual cocky self. He'd tease me in front of our friends, make jokes, and play the part of the confident boyfriend. But I knew the truth.

I knew how much he loved those moments of tenderness, how he lived purely off the attention I gave him.

There was another night that stands out in my memory. We had just come back from a dinner with friends, where Dave had been his usual charismatic self, making everyone laugh and keeping the conversation.

But the second we were alone in the car, he reached for my hand, squeezing it gently.

"Are you okay?" I asked, glancing over at him.

He nodded, but his grip on my hand tightened. "Just... tired," he said softly.

When we got home, he didn't even bother changing out of his clothes. He simply collapsed onto the bed, pulling me down with him. I held him, and he snuggled into me, his head resting on my chest s always.

"Can you just... hold me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Of course, honey," I replied, running my fingers through his hair again.

I felt pride that he so deeply trusted me with this vulnerable side of himself. And I was more than happy to be that person for him.

[stellar-waves]

staring down the sun [27] *

⏯ chapter index

⚠ warnings: suggestive sexual themes

. . .

back into the arms that care

. . .

Connor started feeling antsy a little over a week into his recovery, and rightfully so. It wasn’t so much the decrease in physical activity or being stuck at the church; it was more because he wasn’t used to being taken care of. He’d been so used to taking care of everyone else, always knowing when someone really truly needed help, so being forced into a submissive state was incredibly aggravating. 

But there was an upside to the whole situation…

Elena kneels behind him as he sits on the edge of the bed. She carefully lifts his right arm, stretching his side slowly before lowering his elbow. Connor smiles to himself, still thinking about how she had offered to do a little physical therapy with him. She reasoned that she had a similar injury a few years ago, but deep down it felt like she just wanted to be close to him…she just couldn’t say it.

“You know, you never told me why you and Murphy tattooed each other’s backs,” she mentions lightly. 

Feeling her eyes on his bare back suddenly makes him feel self-conscious…another feeling he’s not used to. But he chuckles as he feels his muscles strain with the repeated stretch. “I don’t know. Suppose it was something to do to pass the time on the sheep farm, keep our hands busy whenever we felt the itch to return to…this. Don’t think we really thought that much about it.” 

“So how did you decide who’d get the face and who’d get the…oh fucking Christ.”

“Lord’s name, lass!” Connor snaps with a laugh, but he winces almost instantly in pain. 

Elena places her other hand on his left shoulder, her hair tickling his skin as she leans around to glare at him. “Don’t tell me you fucking flipped a coin!”

All he can do is smile, that mischievous MacManus smile, and Elena rolls her eyes, mumbling another blasphemous exclamation under her breath. That one, though, he lets go.

As the stretching resumes, Connor breathes deeply, inhaling her scent of eucalyptus and sea salt. “I’m not used to this, ye know.”

“What?”

He exhales slowly. “Letting someone else take care of me.”

“No kidding,” she laughs.

He smirks, raising his eyebrows at the memory that rushes back into his brain. “Right. We’ve talked about this before, yeah?”

“We have.” Elena draws in a slow breath herself, and Connor feels her hand twitch against his shoulder. “I think I’m starting to understand it now.”

“What’s that?”

“Why you take care of everyone else.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, somehow still afraid of Elena getting in his head. “Someone has to do it,” he states with tender confidence. 

She remains quiet, though, and Connor’s curiosity piques, wanting to know whatever revelation Elena’s had. 

And clearly, she can read his mind. “Because you might lose them. And you want to do whatever you can to keep that from happening.”

Fuck. Elena has finally done it…she finally cracked the code to Connor’s sub-conscience. She figured out something about him that he didn’t really understand himself, honestly. Until now. 

He can’t help but smile, feeling a bit of relief even as she extends his arm higher, stretching his side more. “Ye might be on to something there, Elena.”

She slides off the bed and moves to stand in front of Connor. He lifts his arms straight forward out of routine, and she presses down on them while he stiffens his muscles to prevent his arms from lowering under the force. After a few rounds, Elena places her hands on her hips in satisfaction. But her lips twist with a hint of despair. “I haven’t had someone to lose in so long that I forgot what that feels like…to take care of someone like that.”

Connor rubs his palms on his jeans as he presses his lips together solemnly. “Aye. We’ve talked about that before, too.” Her mouth widens into a nervous grin, a small laugh huffing out from her chest as her eyes are still tinted with sadness. Connor’s eyes crease into a smile, his voice soft as he says, “Yer not alone anymore, remember?”

Elena’s smile falls slightly, fading from innocent complacency into soft yearning. Connor slowly moves to hold her hips, and her hands rest on his forearms as he pulls her closer. His eyes remain locked with hers as her hands slide up his arms to rest on either side of his neck. The pads of her thumbs brush his jawline, rubbing against the growing scruff of facial hair as she subtly bites her lip. 

He senses her hesitance, like she’s still worried he could break at any moment. Or worse, like she’s still not sure how they feel for each other.

Connor slips his hands up her jeans, curling them under the hem of her t-shirt and touching his fingers against her skin. Elena leans her head back, closing her eyes as she inhales deeply while Connor caresses her waist. She lowers her chin again, her green eyes dark against her wide pupils. He pulls her closer, pressing his lips against her bared stomach as she lowers her head more, her fingers tangling into his hair at the nape of his neck. 

Elena arches her back as Connor holds her face with his tattooed hand, gently pulling her to brush his lips against hers. His kiss is more tender this time, less urgent, yet still passionate. He feels each and every single moment from before slowly burn between them, every could-have and should-have now simply having. 

Her legs curl up on either side of him as he shifts back on the bed, guiding her hips as she straddles his lap gently. She holds his face with both hands as they kiss, his tongue finding the salt of her skin so familiar. He likes that feeling, so much, that he knows how she tastes. 

She pulls back, her features torn between desire and concern. He can tell she’s still afraid of hurting him, but Connor smiles as he strokes her cheek with his thumb. He wants to say something, tell her it’s okay, and tell her everything he’s feeling…but words don’t feel enough. He captures her lips again and shifts their bodies together, laying her on the bed. 

As he props himself up on his left side, he keeps his right hand cupped perfectly against her jaw while their tongues continue dancing around each other. He’s strangely aware enough that he doesn’t want to completely cover her with his body, like it’d be a move of dominance if he did. And that’s the last thing he wants to be—dominant over Elena. All he wants is to be with her, for this moment to last forever.

Connor feels his erection grow inside his jeans as Elena reaches around his back, careful not to touch his injured side as she clutches his shoulder blade. She pulls him closer, tighter, and he lets his broad chest press harder against her body. The muscles in his abdomen strain more, but with the good kind of pain, the pain he wants to feel just to be close to her. 

He breaks their kiss to look at her, softly running his fingers across her forehead, brushing her hair out of her face. And Elena’s jade-green eyes stare deep into his soul.

Hopefully, they’ve locked the door, as Connor doesn’t even want to risk pulling away from her. And hopefully, God will understand committing a sin inside a church…because it’s her. 

“Connor…” she exhales his name against his mouth. He pulls back again, watching her catch her breath, when he hears another voice call his name beyond the door. 

His eyes lock with Elena’s, and she starts giggling while he lets out an exasperated sigh. He presses his forehead against hers as he chuckles, too, mumbling a few curse words under his breath. 

“Connor?” the voice calls again, confirming it’s Murphy. 

As they sit up, Connor brushes Elena’s hair back off her shoulder. “Well then,” he starts, unsure of what else to say that could remedy the situation. 

“Time’s up,” she teases lightly, though he can see the disappointment in her eyes, in the way her cheeks are still flushed. 

A modest knock on the door interrupts, with Murphy’s voice on the other side. “Conn?”

He finally tears his eyes away from her, and he can’t hide the annoyance in his tone as he calls back. “Yeah?”

“Is Elena still in there with ye?” 

He slips on his t-shirt and moves toward the door, looking over his shoulder at Elena with a smile. “Aye, she is.” He shakes his head, laughing quietly as Elena stands up, adjusting her shirt. “Fucker learned his lesson apparently,” Connor whispers to her, and she promptly slaps his shoulder with the back of her hand as she stifles a grin. 

As the door opens, Murphy doesn’t move; he just stands there with a grim look on his face. “I’m sorry, it’s just that…something’s happened.”

. . .

. . .

⏮ [26]

[28] ⏭

[dweemeister]

2023 Movie Odyssey

I keep submitting this later and later! Anyways, as is tradition on this blog, this is the complete list of films I saw for the first time in their entirety over the last calendar year. They are listed in the order of completion and with a respective rating out of ten from me. Each rating (my ratings system and eligibility rules are explained here - which I really need to update) is based on my personal imdb rating. All half-points are rounded down.

Mid-late January was mostly virtual viewing for the Sundance Film Festival. March was defined almost entirely by my blog’s annual 31 Days of Oscar marathon (in which I limit myself to watching films nominated for an Academy Award or Honorary Academy Award winning films). May was entirely dedicated to viewing submissions for Viet Film Fest - which contributed heavily to the amount of short films (in somewhat-related news, I have finally completed viewing of the entire original Popeye short film series, an endeavor that took several years).

For the first time since I started taking records in 2012, I recorded not a single 10/10 rating.

In sum, I saw 226 films that were new to me in 2021 (up from 207 in 2022). 111 of those were features (films defined as forty-one minutes or longer, a record low since I've been keeping records); 115 were short films (forty minutes or shorter; a record and the first time short films surpassed features).

For the second straight year running, I failed on my yearly objective to watch more pre-1980 films than 1980 and after - this is to ensure that I my viewing habits are well-rounded, chronologically. Among features, I saw thirteen more features released 1980 and after. Adding both features and shorts, the deficit was fifty (a record, up from last year's count of nineteen).

What follows is the entire list of the 2023 Movie Odyssey:

JANUARY (asterisk denotes Sundance Film Festival)

Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio (2022) – 8.5/10

Beaus Will Be Beaus (1955 short) – 6/10

Heathers (1988) – 7/10

My Father’s Dragon (2022) – 6.5/10

Gift of Gag (1955 short) – 6/10

I Know Where I’m Going! (1945) – 8/10

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (2022) – 7/10

Don’t Bother to Knock (1952) – 7/10

My Friend Flicka (1943) – 6/10

Fellini Satyricon (1969, Italy) – 6/10

The Family Circus (2022 short)* – 6.5/10

Weapons and Their Names (2022 short)* – 6/10

The Flying Sailor (2022 short, Canada)* – 8/10

Thriving: A Disassociated Reverie (2023 short)* – 6/10

Tender (2022 short)* – 5/10

Sèt Lam (2022 short, France/Réunion)* – 7.5/10

Shortcomings (2023)* – 7/10

The Accidental Getaway Driver (2023)* – 7.5/10

Pianoforte (2023, Poland)* – 6/10

Shayda (2023, Australia)* – 7.5/10

The Stroll (2023)* – 8/10

The Eternal Memory (2023, Chile)* – 6/10

Triangle of Sadness (2022) – 5/10

FEBRUARY

The Bachelor Father (1931) – 6/10

Women Talking (2022) – 8/10

Lured (1947) – 7/10

The Omega Man (1971) – 5.5/10

Beverly of Graustark (1926) – 7/10

All Quiet on the Western Front (2022, Germany) – 6/10

Living (2022) – 8/10

Something Good – Negro Kiss (1898 short) – 7/10

Beauty’s Worth (1922) – 6.5/10

The Fabulous Senorita (1952) – 5/10

Êsse Mundo é Meu (This World is Mine) (1964, Brazil) – 7.5/10

That Man of Mine (1946) – 6/10

How Do You Measure a Year? (2021 short) – 6/10

The Elephant Whisperers (2022 short, India) – 7.5/10

Stranger at the Gate (2022 short) – 6/10

Haulout (2022 short, Russia/United Kingdom) – 7.5/10

The Martha Mitchell Effect (2022 short) – 7/10

Top Gun (1986) – 6/10

The Ring (1952) – 7/10

Ivalu (2023 short, Denmark) – 6/10

Night Ride (2020 short, Norway) – 6/10

Le pupille (2022 short, Italy) – 8/10

The Red Suitcase (2022 short, Luxembourg) – 8.5/10

An Irish Goodbye (2022 short) – 8.5/10

Curly Top (1935) – 7/10

MARCH (31 Days of Oscar) (double asterisks mark exceptions)

Tár (2022) – 8.5/10

Wee Willie Winkie (1937) – 7/10

Top Gun: Maverick (2022) – 7/10

An Ostrich Told Me the World is Fake and I Think I Believe It (2021 short) – 8/10

Ice Merchants (2022 short, Portugal) – 9/10

The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse (2022 short) – 6/10

My Year of Dicks (2022 short) – 8/10

The Sea Beast (2022) – 7.5/10

Fire of Love (2022) – 7/10

The Whale (2022) – 6/10

The Quiet Girl (2022, Ireland) – 7/10

Marcel the Shell with Shoes On (2021) – 6/10

Block-Heads (1938) – 7.5/10

A Haul in One (1956 short)** – 6/10

Nearlyweds (1957 short)** – 6/10

The Crystal Brawl (1957 short)** – 5/10

Patriotic Popeye (1957 short)** – 6/10

Murder on the Orient Express (1974) – 6.5/10

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1969) – 8.5/10

APRIL (WB100) (pound/sharp sign denotes exceptions)

Hollywood Steps Out (1941 short) – 7/10

Buccaneer Bunny (1948 short) – 7/10

Clash of the Wolves (1925) – 7/10

The Sea Wolf (1941) – 7.5/10

Yankee Doodle Daffy (1943 short) – 6/10

This is the Army (1943) – 5.5/10

Suzume (2022, Japan)# – 7.5/10

A Lion is in the Streets (1953) – 5/10

Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985) – 7/10

The Strawberry Blonde (1941) – 7.5/10

MAY (all are VFF submissions)

House Rules (2022 short) – 7.5/10

The Bonsai Master (2023 short) – 6.5/10

Oink (2022 short) – 7/10

Refuge After War (2023) – 7/10

Kim-Ly and the Bottled Up Emotions (2022 short) – 6/10

What We Don’t Talk About (2023 short) – 6/10

(Phục Sinh)(Resurrection) (2022 short, Vietnam) – 7/10

Family (2022 short, Hungary) – experimental film; no rating provided

Ngày Mai (Tomorrow) (2023 short, Germany) – 7.5/10

In Living Memory (2022 short) – 8/10

Still Queer (2023 short) – experimental film; no rating provided

Polite Society (2023) – 7.5/10

On the Edge (2022 short, Vietnam) – 6/10

Supermarket Affairs (2022 short) – 8/10

Ma’s Kitchen (2022 short) – 5/10

Je Suis Là (I Am Here) (2022 short, France) – 6.5/10

Jackfruit (2021 short, Germany) – 8/10

The Resting Place: Nơi An Nghỉ (2022 short) – 5.5/10

Trốn Tìm Về (Homeseek) (2022 short, Vietnam) – 6/10

Jheff Wick (2023 short) – 6/10

Echo 8 (2023) – 5/10

For Tomorrow (2023, Canada) – 6/10

Cat Daddies (2022) – 6/10

Hex the Patriarchy (2023 short) – 6/10

Love, Dad (2021 short, Czech Republic) – 8.5/10

Match Point (2023 short) – 6/10

Porcelain (2023 short, Australia) – 7/10

Ripen (Trưởng Thành) (2023 short, Canada) – 6/10

La Cosecha (The Harvest) (2023 short) – 7.5/10

Hoang the Paper Boy (2023 short) – 5/10

The Ride (2023 short) – 6/10

Dawn of Skates (2023 short) – 7/10

Sleepless in Saigon (2023 short) – 5/10

Glow (2023 short, Germany) – experimental film; no rating provided

Little Parrot (2022 short, Germany) – 6/10

Tanh (2023 short, Vietnam) – 5/10

The Resemblance (2022 short) – 7/10

Astonishing Little Feet (2023 short) – 7/10

Breathe (2023 short) – 6/10

303.77 (2022 short, Vietnam) – 5/10

Bột (Powder) (2023 short, Vietnam) – 6/10

You Could Destroy Me But I’ll Still Be Here (2022 short, Canada) – experimental film; no rating provided

Her Name is Like a Sigh (2023 short) – 7/10

Mười: Lời nguyền trở lại (Muoi: The Curse Returns) (2022, Vietnam) – 3/10

Trails (2019 short) – experimental film; no rating provided

Conversations at the Register (2022 short) – 7/10

Good Chips (2023 short) – 7.5/10

Flowing Home (2021 short, Canada) – 8/10

Love, Mai (2023 short) – 7/10

Video Funeral (2023 short) – 7/10

The Waves Now Calm (2021 short, Malaysia) – 7.5/10

Object of Desire (2023 short) – 7/10

Think of Something Beautiful (2023 short, Germany) – 7/10

Heaven is in Space (2023 short) – 6/10

I Want You to Live (2023 short) – 6/10

Golden Seams of Love (2022 short) – 7.5/10

Hyphen (2023 short) – 6.5/10

Pipe Dreams (2023 short) – 7/10

39 (2022 short, Spain) – 7/10

Hao Are You (2023, Germany) – 7.5/10

Angels (2023, Vietnam) – 8/10

Our Blossom (2022, Hungary) – 5/10

Trời Sáng Rồi, Ta Ngủ Đi Thôi (Good Morning and Good Night)(2019, Vietnam) – 6.5/10

Trạng Tí (2022, Vietnam) – 4.5/10

Mekong Apocalypse (2023, Canada) – 3/10

Qua Bển Làm Chi (My Nail Guy) (2023, Vietnam) – 5/10

Tro tàn rực rỡ (Glorious Ashes) (2022, Vietnam) – 7/10

JUNE

High and Dizzy (1920 short) – 6.5/10

Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. (2023) – 8/10

Billy Blazes, Esq. (1919 short) – 6/10

Ask Father (1919 short) – 7/10

Sparkle (1976) – 5/10

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023) – 9/10

The Last Command (1928) – 8.5/10

King Kong vs. Godzilla (1963, Japan) – 4.5/10

Gentleman Jim (1942) – 8/10

Fallen Angels (1995, Hong Kong) – 6/10

Past Lives (2023) – 9/10

Land of the Pharaohs (1955) – 5/10

JULY

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny (2023) – 6/10

Black Legion (1937) – 7/10

Scarecrow (1973) – 7.5/10

Barbarella (1968) – 4/10

In Which We Serve (1942) – 7/10

The Tarnished Angels (1957) – 5.5/10

AUGUST

Assault and Flattery (1956 short) – 5/10

Hill-billing and Cooing (1956 short) – 7/10

Popeye for President (1956 short) – 6/10

Treasure Island (1973) – 3/10

The Black Shield of Falworth (1954) – 6/10

Out to Punch (1956 short) – 7/10

Batman (1989) – 7/10

Barbie (2023) – 7.5/10

Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One (2023) – 7/10

Insect to Injury (1956 short) – 6/10

Oppenheimer (2023) – 8.5/10

Parlez Vous Woo (1956 short) – 6/10

How to Swim (1942 short) – 7/10

The Color Purple (1985) – 8.5/10

Let’s Sing a Song About the Moonlight (1948 short) – 6/10

Girls! Girls! Girls! (1962) – 6/10

House of Wax (1953) – 8/10

Blue Beetle (2023) – 6/10

SEPTEMBER

Happy Together (1997, Hong Kong) – 7/10

Ernest & Celestine: A Trip to Gibberitia (2022, France) – 8/10

The Old Mill Pond (1936 short) – 5/10

Trolley Troubles (1927 short) – 7.5/10

Pluto Junior (1942 short) – 6/10

Nimona (2023) – 6/10

A Haunting in Venice (2023) – 6/10

The Creator (2023) – 6.5/10

OCTOBER

Trick or Treat (1952 short) – 7/10

Alice’s Wonderland (1923 short) – 7/10

Once Upon a Studio (2023 short) – 7/10

So You Want to Hold Your Wife (1947 short) – 7/10

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023) – 9.5/10

The Last of the Line (1914 short) – 8/10

Hare and Hyde (1955 short) – 7/10

The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971) – 7/10

The Ghost and Mr. Chicken (1966) – 7/10

Witchfinder General (1968) – 7/10

NOVEMBER

The Grasshopper and the Ants (1934 short) – 6/10

Fanfan la Tulipe (1952, France) – 8/10

How to Fish (1942 short) – 7/10

The Island at the Top of the World (1974) – 6.5/10

Sun Valley Serenade (1941) – 7/10

The Oath of the Sword (1914 short) – 8/10

The Las Vegas Story (1952) – 6/10

Anatomy of a Fall (2023, France) – 9/10

The Great Impostor (1960) – 6/10

The Holdovers (2023) – 8/10

That Darn Cat! (1965) – 6/10

Wish (2023) – 4/10

Đất rừng phương Nam (Song of the South) (2023, Vietnam) – 6.5/10

Barsaat (1949, India) – 7/10

DECEMBER

Carmen Jones (1954) – 7.5/10

Godzilla Minus One (2023, Japan) – 8/10

The Small One (1978 short) – 6/10

Society Dog Show (1939 short) – 7/10

The Wise Little Hen (1934 short) – 7/10

The Boy and the Heron (2023, Japan) – 7.5/10

The Goddess of Spring (1934 short) – 8/10

Maestro (2023) – 7/10

One Magic Christmas (1985) – 6/10

The Cheaters (1945) – 7/10

Don’s Fountain of Youth (1953 short) – 6/10

American Fiction (2023) – 7.5/10

The Pups’ Christmas (1936 short) – 6/10

Tevya (1939) – 7/10

[daesungindistress]

1) Different anon here, but there's also that humiliating punishment he was made to endure by standing outside naked. Don't think that can be explained by cultural differences since his neighbour was shocked and tried to help him. After telling that story at D-na, he kinda laughed it off and said he was drained of energy now and wanted to go home. In BB pre-debut documentary, he told a story of being quite young, complaining about some side dishes and his dad punished him by not allowing him to

eat for 3 days. I’m sorry, but so much of what Daesung has revealed over the years about his upbringing is disturbing and sad. It’s what has made me think that his humility and tendency to be easily scared/startled probably didn’t stem from the best circumstances. Also concerns me that he recently revealed that he thinks he would be a strict father bc of how he was brought up - I hope that doesn’t include the kind of pain and humiliation that was inflicted upon him as a child.

Thanks for writing. I’m just gonna go ahead and put my entire reply under a cut, to save dashes everywhere.

I’m glad you mentioned cultural differences. Because I was talking to another tumblr user some time ago about Daesung’s punishment where he was made to stand outside naked, and as much as it pains me to think about, I just couldn’t bring myself to condemn his father for it and, say, start screaming abuse. I definitely don’t like it and do find it disturbing, but even so, I can’t help wondering… though it seems extreme to me, could this perhaps be a matter of perspective? (Although, yes, his neighbor’s reaction might be a big red flag.)

Asian parents are notoriously strict. For example: one of my good friends is Chinese, born and raised in China until moving to the US at 10 years old, and based on some stories she’s shared with me… sometimes things are just… different over there. Right, China is not Korea, but still. Somehow, about a month ago, while with a group of friends, we all got to talking about our parents’ varying levels of strictness with us growing up. She told us of a time she almost got caught in a lie in high school for a fairly minor thing; said her life “flashed before her eyes,” and went on to explain how that’s not just an expression, that it really, truly felt that way. This was coming from someone not easily rattled.

At the risk of getting long-winded, let me explain that last bit. Back in college (which is where we met and became roommates), while visiting her parents for the weekend, their house was burglarized. She was there alone and the men who broke in tied her up and left her on the bed while they took what they could. She said one of them peeked under her skirt and asked how old she was, but otherwise left her alone (she told them she was… I don’t remember the exact age, but made herself out to be a minor, which she most definitely was not. Smart though). We met up at a pizza joint a few days later so she could tell me about it, and I’ll never forget sitting there across the table from her like, “…WHAT?!” I asked her if she was okay, surprised by her nonchalance over it all, and she just shrugged and said, well, yeah, and as far as I can tell it’s never really bothered her since.

Anyway… this is why that recent comment she made about how she feared her parents in her formative years really surprised me, knowing that she’s not easily shaken, and makes me a bit less inclined to think too hard on Daesung’s accounts of how his own parents chose to “scold” him (using his word). FWIW, my friend and her parents have a good relationship today; she meets them for lunch/dinner from time to time and speaks well of them… although she did say that if she were to live with her parents again she would still have a curfew– at 28 years old!

Look, I don’t like it either, these stories Daesung is sharing with us about how his father disciplined him as a child. I would never condone sending any child outside naked to humiliate them for some wrong committed. In a scenario like that I absolutely would have been the neighbor covering him up and ushering him inside. “Beating” him daily, whatever that means, also sounds bad for sure… though I’d like to know exactly what was meant by that since “beat” may have been the fan’s word for it, not Daesung’s. Semantics are important. (And keep in mind he’s speaking in Japanese, not his mother tongue; it’s possible something was lost in translation: from Korean->Japanese->English.) Lastly, while I understand sending a child to bed without dinner for being a picky eater, withholding meals for 3 days is way overdoing it (thanks for sharing, I hadn’t heard that). God, and to think I just reblogged a post a few days ago about how Daesung is “always looking forward to eating”… The thought of him suffering from hunger, of all things, hits me really hard. :(

Also like you, this is giving me second thoughts about how readily he submits to authority. Being well-mannered and respectful isn’t a bad thing at all, quite the contrary! But it’s terribly sad to think that this might have come about as a result of his father quite literally beating it into him. And how he scares when something comes at him suddenly… I’ve known people (my childhood best friend) who were easily startled seemingly for no particular reason, and I’ve always assumed Daesung’s case was the same, but after hearing these snippets I can’t help wondering. It is disturbing. It is sad.

However… the fact that he’s sharing these things so openly, on stage in front of hundreds (is that right? I don’t know how many are attending these smaller shows) gives me this nagging suspicion that these kinds of punishments might not be all that out of the ordinary where he’s from (coming back around to cultural differences). It’s possible that he’s doing so with the expectation that the fans in the audience, being almost entirely Japanese, are going to nod along with a kind of “been there, done that” mentality.After all, this is Daesung, who prefers to keep his thoughts and worries to himself and goes out of his way to avoid burdening others with his problems. D na Show is supposed to be a fun environment; I struggle to picture him revealing these things if he thought they would shock and appall, or deemed them too serious for such a setting. So for now I’m sort of… reading, frowning, filing it away, and moving on.

That said, I too am just a little concerned about his comments regarding being a “strict” father; it depends on what he means by that. It’s incredibly difficult for me to imagine him doling out such punishments, but if it’s how he was raised and it’s all he knows… maybe it’s not too far-fetched. At the same time, it’s not really any of my business how he chooses to raise his future kids. Anyway, that other tumblr user I talked with about this, she said something that I thought was beautiful and sad and hopeful all at once, and even though I still hesitate to use the term abuse I’d like to repeat her words here: “The abuse doesn’t always repeat itself. Sometimes it just chips away at love and trust.”

I know this has been all over the place so I’m gonna wrap it up, but if there’s one positive thing to come of this, it’s seeing Daesung’s courage and resilience made evident like never before. The fact that he was able to essentially defy his father’s wishes, not just risking his disapproval but actively working against it, now knowing more about how authoritative and intimidating he could be… Becoming a successful idol/singer in spite of doubts (his own, his father’s, and those of everyone else who didn’t think he had what it took)… is, I think, a testament to just how strong a person he really is.

(Editing to add: anyone who grew up in an Asian household, please feel free to write me to help shed some light on whether Daesung’s comments about his upbringing seem culturally “normal” or not. I’d hate to find that I’m being totally ignorant about this.)

[taestefully-in-luv]

Always You | JJK (Drabble#2)

Summary: Jungkook is sick and needs your love.

Pairing: Always You!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: fluff, implied smut.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: none really! enjoy

Notes: no smut in this one! I’m surprised at myself lol Enjoy:)

Taglist: @seagulljk

© taestefully-in-luv

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are the definition of exhausted. Work was hectic today to say the least, you didn’t think all these cookie orders would come out of thin air like the way they did today. You and your coworkers are so god damn tired but still decided that you guys were going to hit a bar to celebrate that the day is over. You were going to at least. That is until you were on your way to your car when your phone started buzzing with incoming messages.

Jungkook 9:24pm

Baby I am dying I think I am actually dying

Jungkook 9:24pm

Is it normal to have hallucinations while on nyquil

Jungkook 9:25pm

Bc I keep thinking you’re here and your gorgeous lips are on my dick

Jungkook 9:25pm

Oh my goodddd I am dying, I need you

Jungkook 9:25pm

I need you

You look at your screen and frown…Jungkook mentioned this morning he was feeling sort of…under the weather. But now he’s talking about dying? While you are stubborn while sick, Jungkook is quite the opposite. He’s needy, wants attention and will pretty much do anything you ask.

y/n 9:27pm

Do I need to come take care of you?

Jungkook 9:27pm

Yes:( please come home…

“y/n!” Jade jogs up to you, stopping when she gets to you and your car. “Want to ride together?”

“Ah,” you bite down on your bottom lip, “Actually my boyfriend is sick and—”

“You can say ‘Jungkook’” Jade rolls her eyes playfully, “But I get it, saying ‘boyfriend’ is fun, huh?”

You blush, feeling embarrassed. “Yeah, well. Jungkook is kind of sick and he’s such a baby when he’s like this and—”

“No need to explain.” She smiles, “Go. Next time,” she promises. “But you owe me a drink for leaving me with these fools. Hazel is apparently meeting us too, and you know how Adam gets.” She teases, “So, you owe me.”

“Noted.” You laugh, “See you later, Jade.”

You get inside your car, turning the ignition on when your phone starts buzzing again, this time a phone call from none other than your boyfriend.

“Hello?” you bring the phone to your ear. “Jungkook?”

“Baby.” Jungkook drags out the word in a whine, “Please bring me more medicine.” He softly begs. You have to admit he does sound pretty pathetic. You can’t help but pity him as he starts dramatically coughing on the other side of the line.

“And please hurry. I need you. Need you to cuddle me and kiss me. I think your kisses could possibly cure me.”

“I’m about to leave work right now,” you confirm, “Which meds should I get you? What are you feeling exactly?”

“I’m feeling so…so in love with you.” He slurs from his drowsy state, then starts giggling.

“Jungkook.” You deadpan. “What are your symptoms?”

“It’s just a cold.” He says, “I think it’s what Jimin had a few days ago. That bastard passed it to me.”

“And you want me to kiss you?!” you laugh, “I’m not trying to get sick.”

“No, no. Don’t worry baby, our power of love will fight against it.”

“You are so…” you begin laughing again, your blush deepening. “I’ll be home in like 30 minutes, okay? Think you’ll be alive when I get there?”

“Your love keeps me alive.” He teases, “See you soon. Love you.”

“Love you, bye.” You bring the phone down and click the end button. The AC is blowing in your face, cooling you from the warmth that had crept on your cheeks while talking to Jungkook. It’s unbelievable that he’s able to make you blush like this, like as if this was completely brand new like you haven’t known him for years.

~~~~~~

The apartment is completely dark when you walk in and also completely quiet. Did Jungkook fall asleep? Did that NyQuil finally do its job? You set the bag of meds down on the breakfast table and turn on the kitchen light. You walk into the kitchen and grab a glass from the cabinet to fetch you some water, it’s nice and cold as if travels down your throat. It feels nice… the dark, quiet apartment—you need the rest after today. You think you’re about to go find a sleeping Jungkook and get some sleep yourself when you feel two strong arms wrap around your waist.

“You’re finally here.” Jungkook whispers, “I waited all day for you.” He whines and you smile for him even though he can’t see.

“All day?” you ask, “Should I have left work to come take care of you?” you tease.

“Yes,” he responds shamelessly. “I missed you so much…I think that’s why I just got sicker throughout the day.” He tightens his hold on you but immediately loosens his grip from how weak he feels.

“Come to bed.” He commands and you spin around in his grasp to face him.

“I need to shower and get ready first.” You explain and he looks at you with sad, tired eyes.

“No.” he pouts, “Who cares? Just change and come to bed.”

“Jungkook.” You chuckle. “I worked hard today, I need a shower.”

Jungkook brings you into his chest and he inhales you, taking in your scent and he melts.

“You smell fine, y/n.”

“I smell like cookies.”

“Smells good.”

“Fine, let’s go to bed.”

Jungkook’s sleepy face lights up and he turns your body around so your back is flush against his chest and he holds on to you.

“Lead the way.” He chirps, “I’m not letting go.”

“Jungkook…” you whine as you try walking forward and he follows you while holding on to you as tight as his tired body possibly can.

You two walk into your shared bedroom and he finally drops his arms to his side and makes his way into bed. You go to your drawer and pull out one of his t shirts…you slip off your work clothes for the day and drag the t shirt of your body.

“Cutie.” Jungkook comments as he lays back and watches you change.

“Oh shit, I forgot to grab your meds. I’ll be right back.” You say making Jungkook frown. You make your way back into the kitchen and grab the baggy full of medicine plus a glass of water and walk back into the room when you notice Jungkook dozing off.

“Babe?” you whisper and his eyes immediately shoot open.

“Come cuddle me.” He weakly pats the spot next to him and you smile.

“Take these first.”

“Yes mam.”

He looks up at you with his beautiful doe eyes, a look of submission written all over his face.

“These first.” You hand him two different pills as you sit on the edge of the bed and he swallows them down quickly while staring into your eyes.

“Now these.”

Jungkook nods his head while taking another two pills.

“Any more?” he asks quietly.

“That’s it for your meds.”

“Wrong.” He states. “I need the most powerful medicine of all.” He gives you a soft smile, “Need a kiss from my baby…please, please kiss me. Missed your lips all day.”

“Jungkook…”

“Your kiss will cure me, I’m sure of it.” He whispers softly. “All I need is you to be okay.”

Your eyes widen at his cute confession, he’s so god damn sleepy—you can tell. His eyes are barely staying open but he just wants to be with you. He is trying his hardest to stay awake because he missed you so much throughout the day.

“Please.” He quietly begs. “Need you.”

You search his eyes and find nothing but love in them, you can’t help but beam at him. One kiss can’t hurt you, right?

You scoot closer to him on the bed, your hands finding themselves in his Jungkook’s hair as you softly bring his face closer to you.

“One kiss.” You promise and Jungkook nods his head slowly with a dopey grin on his face.

“We’ll see about that.” He says under his breath and you laugh while leaning in closer to his face.

You lean in until his breaths hit your lips, your lips just barely touching his and he grows weaker at the contact.

“Please.” He begs again, his words hitting your mouth. “Please.”

You peck his lips softly, just giving him a slow kiss. He kisses back, his lips moving against yours so tenderly it makes you melt. You can tell he has no energy but he continues to kiss you. He slants his mouth over yours and tries to deepen the kiss, you tilt your head and give him a better angle. You said one kiss but…

Suddenly, you feel the wetness of his tongue poking out, trying to find its way between your lips. You open your moth just a little wider to give him access to your own tongue, he slides his in your mouth and slowly caresses his with yours. He releases a long, soft moan and you hate that you get so turned on hearing him. This isn’t a moment to get turned on, this is a sweet, tender moment.

Jungkook slips his tongue out and begins pecking your lips again, a little faster than before. But then he pulls back, his breaths nice and heavy.

“I’m so dizzy.” he says with his eyes closed.

“Me too.” You admit, feeling quite breathless yourself.

“No…I mean, like, literally. I don’t feel good.” He breathes out, “Kissing you, I think took all the energy I have left…what are you like a succubus or something?” he jokes.

“Baby, you need to sleep.”

“Snuggle with me, please.” He pats the spot next to him again and you get up and walk over to that side of the bed. You slip underneath the sheets and move your body close to his. You can feel all his heat radiate off his body and you frown…he must have a fever.

“Let’s sleep, my love.” You say but Jungkook weakly shakes his head.

“Wanna hear about your day.” He sinks deeper into the covers and lays his head on your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“It was busy, we had what felt like a million orders today. Yoongi even came by but left because we were so busy.”

“Mhm.” He nuzzles his face into your breasts, “Did you think of me today?” he asks.

“I always think of you.” You admit.

“I thought of you so much today.” He says between heavy sighs, “Missed you so much.” He squeezes your body tighter. “I don’t think I can be without you for very long.”

You feel your heart pinch in your chest…because…

“You can. You’re just a baby.” You tease.

“No, I really don’t think I can. I felt myself grow weaker every moment I was without you.” He huffs into your chest. You caress his back as he speaks, his words becoming more and more slurred and distant from on another. He’s so tired.

“You love me that much?” you get out in a whisper and it’s silent for a few moments, you think maybe he finally fell asleep until you hear him sigh out.

“I literally don’t love anyone as much as I love you.”

You keep quiet for a few moments too long because after around a minute or so you hear Jungkook lightly snoring into your chest…you can’t help but smile down at him. He’s wrapped his entire body around you, holding you, squeezing you. You caress his back some more and start to feel yourself fall asleep as well. Your eyes getting heavier and heavier until the world becomes dark.

~~~~~

“Good morning!” You feel Jungkook’s breath on your ear, you begin to open your eyes, blinking lazily at your surroundings.

“Morning?” you question since it’s still dark in the room. “It’s still night?” you ask.

“It’s like 5am.” Jungkook states. Your eyes finally begin adjusting in the darkness and you notice Jungkook looks ten times better. He still looks tired but he has more life.

“Your kiss cured me, if that’s what you are thinking about.” He smiles that bunny smile and you laugh.

“I thought it drained you of your life?” you sit up on your elbows, “That I’m a succubus?”

“No, it helped me sleep so it could work its love magic on me and now I feel almost all the way better.”

“Almost?” you quirk a brow and he chuckles.

“I think I need more from you to make me all the way better.” He wiggles his brows at you and sends you a wink.

“What more do you need?” you lean forward and peck his lips, but you linger in his space. He smiles against your mouth and kisses you again.

“I think my hallucinations were actually visions of the future.”

You tilt your head, trying to remember what his text said about hallucinations when realization hits you.

“You need my lips wrapped around your cock?”

“I think that’s the ultimate cure.” He kisses you again, “Don’t you think?”

“You’re so needy.” Your lips move over his sensually, your tongue making its way into his mouth. He whimpers into your mouth when he feels your hand grab a hold of his hardening member. He pulls away from you and smiles softly.

“I’ll always need you.”

[cowboy-anon]

▶️ Apple :D go make some applepie :)

(yes my humour is very broken xD)

I swear this was supposed to be fluffy and short, but it got angsty and long instead. It’s so long it deserves a title AND I’m tagging people! Today Apple bakes a pie and we learn a bit more about Benji. 🍏 I’m not 100% satisfied with it but it’s still pretty good.

I should probably also note that everything I’ve mentioned so far is basically canon, besides a few minor details. Like, yeah, Jimmy’s canon, y’all.

CW: Broken whumpee, clueless whumpee, crying, food, implied captivity, neglect, pet whump, referenced past loss of consciousness, referenced past punishment, referenced past whipping, Stockholm Syndrome, unhealthy habits, yelling

Tagging: @sideblogformindtrash, @unicornscotty, @milk-carton-whump, @happy-whumper, @whumperfulart (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list! <3 )

Apple Pie

Apple doesn’t think your humor is broken at all, although admittedly he doesn’t get the joke. At the suggestion, he smiles. An apple pie would be a great idea to win back Master Clay’s affections, especially after yesterday!

Of course, to get his ingredients, Apple needs Master Clay to go to the store, and to get his ingredients on Master Clay’s list, he has to visit Benji. Apple hasn’t even seen them since their unconscious body was carried out of the extra bedroom last night. Still, Apple knows that for the next week, whatever Benji asks for, they’ll get. That’s how it always goes.

So Apple moves to sit up, but the instant he does, his back flares with sore, stinging pain. Ow, ow, ow! He freezes, biting back a whimper as his shirt settles against the raw skin. The sting fades into constant but bearable discomfort.

This time when he moves, he goes slower, and the pain feels like less. Apple feels overwhelming relief when he makes his way down the hallway and the hurt is tolerable.

Benji doesn’t talk, eat, or sleep much after a punishment, and this time is no different. When Apple nudges open the door to Master Clay’s bedroom, they’re laying on their stomach in the dark with the shades drawn, illuminated only by the haunting light of the TV. Master Clay always moves it for them on days like this.

They’re looking at the TV, red-rimmed eyes staring but unseeing at the colorful reality show playing on screen. When Apple sees them, he kind of wants to go back into the living room and wait until Benji’s okay again. He hates seeing them like this, so sad and quiet and small.

Maybe this treat will help cheer them up, too!

Apple pushes the door all the way open and crawls into the room, careful to shut it quietly behind him. “Benji?” His own voice is hoarse from yesterday, too, so he clears his throat and tries again a little louder when Benji doesn’t move. “Benji?”

Benji shifts on the bed, just enough for Apple to know they heard him. Apple crawls closer and kneels in front of them on the floor. It takes a moment for their red eyes to meet Apple’s, but when they do, Apple smiles.

“I need some stuff from the store today.” Apple grabs the pen and notepad sitting on Benji’s nightstand and offers it to them. “For an apple pie for Master Clay.”

Benji shakes their head slowly. Not now, Apple. He can see it on their face. They’re hurting today. Apple feels bad for pressing, but he’s sure Master Clay and Benji will both appreciate it later!

“Please? It’s only a little.”

Benji looks angry and exhausted all at once, and Apple thinks if Benji says no this time, he might just drop it. But Benji just sighs, then squeezes their eyes shut.

Rarely ever does Benji take a punishment worse than Apple, but this was one of those times. If the deep, bracing breaths are any indication, Benji’s thinking the same thing.

Apple doesn’t know what they’re doing until they let out a long pained hiss.  Benji pushes themself up and moves around until they’re laying on their side and facing Apple. Benji takes the notepad, then motions with the pen. What do you want me to write?

Apple grins. Thank you, thank you, thank you! “Apples and brown sugar and cinnamon and a lemon. We need more flour, too. Oh, and ice cream!”

Benji writes everything down slowly, probably so they don't hurt themself more, and Apple watches mystified. Even though their hand shakes, their writing is still so pretty and swirly.

When they’re done, Benji peels the top sheet off the notepad, gingerly folds it up, and puts everything back on the nightstand. Then they settle back onto their stomach on top of the duvet.

From this angle, Apple can see the edges of angry red marks peeking out from the bandaging wrapped all around their back. Master Clay was kind to take care of Benji’s wounds like that. Maybe if Apple hadn’t tried to steal that apple, he would’ve gotten the same treatment.

When Apple looks back at Benji’s face, they’re staring at the TV again. He takes that as his cue to leave, being careful to shut the door quietly behind him.

***

When Master Clay returns with the ingredients, Apple is a little disappointed to find that he forgot the ice cream, but not ten minutes later, Master Clay passes through the kitchen grumbling about it. Apple’s pulling his ingredients together on the floor when Master Clay snatches his keys off the counter and leaves again.

Did Benji tell him that he’d forgotten it? Or maybe Master Clay noticed how disappointed Apple was and realized what he had forgotten! Regardless of the reason, Apple can’t believe Master Clay would drive all the way back to the store just to pick up some ice cream for him!

Apple feels a stab of loneliness every time Master Clay walks out the door, but it’s good that he’s gone. If he’s quick, he’ll have this pie done before he gets back. He can hardly imagine his surprise!

So Apple doesn’t waste any time. He mixes together all the dry ingredients for the dough and then cuts in the butter, careful not to overwork it before tossing it in the freezer. The apples are next. He cuts them nice and precise, and he makes sure the measurements are just right. Who knew that cooking show Benji watches would’ve come in handy like this?

Apple gets so into it that he starts to hum a little tune under his breath. He doesn’t remember what it’s called, but it’s soft and uplifting and he starts it over again as he lines the tin with the pie crust and layers in the apples.

Finally, Apple pulls together a streusel topping. It’s really easy, and it’s a touch of his own personal flavor since he’s not using the traditional lattice. By the time it’s in the oven, he’s forgotten all about his raw back, but he gets a harsh reminder when he leans up against the bottom cupboards while he waits. He winces and twists so that he’s leaning on his shoulder, not his back.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until the oven beeps.

Apple wakes with a jolt, frantically trying to orient himself with his eyes. Right, he’s in the kitchen, on the floor. When he looks up, there’s a pint of vanilla ice cream sitting on the countertop, half-melted but still ice cream.

Apple smiles groggily to himself and eases onto his knees. It’s hard reaching into the oven from here, but he manages it. He uses a dish rag to pull the pie out from the heat and sets it on the floor in front of him.

The smell is heavenly. It takes all Apple has not to dig into the pie right then and there, because he made the pie for Master Clay and Benji, not himself. He barely ignores the way his stomach growls when he catches a whiff of buttery crust and spiced fruit.

Apple cuts a big slice for Master Clay and another for Benji, he scoops a spoonful of ice cream on top of each, and then he crawls over on his knees with the two plates and spoons in hand back to Master Clay’s room.

Apple gives the door a gentle knock before entering just in case Benji’s asleep.

“Master Clay? Benji? I brought you some pie.” Apple doesn’t know if he’s just surprised or fully disappointed that Master Clay isn’t in the room with Benji, but he supposes it’s a mix of both when he sees Benji propped up against the headboard of the bed. “Master Clay…?”

Benji shakes their head, eyes still glued to the TV. Not here.

Apple lets the flutter of disappointment go and instead crawls over to the bed, placing one slice of pie on the blanket and offering the other and a spoon to Benji. “I brought pie,” Apple says again.

Benji looks from the TV to the pie, and for the first time all day, a ghost of a smile passes over their lips. Apple can hardly believe it! He did that! Only as quick as it comes, it’s gone and replaced with a far more somber look.

“Benji, are… are you okay?”

Benji looks like they’re about to nod their head, but they must think better of it because they get impossibly quieter and more withdrawn.

They silently take the plate from Apple and break a piece off with their spoon. Apple’s excitement comes back full force. Hopefully Benji’ll feel better once they’ve eaten!

Benji is about to take the bite when their hand comes back down to the plate and they whisper, barely audible, “I want to go home…”

Apple doesn’t know what to say to that. How could Benji want that? With everything they have—pretty clothes and tender touches and everything they could possibly want—how could they ever want to leave Master Clay?

“You don’t mean that,” Apple murmurs. “That’s just the punishment talking. You have everything here. You can have anything.” At that, Apple feels a pang of something in his chest, but he keeps going. “This is your home, Benji. Master Clay—”

Benji hurls his plate of pie at the wall with a crash.

“THIS ISN’T HOME!”

It’s so loud and Benji’s voice sounds so raw and tearful, and Apple doesn’t know what to do besides bow his head in submission. So he does. Because Benji yelled at him. They’ve never done that before, no matter how exasperated or angry they’ve gotten with him.

The room goes quieter than it’s been all day. Of course the people on TV would choose now of all times to have a quiet moment.

When Apple dares to look back up again, there are tears streaming down Benji’s cheeks. Apple can’t think of anything to say, so all he says is, “Enjoy the pie…” Then he gets onto his hands and knees and crawls out of the room again.

Behind him, Benji’s silent tears turn to sobs, and they continue to whisper, “I just want to go home…”

Apple shuts the door.

[littlefreya]

Nice day for a White Wedding

Summary:  Even on your wedding day, there is no getting away from August. His grip over you has no boundaries.

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (you)

Word count: 3.3K

Warning: Explicit smutty smut, MaleDom/FemSub, stripping, spanking (rather hardcore this time), slight fingering, bondage, rough sex. Wheeeeee

A/N: So my amazing @agniavateira​ who is also my editor(!) challenged me to a request a while ago and it turned out Ummm more explicit than I thought. So I hope you guys don’t unfollow me after this but not blaming you if you will. Also the name, yes, I am a Billy Idol fan. 

Title: Nice Day for a white wedding

White suits you well, a delicate contrast against the shade of your skin. That dress was, without doubt, a marvellous choice. Your mother complained about it being too simple, wanting you to pick something more extravagant. But you knew from the moment you saw it that this dress you wanted to get married in.

The sheer fabric with the little floral details, the way the tulle flows from your hips and falls down your feet makes you feel like a fairytale princess. You can’t help but pose at the mirror in your living room; chin atop the arch of your shoulder, tilting your head and letting your hair sway down your forearm.

All that’s missing is a little golden tiara and a bouquet of pale pink roses and you’ll be ready for the big day.

You nudge your thumb against the diamond ring, and then collect the tulle of the dress in both arms, lifting it and letting it fall calmly onto the floor.  

“Looks good on you, princess.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. You don’t even need to turn, that deep thunderous voice is already distinguished. 

Your little fairytale has taken a dark twist. You glance at the reflection, watching how he appears from the umbra of light.

A monstrosity so beautiful it makes your heart feel sunken.  

You keep quiet, letting his footsteps dominate the atmosphere in the room, making it thick and heavy with fear. He moves from the darkness, letting the light shower his face. He looks the same as the day you left him. His face still appears as if it was cut from marble by some artist; that moustache still adorns his face, giving him that dangerous-looking edge. 

Without even noticing you hold your hands together, trying to cover that striking diamond ring. But August notices, his eyes trailing over your reflection, drinking in every detail.

“When is the wedding?”

You swallow hard and narrow your eyes, not wanting to dignify him with an answer. He has no right to be here, to taint the new life you created for yourself. 

Because that’s what hurricane Walker does, he leaves you bleeding, a wreck of a woman. 

August lowers his head, looking at his shoes. Knowing him well, it only means that he is harbouring his anger right now. Hell, he has been harbouring it for the last three years.

“This weekend.” 

Talking to him feels as if you broke some spell or summoned a demon by mistake, making him real and not just a figment of your imagination. 

He answers with a bitter smile, his eyes touched by a storm. 

“You really thought you can just leave and then marry someone else? You really thought I’d never find you?” 

“I never thought you’d care enough to bother.” you dare, assuming you’re right. But you remember what happens when you err with August. The payment is painful.

The storm inside him begins to rage. His eyes blaze, even from where you’re standing you can see the small wrinkles that form at each corner.  

“Turn around.” 

Slowly and carefully, as if to not awaken any sleeping dragons, you turn. Refusing to meet his glare, you stare at the floor, hands laying loose at the tulle of your dress.

“Take off that fucking dress.” 

He commands in a voice so calm and rich it wouldn’t have sounded like order if it was heard by another person. 

Stunned by his demand, you finally gain the courage to look into his eyes. The sight of those blue crystals is the cage that draws you in. 

A prison of delights, made of diamonds. Beautiful, but still sharp.

He smirks, knowing he just won. One look and you are his, you’d fight it every time but the conclusion would always be the same: you’d be sore and sorry. Numerous times you told him it was over, yet you always took him back.  

“Did I stutter? Do as you’re told!”

Much to his delight, your chest heaves, making your breasts rise and fall in the v-shaped cleavage of your dress.. You reach a hand behind your back, pulling the zipper down which immediately makes the dress loosen from your body.  

Staring down at nothing but your shattered dignity, you reach for the strap hooked around your shoulder and begin slipping it down. 

“Slowly, and keep your eyes on me.” August demands, forcing you to pause with the strap in the middle of your forearm. Your eyes dart up to meet his stare, trying to read whatever is in that dark mind. 

Perhaps, it’s best you’d never find out.

The strap slides down your forearm before you tend to the other, letting your fingers strip it down while trying to think of some sensual song in your head. That’s what August wants: debauchery and eroticism.   

Your eyes remain on the beautiful blues obediently, trying to show no fear, but the quiver in your lower lip gives it away. August remains composed, caging you in his gaze, there is a faint grin in it.  

The fancy dress finally slips from your body, the fabric swirling around you for a swift moment like tender petals falling from a rose. It piles at your ankles and you hurry to cover your breasts as if he hasn’t seen them a thousand times before. 

He gives a huff, taking one step closer while shaking his head. 

“Aww, is my little princess getting shy? Lay down your arms.”

You obey, exposing your breasts to him. 

The outlines of his cock begin to show as he hardens against his trousers. The thought of it makes you damp in your underwear. It’s been three years, you can’t help but wonder how many broken mouths he had around him since you left. 

You’ve only been with one man and he is hardly the man August is. Yes, he satisfies you, but August destroyed you. 

His hand reaches to adjust his erection before inching toward you. The soft thud of his footsteps makes your heartbeat pace abnormally. The closer he gets, the bigger he looks. You wonder for a slight moment if he was this muscular back then when you still dated.

Finally, he towers over you, his face tilted down as he looks at you, offering a slanted smirk full of dark desires. You remain stoic, unsure how you’re supposed to react but then he leans in, pressing his lips ever so gently on your forehead. 

Everything you felt three years ago hits you like an axe at the back of your head. You breathe, nearly shocked by the circus of emotions that flood your chest. All that love and lust, all that fury and sorrow. 

Falling for August is worse than any sad love song ever written. The problem is, you’re sinking into an abyss.    

His lips hover over your mouth, his nose gently bumping against yours. Still, he remains there. Only his hands move as they work the seam of your plain cotton panties, rolling them down your thighs. 

He takes your hand, raising it and slightly pulling away so it will be at the level of his face. He looks at your ring finger with harsh disapproval. Opening his mouth, he takes your finger in, making you flinch as the hot wetness of his saliva surrounds your delicate finger. He suckles on it for a mere second. Your finger comes out bare and he spits the ring on the floor with utmost contempt.

With your wrist locked in his large hand, you never dream of protesting. On the contrary, you want to beg him for more, forgetting that you once had dignity. You can’t help but pout at his mouth, your eyes seeking that little freckle on his lower lip. 

“Did you dream of the moment I’d find you?” August asks, letting his finger trace the shape of your mouth.

“Sometimes, it was a nightmare.” you declare, parting your lips against his touch.

August hisses through his nose, his touch turning from gentle to crude in an instant. He grips your nape and conquers your mouth, exploiting your flimsy gasp to slip his tongue in. He kisses you for your betrayal, for all the years he had to suffer others, for the days he needed you and you weren’t there. His lips suck onto yours, changing angles to onslaught you from every direction. His tongue is fickle as it overpowers yours, and you hear that deep hum of his voice that makes you flutter against him.

Your lips are swollen and red when he ends the kiss. If not for the hand that holds your nape and hair, you’d be down on the ground by now.

“Get on your knees.” 

Still breathless you stare at him stunned as if his words are suddenly too complicated. Sighing with a wisp of frustration he shoves you down, forcing you to kneel in front of him. 

You are now facing his very hardened bulge, your eyes stare at his groin and then travel up to look at him submissively. August is in his favourite position, on top, staring down with his chest puffed with arrogance. His hands reach to unbuckle his belt and you can’t help but press your hands to massage that aching desire of his, longing to have him in your mouth.

But he has other plans, forcing your chin away with a pinch of his fingers. “No, I want you on four and I want to see you crawl.”

His hand leaves your chin, his head gestures at the direction of the bedroom. Where you and your-soon-to-be husband spend the night.

“Do as you’re told.” he commands, hardly even needing to raise his voice. “And do it slowly, I want to look at your cunt, I want to see how much you drip for me, understood?”

“Yes, August.” You turn on your knees and begin crawling on four, trying to be as sensual as possible. You arch your back and sway up your ass for the man you’ve abandoned for so many good reasons, yet right now you can’t even think of one.

You can hear the rustle of clothes behind you, the thud of his shoes being thrown somewhere and eventually the sound of the leather of his belt as it slips from around his waist. There is a small smacking sound and you realize he’s still holding the belt and slapping it against his palm. 

Your knees nearly give in at the thought of what awaits you in this bedroom. But you still crawl on, swallowing your pride. 

August kicks the door closed when the two of you are finally inside. It’s just the two of you in the house, you find it odd but then you realize it means to heighten your fear, to make you feel hopeless and owned. 

He reaches for your elbow, pulling you to stand up, letting you glimpse his god-like form only for a moment before throwing you facedown on the bed. You are pleased to see you were right, he has grown bigger in the last three years, gaining more muscle.  

You feel the bed shift as he places one knee on the mattress, and with one strong hand, he collects you to stand on four again while he kneels right behind you. You know what’s coming next but you are still surprised, hissing in as his large hand slaps your ass and then squeezes your flesh possessively.

“Did you miss this, princess?” his hand squeezes even harder, his middle finger slightly teasing your slit. 

You bite your lips, leading forward and squirming with anticipation for the next one. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he asks and grants you another slap, this time making sure not to miss your swollen lips. You gasp, fingers wrapping around the floral linen of the bed. 

“Yes sir.”   

You turn your head, seeing him stare at your mound with sick hunger while the bulge in his trousers appears agonisingly enormous. This is what always scared you about August, how much he was willing to endure to torture others.

“Look away,” he warns you as he notices your stare. You realize the belt is still in his hand and you shiver, uncertain if you want to find out what August planned as your sweet punishment for running away. 

“You thought you can just come into my life and leave?” he asks you, one hand sliding up the curve of your ass. You mean to answer but then you feel movement behind you, and then make the mistake of turning your head to gander at him.   

The first smack takes away your breath. The leather stings against your skin, so harsh that for a moment there you are sure the flesh came off from your behind. You try to be brave, fighting away that cry that begs to escape from your throat. 

You deserve this, after all.

You hear him breathing heavily behind you, prolonging the time of the next smack. You won’t foresee it or get used to the pain too quickly, so the excitement will get you wetter. You try to adjust your breath, your back arching upward and downward when you receive the second smack. 

“Uh!” the whimper you fought to keep leaves your lips, your hand pulls on the bedsheet. The worst part is that you’re throbbing, and not just from the pain. Your petals are swollen red, needy for more and August sees it all, enjoying every second of how pathetic you are.

August unleashes another punishment on your ass and this time you cry is a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your entire body squirms back and forth as if daring him to give you more.

The time in which you receive the fourth, fifth, and sixth smacks are nearly immediate. As you hiss and mewl you can hear August chuckling behind you, his free hand massaging your red aching ass, his fingers sliding up and down between your folds almost clinically to feel the soaking thick wetness that awaits him there. 

“You’re so wet, does this boy of yours make you wet as I do?” 

“No, sir!” your voice cracks into a cry, certain you will receive another smack but instead his hand strokes your body with tenderness that is a complete contrast to what you’ve just gotten used to. August always loved to play hard, he wanted you to feel him, not just his body but the raging storm of emotions inside him. 

But when he is gentle, and he would be occasionally after breaking you apart, it would be the certain touch that’ll make you die out of love. 

His strong digits brush down your sensitive muscles, soothing you, tracing and admiring every curve he missed and yearned for. 

You moan, enjoying his caress, eyes closing dream-like while the mattress shifts again. You sense August as he moves closer, his arm reaching to grab at your torso, pulling you to stand on your weak knees. He keeps you pressed against his chest whispering in your ear how much he missed you while brushing your hair aside. His kisses are amorous, prolonged and wet on your neck, trailing up and down, leaving tingling sensations on your body.

“August…”

You hum in delight, you missed having his name on your tongue even though you’ve been doing that many times while pleasing yourself, ashamed of how even when you ran away, this man still had you captive. 

“Take me, princess,” he demands against your ear in a raspy voice. Somehow you manage to ignore the snake-like sensation of the harness that wraps around your neck. When you realize what he is doing, you’re already leashed and thrown back on your elbows while August kneels behind you, holding one hand around your waist while the other is clasped around the leather strap.

“August!”  

He hushes you sweetly and tugs the strap to warn you, making you grind backwards at his demand. 

“Be my good girl,” he asks darkly and pushes himself all the way inside you, as deep as he can possibly reach. His fist tightly holds the strap, pulling you to him to meet his thrust and slide you on his cock.

Your groans are synced in a delightful unison, both of you overwhelmed by how much you missed each other’s bodies.

August makes you feel whole, not just by his generous length and girth, but because it’s him. Even though he made you cry way too many times that you can count, the ache of not being with him was far, far worse. 

He pulls away from you in an achingly slow rhythm, one hand squeezing your pained cheek while the other slightly loosens on the leash. You already protest at his departure, needing him back inside when his fist clenches again, tugging you back to meet his punishing thrust. 

“You feel... so... good, princess.” his voice is as broken as your heart as he sheaths himself inside you, groaning loudly to let you know how great and tight you are around his cock. “Take it,  take it all.”

You’re a whimpering, feeble thing, completely submissive to his urge. Throwing your head back with your hair falling against your spine, you let him slam into you again. August harnesses you like a bitch, having complete control over you while your heart flutters at both the sensation of his cock splitting you apart and those deep grunts that escape his mouth. You’ve missed everything about him, the scent of his body, the bass of his voice, his ravenous gaze and even his stupid moustache.

You’re in a haze, existence becoming nothing but beating emotions, your united throbbing organs and the friction that continues to tighten and grow. Suddenly, August’s entire weight is sinking onto you. He moves to cover you, one hand pressing on the mattress while the other reaches out to your neck. His fingers lace underneath the leash while he begins to pump into you violently. 

There is wetness on your cheeks, rolling and dripping down your chin beyond your control. August sighs, looking at you and kissing the salty tears away.

“You know, you look really pretty when you cry.” 

Little spasms spiral from your core, right where you are connected, where August is claiming you as his. He grinds you into oblivion, ignoring the resistance of your walls and whispering dirty things in your ear. One by one, the tendrils of pleasure begin to snap and your walls shudder and dance urgently around his cock.

“Did you really think you could just break my heart, princess?!” 

It was all it took to destroy you. You collapse forward, your orgasm is so intense, you crouch down beneath the large man and scream your pleasure into the pillow. Your ass bucks back against him, taking his swollen cock all the way inside and forcing him to lose control and erupt into your body with a shudder and a prolonged grunt.

You feel the warmth of his seed seeping inside you. He likes to grind himself in while filling you with his cum, giving you all he has before pulling out and watching how it trickles down from your battered entrance with some twisted pride.

With his hands around your ribs, he takes you down with him, lying you on your back while he hovers onto you, sweaty and panting. Now begins the part when he takes care of you, soothing kisses and claiming strokes on the wetness of your body.

“Call off the wedding,” he makes one last demand, his lips pressing to your abdomen, trailing down lower in apology for every painful bruise that surely will be there tomorrow. 

You comb the mess of curls on his head between your fingers, watching him with a clenched heart while he lifts your legs and kisses all the way from your curled up knee to your inner thighs. 

“You are coming home with me, and that’s the end of it.”

Closing your eyes, you flex on the mattress with muscles aching from his touch. Your lips part slightly as you whisper your answer into the dark. _______________________________

[roselightfairy]

On the topic of hurt/comfort fics, do we have any Gimli/Legolas hurt comfort fics where Legolas is the one that needs comforting? Like dealing with his sea-longing and needing snuggles or he's pushing himself too hard and Gimli needs to remind him to sleep/take care of himself because even the tireless have limits, or Legolas crying over anything in general and Gimli coming to the rescue?

All right, so there are a lot more of these out there than the Gimli ones. We as a fandom do love our Legolas whump, and it was tough to cut down this list – but I tried to go for more the emotional side of h/c, which is a favorite of mine for the two of them. (Gimli physically injured; Legolas in emotional distress – that’s where it’s at!) A physical h/c fic or two did slip in, though, so I divided these into three main sections: one that deals with sea-longing, one that deals with war-related trauma, and one “other” category. As a reminder, this is not a catch-all list – again, Legolas might well be the whole fandom’s favorite whumpee – but these are some of the ones that first popped up in my mind at your request.

Sea-longing:

and yet the sea calls (series) by Laura JV (jacquez)

Summaries: [Gimli/Legolas] loves, and yet the sea calls.

…

This is a set of lovely vignettes (two stories, one from Legolas’s perspective and one from Gimli’s) about learning to live and love with the sea-longing between them, and to find comfort in one another as best they can. These stories make me feel so very many feelings and are constant rereads when I want to feel the bittersweet (but mostly sweet!) that is their love.

A Beloved Ballast, an Untethered Soul by katajainen

Summary: Gimli has spent long months on the new gates of Minas Tirith, all the while waiting for Legolas to return to him from the North.

But when he does, it's clear the year has not been altogether kind to his husband.

…

This is one of my favorites of a lot of things – a wonderful, gentle reunion in Minas Tirith after their separation after the war, Legolas worn from sea-longing and finally finding home in his husband’s arm, warm comfort and some very romantic smut. Please read it; you will not regret it.

Everything That Mattered Is Dust by SerStolas

Summary: A decade ago, the One Ring was destroyed. A decade ago, Gimli and Legolas traveled together first to the Glittering Caves and then to Fangorn. A decade ago, both of them failed to admit their deeper emotions for each other. Now they meet again in Minas Tirith during renovations on the city. But not all is well with Legolas.

Inspired by Through the Ghost by Shinedown.

…

This is another lovely story with a similar theme to the previous – but without the established relationship, so we get a very sweet love confession instead. Very gentle and loving and satisfying; this gets me right in the hurt/comfort feelings. <3

Where You Go, I Will Go by UnnamedElement

Summary: Lady Galadriel's message was a riddle too twisted for a Wood-elf and a Dwarf to initially unwind... This is a story of a friendship fraught with mutual ignorance: the concessions a dwarf makes to an elf, and the choices that elf makes for their peculiar friendship. It is how Legolas and Gimli pass through the threat of death to find, together, a better truth. (March 2016 Teitho)

…

Look, I don’t know if this is hurt/comfort as such, but it certainly comforts ME to read. This is a lovely little exploration of the sea-longing and how it changes Legolas and Gimli’s friendship – and in fact brings them closer together. It’s gen, nominally, but it’s so tender you won’t miss the romance (and I feel comfortable saying that because of multiple conversations with @unnamedelement on the subject!).

The Language of Power by Thewriternumber19238478356

Summary: It's the night before the march on the Black Gate. But sea-longing won't let Legolas sleep. Gimli offers him a secret dwarven practice that might just be the solution…

…

This is an underappreciated and really wonderful story, but contains some non-sexual BDSM, so be warned for that. It’s extremely tender and plays with the notion of power in dominance/submission with respect and love for the practice and the characters. It’s archive-locked, so you’ll need an account to read it, but I really do have such love for this story and I highly recommend it.

War-related:

A Night Beclouded by katajainen

Summary: Night falls after the fighting is done on the Pelennor Fields. For those left alive, it should be an hour for respite, for catching one's breath.

But there is the kind of darkness that seeps under one's skin, the kind not born of mere absence of sunlight, and this is not a time to be alone.

…

This is such quiet, atmospheric tenderness – comforting someone after a nightmare is such a wonderful trope, and @katajainen does it with all her usual sensitivity and care. A bit of pre-relationship sweetness and warm comfort – and honestly, it was a struggle to keep it to two fics by katajainen on this list; please go read all her stories!

Shared Spaces by mssileas

Summary: I know you think I'm a little different But I'm still somebody's son.

The night before marching on the Black Gate, neither of them can sleep.

…

Okay, so I adore this fic. I have a soft spot for any fics that focus on how Legolas must feel about Sauron and the origin of orcs, and this is a wonderful fic that deals with those ideas, as well as pre-battle anxiety, and Legolas and Gimli taking comfort in one another. Lots of lovely hand-touching and some very sweet kissing, too. <3

A time and times and half a time by Honesty

Summary: AU. Legolas, imprisoned by Saruman, discovers *exactly* how Orcs were made .... While Gimli keeps a vigil he will never forget.

…

Similar themes as the last one, though taken WAY over the edge past hurt/comfort and into serious hurt territory. Be careful with this one, because there’s a lot of pain for Legolas – warning for physical and psychological torture - but the love between him and Gimli is so powerful and all-consuming, it carries the story and provides the much-needed comfort at the end, though you’ll probably still be aching.

Comfort after Endurance by spinel

Summary: The battle of Helm's Deep takes its toll on Legolas. A stolen moment between the end of the battle at Helm's Deep and riding to Isengard.

…

Pre-relationship sweetness, comfort after battle. This one skirts the lines of physical and emotional hurt/comfort, combining the two with the soothing effect of touch and closeness after great trials. Lots of tender handling of one another – no explicit relationship content, but definitely little hints of more to come here and there. ;)

Other:

inkstains by apricae

Summary: Legolas isn't much good at reading, and an attempt at a learning his letters with Gimli turns into a revelation.

(Or: The one in which Legolas is dyslexic and sad, Gimli is a very good husband, and Dwarves are a lot better than Elves at handling disabilities.)

…

I am very big on neurodivergent Legolas in all its forms, and I love this dyslexic-Legolas headcanon a lot. Emotional distress and childhood trauma – but luckily, Legolas has a very kind, loving dwarf husband to talk him down and help him through.

Tainted Meat by lynndyre

Summary: On the road between Helm's Deep and Isengard, mistakes are made with supplies.

For the BloodyValentine prompt: someone feeds orc food to an elf, making them really sick.

…

This is one of my favorite underappreciated fics out there – I find that it really gets the way Legolas and Gimli are portrayed once they start meeting up with armies and other men: they are a bubble of two, responsible for one another’s comfort and supporting one another without question. In this fic, Legolas (and half the Rohirrim) are struck with food poisoning, and while the men deal with the aftermath, Legolas is so very much Gimli’s charge, and it’s so tender and lovely and wonderful. Gen, nominally, but it gets the particular something between them in canon that I so love. (It also fits with a line Gimli says in Two Towers about refusing to touch any orc supplies!)

 Teeth Like Knives by Evandar

Summary: Gimli wasn't expecting to have to stitch Legolas back together after their first attempt at lovemaking, but now that the initial shock has worn off, he can't say that he's surprised.

…

This is part of a larger series that involves half-orc Legolas, and all of it has some very wonderful emotional hurt/comfort. But this is my favorite of the series because of how good and gentle and wonderful Gimli is with Legolas’s existential crises and hurting himself on accident. Please do mind the tags, since this subject matter may not be for everyone, but I adore the sensitivity with which these topics are handled and reread this for comfort. <3

…

As always, if you enjoy any of these fics, please let the author know with a comment if you have capacity! Also, I encourage you to reblog this list so that we can spread the good word. :)

[kneamet]

Hank Williams is looking for new inspiration. Eventually he finds Reader.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere

Word Count: 1859

Character: Hank Williams/reader

Summary: Hank has been looking for a muse for a long time, and now, he has found you

POV Your

Being around Hank, your husband, was scary and totally unpleasant. He was like a poison, penetrating your bright thoughts and perverting them in a bad way. He was terrible, or, to put it mildly, simply unpleasant.

And it would be fine if this dislike extended only to his appearance, but no, he was absolutely disgusting inwardly. Sometimes, although this feeling was very common now, you just wanted to hit him, call him bad words, and finally break out into the street, out of his suffocating captivity

He was quite handsome: a lanky figure and very frail, with a large back that he had inherited from childhood; dark-colored, with a slight green tinge, like a swamp sinking into the depths, eyes; thin, slightly greasy in some places, brown hair. He was very attractive, and you weren't surprised when you realized that. He wasn't your type, though.

Your husband's character, as much as you hate to call him, was too contradictory to speak of. On the one hand, you wanted to forgive him for what he did to you, but it was only your heart that said it, but your mind always told you, which, by the way, you always focused on, that it was dangerous to be near him. What if he does something to you, like he did at the beginning of your captivity? It was exactly the kind of event you didn't want to remember.

And even now, lying on the bed, you felt an unthinkable desire to leave here, to disappear, to cease to exist, but knowing that your punishment could last for an even longer period, you did not hope to do it, fearing it. Yet the thought of escape has always warmed and nurtured your soul.

Lately, since your husband recovered and finally began to travel around America again, very often, for your sake, canceling tours and rescheduling them for another day, you have begun to think about how you would like to walk through the soft and gentle grass, strewn with silver dew, and feel it, feel it tickle your shins; about how a quiet and calm wind, coming from far away, blows your hair so that it develops; about how you can finally put on new and clean clothes, not defiled by your husband, about how to see your boyfriend again.

God, you missed him so much. For your beloved person, who would do everything you say, but at the same time would give a rebuff. Such a gentle and pleasant guy that you always wanted to find and who eventually made you an offer that you didn't refuse. However, who would have known that the next day you would be here, in the house of Hank, your husband, no matter how sad it sounds.

You didn't know how he first became interested in you. You never went to his concerts, and yes, you listened to his radio a couple of times in the early morning, but nothing more personal or secret about him. Even if you admit it to yourself, you didn't know he was famous. You still thought he was playing on the radio.

Blinking rapidly, as if trying to abruptly forget about the months you've been here, you tighten your grip on the book in your hands, feeling your fingers begin to sweat under the pressure of your fingers and how they begin to turn white from the strain. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to concentrate on reading the book again, but you can't.

Your thoughts are racing through your head, like they're trying to make you think about nothing else. But no, you won't fall for it.

Realizing that you are unlikely to be able to read the book, you catch a glimpse of Hank, who is mumbling something, touching the hard strings of the guitar with his long fingers. He hummed a little on it, as if trying to compose a tune, while muttering to himself. He didn't seem to have any ideas for a new song. Does that mean he'll finally realize he doesn't need you?

Simply put, you didn't like the fact that Hank considered you his muse, as he said, you inspire him to new texts and poems, but vo always doubted it. How can you inspire someone?

And yet you haven't given up hope that he just made a mistake and you're not the one he needs. However, over time, this hope disappeared. Vanished like dust.

You didn't love him. And you didn't hate him fiercely either. It was more like ... contempt or disgust. Contempt for his character, for his actions, which always drove you into a corner.

Apparently feeling your contemptible gaze on him, Hank raised his head from the paper and song sketches to you, carefully looking into your eyes. Your eyes widened and you felt a slight shiver, immediately shifting your gaze. You could literally hear his smile directed at you.

***

"I don't want to cook, Hank!" you shouted in a fit of anger, throwing down the rag you were using to wipe the plate that was currently placed on the top shelf. "I don't want to get out!" you saw his gaze penetrating your skin and making you goosebumps, but you sensibly ignored it. I didn't want to flatter his ego by begging for forgiveness. "I don't want to obey you! I want to be free!" the indignation and anger were clearly audible in your voice.

You've seen the way Hank looks at you. That scary look that tells you it's better if you listen to it.

"Songbird," Hank said softly, but with a hard intonation, chuckling derisively as he approached you with small steps. "You know you're my wife. Lady. You must obey me, " he was as light as if he were talking. As if there was nothing wrong with what he was talking about.

But no, since you're doing this, you're not just going to leave.

"I want freedom, Hank! You know perfectly well how I feel about you! So why do you force me to obey you?!" you've always been concerned about this question. It was unclear.

However, all your husband did in response to your harsh and loud statements was grab your wrists in a sick grip and pull them sharply towards him. There was a feeling that it was pressing so hard that it blocked the path of blood to your hands.

"I know how you feel about me. I know that you love me with the same pure and tender love that I love you, my sweet bird, " he murmured back, looking into your averted eyes as if trying to find the truth. "But I definitely won't let you talk to me in the tone you're using right now."

***

POV Hank

He liked to see you smile. Yes, even just a glance directed at him was immediately turned into a smile, which you received in return. Hank knew that even your slight movement would have been met by his gaze.

You were just beautiful in his eyes. His little, weak songbird. Your hair, which was currently arranged in a light bun on your head, basically tended to be disheveled; soft, thin lips that responded to him with sweet kisses that they shared in bed; beautiful eyes that you could get lost in, as they reflected the distance.

So beautiful, so gentle, so submissive, listening to his every word. This was exactly the kind of woman he needed. He was absolutely certain that she loved him as much as he loved her. Just as bright, just as beautiful and immaculate.

Hank never thought about finding a muse. His personal muse, which will always inspire him to write new poems. Such a lovely muse, like a doll.

***

"Hank, I'm not sure that was a good idea," the drawling voice drawled, shifting its confused gaze to Hank, who was clenching his teeth, holding on tightly to the beer bottle.

"Don, I did what I know I did. I absolutely wouldn't want to go to Cincinnati just because Jay decided to," Williams ' loud voice was heard clearly exclaiming indignation. "And with what will I go there? I have no new songs, no poems, no inspiration at all."

Had he exhausted his talent? If the poems are not written, then what should I do now? He didn't want to lose the repertoire of one of the most famous singers.

Suddenly, a bell rang, signaling that someone had entered the room. Hank looked indifferently at the door, through which two people entered, until he stopped at the second woman, who was currently smiling at the guy

He was impressed, although he often and always said that it was difficult to impress him. She was beautiful. Hank didn't notice his mouth open slightly in a little cultural admiration. Delicious.

Is it just me, or has he really found a new muse?

"Don, I think I've found a new muse."

***

Hank smiled as the memories of his first meeting with you flashed through his mind at a rapid pace. Oh, how nice it was to remember that.

As Hank ran his fingers lightly over his guitar, which he had kept since his mother had given it to him, he felt a slight slant of falseness and immediately wrote the note out of his notebook. No, it doesn't fit. You need to choose something more different.

"You make me cry," he muttered softly to himself, trying to find the right rhythm for this song that was created especially for his favorite songbird. Oh, and that's just right.

Inspiration washed over him in a huge wave, and Hank felt like a young man. In when the rhymes for the poems came every minute. Yes, and his mother with constant moving then put a lot of pressure on him. But when he and Audrey began an affair, Williams began to draw inspiration from his personal life and the quarrels that greeted him every day in his personal life with Audrey.

He didn't want to think about her. So vicious, so wrong. She was obsessed only with money and even took care of her son, whom she later took away, to the nanny. Disgusting. It was definitely not his woman. She wasn't the one he was looking for.

Hank looked up at you. He was pleased to look at you, but he felt that you were offended with him. However, knowing that the punishment he gave you was very severe, Williams still couldn't fix it. You deserve it.

"Songbird," the singer muttered, putting the guitar down and leaning it against the table. He took a quick step towards the bed, immediately lying down on it and wrapping his relaxed arms around your waist and burying his nose in your neck, feeling you shiver. "I love you."

Being with you always gave Hank pleasure and sensuality. He wanted those moments when you lay together on his, or rather on your shared, bed, together and talk about everything in the world. It's so romantic.

He didn't understand why you flinched when he touched you, though.

[marvelousmaize]

53 and or 57 for the star au? Pretty please

Ask and ye shall receive! Warning for some mild gore and suggestive themes ahead. Thanks for this prompt, dear one!

53 & 57 -

keeping a secret & sacrifice - star AU

It’s been ten days.

Ten days since they took Jaskier. And Geralt has not slept, has barely eaten, is out of his goddamn mind with anger and fear because someone -

Someone took his bard. His Star. And now they were going to die.

See, even after all this time, people all over the Continent still fucking - still believe that consuming the heart of a Star would grant them immortality. And Jaskier is only half-Star, from his mother, but is smart enough to know that the technicality wouldn’t matter much to the wealthy lords and ladies obsessed with living forever. He’s kept it tightly under wraps - didn’t even tell Geralt for god’s sake. No, it was one Yennefer of Vengerberg, who is always observing, always miles ahead of everybody else; who saw Jaskier glow with love - who remembered what glows when it loves - and told Geralt.

And Geralt - Geralt figured out that Jaskier glows brightest around him; that he, a Witcher, made Jaskier shine with starlight. That he could crowd the bard against a door and bend his head so slow; press his lips to the line of his throat and Jaskier would gasp so sweet and shine so bright. That when they tumbled into bed and Geralt would stretch on top of him, marking him, touching him everywhere, bringing them both to new heights of pleasure - Jaskier would just keen and writhe and glow so deliciously, every inch of his skin awash with golden white starlight.

Jaskier glows in sweeter, tender moments too. And though Geralt hungers for every moment of heat between them, he thinks a part of him favors those instances of quiet bliss. Like when they slide into a hot bath together, or when Geralt kneads at the soft flesh of his back, or when the Witcher puts his head on Jaskier’s laps and lets him card his delicate, lute-calloused fingertips through his silver-white hair.

Now somebody else must have figured it out - must have seen Jaskier glow, and put two and two together as Yennefer had and they took him. They took what is Geralt’s from right under his nose and he can’t even let himself think what they’re going to do to Jaskier; can only focus on tearing the Continent apart until he finds his Star and the assholes who took him and he’s going to kill them, and he’s going to enjoy it. Nobody takes what is his.  

And it’s been ten days with no Jaskier, no sweet singing, no starlight, and Ciri’s been crying herself to sleep every single night, and Geralt is out of his goddamn mind with fear and anger, tearing the continent apart -

When Yennefer’s scrying spell finally, blessedly works. She bursts into his room at midnight after he’d coaxed Ciri into a tear-soaked, dreamless sleep; says just, “Redania. Let’s go,” before Geralt walks up her in three easy strides, silver and steel swords strapped to his back.

He heads through the portal Yennefer conjures up even though he absolutely hates them - the smell of sulfur and brimstone and smoke singes his nostrils and dulls his senses - but he needs to get to Jaskier yesterday so he goes through the goddamn portal.

They end up in front of some sort of estate with a sprawling lawn lined with rose bushes, somewhere in Redania - Geralt doesn’t very much give a fuck where, only that he needs to get Jaskier out of there. He unsheathes his swords - he has a feeling he’ll be using both - and stalks towards the entrance, vision already bleeding red.

“Geralt! Geralt, wait -”

But the Witcher ignores Yennefer, doesn’t want to wait. Jaskier has been waiting. For ten fucking days. And it ends now.

When he finds his Star, Geralt’s knees nearly buckle from a mixture of relief and horror and rage. He’s strapped down to a granite table, wrists bound with rope on either side of his head and ankles shackled. He’s surrounded by men - Geralt counts fifteen in the room - including one the Witcher guesses must be the noble-born by the fine fabrics he’s wearing. Geralt zeroes back in on Jaskier, his heart a riotous mess in his chest. His doublet is gone; his blue-gray chemise torn up and bloodied; his eyes wide and afraid.

And his skin -

Geralt feels his blood simmer hotter.

Jaskier’s skin is pale, dull; like the starlight has been sucked right out of him. Like he has no reason to shine. The Witcher’s jaw is clenched so tight he tastes blood at the back of his mouth. He takes a step into the expansive room, swords drawn.

“Hey!” one of the men spots him and yells. “Stay back!”

Geralt keeps walking, and when the man rushes at him, the Witcher runs him through ruthlessly with his sword. “Can’t do that,” he growls. “You took what is mine. You pay.”

And Jaskier - dumb, foolish, idiotic, beautiful, incredible, breathtaking - Jaskier, whose skin had dulled with misery and sadness, whose ocean eyes were unblinking and afraid, turns his head and finally sees Geralt.

He gasps; his eyes widen; his heart races - the Witcher picks it up from all the way across the goddamn room.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes, like a prayer.

And the bard starts to glow. It’s faint, and timid, but it’s there, and Geralt’s chest tightens. He keeps stalking forward, bolstered and determined and laser-focused. More of the men make a run at him - he disposes of them all with ease. He guts them all down, one by one, until there are bodies and blood and ruin littering the floor. Until the only one left is the pathetic little noble-born, properly trembling in his expensive trousers. Meanwhile Geralt’s barely broken a sweat.

He keeps walking. Both of his swords are coated with blood.

Jaskier is struggling against his bindings. His body is alive and thrumming with relief and his eyes are glued onto the Witcher. He is properly glowing now, surrounded by golden white starlight, love in his eyes and joy curling his lips. “Geralt.”

The reverent murmur of the Witcher’s name appears to kickstart something ugly and desperate within the noble. He whips out a dagger; sticks it to the Star’s throat.

Geralt’s vision tunnels.

“D-don’t come closer Witcher,” the noble says through pathetic, chattering teeth. “Or he dies.”

Jaskier’s eyes are wide and remain focused on Geralt. He is afraid, but he is still glowing, his faith in Geralt all encompassing.

Geralt sneers at the noble. “You took what is mine. You die.” And hurls his steel sword with cutthroat precision; watches with no small amount of satisfaction as it stabs clean through the little lord’s skull.

He eats up the remaining distance between him and Jaskier, hands immediately going to unfasten the bindings at his wrists, before forcefully yanking out the metal shackles from the bard’s ankles.

Jaskier sits up as soon as he is free and clambers into Geralt’s arms, hands clutching at the back of the Witcher’s shirt. He lets out a small sob of relief, even as he glows brighter still.

And with the Star at last in his protective embrace, Geralt finally, finally exhales; shudders out a heart-wrenching “Jaskier,” as he presses kisses onto wet eyelashes, cheeks, forehead, before claiming his mouth.

“You - could’ve - died,” Jaskier says fiercely in between kisses. Geralt is pleased to note that he’s glowing still, so his Star can’t possibly be that upset.

“I would not have,” he assures, tracing the seam of Jaskier’s lips with his tongue, demanding submission, his arm curling possessively around the bard’s waist. “I had to find you. I’d move heaven and earth for you.”

He punctuates each word with a swipe of his teeth to Jaskier’s neck, gathering him up, whisking him away from the fear and the death and the ruin. Yennefer is just outside, a relieved if exasperated expression on her face as she conjures up another portal. Geralt walks through it with Jaskier still curled against his chest; doesn’t let go of him until they’re back in their room.

He drops the Star on the bed, stretching on top of him soon after, caging him in. “I wasn’t going to stop until I found you. I’d do anything for you. You must know that,” he groans possessively  against the Star’s lips, and Jaskier lets out the most delicious of whimpers; scrabbles to hold onto the Witcher.

“You - are a fool, Geralt of Rivia,” he gasps, awash with starlight. “Always diving into things headfirst.”

“Only for you, my love,” and the fervent admission makes Jaskier flush and glow brighter. “Just for you.” He divests the bard of his shirt, presses him further into the bed, wishing to tell Jaskier with touch what he’s conveying with his words - that Geralt would lay down everything, absolutely everything, to have Jaskier alive and safe and shining in his arms once more. Because Jaskier is his. Now and forever and always.

Jaskier’s eyes are sparkling, as if he understands what remains unspoken but still so palpable between them. The Witcher thinks they glow almost as much as all the bare starlit skin underneath him. “Oh, darling -”

Geralt swallows any other word on the bard’s tongue. There will be time for conversation later. Right now, he has more pressing matters he’d like to attend to.

[the-mad-starker]

Starker Smut: Variations in Perfections

Ahh my failed ABO event fic since I didn't finish in time  This, I think, will be a three parts but I didn't want to wait until I did all three parts to post. This way, I can start dividing my time for other events 😱

Prompt: [Preferred tags: non/dub-con, body transformation, humiliation/degradation] Omegas are not a natural occurrence, they're made when an alpha is forced to submit and takes another alpha's cum. Sometimes they have to be knotted more than once for the change to be complete.

Notes:  noncon, possessive Peter, a/b/o dynamics, Alpha Tony/Alpha Peter, alpha turning, breeding bench, (in later parts: body modification, humiliation/possible degregarion)

WC: 2693

(AO3 Link)

💗💗💗

Tony's consciousness drifts in and out.

It's a haze of color and sounds, blurred images that make no sense except for one thing.

Peter's face comes in and out of focus. He looks… worried and that causes a ping of worry to spark up in Tony's chest.

"I–" His mouth is dry, so dry… It almost hurts to talk and his tongue feels dumb and too fat in his mouth.

He's disoriented and confused. He reaches a hand out towards Peter, his mind trying to grasp logic (What's happening? Why am I like this? Was I… drugged…?) but it slips between his fingers, one elusive thought after another.

He feels a pinch and his head turns in an attempt to track it. It feels like slow motion. His eyes don't follow the movement so it takes a moment longer to see it. It takes another moment to focus and recognize the little syringe, depressed, stuck in his arm. And the fingers holding it...Peter's hand… connected to his wrist… to his arm… to his concerned face.

"Pete…?" 

Tony's voice cracks. He doesn't know if he even manages to say the other alpha's name but when he slumps forward, it's Peter's arms that catch him.

He's surrounded by the younger man's scent, a pungent scent. Too alpha. His nose scrunches up, puffs of air being expelled in an attempt to get rid of that scent. It should rile up Tony's own instincts but his mind is too drugged up– fucked up to register the faint growling in his head. 

He's trained his stupid alpha brain to ignore other alphas because they live in a civilized society. Couldn't have alphas snapping and growling at each other… Especially when Peter is an alpha, too.

"I got you, Mr. Stark," Peter tells him and his arms tighten around him.

Yeah… Yeah, the kid will keep him safe. Peter's a good kid like that. Such a good kid…

---

Tony sinks into the darkness.

His head feels like it's stuffed full of cotton balls.

There's a creaking sound, wood groaning under duress.

His body makes all its complaints known once he has more than one brain cell booting up and online.

His arms hurt. His knees ache. His stomach is digging into a padded bench as his body is being rocked forward. The rocking motion makes his head spin.

Tony's being fucked. Every alpha instinct screams in protest, in denial. He's an alpha!

He groans, body jerking violently in protest but stronger hands hold him viciously in place. Whoever has him is like a dog with a bone, relentless, and fucking savagely with an outcome in mind. Strong hips slap against his ass, harsh and unforgiving as a thick alpha cock spears into him, sloppy with wetness.

"Mr. Stark…"

Tony freezes, all attempts to struggle shocked out of him.

"Mm?!" The cloth tied around his mouth makes it impossible to speak but his disbelief and indignation are clear.

"Didn't know when you'd wake up…" 

Peter's hands turn gentle, leaving the bruises on his hips as he presses tight against Tony's back. Tony can feel the younger alpha's hot skin, sweat damp and bare against his own. Even then, Peter's hips don't stop in their harsh rhythm. He continues to hump forward, easing his cock in and out by only a few inches inside of Tony's body.

It feels so… intimate. It's wrong.

"Alpha…" Peter groans into his ear. "Oh, fuck, alpha… You feel so good…"

Tony shakes his head in denial and tries to buck away. How long has he been unconscious? How long had Peter been doing this…? The questions nearly overwhelm him but his mind quiets, going sharp with observation.

Peter nips at his ear then kisses down his heated neck. Tony growls when he gets near his mating gland but the younger alpha ignores it. Peter seals his mouth over the sensitive area, sucking harshly until Tony groans, high pitched and distressed, body jerking violently at the sparks of pleasure it brings.

It feels bruised and tender, much more than it should be for such a gentle bite. Has Peter already marked him there…?

The young alpha pulls away and gives a sigh of contentment. His hips slow and Tony can feel every inch that sinks into him. His entire body acknowledges it, muscles aching fiercely and his hole spread uncomfortably wide.

Whatever lube the kid used is slick and slippery. He's used an abundant amount and that, at least, is something Tony's grateful for even when he knows he shouldn't be grateful at all. He can feel it dripping down his thighs, warm and sticky…

He can still stop this. 

An alpha fucking another alpha happens over dominance fights. It's a given. But dominance fights usually only happen once between a pair and rarely ever again. Between two strong alphas… probably more. It was Tony's mistake for not acknowledging Peter's strength even though he's been witness to it time and time again.

Alphas fucking other alphas were dangerous. Alpha cum was… Bad. Bad for other alphas. It was like an aphrodisiac to omegas… And to other alphas… It could be just as addicting. because alphas weren't safe from other alphas… Omegas weren't always born omegas… Sometimes they were alphas who were caught unaware, alphas who were bitched into omegas.

Tony's heart stutters at the thought but he reigns his traitorous thoughts back into line. There's no point in frightening himself.

He still has the chance to get out of this.

He could… He could acknowledge Peter as the more dominant alpha. Sometimes, that's all another alpha wants from Tony. Acknowledgment. Tony hasn't been caught unaware since he was just newly presented.

He hadn't thought Peter as the type… But then again, it's Tony's mistake for assuming, right? So he's being mounted… By his protege who was clever enough to catch Tony unaware. He is the more dominant alpha then. 

Tony can still stop this from going too far.

More muffled moans and more tosses of his head, his body shaking as he tugs on the bonds. They all clue Peter in on Tony's desire to talk. The gag is tugged down and Tony pants, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down the humiliation.

"Alpha," Tony rasps. He licks his dry lips and pushes himself to continue. He has to know the situation and what he's dealing with. "C-Condom…?"

If Peter's using a condom, then– fine. That's fine. The younger alpha could take it as far as he wants. Tony wouldn't be in danger of being turned as long as Peter doesn't dose him up with potent alpha cum.

He shudders when he feels Peter smile against his nape. He feels teeth press gently there, the sharp points of alpha fangs threatening to break skin. Mark him up like an omega...

"No." 

It's barely a whisper but with his ears straining as hard as they are, Tony hears it. It's crucial information and the older alpha crushes down the humiliation that tries to rise. It's information he needs and even though it's not favorable news– Tony knows he can persuade the younger alpha. 

Who would want an older omega? Omegas are supposed to be soft and dainty with cute little cocklets. Turned older alphas aren't like that at all, though some have shown favorable results. Bitched alphas have cocks that were still too large and bodies that weren't as small and petite as the ideal omega.

Tony is letting fear rule his mind. Peter wouldn't want a bitched alpha like him. This is just– just a dominance play and Tony just has to grit his teeth and bear it.

Even with that certainty fixed in his mind, Tony murmurs, "Pull out, okay? You gotta– Gotta pull out, okay, Peter…?"

He's accepted this and his head hangs low. It's not so bad– It's not that bad. The betrayal part of it stings more than the way Peter's cock stretches him past what his body can take.

Peter stills behind him. The thrusts have slowed until he's at a standstill with his alpha cock buried only partially inside of Tony's ass. Tony thinks– Oh, thank God, Peter's done with it.

That very through is driven out of him as the younger alpha shoves his cock home with a dirty groan.

"Oh!" Tony yelps. 

His body shakes from the impact of Peter's hips crashing into his ass and he writhes in the younger alpha's arms, twisting and turning, trying to ease the assault being brought upon him.

"Ohh–!" The older alpha cries again when Peter doesn't stop. 

The boy is intent, fucking into him with quick and harsh rabbit thrusts. He's barely pulling away now and he's– fuck, he's rutting. He's following those cursed base instincts that urge all alphas to breed, to knot…

"Peter! Peter, don't– Oh, fuck, Peter, don't…!" Tony babbles even when the younger man's cock brushes right against that sweet spot of his. 

Traitorous pleasure shoots up his spine, forbidden and uninvited. He gasps and groans, barely hanging on but desperately doing so because he needs– his eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head. Pleasure sings, drowns out every logical thought.

"Oh, God, guhhh–" Tony doesn't even realize he's panting, breathless little litanies as Peter has his way.

The young alpha sets his teeth against Tony's mating gland and each thrust has the sharp points scraping over sensitive skin. Tony whines even more, a sad, pathetic sound but he's being dominated. Dominated and fucked into submission by his protege…

It shouldn't feel as good as it does but Peter seems to know what he's doing. He's relentless in stimulating that spot inside of Tony's body, convincing him with his cock that maybe… maybe being Peter's omega bitch wouldn't be a bad gig after all.

It's a betrayal even worse than the one Peter deals him, a betrayal of his own mind and a terrifying foreshadowing of what's to come.

Tony pants desperately, still trying in vain to convince the younger alpha that this isn't what he wants. He can't give in!

"Pete…! You can't– can't…! Oh, God…!" Tony cries out. The boy's knot is inflating and his body clenches down on it.

It's all biology. His own alpha body is fighting against this, the growls rough up his throat amidst all the soft cries. Peter's already changing him up inside… Even precum is enough to make an alpha more inclined to be bitched, given how much alphas leak during sex.

And Peter's bare inside him…

"Almost done," Peter pants before sucking harshly on Tony's mating gland. The older alpha cries out like he's been dealt a blow. He tosses his head, trying to get Peter to stop but Peter only presses even harder, digs his claws in deeper. "Almost– Mr. Stark! So close… so close, sir… Ughh, I can't…!"

The knot… Tony groans because he can feel its presence inside him. It's growing larger and larger… Tugging on his fucked open hole with every thrust, making its existence known. Peter's intentions are clear but Tony's still in denial. 

"Pull out, kid," Tony murmurs raggedly. Even when he feels Peter's knot slipping in and out of him, he tries. "Pull out…"

"Can't– I can't," Peter hisses. 

The thrusts turn brutal and the bench groans under their weight. Peter holds Tony's hips in place, humping against him like he wants to fuck Tony right through the bench. He feels like his very bones creak under the pressure of Peter's hands.

Tony closes his eyes, bound hands squeezing into fists. Peter's moans of pleasure have his ears burning red. Some part inside him whispers how good Tone's doing… How good he's making his alpha feel by letting him fuck him…

Good…

A good omega…

Tears burn in his eyes. Denial serves no purpose and will only make it worse. Tony draws in ragged breath after ragged breath, tears burning hot trails down his cheeks. He's thought about alphas who've been turned, pitied them when they seem to lose recollection of what they'd been.

He never expected that siren's call to sound like his own voice. Logical thoughts fragment and rearrange. His very being is being remade.

Tony cries out when the knot tugs painfully at his rim. It's too large to pull out and Peter groans shamelessly as he shoves it back in, triumphant in the successful breeding. It feels like the very breath is being knocked out of him to make space for it.

"Here it comes…!" Peter pants against his ear. "Gonna fill you up, Mr. Stark… Make you… mine… Make you… my perfect omega..."

Peter's cock only grows harder inside him and Tony whimpers when he starts to shoot. His insides are being flooded with heat. Another alpha has knotted him, fucked him in submission and now, Peter's taken that last step.

As though in apology, Peter runs his hands over Tony's ravaged body. Gentle and soft. Loving.

His cock pulses on and on, spurting load after load into Tony's insides and that moment that the older alpha has dreaded finally occurs.

"Ah…" It's the quietest sound Tony's ever made but Peter hears it. A soft exhale, a discovery… 

The alpha cum being pumped inside him soothes his abused body. The components, the addictive element in alpha cum that gets another alpha so loopy and out of focus… It soaks in every available crevice, changing things inside him at a biological and neurological level.

The pleasure comes just as quickly and it leaves him breathless and panting in an entirely different way.

Saliva floods Tony's mouth but he's too caught up in pleasure to notice. The intrusion in his body no longer feels invasive, it's… comforting… His alpha's body on top of his, the weight, reassuring. And his insides feel so warm...

"That's it, Mr. Stark…" Peter breathes and nuzzles against his hair. "That's it… Feels good, doesn't it… You feel good to me too, Mr. Stark… so good…"

"Peter…" Tony sighs, drool slipping from the corner of his lips. "What did you do…?"

The boy's hands wander over his body and the word to describe it floats up to the forefront of his mind. It's not gentle or loving… It's an assessment.

"What I had to…" Peter says gently. "Couldn't lose you, Mr. Stark… Had to make a move…"

His hands dip between the older alpha's legs and he pumps Tony's deflated alpha cock. He gets him hard enough that Tony's hips twitch into the touch, desperate for more pleasure.

"That's it, Mr. Stark… Milk the knot… ah… fuck…" Peter groans when Tony's body squeezes down on his cock. "Can't wait till you do it by yourself…"

Tony groans when Peter brings him off. It doesn't even feel as good as it normally would. His knot doesn't pop and Tony only has to wonder why when Peter reveals the reason.

Peter drags his cum wet hand lower and presses in that forbidden area, right behind his balls. His own cum is smeared there…

"Can't wait till your omega hole comes in…" Peter murmurs. "How many more knots, do y'think, Mr. Stark…"

How many… Tony doesn't know.

"This was three…" Peter reveals while stimulating where his omega hole would be. "Three… You took three knots so well, Mr. Stark…"

The revelation only numbs Tony up even more… Peter has knotted him three times, twice while he was unconscious. This was his intention all along.

Tony was literally fucked before he even woke up. And his body's responses make sense now. The extreme rollercoaster ride, his instincts warring between fighting against Peter's actions versus taking it like a good omega for his alpha. His instincts are waning, the alpha giving way to the omega being made inside him.

"Again, Mr. Stark… Gonna do it again and again…" Peter promises him, "And when your omega hole is ready, I'll knot there, too… Gotta jumpstart your heat. All the articles say a newly turned omega should have their heat within the first week… It's better for you..."

It's too much… too much… Tony sinks back into the darkness and lets the change come over him.

[tintinwrites]

you’re like me, i’m never satisfied | Din Djarin x Reader | Part One?

A/N: This is only part one if people actually want me to do more of it!

Rating: T

Warning: Naughty words. Reader is on spice. Canon-typical fighting yeah? You and Mando briefly scuffle some too!

Word count: 1,516, apparently!!

Summary: Mando saves you from his bounty at the request of the womp rat with whom he travels.

Important song: Satisfied from Hamilton y’all the interaction “you strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied” “i’m sure i don’t know what you mean. you forget yourself.” “you’re like me, i’m never satisfied.” “is that right?” Y’ALL

"You're not attached to your looks, right?"

"Mm."

He'd been silent creeping into the abandoned building his bounty was tracked to and silent still as he stood in the doorway, watching the disturbing scene.

The man no doubt earned whatever the hell they wanted him for as he held a dagger to the face of a woman who couldn't keep her posture straight.

An earthy smell with a hint of musk filled the room, familiar and yet something he couldn't exactly place.

Not that it mattered, since he was only there to finish the job quickly like he usually did.

He aimed his fibercord whip to pull the guy's legs out from under him as he was moving to cut into your face, but he must've sensed another presence and spun out of the way.

His whip latched onto table legs, jerking him a couple steps forward as the table was yanked over, everything on it clattering to the floor.

The man, a well-known collector of playthings that only useless wealth could buy named Idiian Steveus, grabbed a blaster that had fallen with the table and took a shot at the Mandalorian's shoulder.

Ricocheting off his armor, the bolt only made him stumble back very slightly, releasing the whip to pursue Idiian at a confidently slow pace.

Another shot whizzed right past his head with a perfectly planned step to the right and then he lunged at him, knocking the blaster out of his hand with ease. Idiian was not going down without a fight, of course, scrabbling to grab onto the hunter's arms and gain the upper hand.

The Mandalorian wrapped a hand tight around the side of Idiian's neck, pushing him back and stumbling with him as he tripped over the fallen table.

Both men grunted at the impact and he tried to use the placement on top of the other man to incapacitate him, but the position wasn't lined up enough and he was rolled onto his back.

Idiian was a fool and the new position offered him enough purchase to kick him hard in the knees, sending him tripping backwards and jumping smoothly to his feet again.

They matched to overpower each other then, holding onto each other and spinning around the room in almost a dance as the other tried to force submission.

He didn't realize why Idiian crouched down until he was pulled over the man's shoulder, his helmet hitting the ground hard and leaving him down for a moment.

When he glanced up at Idiian, he was running from the room.

A quick blaster shot to the head and he was crumpling to the floor.

Bringing them in cold wasn't always what he wanted to do, but his client didn't say the guy needed to be alive and killing him was satisfying.

He huffed as he moved to one knee and then to his feet, helmet tilting a little to the side to look at you tied up to a chair still.

You were incredibly quiet; he almost forgot you were there.

He saw bits of some form of spice on the floor and he understood the familiar scent he couldn't place, as well as why you were silent.

Your slightly red eyes slowly raising to look at him confirmed his suspicion that you didn't have any grave, hidden injuries that made you malleable, but Idiian had simply doped you up good.

"Hey there, Mr. Shiny," you said like you'd never spoken a word in your life.

"You're safe."

He loosened the binds around your wrists and then walked away, reaching to grab the collar of the body when he heard a coo he would know anywhere.

The kid was in your lap, not that you knew since the drug had apparently made you fall asleep.

It was really wishful thinking of him to believe that the little womp rat actually listened to him about staying in the ship.

And he didn't have any idea how long it'd been in the house, how much he'd seen, but he figured the scuffle wasn't any different than all the other things he'd seen.

"What the hell? No." He plucked the child off your lap and set him on the floor to free his hands for the body.

But he cooed again, disobediently in your lap.

"I said—"

He stared at you.

Young and vulnerable, drugged and unconscious on the seedy planet where Idiian had preferred to conduct his business.

The baby didn't seem to agree with him that leaving you with your hands untied was enough to tell you that you were safe.

Kriff.

"Fine. But only for tonight. We take her home."

He put the child on the floor again, crouching down to put you over his shoulder.

There was something about walking to his ship with a girl over his shoulder, a body being dragged by its shirt collar tight in his hand, and a tiny kid toddling behind him that seemed entirely normal to him.

                                         ----------------------------

You woke up without the faintest idea of where you were.

The bed was small and in what you could only describe as a closet, and you didn't recognize anything else when you stepped out.

Was it a ship?

It looked and sounded like a ship, but you didn't remember ever going on one.

You remembered...staying on that planet.

Wondering if you found what you'd been searching for your whole life, only for him to convince you that spice was a good idea.

And that was it.

Now you were on a ship you didn't recognize at all, wandering around to find a way to get out of it.

You were searching for any sort of door when you sensed the presence of someone standing behind you, turning to see a tall man that seemed like he was made of metal.

Wasn't it reasonable that you immediately kicked the man high in the hip seeing as you couldn't remember boarding the ship and you hadn't the slightest idea who he was?

He seemed like he was a little shocked behind the helmet he wore, stumbling back a bit.

But he ran at you in an instant, slamming into the wall as you jumped out of the way and whipping around to face you again.

You were quite the fighter when you weren't on spice, he mused.

He'd be a good fighter on spice.

And he was taller than you and he was apparently made of metal, and he managed to back you into a wall as you kicked and punched at him — he didn't grunt when you managed to send your fist into his unprotected ribs and he defied anyone to say he did — with his arm coming to push across your collarbone.

Usually when he was this close to someone, he was going to kill them.

He kind of did want to kill you, but supposed he would lash out too if he woke up on a ship with someone he didn't really know.

His legs pinned yours as you tried to kick again, arm pressing harder against your tender collarbone as you tried bucking him off.

Then you sunk against the wall, panting hard.

"Kill me then."

"I saved you."

You looked at him with a furrowed brow, slowly piecing things together until you remembered the sight of a man in shining armor fighting your captor.

You're safe, he'd said.

"Mr. Shiny."

"That wasn't spice doing the talking then."

"You came there to save me?"

"He was my bounty."

His answer was simple as he stepped back to let you free, telling you he probably didn't know you existed.

You rubbed at your collarbone gently, the weight of his arm more than enough to make it hurt.

"But you saved me."

"Someone asked me to, and I also promised to take you home once you woke up. Where is your home?"

"Oh, um, nowhere."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been traveling since I was young, going from planet to another planet."

"I see."

"Thought I found a planet worth staying on, but then he drugged me to do who knows what."

He calculated the sadness in your eyes, tilting his head slightly. Idiian tricked you, but there was something more to your sadness.

"Your planet was destroyed."

You smiled almost wryly. "My home planet is still there and far as I know, all the people on it are too."

There was spite in the way you mentioned your home's 'people', but he was not one to pry the same as he wasn't one to enjoy being pried.

"Have you ever been to Troiken?"

"No."

"I need to deliver the bounty to my client there, I can drop you off if you want."

"I suppose there's no other choice."

His words were more factual than they were kind or caring, but what could you do other than continue your life of traveling to new planets?

You watched him walk away like you hadn't been talking, thankful for this man saving you and offering you a ride though he seemed a little stunted.

[wittygaypuns]

Anon, did you mean “mommy kink”? ‘Cause that’s what I heard. Cut for NSFW.

»»»«««»»»«««»»»«««»»»»«««»»»»«««

“I mean... I don't know. What would you want me to do?” Eve asked. Villanelle's request had come a little out of left field.

“You know, just... act like a mother, I guess? No – nevermind, it's stupid.” Villanelle mumbled, suddenly shy, eyes lowered. She stared at her own bare thighs, fingers fiddling together in her lap. Eve smiled, moving to her and cupping her cheek in hand. It was rare to see her look timid about anything, and never in the bedroom. She gently tilted her head up.

“It's not stupid at all. If it's what you want, I can try it. You always indulge me, don't you? You always... give mama what she wants, right?” Eve stroked Villanelle's cheek with her thumb, marveling at the look she was given in return.

Those doe eyes, wide and shimmering with unexpressed emotion, the evenness of her lips though she looked ready to cry. It was as if something had switched inside of her. Villanelle, usually so confident and prideful, now sat on her knees before Eve, naked and vulnerable. Giving a faint pout and biting her lower lip, she nodded a little to Eve. She had seen that pout before, but it had never been sincere like it was now. There was a tremble to it, a yearning. Submission was more complicated to Villanelle than it was to Eve; for Eve, it meant to be taken and controlled by harsh hands and teasing words. For Villanelle, it seemed, submission meant vulnerability and surrender. With someone as powerful as Villanelle, giving up that strength took a different form. It was a yearning for something she had always wanted but had never been given. Only with Eve did she feel comfortable enough even asking, because Eve loved her without condition.

“Yeah...” Villanelle mumbled, closing her eyes as Eve moved even closer.

The way they were positioned on the bed made it easy for Eve to slip in closer. Villanelle sat on her knees, and Eve straddled her thighs, slipping her arms around her shoulders. Villanelle drew in a shaky breath, arms wrapping around Eve's waist, her head dropping to her chest instantly. She was so warm despite her nudity and the cool air of the bedroom, so soft and tender in her touches. And that was what Villanelle needed, wasn't it? A little tenderness. To let go once in a while. Someone who could be both a lover and a nurturer to her. Just as easily as she had been confused by the request, Eve understood.  It made perfect sense. She held Villanelle to her breast, one hand stroking back her hair.

“It's okay, baby. Mama's here.” Eve told her softly. She was both surprised and not by how easily she was settling into the new role. She hadn't expected it, but at the same time, she had already been sort of embodying it the entire time she had known Villanelle. She always wanted to protect her. She had killed for her and would do it again if the need arose. She had sacrificed huge swaths of her life in the name of caring for her... And wasn't that what a mother was supposed to do?

“Am... am I a good girl, mommy?” Villanelle said against her chest, looking up without moving her head.

“Of course you are!” Eve said, looking down at her with a gentle smile, hand sliding up and down her back. The urge to comfort Villanelle and take that sad, helpless look away had become overwhelming. She wanted to make her powerful again, to bolster the strength she had always shown, and she would do whatever it took to do it. If Villanelle needed to be coddled sometimes, that was perfectly fine with her; in fact, she was proud. Proud that the younger woman felt secure enough in their relationship to expose the part of herself no one else was allowed to know about. To hold out her hands and show Eve all of her hidden parts, the bits of her that she had tucked away for fear of them being used against her.

“I don't know what I want, mama... I feel so weird.” Villanelle whispered, arms around Eve tightening. So connected they were that Eve could practically feel the staggering flood of emotions spilling into Villanelle's chest. Everything she had repressed over the years bubbled to the surface, and her words were said with a little tremble. Eve held her a little tighter, frowning.

“I'm here, baby. Let me take care of you. Let me make you feel better.” Eve implored her, desperate to take away the pained edge in her voice.

“Please. Make it better.” Villanelle actually whimpered. Eve pressed a kiss to her forehead and shifted off of her lap, moving to lay back on the bed.  

“Come here baby, lay on your side. Okay?” Eve instructed.

Villanelle, lids heavy, crawled to her. She flopped down bodily next to her, leaving them laying face to face. Eve's hair pillowed beneath them and Villanelle took comfort in it, pressing her nose against the curls as Eve slid her fingers down her side. She let them dip between them once she hit her hips, the movement of her fingertips light and trailing as they tread into the valley that Eve knew so well. Villanelle drew in a deep, shuddering breath and lifted her leg a little, moving it to rest over Eve's, granting her permission to continue her journey. She smiled, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

“Good girl.” She mumbled as Villanelle scooted in a little closer, her arms tucked between their bodies. She was so passive compared to normal. A hand moved to rest between Eve's breasts, but there was nothing passionate and sexual about it. It was a motion for comfort, for closeness; to feel Eve's heartbeat. Her breathing was labored, needy, but she trusted Eve to give her what she needed. Where Villanelle would normally manhandle her and keep their lovemaking wild and exhausting, she now laid patiently, waiting for her lover to touch her where she needed it most.

When she made contact with her clit, Villanelle gave another whimper, hips pushing towards her hand. Still restrained, but communicating with her body; Eve knew she needed it harder. She pressed with two fingers, rolling the erect bundle of nerves hard and slow and smiling proudly as Villanelle moaned. She wasn't often noisy during sex except to egg Eve on. She was almost always quiet when she came, and when she did it was usually with her face buried between Eve's thighs. It was a lovely change to hear her whimper, to see her squirm a little against her hands. Eve pressed kisses along Villanelle's flushed cheeks, against the tip of her perfect nose, and against her parted lips as she worked her clit harder and quicker.

“That feels so good, mama.” Villanelle whispered, hips rocking in turn.

“You're so wet, baby.” Eve replied.

Eve focused on her clit despite how inviting the flood between her legs was. It would be so easy to plunge her fingers into her, so slick and hot, but Eve knew that Villanelle didn't like penetration the way she did. With the angle they were at it would be awkward if she tried it anyway, and Villanelle was already melting under her touch. Her fingers flexed against Eve's chest, her breaths heavy and labored as Eve pushed her closer and closer to the edge. Her release was approaching rapidly, and all Villanelle could think to do was surrender herself to it, to let Eve take care of her needs for once. Her moan caught in her throat, breaking with her breathing as she came wordlessly. Eve smiled, stilling her fingers for a moment as she kissed her lips once again.

“There you go... Do you want more?” Eve asked, pressing her forehead to Villanelle's.

A little nod was all she needed to continue her ministrations, pushing her lover into a second, then third, then fourth orgasm; by the fifth she was practically sobbing, cheeks and upper chest stained red, sweat beading her forehead. Only then did Eve withdraw her fingers, bringing them to her lips to lick them clean. Villanelle took the withdrawal as permission to move, pulling Eve into her arms as she shuddered with the aftershocks. Being held in such a way was a return to their regular positions, a snap back to normal. Eve welcomed it, knowing that it meant she had made it all better for her baby, and that Villanelle could return to exuding confidence and strength enough for them both.

“... Thank you.” Villanelle whispered as she caught her breath.

“Any time, baby.”

[captains-price]

I’ve been on AO3, reading the same 3-4 bottom Karl fics that are there! (It’s really SO sad how little there is)

Let’s play some more on Ethan dragging Karl off to a shadowed part of the village to pull that cockring off. If he’s willing to do that in a public space then what else is he willing to do?

Anything, of course. He would love the thrill of being tucked away somewhere with Karl that anyone could come across. Behind a house, tucked in the back of a barn, in the confessional of their church. He would be eager to drag Karl away at a moments notice and get his hands and mouth on him; turning it into a game of sorts. How much can he do and get away with before Karl can’t hold his noises back anymore?

Pinning Karl against a wall behind a villagers house and fingering him until his legs give out; having Karl fall to his knees in the church confessional and suck his cock while a sermon is going on; pulling Karl out of the factory and to the center of the village in the middle of the night to spread him out and fuck him at the base of the fountain. Hell, he would even push him to his hands and knees in the graveyard if he was in the mood. Anywhere where they risk someone walking by. Ethan knows no one would call them out on it if they did see them (The leader of the village and one of his Lords? They wouldn't dare) but he loves how red Karl gets every time and how hard he tries at keeping himself quiet.

Chris though? Chris likes to play hunter and prey. He loves the thrill of hunting Karl down wherever he is and getting the drop on him. Sometimes there is a fight, which only gets the blood pumping, but in the end Chris would pin his prize down and get to have his way with him.

His favorite is when Karl isn't even in the village, but checking up on the lycans in the surrounding forest. That is when he gets to have the most fun. Karl knows the instant Chris has set his sights on him, feeling that thrilling tingle run down his back, prey knowing instinctively that a predator is eyeing them from the shadows. That is when he runs. Darting through the trees as quickly as he can, heart hammering like a jackrabbit when he hears Chris' deep baritone laughing as he gives chase.

The only light the two men have is the moon, but it's more than enough for them and Chris never loses sight of Karl even once. Sometimes he draws it out, letting the smaller man think that he's gotten away or that he's tripped Chris up, but it always ends the same way: Karl tackled down to the forest floor with Chris holding his hands down with one hand, the other tugging hard on his hair to yank his head back and bare his neck in submission.

And Chris can wait. He rides out the kicks and the snapping teeth and the punches to his chest and shoulders; he is a boulder, unmoving and resolute as Karl wears himself out before going limp with a defeated whimper and spreading his legs so Chris can claim his prize.

After those nights Karl would go home the next morning covered in bites, bruises and dirt but feeling oh-so satisfied.

And more on Karl switching up who he sleeps with! I can see in the beginning that he doesn't even tell the two men what he's doing. Ethan is tender when he wants to be, but it's not like they're dating or have confessed anything to one another (but god does Karl want to, he just doesn't want to ruin things between them in case Ethan doesn't feel the same.) (He is a fool, of course Ethan feels the same) so he's free to sleep with whoever he wants. He would think that he's keeping it from the both of them, but Ethan and Chris would figure it out real fast. It's not like it's a big village and Karl turning up in their beds with marks they didn't give him would be major hints.

At first they both think that Karl found someone unknown to sleep with and they're jealous. Who else would he go to for what they can give him themselves? It would take one night of drinking for them to realize that they're both talking about Karl. After that it's easy to agree to share and confront Karl about it. That would be the first time that they all sleep together. (Later on Ethan takes Karl back to his home and confesses his feelings for him. Karl almost cries when he's told that he's loved and wanted and happily tells Ethan that he loves him as well)

The first time they manage double penetration is a few weeks after they started sharing Karl in bed. Ethan had been training him for it by having him take bigger and bigger dildos, often keeping them inside of Karl all night long to help his body get used to the stretch and burn. Chris' method was slipping in a finger or two alongside his cock whenever he fucked Karl; something that always sent the smaller man over the edge and had him begging for more.

The night they actually attempted it Ethan had bought two new bottles of lube and started the night off with one of his favorite pastimes by opening Karl up with his tongue and fingers, making sure he was easily taking four before having him lay on Chris back to front and have Chris slide into him and hold Karl close while Ethan gently worked his fingers in alongside Chris' cock. It took time and patience, but in the end Ethan had four fingers in and Karl was struggling not to come all over himself, begging and sobbing for more.

The hardest part was Ethan sliding in alongside Chris. Not because of pain, but because Karl just couldn't stay still. In the end Ethan had to gather his wrists and pin them to Karl's chest while Chris held Karl under his thighs and kept him spread and still while Ethan fucked into him.

This was the best way to wake up lmao thank you and I’m sorry I just now managed to get around to replying!

And I know! It’s literally insane to me how little content there is, at this point I’m about ready to write it myself but this does give me serotonin for now

Dude I love thinking about the different ways Karl would get fucked and how slutty he would become and Ethan dragging him to multiple places out in the open and making him shake in pleasure has got me WEAK

I like to think that because Karl is so inexperienced with sex as a whole before Ethan that it didn’t even occur to him that sex in public would be something so exciting until they were having dinner out in the village one time(do you think there are communal places to eat there? Idk, there are now) and Ethan started groping him under the table, making karl choke and start spitting up his water he happened to be sipping on. He was immediately turning red and looking around to make sure no one saw but Ethan is sitting next to him with not a care in the world and looking so smug, and then he continues to feel him up.

Karl would normally never care about making a scene in public but since the death of Miranda he’s sorta been trying to redeem his reputation as one of the four lords in the village, so he doesn’t want his new villagers to know that Ethan is driving him wild with his a hand rubbing his inner thigh and grazing his dick. And the place is not even that crowded, but Karl still bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood so the server and possibly even chef won’t know what’s going on.

He can’t help but let out a few sounds here and there, anytime rubs his dick a little longer and harder than usual, which Ethan would eat up. He’s so smug about how well he has Karl under his thumb and it’s radiating off him. At one point, Ethan leans in close to tell Karl what a good boy he’s being and bites his ear, and Karl really can’t help but let out a whimper at that point and nearly comes right there but he manages to stamp it down, still too embarrassed at the thought of coming in public. He does hear Ethan talk to somebody, maybe someone asking if Karl is okay, if they’re done with their food(he hopes so much that they are so the torture will end), or some other kind of lame thing he doesn’t care about, either way, he can’t make out their words, too blissed out to pay any mind to.

After what feels like an eternity, Ethan leans back close to his ear, once again singing his praises(did I mention i feel like Karl has a praise kink, cause I think he would), saying that he’s being so good and keeping his sounds down so no one but Ethan gets to hear his moans. But then Ethan changes it up by trying to let his sounds out, now rubbing harder and faster, because wouldn’t he like to put on a show for the villagers? Let them know how pretty he sounds and exactly who it is that he lets fuck him? Maybe even let one of them join in because Karl is such a cockslut after all

And then Karl comes, letting out the barest hint of a moan, not enough to be suspicious but louder than he would have liked. Ethan turns his head to kiss him deep for a minute or two, and then he pulls away, he licks up the blood on Karl’s lower lip and Karl feels like he could come again just from that, but settles for whimpering again instead. So now, sex in public is a thing they do and Ethan loves it, so does Karl but he has a harder time admitting it lol

I love the thought of Chris playing hunter and prey with him though!

I like to think that that was how they started sleeping together lol Chris just showing up at his factory and Karl actually thought that he came to try and arrest or kill him again but Chris didn’t even know why he ended up at his factory until they broke out in a fight and Chris managed to pin him down with his wrists above his head and in between his legs, he saw how heavily Karl was breathing and how flushed he became(most likely because of their fight but it’s hard to focus either way) and the next thing they knew, Chris was kissing him senseless and grinding his hips against his. They have fast and hard sex and Karl has a hard time hiding his limp and explaining this marks to Ethan when he sees him again.

And then it just continues like that, Ethan getting him on most nights for either slow, long, and maddening rounds of sex or the kinkiest shit imaginable that has Karl feeling it in his lower back for days after. And then the nights scattered throughout the week where he’s in his factory or in town or the woods alone working on one of his many projects and he’ll suddenly get a feeling of being watched and he knows Chris is around.

Karl likes to think he gives as good as he gets and doesn’t make it easy for Chris to catch him, giving a good chase until they’re both breathing heavily with lungs on fire. Karl loves that especially, shows that Chris is not quite the super soldier he makes himself out to be and even though Chris still thrusts into him like he’s trying to fuck him through the earth, karl feels like he’s the one who wins in the end.

Some nights, Chris catches him quicker, almost immediately and he’ll tease Karl about, going a bit slower since he still has all his stamina but just as hard as always. He’ll say things like if Karl really wanted to, he could just use his metal to get Chris off him and then get away. But he never does. Not once in their chases does he use his metal, only his own physical abilities, and that’s how Chris knows he wants to get caught, that he’s secretly hoping to get pushed down, used like a sex doll, and powerless for once. It’s not like he isn’t strong, but he didn’t want the powers in the first place and so for a while he can just pretend Chris really can tie him down and fuck him good. Chris’s words always go straight to his dick and he comes quicker and more often on those nights.

And then the double penetration comes and Karl realizes just what a size queen he is. They don’t do it every night since Karl needs some time to recover the following day, it’s almost becomes a thing they save for special occasions and Karl begs for it every time.

The thing is, Ethan has Chris beaten in length but Chris has such a thick girth that it made them all a bit weary to try double penetration at first. But when Karl started taking bigger and bigger dildos and still begging for more, they knew he could handle it.

It ends up being easiest to have Chris enter him first after Ethan takes his time to open him up, that way, they get the biggest thing out of the way first and can just work in some fingers alongside Chris’s cock. When Ethan enters too, Karl is letting out choked sobs and moans at the feeling of being so full but he’s also pretty sure he’s in heaven.

They used a pretty generous amount of lube in the prep work and added even more when they start moving, which helps pretty well with the pace they set, which just so happens to be, different

While Chris fucks him, he does it as fast and hard as always but makes sure every thrust hits his prostate exactly which drives him insane, but Ethan is more measured with his thrusts, going as deep as he can and then rolling his hips to grind against Karl’s ass. The twin sensations of being fucked at such different paces has Karl’s chest heaving and screaming and begging for release. Which they do grant him but after like, an hour. It’s the hardest Karl comes in recent memory.

Karl pretty much loses his voice afterward so Ethan and Chris shush him and kiss him sweetly when he tries to say something and work out what he needs in a different way. And of course, because I am a sucker for proper aftercare, Chris carries him to the bath(quite a large bath and built into the floor, big enough to fit all three of them comfortably, nothing but the best for one of the lords) and they both take their time to wash the come and sweat off him and then carry him back to bed after, Karl in between them, and they take their much needed rest.

[yeojaa]

SUGAR HIGH, chapter xi. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary.  You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags.  angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating.  general (for now?)

word count.  ~2700

chapter 11.  Decalcomania

The words escape him before he has a change to pull them back, reaction time slowed by whatever sandman's dust still lingers in his bloodstream.  They tumble forth, wrapped in hope and a big red bow.  An accident present he hadn't meant to give.  "You could keep me warm."  

"You can stay in here as long as you want."

The offer is earnest, kind - you know it means more than he let's on and he knows you understand it all the same.  This is a safe space, somewhere you can lay your head and forget about the world for a minute or two longer.  A haven for the weary and the brokenhearted.  You could never explain how grateful you were for it, for him.

You tuck your cheek against your arm, hoping to catch the tears that leak out still, drifting down your cheeks of their own accord.  "Thank you," you manage in a small voice, meeting his tender gaze.  You're not sure if he hears when he rises and steps past with all the care in the world.  

When fingers squeeze your shoulder - reassurance and understanding deposited like dust into the fabric of your sweater - you hiccup.  He leaves quickly, clicking the door shut behind him.

You stay like that for what feels like forever, curled into your knees.  

It's perfectly normal, you remind yourself when you're overcome with emotion again.  It's hardly been two weeks.  No one expected you to pick yourself off the ground in such a short period of time, so why were you ignoring the cuts on your knees, bandaging them with little white lies?  Didn't you understand that healing took time?  Your wounds would never cure at this rate, not when you still had gravel digging into your skin.

It was because of that nagging voice in the back of your voice, the one that was making you see stars any time you so much as looked in your best friend's direction. 

You told yourself it was only because you were hurting, that the stirring of your broken beaten heart was for all the wrong reasons.  You had to - because you didn't know how to face him otherwise.  You couldn't be around Jungkook, your fingers itching to hold hands that weren't yours any time he was within five feet of you.  You'd already caught yourself dipping dangerously into daydreams, nearly falling heels over head when he'd turn to you with that intoxicating smile.

What you were doing was for the best - for all of you. 

At least, that's what you tell yourself when his voice breaks the silence and your heart skips a beat.

"Soomi-ya."  It's almost pleading, trapped behind the frosted glass panes.  You can make out his silhouette, hunched forward as if to keep out the outside world.  "Can you open the door?"

The small, ashamed part of you wants to say nothing, forcing his hand until the silence goes too long and he leaves.  But you know that'll never happen because Jungkook doesn't just leave.  He never has and he never will.  You'd always loved that about him but faced with it now, you couldn't bring yourself to meet him.

"I'll be out soon."  A lie that sounds fake even to your ears.

"Please?"  He sounds so soft and sad, your heart aches.  Could you really say no to him when he was like this?  Did he deserve to stand on the other side of this impenetrable divide, unaware of its existence as you drifted further and further?  

The words he'd said earlier ring in your ears and with it brings guilt, the uncomfortable feeling sinking like lead into your veins.  He didn't hide things from you, so why were you so intent on shutting him out?  He'd proved time and time again that he was there for the long run but here you were, throwing him out with the wash. 

You're opening the door before you have time to talk yourself out of it.  You're not sure what your face looks like when you finally face him, but you're certain how his does. 

Glassy-eyed and aching longing in equal parts - a little boy left alone and lost.  It sears into your memory.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?"

Words overlap and at first, you're not sure who said what, his confession losing itself in the whisper of your question.  Why was he apologizing?  He looks so torn, those big doe eyes wide and begging as he wraps you up in every inch of himself, cradling you against his chest as he steps forward, pressing you back into the studio.

He's holding you as soft as he ever has and you can feel his breath hot on your hair.  It feels different, but you're not sure how.  Frankly, you don't know if you have it in you to consider why, because it feels too good - he feels too good.  It's too easy to pretend this is more than it is, that the way he holds you is anything more than platonic.  

You need to stop before you've done something you'll regret, hands fisting into the fabric of his hoodie. 

"Please don't."  It's the second time Jungkook's begged for you, pleading like a man on his last legs.  He's tightening around you and you can feel his shoulders shake, the intimidating line of his back trembling beneath whatever weight he's been carrying for so long.  The burden presses into every limb, dragging his tired body closer to the ground.  "Please don't push me away."

The cord snaps when you hear his voice, wet with tears.  

You're holding him like you could fix whatever this is, allowing him to drag you endlessly closer as your equilibrium shifts and you're on the couch, straddling his waist.  At any other time, you might've considered the sudden intimacy, the way his hips feel between you, your knees precariously held on either side of him.

"It's okay," you coo.  Your fingers move from where they've been gripping his shoulders, disappearing into the soft strands at the nape of his neck.  You lace comfort into the silk there, whispering sweet nothings into the crown of his head.  He's warm against you, the column of your throat alight with fire he sparks beneath his touch.  It's the tip of his nose, the curve of his lips, the angle of his chin - anywhere skin meets skin, you're burning from the inside out.

It's too much emotion all at once.  It's making your head swim but you can't let go, not when he's holding you like you're a buoy and he's about to go under.  

"Why won't you talk to me?"  Startled, you pull away just enough to make out the lines of his face, the flutter of his eyelashes and the drag of his bottom lip through his teeth.  The words catch you off-guard, though the question isn't meant to be cruel, only curious.  Hurt.  Confused.  

"I don't--"  You stop short, because if you said you didn't know you'd be lying, and isn't that what's brought you here, anyway?  Half-truths and guarded submissions, you refusing to hand out the key to your heart as if he didn't already have one tucked into his back pocket?  "I'm sorry," you manage, knowing that's not good enough.

"I'm your best friend, aren't I?" 

"You know you are."

"Then why?"  

You get it.  Really, you do.  If you'd been in his shoes, you'd be just as frustrated, just as off-balance.

You can't meet his stare, instead finding the cloth at his neck endlessly fascinating.  "Things are just weird right now."  The way he tenses beneath you doesn't go unnoticed, the tick of his jaw a dead giveaway.  You applaud him for not interrupting, though you know he wants to, his tongue pressed against his teeth as if aching to give his thoughts a platform.

You're wringing your hands in his hair, only realizing when you tug particularly hard, drawing a low whine from his throat.  You pat at the back of his neck in apology, smoothing your fingers over the downy-soft pieces.  He leans into your touch and neither of you comment on it when he's flush against you, the smooth expanse of his cheek comforting against the dip of your collarbone.  He hums a quiet noise - an unspoken wish for you to go on.

"I just don't want to lose you."  Another fabrication but one you decide is worth it.  It was close enough to the truth that you could run with it, letting it lead the rest of your words.  "I'm sorry if I've been weird.  I'm just so scared.  And I know what you're thinking."  Disbelief is written in his expression like the stars are hung in the sky.  "I can't help the way I feel."

Jungkook is quiet for longer than you expect, idly tracing patterns over the bunched up fabric of your back.  The longer the silence stretches on, the more you begin to fidget.  Had you said something wrong - or maybe you'd overstepped in some way, crossing the careful line you'd self-imposed without realizing it?

"I won't tell you how you're feeling is wrong."  He starts hard, like he's biting back the truth with concentrated effort.  You're grateful for that.  "But I am going to tell you that you'll never lose me.  Ever."  Whether he's trying to convince you or not, the words form a knot in your stomach, trapping the butterflies in a crystal cage of his words.  "We've been through everything together.  You're one of my best friends.  I'll never let you go, even if you ask me to."

The thought is so ludicrous you can't help but scoff.  He smiles at that.  

"So if things are weird for a while, fine."  It's begrudging but indulgent, because he'd rather weather this storm with you than leave you alone for even a second.  This is what he'd signed up for all of those years ago in the schoolyard.  "We'll get through it together because you're my family - and I love you, jagi."

It's not the first time he's said it, nor is it the sixth or the tenth or the hundredth.  You've heard these words a million times and you're sure you'll hear them a million more, but for a moment, you pretend they're different.  You allow yourself to imagine they're meant the same way you answer them.

"I love you, too."

"Soomi's going to stay over, okay?"  It's a statement more than a question, framed only out of habitual consideration for his housemates and directed only at the two members who still linger in the living room.  "She's already getting ready but I'm going to sleep out here."

You'd argued with him on that point, insisting it was okay.  You'd shared beds and more growing up, thinking nothing of it when you'd still just been kids, ignoring the changes of your bodies.  It had only been when the shirts you borrowed began to fit differently and the sweatpants he wore so well no longer stayed on your waist that you'd realized things weren't going to stay the same forever.  So you'd relented when he'd brought up how it would look, hiding the twinge in his chest behind a sharp laugh when you'd visibly flushed.  You were that put off with the thought that it hurt a little, stung the places you'd left your marks on him.  (And oh, how you'd ruined him, little pieces of you stuck like slivers in every part of him.)

"You didn't tell her."  Taehyung's the first to speak, disapproval evident in every line of his face and dripping from his words like molasses.  After everything they'd talked about - or rather, everything he had talked at Jungkook about - their golden maknae hadn't taken the plunge.  Unbelievable.

"That's fine."  It's Namjoon next, understanding all at once the implications of you sleeping apart.  He knew you did it out of respect but also something else - something you weren't quite ready to verbalize either to him or your lovesick best friend.  "You can crash in my studio, if you need privacy."  

"Or my room."  There's the equivalent of brotherly teasing in Taehyung's tone when he continues, "it'll be like when we were in the camper."  

Despite the offers, the youngest shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes with a closed fist.  Truthfully, he's exhausted.  He's ready to collapse face-down on the nearest acceptable place.  "Thanks, but it's okay."  A yawn and then another and then a last one, just for good measure.  He turns to the L-shaped couch and ignores the looks his hyungs toss him on their way back to their rooms, a mixture of fondness and concern.  "Goodnight!"  He calls, for good measure.

"Goodnight, Jungkook-ah.  Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Jungkookie."

Once he hears the click of separate doors, he all but collapses atop the cushions, not even bothering to rearrange the throw pillows behind his head.  He just stares lazily, thoughtlessly, cascades of moonlight throwing shadows across the walls.  He has no desire to pull the curtains closed. 

Every once in a while, the moon shifts behind clouds and he finds himself lost in the waning nighttime, thoughts drifting through his head with no start or beginning.  It feels a little like white noise, calming him. 

He's almost asleep by the time he realizes there's a blanket being thrown over him, a silhouette bathed in moonlight standing above him.  It takes him a few moments to recognize the shape of your nose, the curl of your tousled hair around your shoulders.  You're wearing one of his shirts, too long even for him;  it practically drowns you, grazing the tops of your knees that he notes, with surprise, are bare.  You've still got your socks on - a little striped set with bears peeking from the balls of your feet.  He's never seen you more beautiful.

"What're you doing?"  Dreams make his tongue heavy and his words slur, coarse with sleep. 

You must've not realized he'd woken up because you visibly recoil when he speaks, eyes growing to the size of saucers.  You immediately drop the edge of the quilt as if it's burned you and tuck your hands back into the safety of his too-long sleeves.  "I didn't mean to wake you up."  You refuse to meet his gaze, instead worrying your lip so hard it hurts.  You know it'll be hard to eat tomorrow, can already taste the faint tang of metal on your tongue.

"You didn't."  Reassurance in word and in touch, his hand extracting from his cocoon of warmth to lay gentle on your wrist, three fingers curling around delicate bone.

You finally meet his stare, half-lidded in the moonlight.  "I didn't want you to be cold."  And you hadn't been able to sleep yourself, tossing and turning in the too-big bed.  It felt wrong to be alone in a space that was so clearly his.  From the black sheets to the faint, clinging scent of his cologne - he was all around you, and yet not at all.  

The words escape him before he has a change to pull them back, reaction time slowed by whatever sandman's dust still lingers in his bloodstream.  They tumble forth, wrapped in hope and a big red bow.  An accident present he hadn't meant to give.  "You could keep me warm."  

"What?"

Your response feels like a kick to the teeth. 

"I just mean, um."  God, why had he said it?  And why were you looking at him like that, like you wanted to run from the room and never see him again?   "You could keep me warm.  With um, the blanket.  Your blanket could keep me warm.  Is keeping me warm."  It's so clearly the most feeble excuse he could give but he's trying not to trip over himself in his haste to explain, half-sitting up as he rambles.

Again, silence that makes Jungkook want to leap out of his skin and throw himself off the 11th story balcony.  Maybe then he wouldn't have to deal with the way you're staring down at him, un-moving.

What he wouldn't give to read your mind right now.

"Soo--"  He's trying again, desperate to piece together the fractured remains of this interaction, reshape it back into some semblance of comfort and normalcy.  But then you're turning and you're moving so quickly he doesn't have time to react, his fingers still curled around the shape of your wrist.  Your absence leaves him cold and wanting, staring after your figure like that'll do anything.

Guilt slams into his chest so hard he's almost falling back into the cushions, only catching himself when he hears your whisper. 

"Are you coming?"

notes.  CLIFFHANGER!!!  i really love this chapter because it feels a little like a step in the right direction.  i hope you enjoyed it, too.  :)

[lavishedinjimin]

white lace -> pjm (m)

↳ pairing: jimin x reader ↳ genre: smut ↳ word count: 2.0k ↳ warnings: dom!jimin, sub!reader, daddy kink (sorry lol), handcuffs, cunnilingus, mild breathplay, begging, fwb!jimin, dirty talk — synopsis: It was your birthday, and just something about that white lace on your body really does some things to Jimin.

Yay! I’m back! I now present you all a little Jimin smut just ‘cause I feel the need to write you guys something.

An announcement though, sad to say but I won’t be accepting requests for prompts anymore. Requests for oneshots are still fine, though. Hope you all understand :)

You and Jimin’s relationship was...kinda different than others. Friends with benefits - that’s what you two call it. Both of you were just so comfortable with each other and you agreed to take things in another level of ‘friendship’.

Today was your birthday, and Jimin texted you to come over for a little present. You didn’t have any huge celebration whatsoever because it just wasn’t your type. “Here, open this,” Jimin smirked, handing you a deep red box with a silk ribbon around it.  

“To be honest, Jimin, you didn’t have to give me a present,” you smiled up at him, holding the box in your hands. He chuckles, “You always say that every time, ____, but you love every single one of my gifts.”

“True,” you shrugged. You removed the ribbon and opened the box carefully and your jaw drops when your eyes saw what it was.

“Are you kidding me, Jimin,” your free hand touched the lacey fabric, your stomach turning in different directions. You looked back at Jimin and saw that he wore this knee-dropping smirk on his face, his arms crossed in front of him. “Is this...lingerie?”

He shrugs cooly as if it was the most normal thing in the world, “Looks like it, baby girl,”

“Oh no no no, don’t talk to me like that now.” You raised your voice slightly as you removed the clothing from the box, holding it up. You gasped as you saw how skimpy and how it there was little to no fabric at all. It was white lace, see-through set that probably costs more than your rent.

“Why is it white, though?” You asked him, blushing when he bites his lip as he pulled you closer to him by the waist, his face now mere inches away from yours. His hands caressed your back before a hand was placed on top of your ass, giving it a little squeeze.

“White is a color of pureness, baby. You know how much it will turn me on when I see you wearing this as I fuck you, still reminding me of how innocent you really are how you let me corrupt yourself, all just for me.”

This guy was absurd, but you couldn’t help but feel aroused by his words. “Will you wear them on for me tonight, baby girl?” His voice dropped deeper and it became huskier, knowing how much you love it when he speaks to you like that. You gulp, nodding your head, “I will.”

“That’s a good girl,” he smirked, planting a kiss on your lips. “I want you to wear this and wait for me in the bedroom, okay?”

You nod your head and he immediately releases you from his grip, instantly scurrying to the bedroom as you held onto the lingerie. You quickly strip away from your clothes and tried the fabric on, and much to your surprise, it actually looked good on you. Yes, it was a bit uncomfortable, but you can’t stop looking at yourself in the mirror. Jimin was right, the white lace really made you look young and raw. The set made your boobs and ass look really good, and you couldn’t help but snap a little photo of yourself from your phone.

You removed your hair tie and let your hair fall down, knowing how much Jimin likes it that way. You laid down on the bed and waited for him to come. After a few moments, the door swung open and Jimin entered the room without his shirt. Your mouth instantly waters when you see his beautifully toned body, his sweatpants hanging loosely around his hips, his v-line visible to your eyes. He smirks when he sees you all laid out, ready for him. Jimin growls underneath his breath, getting hard at the sight he has in front of him. You teasingly bring up your index finger up to your mouth, sucking on it seductively as you maintained eye contact. Jimin couldn’t hold it in as he quickly hovered above your body, his hands traveling all over your soft skin.

He bites his lip when his hand comes in contact with your lace-covered breast, squeezing it firmly, earning a moan from your lips. “You look so pretty for me, baby.”

“Only for you, daddy,” Jimin raised a brow at your words, licking his lips. His lips made contact with the skin on your neck, placing tender kisses, immediately finding your sweet spot. You close your eyes as you indulge yourself in the feeling of his lips moving along your skin. He sucks on the spot under your ear, leaving a little mark for the people to see.

He loves to leave hickeys all over your skin, making you his. You whimper when he licks a bold stripe on the fresh mark, causing you to throw your head back. You can feel him buck his hips into you, feeling his hard member through all of the clothing. You can also feel how hard he was, making you want him even more.

Your hand flies down to grab his cock through his sweats, giving it a firm squeeze. Jimin’s eyes close for a moment and he bucks his hips into your hand, grinding on it for a couple of seconds before he reopens his eyes. His irises turn even dark than it already was. He firmly grabs your wrist away from him and pins both of your hands above your head. “You naughty little girl,” he snarls, “touching daddy without permission.”

He keeps your wrists in place with one hand and the other grabs something from your bedside table. He opens the drawer and brings out a little paper bag and your eyes widen when he pulls out handcuffs. Jimin chuckles at your reaction, cuffing your wrists to the headboard. “What the fuck, you’re so kinky,” you giggled, secretly loving the feeling. He snarls, “Aren’t you a little late to notice that, baby girl?”

He suddenly pulls your underwear down, making you shriek. You close your legs together but he was quicker to part your legs away. He groans when he sees your wet slick and wastes no time in diving his head in between your thighs. He licks a stripe from your entrance and up to your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud right after. You tugged on his hair as you thrashed beneath him, already feeling so much pleasure. His tongue would teasingly flick your clit constantly, sending you into a state of euphoria. He continuously sucked and licked your pussy until you felt that your high was coming close. “J-Jimin, I’m gonna--”

He instantly pulls away right before you were about to cum, making you groan in frustration. He roughly slaps your thigh, “That wasn’t my name, was it, baby girl?”

You whimpered, feeling hornier than ever, “I’m sorry, daddy.”

Jimin chuckles as he pulls his sweats down, his hard dick springing out. The tip was angry and red, precum leaking down his shaft. Your hands instinctively reached out to touch him but the constraints refrained you from doing so. He strokes his length a couple of times as he eye-fucks you, biting his lip. Your bra was still on and he wanted to keep it that way. “Daddy please, please just--” you couldn’t finish your sentence when he rubs his shaft over your wet slick, coating it with your juices. “Please what, baby? What does my good girl want?”

“I-I want you inside me, daddy.”

Jimin mumbles a quiet ‘fuck’ from your words, obviously turning him on. He smirks when he aligns himself in front of your entrance, “I haven’t fucked you in weeks, baby. You’re probably so tight, hmm?”

“Why don't you find out yourself, daddy?”

In a swift motion, he shoves his cock inside your pussy without a warning. You moan out loud as you threw your head back into the pillows, your arms tugging from the complete pleasure. He didn’t give you any time to adjust as he instantly pounds himself in and out, his cock hitting all the right places. “S-shit, baby,” he chuckles, his eyebrows crease as he tries to focus on fucking you as the pleasure tries to overwhelm him, “you feel so good, I missed your pussy so fucking much.”

His mouth flies down on one of your hardened nipples and bites on it through the fabric. You shut your eyes when he wraps his mouth around it, gently sucking on the bud. “I love these so much,” he chuckles as he fucks you even harder and rougher, his hips smacking against yours.

Suddenly, he brings his right hand up and wraps it around your neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to it. You moan as you roll your eyes back from the feeling. Jimin just knows what to do to send you to your high, he knows your every kink and every dirty fantasy that you have. He knows your body better than you do.

“Daddy p-please, let me cum,” you whimpered as you clenched around his shaft. Jimin growls when you did so, fucking you even deeper, “How about you beg for it, baby girl? You wanna cum so bad, huh?” You can tell that he was close as well, his moans getting louder.

“Please, please daddy. I wanna cum so bad,” you spoke through gritted teeth, trying your best to hold it in. His sharp and hard thrusts making it even difficult for you.

“Is that all you can do, birthday girl?” he snarls, smirking as he choked you a bit tighter, “Beg like you mean it.”

You whined, “Please please please, daddy. Please let me cum, I’ve been a good girl. Let me cum around your cock,” these filthy words came out of your mouth like it was nothing. You loved begging for him, it was all so dirty, yes - but you loved it. You loved the feeling of just being so submissive for him, and he liked it as much as you do.

Jimin always craved for control. He loved how he can just make you feel a certain way in the simplest of things. He controls your body in numerous ways. His past lovers weren’t like you, they weren’t up to try different and new things. And it was such a relief that he found someone like you who had the same interest as him. It was a massive turn on for him to see you obeying his commands, being such a good girl for her daddy.   

“Good girl, baby,” he smirked, “Now, cum for me now.” 

It was the hardest that you came in a while, your body was shaking and you were clenching vigorously around his length. “A-ahh, daddy!” 

Jimin kept thrusting to catch his high until he spills his seed, hot and long spurs of cum inside of you. Jimin was a panting mess, burying his head on the crook of your neck as he kept his dick inside you. “Fuck, you came so hard baby,” he breathed, worn out. You instantly blushed but when you tried to run your hands through his hair, you remembered the restraints that were cuffed around your wrist. 

“Jimin...umm, the cuffs--”

“O-oh, right,” he laughed as he sat up and removed the cuffs from your wrist. The skin was slightly red from all of the tuggings, but you didn’t mind it. Jimin smirk when he saw your bruised skin, knowing how much you enjoyed it either way. He pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, smiling down at you. 

“Happy birthday, ____.”