#studded barstools

[facexclaimxcafe]

Home Bar L-Shape in Denver Mid-sized minimalist l-shaped porcelain tile and beige floor seated home bar photo with an undermount sink, glass-front cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, wood countertops, brown backsplash and wood backsplash

[mrs-storm]

Single Wall in Kansas City Large transitional single-wall ceramic tile seated home bar photo with recessed-panel cabinets, granite countertops and gray cabinets

[migvintof]

Transitional Home Bar - Home Bar

[benjaminaskinas]

Home Bar - Galley

[dante2045]

Curse of the Twink

Bobby ran a hand through his styled hair as he entered the bar, scanning the room for a potential victim. He hadn't fed in a week and could feel his cock pulsing within his briefs, begging to drain a stud of his muscles and manliness. He quickly took notice of Broden, a muscular jock loitering near the bar counter.

"Hey there," Bobby called out in greeting, approaching Broden with a friendly smile. "Mind if I join you?"

Broden looked up from his drink, his eyes lighting up as he appraised the slim twink flirting with him. "Sure thing, little guy."

Bobby slid onto the barstool next to Broden, signaling to the bartender for a drink. His delicate, manicured fingers gently brushed along Broden's muscled thigh through his blue jeans. "So, what brings you here tonight?"

Broden chuckled, taking a swig from his beer bottle. "Just looking for some company to kill a couple of hours. You?"

"Same," Bobby replied, leaning in and whispering in Broden's ear, "How about you show me your apartment?"

Broden smirked, nodding in agreement. "Sure thing, cutie."

Bobby slid his hand into Broden's and lead him out of the bar, leaving their half finished drinks behind. Bobby could feel Broden's eyes fixed on his tight round ass and purposely wiggled his hips so it bounced with every step. Bobby wanted to feast on this jock and drain his masculinity right there in front of the entire bar, barely able to control his urges.

Luckily for Bobby, Broden only lived a few blocks away from the bar. The men walked through the cool autumn night in silence, both thinking about what would happen once they made it back to Broden's apartment.

Once inside, Broden slammed the door shut behind them before he pushed Bobby against the wall, his hands roaming all over Bobby's slender frame. "You sure you know what you're getting into, little fella?"

Bobby moaned softly, wrapping his own arms around Broden's thick waist. "Oh, I'm positive."

Broden's lips brushed against Bobby's, their tongues eagerly massaging one another. Bobby's hands slipped under Broden's tank top, running his palm down Broden's chiselled abs.

"Fuck, you are turning me on so much," Broden growled, grinding his hard member against Bobby's thigh.

Bobby gasped. "Fuck me, Broden. Please."

With a grunt, Broden lifted Bobby effortlessly and carried him to his bedroom. He gently lowered Bobby onto the bed, crawling beside him. "Hope you can handle a big man, baby."

Broden tore open Bobby's shirt, exposing his smooth, flat chest. His mouth grazed against each nipple, sucking and nibbling as Bobby writhed beneath him. Bobby's hands roamed over Broden's muscular back, squeezing his broad shoulders.

"Take off those pants," Broden demanded, his voice rough with desire.

Bobby hurriedly kicked off his jeans and briefs, leaving him naked and vulnerable. Broden stood up, quickly stripping off his own clothes with a frantic fervour. His erection sprang free, long and thick, dripping with precum.

Bobby's breath hitched as he took in the sight. "Holy shit, Broden. You're... huge."

Broden chuckled, positioning himself between Bobby's spread thighs. "Ready, cutie?"

Bobby nodded, his heart pounding throughout his body. "Yes."

Broden lined himself up, pressing the mushroom head of his cock against Bobby's tight hole. With one swift motion, he thrust forward, burying himself balls deep.

Bobby screamed, both in pain and pleasure. "Fuck!"

Broden began to thrust his hips, pulling in and out of Bobby's hole. "That's it, take it like a good boy."

Broden's thick, meaty fingers dug into Bobby's shoulders as he kept up his pace. Each thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through him, pushing him closer to the edge.

"Harder," Bobby panted, "Don't stop."

Broden obliged, increasing the intensity of his thrusts. His abs clenched with each pulse, his muscles rippling under his skin.

"Almost there," Broden grunted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Gonna make you cum, baby boy."

Bobby came, his body spasming as he coated his own stomach with his release. The sensation pushed Broden over the edge as well, his cock throbbing as he spilled deep inside Bobby.

Both men panted heavily, Broden gently extracting his member from Bobby. Broden collapsed on the bed beside Bobby, his eyes drifting close as he recovered from his orgasm.

Broden felt a strange tingling sensation begin to spread through his body. He looked down in confusion as he saw his abs start to smooth over, the defined ridges softening and filling out into a flat tummy. Broden's muscles began to deflate, his thick and veiny biceps shrinking down to become lean and scrawny. Bobby's heart continued to race as he watched the transformation unfold before his eyes.

"What the hell is happening?" Broden muttered, his voice growing soft and higher-pitched.

Bobby didn't bother responding, too entranced by the spectacle of Broden's changing form. Broden's long and thick cock began to shrink down, shortening and thinning. His balls shriveled, retracting into his body. Broden's ass ballooned out into a tight bubble butt.

Broden's face was the last thing to change. His sharp features softened, his jawline rounding as his masculine visage gave way to a more delicate appearance. Within moments, Broden had transformed into a mirror image of Bobby himself.

"No," Broden whispered, his voice now sounding identical to Bobby's. "This can't be real."

Broden's brain chemistry began to alter, his memories and personality changing. Instead of being the tough macho jock, he now remembered being the shy, quiet outcast throughout most of his life. His memories of topping dozens of twinks were rewritten, replaced with bottoming for various men. He lost any interest in sports or video games, now being interested in fashion, novels and cooking. Broden was completely gone, replaced with an exact clone of Bobby.

Bobby reached out and traced the chin of his clone, admiring his handiwork. Broden had changed just like the others had.

---‐---------------------------------------

Bobby had once been in a long term relationship with a man named Martinez. He had loved Martinez deeply and had been sure they would spend the rest of their lives together...until he'd walked in on Martinez with another man. In the ensuing argument, Martinez had cruelly called Bobby nothing but a 'dumb, easily replaceable twink'.

Heartbroken, Bobby had fled their apartment and wandered the streets in a daze, eventually stumbling into a Magic Shop. Bobby had entered looking for a cure to his sorrow, but the mysterious store clerk had suggested revenge was a much more cathartic solution. The clerk sold Bobby a potion, instructing him to drink it and convince Martinez to have sex with him one last time.

As instructed, Bobby swallowed the potion's contents, plugging his nose so he couldn't taste the bitter liquid. A strange energy pulsed from within him; he hurried back to his apartment. Martinez was more than willing to let Bobby back in as the twink apologized, begging for sex. Martinez wasted no time leading Bobby to their room, stripping down and thrusting his swollen member into Bobby.

After cumming, Martinez had complained about a strange feeling. Bobby watched on in awe as Martinez was slowly drained of his muscles, his beefy body deflating into a thinner, skinny build. Martinez shouted obscenities as his massive erection shrunk down, dwindling to less than half of its former glory. Martinez's golden brown skin lightened to a pale white, his stubble and body hair disappearing back into his skin.

Bobby looked on in awe as Martinez's body continued to shift into a replica of his own. After the change was complete, it was clear that Martinez was gone, replaced with an identical clone of Bobby.

Bobby hadn't meant to change Martinez; he'd had no idea what the magical potion he'd been given would do. Still, as he and his clone curiously inspected each other, he found it difficult to regret his choices. Martinez had been a dumb, brutish jock; sure he'd been hot, but he was also opportunistic and cruel. Having another Bobby in the world seemed like an upgrade in comparison.

The two Bobbys got along great, seeing as they shared all of the same interests and habits. Living with himself was a massive upgrade over Martinez, who had been a messy slob. The only problem, Bobby hated to admit, was that he missed sex. While he found himself attractive, neither Bobby was willing to assume the top position that Martinez had vacated. The Bobbys had kissed and jerked each other off, but as the days passed he had an almost overwhelming urge to be penetrated again.

A little over a week after Martinez's transformation, Bobby could not resist the need any longer. He headed out to a gay bar, looking for a quick hookup to release the tension that had been building in him. It didn't take him long to meet Alistair, a drunken frat bro who was clearly looking for someone to take home.

Without much preamble, Alistair and Bobby headed back to Alistair's apartment. Bobby wanted to avoid his own place as he wasn't sure how he'd explain his clone, should they cross paths.

After Alistair emptied his load inside Bobby, the pent up hunger that had been growing in Bobby quickly subsided. He let out a sigh of relief, feeling at ease once more. Bobby was surprised when Alistair let out an uncomfortable grown and complained about a weird sensation. It didn't take long before Alistair's muscular body shrank down, morphing into a copy of Bobby's.

Bobby had assumed that the potion had been a one time spell and the magic would have worn off after getting his revenge on Martinez. Looking at the jock turned twink before him, Bobby realized this wasn't the case. It appeared that any man that fucked him would succumb to the magic, transforming into a replica of him.

Bobby felt guilt over accidentally transforming Alistair. Where Martinez had had it coming, Bobby had only met Alistair a few minutes before changing him. Bobby vowed to stop sleeping with men, not wanting to spread his curse any further.

A week after hooking up with Alistair, the urges returned. The magic was growing within Bobby, looking for a release; he could barely control himself. The curse wanted to be spread, whether Bobby agreed or not. He tried to distract himself, but with every hour that passed, the struggle got harder. The feeling was primal in nature, an animalistic need that could not be ignored. As it approached midnight, Bobby finally gave in and headed out to the bar where he met Broden.

---‐---------------------------------------

Bobby looked over at his sleeping clone, the one who had been Broden a little over an hour ago. After Broden's change, the new Bobby had been exhausted and quickly fell asleep. Bobby tried to join him, but sleep eluded him as his thoughts raced.

He had now stolen the lives of three men. As guilty as he felt, the knowledge that he had turned these muscular studs into his own possey of Bobbys did have a seductive allure to it. Would the magic ever fade? Or would he continue to sleep with men indefinitely, draining their masculinity and creating more twinks?

Bobby pushed the thoughts from his mind, taking a deep breath to relax. Whatever was to come, he would find a way to deal with it. And he wouldn't have to do it alone, he thought, snuggling into the arms of his twin.

[t4tvampireisms]

Now, You Feel So Alive

||Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester|| ||Post-Break Up Blues|| ||Flirting|| ||Bars|| ||Bikers|| ||Basically: DeanBenny, But Benny Is Like David From “Lost Boys”|| ||Kissing|| ||Handjobs|| ||Blood Drinking|| ||Of Course, What Did You Expect?||

Insanity brought to me by @boykingscourt . I hope you like it bestie. 😫🫶🏾❤️✨

—

This isn’t his normal haunt. But Charlie had insisted it’d be a good time, something to get his mind off of someone she’d cleverly labeled “He Who Must Not Be Named”. Aka, Dean’s latest heartbreak and most recent failed attempt at a relationship.

Her indignation and rage on his behalf at He Who Must Not Be Named’s tryst was something he was all for, but Dean hadn’t known that “getting him back out there” came with it as some sort of package deal.

Hence, now he was parked on a barstool nursing a lukewarm beer at some neon-lit dive called “The Dirty Dog”, a place that apparently catered to large hairy dudes clad in leather and denim-wearing barfly’s pouring their welfare checks down the drain alike. Charlie was somewhere off in a dark corner making out with a blonde grunge chick with spiked studs in her eyebrows, so Dean was left to fend off roving hands all on his lonesome.

The sounds of a jukebox rattling off classic rock and the heavy stench of sweat and tobacco provided background noise to the sudden wave of emotion sweeping through Dean’s body, surrounding and enveloping him like tar.

Moving to California was supposed to be a fresh start, and at first it kinda was; Dad had a good job, Sam was making friends with the local geeks down at the comic book store by the boardwalk, and Dean had even entered into a tentative relationship with a sweet Pastor’s boy by the name of Castiel.

Well, maybe a fresh start for everyone but him then, because Cas, as it turned out, had a particular taste for thorny brunette women named Meg, women who didn’t mind blowing him at parties with red lipstick smeared all over their faces like some sort of boring cliche.

Dean’s thumb caresses the side of his beer bottle, snorting derisively to himself at the memory of Castiel’s eyes going comically wide when he was caught; maybe Dean had just been apart of some sort of side quest to piss off a preacher, but since he’d blocked and removed the boy from his life in every way that mattered he’d most likely never know.

“Y’alright there, darlin’?”

Dean turns to his right, meeting the ice blue and calculating gaze of whoever had just decided to sit by him. He was handsome, Dean noted, features sharp and rugged with a healthy amount of stubble covering his chin and cheeks, hair dyed a platinum blonde that was almost white, teased at the top and fanned down at the sides into an almost death hawk; at this close proximity Dean could make out the smell of Marlboro’s, confirmed by the one tucked snugly behind the strangers ear.

He was alluring, beautiful, and after all the shit Dean has been through the past couple of days, he thinks he’s earned the right to a bit of flirting. Not breaking eye contact, he takes a long and slow swig from his earthy beer, licking the residue from his bottom lip afterwards. “Fine, now that you’re here.”

The stranger laughs, melodic in the way a church bell rings during a quiet Sunday morning after service. “I’m Benny. Y’got a name, handsome?”

“Dean.” He takes another pull from his beer. “You usually hang around places like this?” He asks, tilting the neck of his beer towards the sight of a grizzled older man pawing at the skirt of a girl who could’ve passed as his daughter.

“Do you?” Benny asks, watching the scene briefly before flicking his gaze back towards Dean.

A snort. “I asked you first.”

A smile, white and dazzling; a flash of what Dean thinks are unusually sharp canines glinting under the low light. “Mm. Sometimes; me and my gang, we just kinda wander. Try not to get kicked out.”

“Gang?” Dean repeats, raising a brow. “What, you in a biker gang or something?”

“Or something.” Benny smirks, eyes boring into Deans, as if he could see down to his very soul; it should’ve been unsettling, unnerving, but all Dean felt was an inexplicable magnetic pull. Like a trout on bait, waiting to be reeled in to the mouth of the consumer.

Dean’s own eyes are drawn to Benny’s hands, large hands wrapped up in worn-in leather gloves that looked fit for bike riding. The thought makes him feel warm; he’s always had a thing for bikers, especially bikers with pretty blue eyes and witty smiles.

Benny’s eyes don’t leave Dean’s as he lights up the cigarette behind his ear, the lighter itself silver and emblazoned with what looked like a skull and crossbones, only the skull itself had elongated teeth resembling those of a vampires. His lips purse as he inhales from the filter, chest rising and falling in a relaxed motion as he blows out thick clouds of smoke through his nostrils. “You feel like getting outta here?”

Dean looks around, spots Charlie tugging her latest catch towards the ladies restroom and realizes she ain’t leaving anytime soon. Any other time he’d feel bad about leaving his best friend behind, but right about now all he could focus on was the way Benny’s teeth tugged at his bottom lip, tongue poking out from between the pearly whites. “Yeah alright. Lead the way, gorgeous.”

Benny grins broadly, pushing away from the bar top as he grabs Dean’s hand and fluidly drags him through the crowd, as though they were moving to accommodate him and his movements rather than the other way around. Once the boys are outside Benny leads him towards the side of the bar not illuminated by neon signs, pressing him against the bare brick wall a moment later and capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

His stubble rakes against Dean’s skin, tongue probing and swiping inside his mouth as one gloved hand places itself by Dean’s head, the other going to cup his jaw with the thumb almost hooking into his mouth.

The leather is warm, smooth and thick, something his lips immediately latch onto when Benny’s pull away, sucking at the material and leaving it glistening with saliva. The aftertaste of cinnamon and clove from Benny still lingers on his breath, an ambrosia that leaks into his skin to leave him feeling scent-drunk and almost airy.

Benny watches him hungrily, ice blue obscured by the inky blackness of his blown-out pupils, and maybe it was just his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, but Dean could’ve swore he saw a flash of yellow in that predatory stare just a second ago.

“Beautiful.” He hears Benny murmur, pulling his fingers away to reclaim his mouth, feels as his lips travel from his jaw to his pulse point, sucking what would no doubt be bruises by morning into his skin. Dean groans, low and throaty, tilting his head back against the wall to further bare his throat to Benny, who hums appreciatively as he marks his neck.

So lost in a sea of bliss he almost doesn’t notice as the sucking becomes biting, the feeling of teeth puncturing Dean’s neck causing him to gasp and open his eyes; what he sees is Benny, still latched onto his neck, only his lips are now shiny with a mixture of saliva and blood, tongue gently and insistently lapping at the small wound he had created. He should be afraid, should pull back and shove the other boy away and tell him to fuck off. It wouldn’t be the first time a potential tango partner had gotten a bit too kinky for comfort.

But the thing was, Dean wasn’t afraid. He was enjoying every single zap and zing of pain mixed pleasure, endorphins and ecstasy flooding his body much like the first few seconds after ingesting the sugary sweet high of ecstasy.

Benny pulls away from Dean’s neck, his eyes hooded and almost completely clouded over; he looked just as high as Dean felt, lips swollen and tinged pink with ruby red liquid dripping down his chin. He looked almost animalistic, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, the jut of his cheekbones more prominent, the tips of his ears pointed in a way Dean hadn’t taken stock of until now. Whoever, or whatever, this boy was didn’t matter; Dean wanted to be destroyed by him.

“You taste so sweet, darling.” Benny cooes, leaning in with a kiss that was more an exchange of tongue, of taste, and Dean realizes with a jolt that he is currently tasting his own blood. He couldn’t taste anything apart from copper, but nonetheless it was still new and exciting. Kissing with Cas had been nice, but they’d never gotten beyond the stage of heavy petting. Maybe it was wrong to compare his ex to a boy he’d only known for less than an hour, but it seems as though Dean was neglecting all other rational thought and feeling in exchange for hedonism tonight.

Had he already mentioned how intoxicating Benny tasted? It was as though the boy himself was a drug, tasting of spices, herbs, and sweetness, settling into his bones and bloodstream like a warm and tingly alcoholic beverage; a talisman in a (semi) human form.

The hand not braced on the wall behind Dean travels down his side, weightless and featherlight, grazing his hip and the sliver of skin exposed by a shirt most likely one size too small for him. Nimble fingers trail along the waistband of his pants, dipping ever so slightly past the elastic of his boxers before continuing their journey. Dean can feel himself straining against the denim of his bleach-washed jeans, achingly hard and begging for any sort of reprieve; Benny, thankfully possessing the ability to seemingly read minds, takes mercy on him and splays his palm on the prominent bulge it finds, removing his hand from the wall to deftly undo Dean’s buckle and unzip his fly.

Once his underwear is tugged down and out of the way, exposing his flushed skin to the otherwise chilly night air, Benny wraps his gloved hand around his cock, stroking and twisting, pressing his thumb against the tightly stretched frenulum under his head, chuckling deeply as Dean’s hips stutter and buck further into his touch.

Benny strokes a little faster, swallowing Dean’s moans with deeper and deeper kisses, whispering all sorts of dirty things into his ear in that carefree drawl of his. His thumb swipes over the head once again, smearing pearly drops of pre-come over his erection, the sounds slick and obscene and downright filthy. It’s not long before Dean is coming with a choked off groan, spilling hot and sticky all over Benny’s hands and fingers. He nearly collapses, Benny’s arms steadying him as his limbs decide to take a last minute vacation without informing the boss.

“Fuck.” Dean voices, almost embarrassed at how wrecked and hoarse his voice sounded.

“Mm.” Benny licks at the sticky white fluid coating his gloves, making hot and heady eye contact the entire time. Dean’s already-spent cock gives a half hearted throb at the sight, but he doesn’t think he could go a second round even if his legs weren’t currently made of jelly.

After tucking his soiled gloves into the pockets of his wool duster coat, Benny leans against the same wall Dean was currently using as a support beam to light up another cigarette, relaxed and nonchalant in a way that would’ve been infuriating if it wasn’t so damn attractive; it only made Dean wanna work twice as hard to get him worked up in the future.

“Need a ride home?” He asks, keeping his eyes trained on the inky black darkness above as he hands the cigarette over.

“Yeah. That’d be nice.” Dean nods, accepting the offered vice and taking a deep drag of it himself. Tonight had certainly been one for the books.

—

Dean’s head is buried in his pillows when a heavy weight suddenly throws itself on his bed, jostling his body weight and forcing him to open his eyes to scowl at whatever had just disrupted his sleep. A floppy haired boy of sixteen glares down at him, bangs falling into his eyes and yet somehow he’s still able to pull off the pissed-off-parent look.

“Whatddya want, Sam?” Dean groans, squinting against the bright light filtering into their shared bedroom.

“Charlie said you ditched her; she saw you walking off with some punk, and she also said she didn’t see you return. Were you doing drugs? Was he your dealer?”

Dean groans again, grabbing a pillow and draping it over his head. “Since when did you become Dad?”

“Since you started sneaking off with blonde punks to do drugs.”

“I wasn’t doing drugs, idiot.” Dean tries and fails to aim a kick at Sam’s shins, which only causes him to move his aching muscles more than they clearly wanted or were capable of. “Just go away. I’m fine.”

Sam hmphs but ultimately decides to leave it be, for once, bouncing off of Dean’s bed with the sound of his footsteps departing for the door following soon after. “Dad made breakfast. You should get up.”

Dean’s hand grazes over the mark on his neck after Sam leaves, fingers hovering over raised and jagged skin.

Killer hangover aside, being with Benny was the most fun he had in weeks; if he was planning on seeing the beautiful boy again, and soon, no one else had to know.

@lesbianboyfriend @bsideheart @tboykrillin @lesbianjudasiscariot @pikslasrce @girlv1rgin @transchesters @switchkick

[tmwcs]

scenario: H/N and Y/N go to a frat party with their bfs and 2 guys start flirting and talking with them while heeseung and Jake are talking separately?

How would each of them react to this and the aftermath for y/n and h/n??

(In Jake’s reaction, h/n is Heethan’s y/n and vice versa.)

MDNI 18+ content below.

Jake and his y/n:

“Stardust, come here.”

“Yes?”

“Mind telling me what that guy was doing?”

“He was…well he and his friend came over and started to talk to me and h/n—“

“Looks like they were flirting…”

“Well yeah…kinda.”

“And you didn’t tell them to piss of becaaaaaaauuusse?….”

“Well I was going to…I didn’t know how to because I just didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“Cause a scene?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh baby.” Jake sets down his drink and stands from the barstool. “Let’s go back to my room, got some new toys.”

“Babe!” You shoot out a wide eye look as you feels Jake’s strong hands pinch at your waist, bringing you closer to his chest. “Don’t worry stardust, I’m not going to cause a scene…” brushing his finger tip along your skin, there was an odd feeling that didn’t feel quite normal. At least…it didn’t feel like his finger. You look down and gasped in near horror…and pleasure. When did he manage to slip those on?

*

*

*

*

*

*

Wiggling the two fingers, he motions you to come closer. “Let’s go have some fun…”

And you did have some fun…alot of fun. Fun where he instructed you to yell out the versus he compiled in the car ride home, you know…stuff that made things extra intense and sexy.

……..

“Say it again stardust….just like I like it…”

“Ffffffffuck…..fuck m-me! Fuck me jake! Fuck me lllllike y-your dirty l-lllllittle slut!! Oh my God fuck!”

“Oh yeah stardust…you’ve been practicing….you sound so much more confident now….I like that….say it again, louder this time.”

You moaned out the words in heated passion as you felt the stud ram you with his thick member, ringed with the vibrating buzzer that stimulates your clit simultaneously. God…you love it when he caused a scene.

Heethan and his y/n….if you n own ANYTHING about the MGR/MRE/HHP series…Heethan’s reaction is pretty self explanatory.

You tried your best to shoo off the male pair that came up and were being overly audacious with their flirtatious manners. You hurried and tried to back away before he saw what was going on.

“So sorry but seriously, I have to go. I’m not interested.” You quickly migrated away and looked round. “Hey, got your drink.”

You turned suddenly to see Heeseung holding an extra cup. “Oh…thank you.”

He merely gives you a faint, dashing smirk as he sips form his own drink. He must have not seen the two men that came up to flirt with you and h/n. Thank God.

The entire time you both spent at the party was filled with laughter, flirtatious movements and stares as Heeseung moved pieces do your hair away from your face, as usual. And you would sit on his lap and flicker his hat back, so you could rub the tip of your nose against his. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the normal, loving interaction between the two of you.

Finally, you both decided to go home. He opened the car door for you, settled you in the passenger seat before steering the car away. He takes you on the long farm road, the one that he’s taken you in many times before; the same spot where you both went to after your first night. It was typical for you both to take a long drive out to the countryside and gaze at the stars, which was always followed by passion in the back seat. He parks the car, and you both had the fantastic view of overlooking the pasture with nothing but astrological signs greeting you in the night sky.

“I love being here with you.” You calmly tell him as you stare out through the windshield.

“Do you?” His voice calm, and deep. It was so tranquil and still, like calmed water.

“I do.”

He chuckles. “Yeah…I love being here with you too…I love so many things about you….”

“Like what?” You teasingly ask, reaching up and over to run your fingers through the shaggy edge of his hair that peeled from beneath his cap.

“Everything…your smile, your laughter…the way you look even when you’re crying….or when you’re scared. You look so helpless when you’re scared. It’s so sexy and delectable….kind of like tonight.”

You pause in mid motion as your fingers combed through the tapered length at the back of his neck. You were confused. “Tonight?”

“Mmhmm.”

“But…I’m not scared.” You nervously chuckled out.

“Oh but you should be.”

“Why?” Your smile stood strong, barely. You began to tremble as he displays his magnificent side profile, tilting his nose up as he eyes you from the side, smirking handsomely. “Why don’t you tell me ALL about the guy who was trying to take you away from me?…the one that I will shred to pieces later, but for now…why don’t you tell me about how you were so trusting to let him get so close to you…hmm?

Your smile fades and you gasped out.

“Oh you can’t….you can’t tell me all about it.” He mocks a disappointing tone. “Well since you can’t talk…then I’m about to make you scream out my name, because CLEARLY you forgot to tell him who you belong to.”

“Heeseung wait—“

“Heeeeeeere kitty kitty kitty….come here little kitty….daddy wants a taste.”

As crazy as it may have seemed, a part of you was glad that Heeseung…and Ethan reminded you of who you belonged to. The overwhelming sensation of erotic pleasure still beats inside of you, and even after the night was over, you replayed the scene in your head over and over again. Especially im during moments like this, when he’s done with his punishments and youre sitting next to him, as he holds your hand. His thumb stroking the back of your palm, and you’re able to stare into his loving eyes…only this time, he doesn’t have his cock in between your legs…or in your mouth.

[missvelvetsstuff]

@supraveng , I accidentally deleted the ask and took longer than intended but here you go.

I have a request for your milestone celebration......can you write a Ransom Drysdale or Nick Fowler story?  any scenario you like, just keeping his asshole persona except he's totally soft for the reader? 

Traded up

Nick Fowler x Reader, past Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Ransom shattered her heart but Nick put it back together and filled it with love. What happens when they run into each other?

Warnings: swearing, a little angst

Notes: Idk how I ended up with over 700 followers but thanks for joining me for this ride.

Not exactly what you asked for but this is where my brain went. Hope you like it.

This is my first attempt to write anyone other than Bucky so I hope it doesn't suck.

Tried to keep the reader as generic as I could but she's a tall girl, like me.

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

When she walked into the ballroom, people noticed. Over 6 feet tall in heels wearing a long sleeve, boat neck, backless, black silk gown with a slit up her right thigh and 2 strings of diamonds draping down her back. Hair arranged with simple black lacquer combs, a pair of large diamond studs adorned her ears, a colorful Graff Hallucination watch graced her wrist. Simple make up focused on her cat eyes.

She had the look of old money, completely comfortable in her bespoke clothes and long, lithe body.

She looked around, searching for someone and deflated slightly when she couldn't find him. A waiter offered champagne but she waved him off and moved gracefully  towards the bar where she ordered a real drink.

Ransom noticed the murmuring and looked up from the blonde he was chatting up but couldn't see who was causing the whispers. He watched the crowd part and saw a woman step up to the bar, her backless dress so low cut he was sure he could see some cleavage. His eyes roamed over her back then opened wide and doubled back when he saw the scar on her left shoulder. From the spring of a trampoline when she was a child.

His heart sped up, he wasn't ready to see her and didn't know if he ever would be. She was the one that got away. He was young and stupid and blew it. Didn't expect to ever see her again, rumour was she had moved to California. He kept watching as she sat gracefully on a barstool and her dress adjusted so he definitely could see some crack. His heart sped up.

The blonde noticed his distraction and tugged on his coat "Raaaann" she whined.

He clenched his jaw "Shut the hell up" spat through gritted teeth, without taking his eyes off of her. His heart ached and he felt hot, unsure of what to do, something he wasn't accustomed to. He decided going full Ransom playboy was the safest call. He couldn't let anyone see how badly he wanted her, how much he missed her.

Y/N sipped her drink and kept her eyes roaming the room until they fell on him. She threw the rest of her drink back and requested another, sighing. She knew there was a good chance Ransom would be here, his mother was on the board of this charity and he always liked seeing how many debutantes he could get into in one evening. She had hoped she wouldn't have to face him alone but she wasn't going to let him see how badly he hurt her. She wouldn't let him know the true effect he had on her.

She was better, stronger now and loved by someone who was willing to put in the work a relationship requires, someone loyal to her, someone who worshipped her. She just wished he was here right now.

She looked at her watch and tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the bar when she felt someone behind her.

"Well, well, look at what the cat dragged in. You look extremely fuckable, as always" Ransom laughed softly.

Y/N turned around slowly, looking him over with contempt. "Hugh."

And turned back to her drink.

Ransom bristled "You know I hate when you call me that."

She shrugged. "Not my problem."

"Don't try to be coy with me. We both came here alone, we'll leave together."

She scoffed "Not if you were the last man on earth, Hugh." She paused "I'm meeting someone."

Ransom laughed "Sure you are sweetheart. Don't make up excuses, if there is someone he shouldn't keep you waiting." He looked her up and down again, licking his lips "I certainly wouldn't leave you alone here."

She laughed "Riight, you'd just run off to fuck someone else in the bathroom, then race back to me stinking of her."

She waved her left hand, showing him the large diamond "I didn't buy this for myself"

He opened his mouth to say something but she put her hand up to stop him and looked at him disdainfully "Please fuck all the way off, Hugh." She spat

Ransom was feeling irritated, the blonde had already moved on and he was horny and determined to hook up with his ex. "Look, Y/N that was the past and it only happened a couple of times. Why do you have to make such a big deal about it?"

The bartender came over to check on her and refilled her drink while Ransom glared at him. She dropped a hundred into the tip jar and Ransom shook his head "Why are you tipping the help, they get paid enough."

Y/N shook her head and chuckled "You still haven't fucked off, Hugh. You might regret that."

"Doubt it." He crowded into her space and lowered his voice "You smell delicious. We can head into the bathroom, they're pretty spacious here. I can fuck you like I used to, make you squeal and mark that pussy as mine. Maybe I'll take a taste and-" he saw her shaking her head and scoffed "Then how about a dance, for old times sake?"

He grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the dance floor, then turned her around grabbed her waist and pulled her back flush against his chest. She tried to pull away when she felt his erection rubbing against her ass.

Ransom pulled back suddenly, distracted by a kerfuffle at the entrance. Y/N took the opportunity to wrench herself free of him and head for the bar but he followed her as she reclaimed her seat at the bar.

"Why the fuck is it so difficult to check my goddamn coat? Is there anyone working here with an IQ over 75? Does that valet even have his drivers license? He looks like he's 12. Unfuckingbelievable." Echoed throughout the room. She shivered at his voice.

Ransom saw a tall man, taller than him, with short dark hair and a 5 o'clock shadow, obviously expensive black suit, rolex on his wrist, walking straight towards them. He looked familiar but Ransom couldn't place him.

Y/N smiled when she heard him and looked at Ransom pointedly "Last chance."

He smirked at her "I'm good here."

She shrugged then gasped when the tall man put his hand on her bare back, his touch and his voice did things to her. His scent wrapped around her, pine and citrus, making her feel safe and aroused at the same time.

He was taller than her, even in her heels, and kissed her cheek before he spoke.

"Sorry I'm late babe, had a damn flat." He looked up at Ransom, knowing full well who he was and what he did.

"Who's your little friend?" Then offered his hand "Nick Fowler"

She smiled "Nicky, this is Hugh. I told you about him. His mother is on the board."

Nick squeezed Ransoms hand a little too tightly and looked him in the eye until Ransom looked away which made Nick smile.

Ransom tried not to wince "Ransom Drysdale, only the help call me Hugh."

Nick nodded "I know all about you Drysdale." He grinned widely "Ever find any purpose in your life beyond fucking debutantes? It'll get old eventually." He squeezed Y/N to him "Best to find a good one and settle down." She smiled up at him with hearts in her eyes.

Ransom bristled and puffed his chest out. Who the fuck Was this guy to talk down to him? He was Ransom fucking Drysdale and this guy was- his train of thought was derailed when Nick leaned down to kiss Y/N and Ransom felt his stomach drop. This guy was the one with Y/N, that's who he was.

Nick looked up after ending the kiss and looked surprised. "You're still here? She's mine and there's nothing you could do to change that so be on your way. I don't want to have to mess up your pretty face in front of all these people."

Y/N just smiled and adjusted herself in her seat. She loved when Nick was possessive and jealous because it led to the best sex, made him almost feral.

Ransom tried to puff up and regain his dominance but it was for naught, Y/N was completely absorbed with Nick, as though Ransom didn't exist. He deflated, looking at her sadly, knowing that he blew the best thing in his life and it was too late to fix it.

As Ransom walked away Y/N poked Nick in the chest "You're so mean, Nicky."

Nick smiled at her "That's because I'm surrounded by idiots and assholes." He cradled her cheek in his hand, feeling his heart speed up when she leaned into him. "Except for you, sweetheart. I'll always be good to you."

He kissed her again, a little more passionate, more needy.

When he pulled away he offered his hand "We already made our donation and the food at these things always sucks. Why don't I take you home and we'll order takeout."

He ran his hand up the slit in her dress "and I'll show you how good I can be to you."

Y/N took his hand, stood up and forced herself to walk next to him, rather than racing to his car so they could hurry home together, Ransom forgotten like yesterdays gossip.

Nick stopped suddenly and pulled her up against him before she knew what he was doing then whispered in her ear

"You know, I've heard the bathrooms here are really nice."

[ty-the-trainwreck]

thinking about cowgirl!nancy and bartender!robin

(this was the product of me realizing that natalia and maya have photos of them wearing cowboy hats and im just)

( plus a little photo of what i think nancy’s pants would look like in this but if they were white)

robin works at a saloon, and one day nancy comes into town and it's not everyday that a woman comes riding in on a horse with her head held high and felt hat held even higher. robin tunes into the gossip circling around the saloon, even though the men insist that it's not gossip. no, that would be too dainty. too feminine. too queer.

the men say things like, "someone's got to show her what a woman's place is in the world." robin barely knows who this mysterious cowgirl is, but she's tremendously livid at each word that comes out of the crusty lips of those bacteria ridden men. she contemplates spitting in all of their beers, but decides to swap out her saliva for six tablespoons of black pepper. robin relishes in the way every man that had said a sour word wrinkle their nose and cough into their elbow aggressively.

eventually, robin gets to meet the mysterious woman.

she waltz into the saloon with her hands clutching her studded rhinestone belt, her black button up had the two top buttons undone and her white pants were tucked into her light brown cowboy boots.

robin was mesmerized.

the woman walked up towards robin, and she finally got to see her face. the woman had sharp blue eyes and an even sharper jawline. robin felt her knees liquify and she barely kept herself standing.

"you serve anything but rum here?"

oh god.

the woman had a southern accent.

"pardon?"

"i don't see one glas that isn't filled with rum."

"oh, yeah. we do, but nobody that visits this place has actual taste buds." robin tried her best to play it cool and not freak out about how attractive this woman was. "wanna take a seat?" she gestured to one of the barstools and took out a table wipe to start wiping down the bar. "gladly." the cowgirl said, her sentences seemed to be short and clipped, quiet compared to the hooting and hollering around the saloon.

"so, want anything to drink? or do you not have taste buds too?" she teased, stuffing the table wipe into her back pocket. the mysterious woman huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "whiskey, please. i need some after my ride here."

"ah, so you have only lost a few of your taste buds then."

"bless your heart."

robin rolled her eyes with a smirk, turning around to grab a bottle of whiskey and pour it into a tall glass. she slid it towards the lady and watched as she picked the glass up and take a big swig. robin felt her heart beat a little faster as she witnessed the woman's throat bob and swallow all the whiskey. robin quickly redirected her gaze and stared down at the woman's hands instead, making robin even more pathetic that she already was.

she cleared her throat, blinking rapidly and stumbled on her words before she finally found something to say. "what brings you into town? we don't see cowgirls very often." the lady looked up with a piercing gaze. "you got a problem?" robin shook her head immediately. robin was too gay too have a problem with this fucking goddess.

"no! of course not, it's just nice to see someone that doesn't smell like they dived head first into a riverbank made of mud." the lady laughed, taking a smaller and less urgent sip of her whiskey. she savored the sip, swishing it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing and leaning forward. “care to tell me your name, pretty lady?” robin felt shivers shoot up her spine when she heard that southern drawl.

“robin buckley. what’s yours?”

“nancy. nancy wheeler.”

nancy.

“nancy.”

the name felt so good on her tongue.

“when do you get off work? i want to show you my horse.” the lady- nancy, questioned, her fingers traced the rim of the glass on the counter.

robin looked down at the movement, biting the inside of her cheek before replying. “well, in an hour. but i can leave early.”

jesus christ—

was that flirty?

oh my god she was flirting with this woman.

“you better, buckley.” nancy looked up at robin through her eyelids. the curly haired girl in-front of her fixed her hat, bumping it up a little so she could get a clearer look at robin.

robin gulped, walking backwards before bumping into the cabinets. she let out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. she was embarrassing herself in front of a hot cowgirl!

she scrambled away and ignored the amused look on nancy’s face as she unbuttoned her black vest and straightened her blouse, making sure it wasn’t wrinkled before fixing her hair in the reflection of the window.

robin came back and nancy was behind the counter, pouring out her whiskey and rinsing it. “y’know you’re not allowed back here, right?” she snickered. nancy looked over at her, taking in the slight adjustments to robin’s outfit. “had to clean my glass.” she held up the glass and tapped it. robin reached for it and placed it one of the top cabinets. and she just now realized that nancy was about a few inches shorter than her.

nancy grabbed robin’s arm, tugging the girl into the direction of the doors to the saloon. they pushed open the wooden doors and robin winced at how bright the sun was. “god, the sun is usually down by the time i get off work.”

“couldn’t say the same for me. i need the sun to work so i can too.” nancy led robin to where a beige mustang with a black mane lapped at some water from a wooden trough.

nancy slid her hand off of robin’s arm and robin instantly missed the touch.

“this is my mare, barb.” robin nodded, watching as the horse lifted her head and bumped her nose into nancy’s chest. nancy hummed, running a hand down the horse’s snout before she turned back to robin. “wanna pet her? promise she don’t bite.”

“i want to..it’s just- i had an accident with a horse a few years ago. so i’m not the most trustworthy of horses.” robin watches the mare brush up against nancy, and she thinks back to her horse.

the horse had white and orange spots on it, robin had often referred to them as ‘freckles.’ since they looked like the ones on robin’s face. robin has rode that horse everywhere, wherever robin went, that horse was there with her. until one day, the horse had gotten spooked and bucked. flinging robin off and sending her straight into the ground.

the horse was taken away, and robin had never seen it again. her best friend, gone.

“that’s alright, she’s patient. she won’t push until you reach out first.” nancy reassured in a comforting voice. robin looked at nancy, the woman was so beautiful, and now robin had to deal with the fact that she was kind?

robin was going to fall in love.

“have you ever fallen off her?”

“a few times, yeah.”

“was it scary?”

“terrifying.”

robin looked at the horse in front of her, it blinked at robin with a strange sort of gentleness. she took a hesitant step forward, flinching a little as the mare let out a sigh. “easy…” nancy whispered, scratching behind the horse’s ear. “it’s alright, she’s giving you permission.” robin nodded, letting out a sigh as well before she left her hand up and her fingers were trembling.

it had been years since she had ever touched a horse. sure, robin was surrounded by horses everyday, but watching a horse shake the ground and witness it’s hooves banging against the ground like the dirt it galloped on was a drum and riding said horse was two different things.

yet, the way nancy soothed robin with her soft southern drawl had given her courage.

robin gently pressed her hand onto the mare’s muzzle. the horse closed it’s eyes, leaning into the touch and robin smiled a little. she was still hesitant as she slid her hand up the mare’s snout.

“you’re doing great.” nancy praised, and robin was thinking some extremely inappropriate thoughts as soon as the words left the woman’s mouth.

“can i ride her?” robin asked, her voice barely there. nancy looked a little surprise. “you sure?”

robin nodded, brushing the little white star on the mare’s forehead. nancy sighed a little. “how about this, i’ll let you hold on to me and i’ll take you somewhere we can watch the sunset.”

“trying to take me out on a date, are you wheeler?” robin teased, and nancy let out a laugh.

“i could be, only way to find out is jumping into the saddle.” nancy hoisted herself up and into the leather saddle, patting the spot behind her. robin placed her foot onto the stirrup and pushed up, taking a deep breath before she pushed up and swung her leg over and sat down on the saddle. “i forgot how hard it was to get onto a horse.” she huffed. “not hard when you adapt to always being in danger.”

“very true.”

nancy picked up the leather reigns, gripping them in her palms before she looked back at robin. “hold on.” robin nodded, taking her hands and placing them on nancy’s waist. she decided to pretend that she was not extremely attracted to this woman as she leaned forward a little and got to smell nancy’s hair.

they began to move, albeit slowly. but they were moving, robin was nervous but she trusted nancy to not kill her (trusting a stranger? that would usually be a death wish in the wild west) so she squeezed nancy’s waist a little.

nancy understood immediately, squeezing her calves and the mare picked up the pace. robin let out a tiny gasp as the horse transitioned into a fast trot. “you okay?” nancy asked, giving robin a concerned look before she quickly returned her gaze to the road ahead. “yeah, just a little nervous.” nancy nodded, and she turned them onto a dirt path.

after a few minutes, robin was more comfortable, and she squeezed nancy’s waist once more to signal that she was ready to pick up the speed. “get ready, when she gets going she gets going.” nancy chuckled, letting out another chuckle as robin wrapped her arms around her waist. “i swear wheeler, i will take the reigns myself if i have to.”

“yeah yeah, i hear you.”

the mare sped up and now they were on the edge of a canter and a gallop. robin let out a tiny scream as she looks down and saw how the ground was a blur under the horse’s hooves. “holy shit holy shit!” robin hollered and nancy let out a boisterous laugh in response. the two laughed as they slowly came to a stop and the scene before them was one of the most beautiful robin had seen in her life.

nancy had brought them to a plateu, the winding rocks were shaded an apricot orange as the sun was slowly making it’s descent down the sky. a creek was below them as well, the water a earthy green color as it flowed on by and into the distance.

robin slowly slid off the horse and stood off to the side, staring at the view and she was completely lost in the moment before nancy walked over and bumped their shoulders together.

“it’s nice, isn’t it?” nancy asked. even her felt hat had orange light rimming it’s edges. robin smiled and nodded. “yeah, it really is.” she wasn’t only talking about the view.

“i agree.”

they stood there in silence before nancy reached up, and adjusted her hat. and robin focused on the interesting pattern on where the rim was lifted a little. it was green and black, and the green looked like a handful of snakes had been let loose them frozen and flattened into the hat. robin wanted to touch it.

yes, robin knew that this could absolutely destroy this little thing her and nancy had going on, but she reached out and lifted the hat off the brunette’s head. nancy raised her eyebrows a little but let robin do so, and she smiled a little as robin placed the hat on her head and adjusted it a little.

“hey.”

“hey.”

silence.

“do i look good?”

“more than good, sweetheart.”

robin melted at the way nancy said her words in a slow voice, her words mixed together in the most perfect way and it was possibly the most alluring southern accent she had ever heard.

“you are aware of what it means when you take a cowboy’s hat, right?”

robin looked a little confused.

“no, i am not aware.”

the corners of nancy’s mouth perked up and she turned to robin completely.

“wear the hat ride the cowboy, buckley.”

—

(i am literally from the south but i know no southern sayings and stuff but i was feeling gay at 4 in the morning and wrote this)

[junkdyke]

Last night at my bar flash event, a guy comes up to my table and tells me that he just found out his boyfriend was cheating on him on Grindr. So obviously, to heal, I proceeded to tattoo the word "stud" under his asscheek

"Do you need me to bend over? I'm good at that" and he was, indeed, good at bending over the barstool for me

[lichenes]

I know I promised Curly fics but this Polish motherfucker has been on my mind for WEEKS. Losely based on NK vocalist. Krzychu one chance, one chance Krzychu. Losely based on my bffs (almost) situation w her fav actor. CW: alcohol use, fem!reader, 'pretty girl', suggestive!!, SFW wc: 695 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

Looking at his studded jacket you couldn’t help but imagine what was underneath. You poked your best friend for the fiftieth time that night and she just groaned. “You promised to be normal about this.” She commented as you giggled wildly. “Unfortunately for you, I’m a filthy liar.” 

The room was stuffy and filled with smoke, both from the cigarettes being smoked and the fog machines put there for ambiance. 

You were ever so grateful for your friend being there as attending a concert filled with buzzed up men was a nightmare. All was worth it though, because when he walked up on stage you could feel your heart beating out of your chest. You, with the rest of the crowd, screeched with joy as he approached the edge of the stage. The rest of the band followed suit and the concert began. “I’m starting to regret being here with you.” 

The blatant grizzling fell on deaf ears when he approached the mic and shouted into it, earning a cry from the crowd alongside you. You sang along to all of the songs, misremembering the lyrics from time to time but having a great time anyway. You were deeply regretting not having made a sign for the occasion as he saw some in the crowd and commented on them. 

The sheer confidence oozing out of him was driving you insane. To be able to perform under the pressure of hundreds of eyes watching you and do it so well was a feat many failed at. Yet when it came to him he delivered each time, flawlessly. 

After barely squeezing out of the hall, you decided to make up for the unenjoyed time of your friend with a few drinks at the bar close to the venue. “You’re treating me to a lot of Aperol.” You laughed while agreeing. After a brief heart attack when you couldn’t feel your wallet in your purse you both made your way to the joint. 

“I’m getting the most expensive thing by the way.” She said half joking. Your bank account suffered that night, nevertheless you were grateful for her being there. Enjoying each other's presence you didn’t quite pay attention to what was going on at the entrance to the dingy hole in the wall you were currently occupying the barstools of. 

To your surprise, and by the grace of who- or whatever was listening, the band, short of one or two members, came into the room earning a round of applause from the fellow temporary dwellers of the establishment. You turned around to see what the ruckus was about and to your delight you realised he was amongst the members present.

You let your stare linger more than it should on him and the half unzipped jacket and he caught wind of it almost immediately grinning your way. You weren’t about to approach him without a confidence booster so for good measure you took a shot looking apologetically at your friend. Cringing a bit at the bitter taste you waited until the crowd around them thinned out and confidently (with a small enhancement from the alcohol) approached him and his bandmates swaying your hips gently. 

“Oh look at this here…” the bassist said, ogling you. You ignored him, the admirer you were after looked you up and down, not saying anything, only sporting a slight smirk. On, he had that studded jacket he wore and removed during the show as if to invite you in. You held eye contact with him, never averting your gaze wondering still how this interaction would end. 

Finally he spoke up. “I think this one wants the main course.” You nodded, gulping. “Oh pretty girl, use your words.” You nodded again, this time adding a choked back ‘yes’ to it. He stood up much more abruptly than you expected and bid his friends goodbye. “I’m calling the cab and in 15 minutes we should be in my hotel room, then I’ll have you all. To. Myself.” He purred the last part into your ear. 

This was certainly a night you couldn’t forget for a long time and to your surprise, neither could he. 

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

[awritingcaitlin]

Rinnie first seeing Taryn versus Taryn really looking at Rinnie for the first time:

Right as Rinnie was paying her tab, someone crashed into her, and a cold wetness seeped into her lap. A glass hit the floor, but it bounced, enchanted not to break. “Goddess Aenehra, I am so sorry!” the elf woman said in Edan. Rinnie turned. The woman had short brown hair and a heart-shaped face. Her white blouse was crisp, but she’d rolled up the sleeves. She looked casually disheveled in her drunkenness. Rinnie reasoned this woman must be in the first century of life. She stood and brushed the ice cubes out of her lap and onto the floor. The other woman steadied herself on the barstool and looked at Rinnie with an apologetic expression on her face. “Are you alright?” Rinnie asked, slipping easily into her native language. She wasn’t angry at her—she’d spent many years getting sloshed and making a fool of herself in bars not unlike this one, then waking up the next morning with, unfortunately at times, every memory. She and her cousin had been good at that. If one could be considered “good” at getting wasted. The woman nodded. “People keep feeding me drinks.”

And then...

“Please,” Doctor Edgewing said. “Call me Rinnie.” Taryn quirked an eyebrow ever-so-slightly. For an arrogant person, she dropped formalities quickly. “My name’s Taryn.” Rinnie smiled and leaned against the table behind her. Taryn did not relax. She eyed her charge carefully. Rinnie was the picturesque Island’s elf. Taryn noted the thin bands etched around her left bicep—the tattoos mages got when they’d mastered a given school. Below her elbow was a gun not quite in an Island’s fashion, but certainly with Island’s influence. The tendril of fire was more Island’s-style, however. Rinnie had multiple hoops piercing each ear, from lobes to pointed tips. And there was an aquamarine stud in her left nostril. Her unruly red hair seemed to have a mind of its own. Her posture was a casually controlled relaxed slouch. And her light blue blouse was unbuttoned one more button than considered proper. She appeared to be sizing Taryn like Taryn was doing her.

[bigwishes]

New Profession

This is my half of a trade with @idesofrevolution​

Make sure to keep an eye out for when he drops my transformation story. ------------------------------------------------

It had been probably the longest work week you’d had in months, the holiday season meant lots to get done and lots of over time without the bonus pay. You’d heard talk about a new bar that had opened up down town and thought you should go check it out. As much as you wanted to stay in and rest there was a nagging in your head, telling you that you had to go out and it had to be tonight.

You texted a few friends trying to organise a group thing but everyone was busy. You had no choice but to go alone.

-- It was about 10pm when you finally made it to the bar, you’d checked the set line up and seen mostly indie folk bands performing until about 10:30 so you thought it’d be a good idea to skip that snooze fest and show up a bit before the alternative rock bands came on.

Inside was your fairly standard bar, nothing too out of the ordinary although you weren’t sure what you were expecting, it felt like you were still waiting for something, something different about this place but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. You weren’t entirely sure were to put yourself the sea of indie folk fans were moving out and a horde of alternate rock fans were pouring in. It was like a mismatched zoo of hipsters and stoners colliding. You clung to the bar anchoring yourself in the room and ordered a drink.

The bartender attempted to do a cool glass slide over to you but put too much force behind the swing, you watched as the glass shot into you hand and whilst you caught it the momentum was too much for the liquor inside. The dark liquor ran up the side of the glass like a mini tsunami and flew right into your lap. You weren’t sure what you were mad at more, the fact that it looks like you’ve now pissed your jeans or the fact that you paid $22 for a drink you didn’t even get a sip of.

“aw fuck man” you yelled out looking at your wet crotch and the puddle on the barstool. “yo man, I, Im so sorry” the bar tender sheepishly responded  “What the fuck am I gonna do?” “Hey listen, go use the staff bathroom round the back, clean up. There should be a pair of pants in the lost and found” The bartender took you round the back of the shelves and up to a slim metal door. Inside was a nice looking bathroom, well kept wooden aesthetic. This place definitely looks after its staff you thought to yourself. In the corner of the room was a small plastic box with lost and found taped to the front. You began digging through the clothes for something in your size and found a pair of shiny purple pants with a studded belt attached. Sure those pants were definitely....a statement and they smelt like they hadn’t been washed in a few weeks but it was better than going back out there looking like you couldn’t find a bathroom.

You took your wet jeans off and slipped into the other pair of pants. They felt grimy, like someone had spent the day sweating in them and then simply dried them out instead of washing them. You clicked the belt up and felt a chill run up your spine. You watched the muscles and sinew pulse under your skin. You legs and ass filled out the pants whilst your arms tightened into lengths of lean muscle tissue. A slight burning sensation was felt on your chest. Opening your shirt you saw small tattoos begin to form.

In shock you undid the belt and watched as your body reverted to normal. standing there in your underwear for a moment a devilish thought crossed your mind. The perfect chance to cut loose was right here, you could pretend to be someone else, act however you wanted and then go back to normal when it was all over. You did the belt up once again and smiled as you watched the changes unfold.

Leaving the bathroom you heard the bands begin to play and you wanted to get out in the crowd to see what you’d get away with. Hitting on as many guys as possible, dancing on tables, hell even a bar fight were just a few things that crossed your mind. But walking down the hallway you realised how hot it was in this bar, it must be from the amount of people packed inside. Your shirt started to cling to you...surely no one would miss it if you looked this good...and do you need to find body spray?, Nah, no one will notice in the crowd and who would care with you looking like this. You watched maybe the first 2 line ups on stage before you blacked out.

-------

You woke up the morning after in your bed. You felt groggy and hungover. Rubbing your head against your pillow your nose happened to drift past you pits and the stink of stale sweat and weed was so strong it made you screw up your face. You laughed realising you were still wearing the pants. As you took them off you expected your body to revert back instantly but it stayed the same, maybe the longer you wear em the longer you stay like this you thought. How long had you worn them for anyway? you picked up your phone to see it was 3pm.

“ha ha, fuuuuuck, what a night” you slurred out in a ratchet sentence

Your voice was grating, liked youd spent the past 12 hours you’d been blacked out for screaming. Maybe you did? as you tried to remember the past night you think at some point you found your way on stage screaming into a mic but you couldn’t be sure, but what you were sure of is after all that partying and sweating those pants must need a wash. You picked them up and took a sniff but to your surprise they smelt perfectly clean, in fact they smelt brand ned. The oily feeling of sweat in the fabric had gone and the smell of sweat and weed had been exchanged for the smell of fresh detergent....which is more than what can be said about you. Your skin felt oily from sweat being reabsorbed and your hair and pits smelt like you'd been smoking weed for a week.

You phone suddenly vibrated in your hand as you got a text. Boss: 3 people have gone home with food poisoning, I need you here in 20 minutes to cover the after work rush.

An unknown anger built up inside of you, you gritted your teeth and started muttering to yourself about corporate greed and cogs in a machine. Then you remembered, this body meant no real consequences right?

You snapped a pic of yourself and sent a reply.

“fuck you bossman, I ain’t doing shit for you, pay me my fuckin over time or I’m gonna smash your car windows in you fucking cunt”

You threw your phone on your bed and lit a joint left on your bedside table. With it gritted between your teeth you started pacing back and forth in your room venting out what felt like amazing lyrics that came to your head. “aaaaWWW FUCK MAN THIS SHIT WOULD SOUND SO GOOD”

You through on an old pair of jeans and dirty tee shirt and left the house knowing exactly where you had to go to vent this rage.

--------

It had been about 2 months since you quit your job and every day since then had been the same, wake up about 3-4pm have a lazy breakfast and then head to your bar to hang with a couple guys in the green room writing music. It felt like you’d know those guys for years. You’d perform every night for peanuts. The band was...okay-ish but in your eyes you were the best fucking singer and guitar player in the world, people just didn’t get your group’s sound or message you told yourself. Anyone that did say you sounded shit to your face ended up with a ring punch in the jaw. It was the same, wake up, rehearse, perform, drink enough vodka and smoke enough weed to kill an elephant then black out and wake up in bed.

You stopped expecting to change back, hell you couldn’t even remember what you used to look like merely 2 months ago, but with all the ass that was sitting on your dick from groupie guys obsessed with your cocky douchebag personality you didn’t care anymore, you wouldn’t want to go back even if you could.

[oatflatwhite]

stuck in indianapolis (feeling not so alone)

steve/eddie, post-canon (eddie lives) | 14k

read on ao3

The littlest Sinclair leaves Hawkins for college out of state on a picture-perfect fall’s day, the kind they put in movies and shit—as regional manager for Roane County Family Video the past three years running, Steve would know. Crisp, golden-red leaves that crunch underfoot beneath a blue and cut-glass sky. 

The clouds roll in overnight. The next morning, between pockets of drizzle and golden-red leaves now turned to brown mush in the gutter, Steve hitches a trailer to the back of the beemer and packs up twenty-six years of life into twelve cardboard boxes and his old Tigers’ duffel bag. The nail bat he puts in the trunk. At the gas station just outside of town Steve fills the tank until the pump clicks off and floors it the eighty miles to Indy, September rain blurring the rear-view. He doesn’t look back. 

The bar, when he finds it, because it’s still daylight out and it’s been past eight and teeming with weekend crowds every other time he’s come here, looks quiet and unassuming in the watery afternoon light. Steve’s used to the streetlamps outside flickering dingily, the throb of a nightclub beat beneath the cracked concrete pavement (thanks, shitty urban planning). But the door opens when he tries it, and there’s a couple old guys sitting at a booth opposite the bar nursing flat, half-finished schooners and flatter conversation. Neither of them look up when Steve walks inside. He takes a seat on one of the red leather barstools, hooking his foot over the metal rung. It spins, with a nails-on-chalkboard squeal.

“Just a sec, man,” the bartender tosses over his shoulder, crouched down and elbow-deep in the glasswasher with his back to the rest of the bar. His hair’s caught up in an untidy bun, and there’s a new tattoo on the nape of his neck Steve can’t quite make out thanks to a flipped-up shirt tag that he’s overcome with the urge to tuck back in.

“I can wait,” Steve says, instead of climbing over the bar to do just that, and he says it just to see the way Eddie’s shoulders tense beneath the black tee he’s wearing. Tense, then release, as he unearths himself from the plumbing and swivels on the heels of scuffed steel-toed boots that Steve’s pretty sure have been to the Upside Down and back. His nose is pierced, Steve notes, a little distantly, twice: a tiny stud on the side he had last time Steve was here and a brand new ring through the cartilage right in the middle. It’s tugged a bit too far to the left, uneven, and if Steve’s ever wanted anything in his life it’s to lean forward and twist it right again.

“Harrington?” Eddie asks, disbelievingly, like he’d’ve sooner expected Jason Carver to stitch the two halves of his body back together and stroll through those doors demanding a hug from his best pal Eddie than Steve, sitting at his bar at three p.m. on a Monday afternoon.

“Munson,” Steve replies, and raps his knuckles on the sticky bartop to give his hands something to do other than reach out to Eddie. “Miss me?”

keep reading on ao3

[missgeniality]

Unicorn Ride (m)

“What do men know? Because they have seen no unicorns for a while does not mean we have all vanished.” – Peter S. Beagle

➺ Banner: The amazingly talented @kithtaehyung ❤️

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to ??, PWP, Non-Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Smut

➺ Rating: +18

➺ Word Count: 8.8k

➺ Summary: Hunting men down at a club is inviting disappointment with open arms. But tonight, your body has been twisted, turned and bent on every possible surface, and you might be willing to reconsider. 

➺ Warnings: alcohol, dom!jimin, bratty!Y/N, a very desperate Y/N, making out, biting, light exhibitionism, elevator oral (female), fingering, Y/N tastes herself, some dirty talk, Y/N could have flashed someone at one point, degradation, spanking, Y/N grinds on a knee, Jimin has his tattoo, blowjob, one pussy slap somewhere, throat fucking, spitting, anal fingering, begging, edging, protected sex, rough sex

➺ Author’s Note: It’s here! The reason for my nightmare, THIS PARK JIMIN! This is purely self-indulgent, it has no plot, I wrote the dialogues half asleep, it’s 8000 words of mess in bold and highlight. Thank you to my betas: @taegularities​, who not only betaed this but listened to me complain about my writing for weeks, @kithtaehyung​​, who is always ready to beta and make banners for me whenever I need, even though her plate is more than full with her own work, and @bangtanhome​​, who jumped by to help me with many details and hyped me up like nobody’s business - I love y’all! Fic starts under the cut, because we’re filthy from the get-go. 

This fic is dedicated to @mimikookie​ for BTS Writers Club’s fic exchange - Bambi, love, cutie, sweetie pie - I hope you enjoy this!! 💛

As always, please let me know what you thought of the fic, my messages and ask box are always open for comments!

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

When you stepped into the hotel bar tonight, your aim was to take a mediocre dressed man back home, to use his mediocre working dick to get to a mediocre impact orgasm. 

With the sex gods looking out for your deprived soul, you got yourself a classy, impeccably dressed man, with the features of an angel and a tongue of the devil digging deep into your cunt in this elevator, when your rooms could be fifteen steps away; if you ever thought to get out, that is. You couldn’t even wait to get to the safety of your room, the panels of this ornate elevator ask you, mock you, taunt you; but your brain cells refuse to find an answer, shutting off to fully experience the wreckage his mouth is leaving behind. 

With your heels in hand, you haul your ass across the hotel lobby, naked feet thwacking against the marble floor. Not one man in the club downtown had the IQ of two peas, studded with the inability to hold a tolerable conversation; the star of this glimmering night being the man who leered “I’d like to push your buttons” while staring down your chest. You need dick, badly, if you may add; but it’s a constant fight between your pussy and your standards. And now here you are, filled with dignity instead of cock.

Your feet lead you to the long row of elevators, and you press the button to summon one to finally haul your ass to bed. But a twinge in you tells you to check the hotel bar; maybe you'll get lucky and find a man to slip your room number to, movie style. Well, let's be real, it's more likely for you to find a fifty-year-old CEO with no qualms on cheating on his wife and fructose fathering your existence, but your blue-balled self will take it. So you turn around, and determinedly march towards the bar, intent on not letting your dignity win the war. 

Empty. Well, except for one couple in the corner of the bar seating, who look exceptionally wasted and hitting a base that's far gone from first. Oh well, at least someone is getting it on, you sigh before seating yourself on the barstool. You're here, might as well exploit the bar.

"What's a unicorn margarita?" you ask the bartender. Fuck, even this bartender doesn't look interested. What's the point of a bartender if he's not down to fuck?! 

"Tequila, cointreau, lemon and some blueberry syrup," he rattles off from memory, showing no hint of any emotion, making it difficult for you to gauge the side of the spectrum this drink lies in. 

You're about to change your order - fuck, if you lead your day further down the dumps - but your response never leaves the confines of your throat as a new member joins your little bar party. 

Tinted glasses are what you first see. Who pulls off such glasses anyway? Indoors too? Only this stranger. His suit looks like it was stitched right over his body, not a single extra patch of fabric to mar the stunner outfit with unwanted creases. The only wanted crease you can tell is at his buttoned blazer, cinching to spotlight his svelte waist visible through all the layers. 

He struts in, every step he takes echoing a clack across this dreary bar, and every sound straightens your spine further and further in sheer anticipation to see him up close. Shoulders swinging, he walks in like he knows he owns the world, and that you don't know about; he definitely owns a couple of things in you. 

His hair, a whole crime. Streaks of pink and purple streaming through his lush platinum tufts, refusing to fall out of place even as he drags his fingers through them and brushes them behind, and you're almost ready to drool and bark at him like a ravenous dog; but he does the sin of meeting your eyes - a questioning glance, slated eyes and raised eyebrows. 

God, that's a seat for your face.

"Hello? Ma'am? You want the unicorn margarita?" 

"Uhm, yea-yeah, sure." And you move your eyes back to the cotton candy across the bar. 

Apart from your neurons not firing off and the general state of mind where you would say yes to close to anything for this man, you're curious to see what this bar could do to make or break the classic drink. One sip in, you can tell it's the latter; the blueberry syrup added for color has a sickening sweetness you can’t digest.  

Across the bar, you see him holding the same multicolored drink in hand, his pretty face scrunched up in distaste as he mirrors your feelings. Your eyes meet, and he smiles when he sees your glass.

“A mistake if I ever made one,” he calls out to you, and you grin in reply. Fuck it, even if you can't get laid, you definitely can't make it through this drink alone. Stepping off of your bar stool, you make your way to him. 

“Are you looking for some company? Preferably people drowning in similar miseries?”

“Aren’t you dramatic,” he welcomes you with that godsend voice of his, as you take your throne beside this gorgeous specimen. As he sips that cursed drink, his beautiful face crinkles once again in anguish. “You know what? I take that back. Hundred percent valid, your thoughts.” You laugh out loud as you gulp your drink down in one go, not wanting to elongate your time spent with the pitiful excuse of a cocktail.

“Jimin," he begins to offer his introduction, "I buy drinks to match my hair. What’s your excuse?”

"Y/N. I have a pitiful amount of faith in barmen even though they always disappoint me."

"Ooh, are we still talking drinks here?"

Success. You’ve brought sex to the table, and with some luck and the right play, you could be having sex on a table. You cock your head to the side in question, and your flirtatiously raised eyebrow cues him into your understanding. 

"Of course," you flutter your eyelashes in a show of innocence, "what else could it possibly be?"

He shakes his head, your eyes dripping with a saccharine glow for someone with a dirty mouth. With another sip of the dastardly drink, he asks, “So what brings you to town?”

“Just here and there,” you shrug, not wanting to talk shop, “vacationing and stuff.” You raise your hand to beckon the bartender, who begrudgingly paces towards your side of the counter. “A bourbon on the rocks, please,” you throw him a glance, “would you like a repeat of that?” you mock.

“Oh no.” Jimin downs the glass, trying to keep his reaction to a minimum lest he offended the bartender, “the same will do for me as well.”

“Ohh, a bourbon guy, a man after my own heart,” you praise his choice of poison, clinking your new and drinkable glass of liquor with his own. He gives you a raised eyebrow in response before swallowing his shot down in one gulp, and fuck. When was the last time you found the bob of an Adam’s Apple hot? When did a sideways glance have your panties in a bunch? You push the thought away, not wanting to reminisce about your recent lack of adventure, and tip your glass down in one go. The crisp, cold liquid glides down your throat, the sting of bourbon cleansing your palate, ridding your tastebuds of the horrendous sugariness.

“So, vacationing, you said.” Arched eyebrows curtain his curious eyes, glancing down to soak up your dress of the night, sequined lace that hugs your thighs far too high up - your fishnet stockings not covering much of what’s exposed - posing a guileless question, “Having fun then?”

You cross your legs, for no good reason other than to ensure the shift in your hemline caused by the movement catches his fancy, and to your glee, it does. You bask in his anchored attention before adjusting your dress again, leaving the skin he could possibly see to his astir imagination.

 “I wish. Haven’t had my fill,” you match his gaze when they meet, keeping them steady save for his occasional flit across to admire your curves. You beckon for the bartender to ask for a refill before presenting your own question. “What about you? What brings you here?”

“Let’s just pretend I’m here on a super-secret James Bond-esque mission because the reality is fucking depressing.”

A soft, sonorous giggle, very unlike his suave, sleek disposition bursts out of his delicate lips, catching your own laugh in surprise - he laughs without heed, without worrying about how loud or how soft he is - his refreshing aura rumbles forth a second roll of laughter within you, just to keep up with his endless sniggers. 

“Why not,” you wipe a small tear droplet from the corner of your eye, “and I can be the sexy villain, one who seduces you in the first part, just to-” you hold your forefinger and middle finger out, curling the rest inward and point your makeshift gun at him, “-to hold a gun to your head in the immediate next scene.”

He’s still smiling at you, soft features clearly enjoying your silly company, as he slyly wraps his hand around your jutted fingers, tugging your gun closer. “I mean, we have to try and stick to the script,” he says, voice lowering in decibel with each word uttered, the cherubic smile slowly fading into something sinister, “you have to give me some action before we - you know - literally jump the gun.”

“Of course, a Bond movie needs some action.”

“I hope we’re talking about the same action here.”

He gives you a cheeky wink after the statement, one that you return with an earnest blush - blush? Weren’t you ready to gobble dick in public mere moments ago? Weren’t you all but willing to be fucked into the counter till every floor is made aware of your sordid quest? The heat warming up your cheeks goes completely against your motive; you need to drink the decorum out of you.

You try to release your hand from his - surprisingly strong and surprisingly soft - grip, turning to the bartender to ask for a refill, when the grip on your hand pulls you closer to its direction, and you’re a hair’s breadth away from touching noses. “Are you sure you wanna do that?”

“Get another drink?” you attempt to clarify, trying to ignore the thudding of your heart, “Worried I can’t handle myself?”

“I’m worried you can’t handle me.”

Fuck. Why does he have to say the perfect things to make you flood your pussy, and with such nonchalance like it’s a casual Tuesday for him? You’ve had men talk like you were their accountant, their underling, or both - a blase lack of effort or lack of respect evident in their voices. But Jimin is the best of both worlds (copyright queen Miley), there’s a hardened edge to his tone, without simply assuming your complicity - respect hidden within the raggedness. How complex is this man, and how far will you bend for him?

Only time will tell. 

Hopefully, time will tell. 

“I’m a big girl, I can handle it. Besides, at the pace we’re going, it seems like it’ll be long before any action takes place.” 

Your hands drag free of his hold to ask for another hit, but a sound makes you stop. His glass, now rid of the dark brown liquid, meets the bar counter with a loud clink, louder than the earlier ones. Each remaining ice cube rings against each other, and the bells in your head awaken in anticipation of some movement to this slowly progressing scene. Sliding off the barstool in some smooth motion, he buttons his suit up before stretching his hand out to you. You meet his eyes, now veiled with drapes of lust and affection instead of his glasses, and you’re happy to uncurtain those and find what truly hides behind.

“Which floor are you on?” he poses the question, a precursor to the long-awaited ask of the night.

“Depends. Which one are you on?”

"Oh-oh Jimin!" 

Your head is thrown back, hitting the wall of the elevator in a sonorant thud, but the pain doesn't even register. It feels like the elevator cords could snap and throw the both of you into the abyss and still, Jimin wouldn't stop licking the syrups you're churning out, and you couldn't have any feeling come in between you and the long wished for pleasure that runs through your body. 

“Keep them spread, don’t you try to close them on me.” 

With not a care in the world, Jimin had dropped to his knees (after pushing you to the corner, quite literally), and immediately settled between your legs. His suit looks expensive - Armani? Gucci? All you can say he’s eating you out like Dolce ate Gabbana. Your stockings, followed by the strip of cloth protecting your modesty were torn in heat of the moment, the scrapped bunch thrown to one corner of this elevator - the fabric skillfully being replaced by the strip of his tongue. The view of his multicolored hair between your legs, the bright, vivid ribbons adorning his soft blonde locks as they find residence between your legs stirs fractious excitement within your fragile heart.

“Look at that, are your knees about to give out?” Jimin’s soft murmurs reach your ear, but never make it to your brain, focus completely elsewhere. He smiles lightly, continuing his torment, speaking against your nether lips, “I am not against laying you flat right here and taking you whole.”

“I-” You don’t have words to say, and even if you did, your throat would refuse to comply with any movement that is not a moan. What you do though, is lodge your hands in his hair to attempt to control him. Attempt would be a strong word, because he seems to know your body better than your own junky fingers. You raise your left leg to bring it around his neck, eliciting a sly smile that you can feel on your nether lips. Snaking an arm around your hip, he pulls you into him, as if there is any distance to close. 

“Seems like you aren’t either,” Jimin chuckles, his sultry voice crackling in the confines of the elevator, “your mess is dripping down baby, it’s so sexy.” He drags the flat of his tongue from your thighs, collecting your arousal, bringing it up to press against your clit, feeling it palpitate as all your blood wheels itself downstairs. “Tell me,” he coos, “how do you like the idea of fucking me right here?”

“Aah! Fu-” is all he hears because he starts sucking your nub, and a very-frazzled you slam your palms on the rows of buttons in the panel, setting the elevator in motion.

“Jimin, wait-” With short, quick pants, you try to look back at the panel, trying to see how you can get the elevator back to your original destination, but Jimin isn’t happy with your attention faltering towards him.

“Sweetheart,” he calls out to you playfully, but his racy fingers trace a line right from your ankle, moving upward, completely differing his honey-voice, “What’s got you worried? Afraid someone will see you? Like this?”

His 'this' was not simple. The 'this' was punctuated by two thick fingers entering your dripping hole, not to mention his cheeky thumb finding your clit to torture it even more. With all the bases covered down here, Jimin’s lips move up, his free hand searching for your nipples as his lips search for answers to unsaid questions in the nook of your neck. 

“Will you step away,” his whisper jolts your mind, “if the doors open?” He sucks in your skin, harder, almost telling you there’s no way he’s letting you move away. But the clench of your walls, the slick dribbling down his fingers, they tell a different tale. Your hardening nipple under your dress, your fervid whimpers, and your head moving to give him more access don’t rock your pictorial boat. A weak “no” glides by between your wails and mewls, and Jimin’s pleasure with your answer shows. His thumb resting on your clit starts making a move, and together with his digits inside you, your eyes might as well roll back into your skull because this has to be demonic. Your orgasm is crashing right around the corner, and you-

Ding!

To your absolute horror, the elevator doors open your show to the public i.e., an old couple looking forward to entering, taking a step or two inside before you can hear the gasp of shock, disgust, and embarrassment all rolled up in one, at your - umm - compromised state of affairs. 

“Jimin!”

You peek over his shoulder to see the scarred souls; they still haven’t moved away from the astonishing scene, and it is uneasy, your pussy is gushing at the thought of having an audience for your debauchery. You mutter a quiet ‘sorry’ to the traumatized couple before shifting your focus back to the man of the hour, who seems not the least bit perturbed by the happenings. His fingers are still lodged inside, looking still on the outside, but curling inside to stimulate her g-spot, and your eyes could be looking behind if they could roll that far.  

“What do you want me to do?” could have been a very innocent question from a very concerned individual. Jimin was no such man. The sneer in his whispered voice was registered by you as he registered the ever-growing waterfall you are releasing onto his hand. Lips curved to the right, he sees your fucked out state, soaking in your teetering-at-the-brink-of-orgasm glow. “Want me to move, let them see how fucked out my tongue got you?”

Your hand shoots out to grab his collar as the elevator dings back shut, and you pull him close, pushing yourself back onto his fingers, - only to have your lips consumed by his own, with a force mimicked by his digits plunging deeper into your cunt. His tongue pushes its way into your cave, awakening your own muscle with its moves, and relocating it to his own mouth where he sucks it away like nectar from a honey hive. 

Jimin’s response to your voracity is “Maybe I’ll invite the next people to join, you seem to like that.” 

You let out an irritated huff, face heated up in an embarrassing glow whilst trying to find a spot on his neck to latch onto. One night (one that has barely begun) and you’re already rediscovering yourself. 

“Stop awakening latent kinks in me, I need to get back to normal men.” 

His fingers card through your tresses until they reach your scalp, tugging you off his neck to look right into your eyes. From your peripheral vision, the glow of his lips, coated in a shiny sheen of your arousal and saliva glistens under the lighting, and you dart forth to clean that up for him but he stalls. 

Seeing your fucked out state, Jimin chuckles, "Fuck, you’re clenching so hard baby, so good."

So cocky. 

You might love him. 

Instead of saying something embarrassing, you force him closer, joining lips before snapping back, "Oh, I’m good. I’d be great if you actually made me come."

The creases on his forehead show that he's not one to back down from a challenge. You jolt up, practically balancing yourself on the balls of your feet, as both the elevator starts moving to a new destination, and his fingers start moving deeper, massaging and curling inward, letting the base of his palm apply generous pressure on your clit. Heated breath embraces your skin as he snickers into your ear, “Make you? From the looks of it,” accompanied by another harsh pump, “I can make you do just about anything.”

The gall this man has, to go around stating complete facts. With his hand just about ready to touch the sky, he reaches deep within you, three thick digits performing a graceful dance on the slippery stage of your pussy walls, when he grabs your lower lip between his teeth. Your response is felt, hard, as you clench around the intrusion, and he digs his teeth in, harder. The elevator beeps open on a new floor, but you are unbothered by whether you invite a new audience or not. If they come in, hopefully, they enjoy it as much as you do. Probably not.

“Tall words,” is what tries to leave your mouth, but your entire body squirming under his attention swallows any chutzpah your words could have conveyed. His sturdy fingers touch all the right points, from his thumb soothing your engorged nub, to his digits ensconced in your warmth curling into the patch that is making your head hit the walls for the nineteenth time today. His lazy lips suck, bite and pinch any skin they find, tracing your jawline with his spittle, and you’ve never been this turned on, so keyed up, this stimulated from all ends, that you can’t control the cascading orgasm gushing through you.

Your body feels like rubber, still reeling from the effects - your climax feels endless, like an onslaught that refuses to end. From what, just fingering? Only when Jimin kisses your cheek, in adoration almost, and plucks his digits out of you, do you truly return from your high to plant your feet on planet Earth.

Your hand is still digging into his tie, which is crumpled beyond recognition - and you pull him into you. Your lips fit again, like they always knew how to, not a string of awkwardness, shifting of positions, or adjustments of angles - it just fits right. Jimin breaks contact, much to your pique, until he brings his sullied fingers to fill in in his lips’ stead; your eyes shut at the taste you were unprepared for, moaning loudly to convey your approval of his ideas. 

 “I love a woman who can enjoy herself,” Jimin mutters in marvel, smearing the leftover juices on his fingers onto your lips. “Love that you don’t quiet down.” When you dart your tongue out to taste the rest, his fingers block your way, only to whisper “Allow me,” before diving in to taste your arousal intermingled with your saliva. It is intoxicating, every move of his awakening a new cell of lechery you didn’t know you had in you. 

You do exactly as he desired, you’re loud and messy. Open-mouthed kisses and intense, throaty moans to respond to every right thing he does, which is basically everything; your tongues meld together to taste whatever the other did, and your hands move messily across his whole body, trying to feel him through the multiple layers of cloth he adorns. The only part you can feel is his hardened cock, stiff and unrelenting; your palms come down to his ass and push him to you, grinding his cock against your wet core. If you caught him by surprise, he doesn’t show it, still fully lost in making out with you. You are caught unaware though, his taut butt cheeks are not what you had expected. Plump, cushy, a handful to grab - what a marvel of science he is.

"I believe I have a favor to return," you offer when both your lips retire for a breather.

"It was wholly my pleasure, but seeing as you're eager, I won't say no," Jimin says, before diving into your lips again.

If it wasn't enough to scar that poor old couple who witnessed your sordid conditions back then, you effectively scar Jimin's entire floor. 

With great difficulty you both detach yourselves, only to get back to each other like the strongest magnets known to man. It was a tug of war; who was tugging who, where, what, none of it made sense. Jimin tugged you towards his room while you simply tried to pull him closer to yourself. Your lips would have been away a total of two seconds, in the minute-long walk it would have taken to get to his room. 

Frustrated halfway, Jimin pushes you against a wall, one hand still wet from your orgasm coming up to grab your chin as he speaks practically into your mouth.

"What a feisty bitch," he breathes out as you dig in harder, both with your palms in his hair and your crotch on his leg, "Let me get you to the fucking room."

"I don't know, you've awoken something in me," you snap back as you attack his blemished neck, "I don't mind the corridor as long as you put on a good show." 

"Oh, you can count on me for that, but-" he grabs your wandering hands, crosses them behind your waist to hold you in place, only to have you wrap your leg around him and pull him closer. 

Undeterred, he twirls you around, and you are shoved into the wall chest-first and he presses into your ass. Through his taut pants, you can feel his cock again, and the pressure of your cheeks makes him moan, and you hiss on feeling his unstinting thickness, the anticipation of feeling it stretch your walls making you salivate.

A rough smack echoes in the empty aisles, and a second later you feel it sting on your ass. Bringing his hand back to your chin, he turns your face to the left, planting your cheek against the wall, only to get greater access to your shoulder, so he can-

"Fuck! Dude!"

It's your voice, trying to be cross with him for biting deep into your shoulder, but even he can see through your barely-there ruse, tonguing over his very prominent teeth marks that have you rutting against the wall. Just any friction at this point will get you off, and now you're not beneath grinding the whole wall just for a hint of release. Remember that woman with dignity? A figment of your imagination. She was never there.

"As I was saying," Jimin starts again, voice perfectly steady for how hard his cock is, "I'd like to fuck you into my bed if that's okay with you."

Filthy courteous. A gentlemanly freak. An oxymoron of the highest order, and you don't know who to write a check to for this blessing. 

"Fine.”

“Yeah, I better take matters in my own hands,” and he does what you had anticipated, but not quite - you were expecting a bridal lift, his hands perched under your back and your knees, but he does you one better. You are now flung over, waist digging into his shoulders as his arm rests just below your dress hem. That reminds you - your dress isn’t even long enough to possibly manage this position without flashing every occupant who traverses this hall. “Talented hands, aren’t they?”

Dignity be damned. 

“Oh my God, put me down!” you yell in protest, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks at this ungainly position.

Mostly, because his wandering palms still haven’t had their fill. One such sneaker slipped under the fabric to give your cheek a tight squeeze, and you squeak at the unanticipated intrusion. “What part of this is any better?” You huff as he hikes your skirt up, exposing the fleshy mounds, “Someone sees you, and you’re gonna have handcuffs slapped in an instant.”

“Maybe I can borrow them for a specific someone who-” he pauses to smack your right cheek, roughly, the quiet hours of the passage being tainted by your vulgar pursuits, “-can’t keep her hands to herself,” he finishes with another smack on the same cheek, and the sting is brutal, but only goads you further. 

“Jimin, you’re revealing to be nastier than I ever thought.” Your tongue snakes out to lick your lips, which had gotten dry from either all your hydration moving downtown or the lack of kissing in the past, well, forty seconds. 

From your limited vision, you can see the ninety-degree turn Jimin makes, before the shuffling and distinct sound of a door clicking open, before the scene around you changes.

“What gave it away?” Jimin snickers, flinging you over the bed, “Was it the tonguing in the elevator,” he unbuttons his coat and proceeds to take it off, “or was it the fingering out in the open?” He slowly moves to meticulously hang his coat in the closet, a very unnecessary move considering your current disposition. 

“Or maybe, it’s all the things I’ve yet to do to you,” he quietly ends.

You raise yourself, balancing on your elbows as you watch him regard you, eyes tantalizing every hair on your neck as his tongue juts out to trace his upper lip, slowly. Your own eyes follow his tongue with a dizzying fixation, that beguiling muscle that shows no strain in its movement after the carnage it released onto you. It’s so alive, you can almost feel it against your cunt as they draw you into flashbacks of it snacking on your cum, muttering bawdy words of affection that would make inventors of the language shy away in shame.

The silence is too much, too arousing yet nowhere near culmination. You break it, sighing, “You’ve got to be hurting too,” as you bring your gaze to his hardness, staunch and stiff against his pants.

“I don’t know,” Jimin takes his first step towards you, “I’m a man of taste, and the night is young,” he finishes, standing at the edge of the bed, his cocky demeanor commanding you to give in, letting time tick by, because he just knows. He knows you can and will pounce.

“Well, you might be a man of taste,” you get on your knees on the bed, and catch his tie to tug him back for the umpteenth time tonight, but this time making the right decision to take a step further and remove it, ready to fling it away from sight - but he grabs it, wrapping it around your marred neck, knotting it a little too tight - you choke only slightly, but your raspy words come out undeterred, “but I’m not a woman of patience.”

“Oh, I could tell when you were ready to climb me like a tree in the corridor,” he shakes the tie knot, having you sway along, until he pushes you back on the bed. 

Crawling over and hovering above your body, his knees straddle yours, until he moves his right knee between your legs to slowly push your dress up, slithering upward until the joint makes contact with your center, still dripping from your earlier climax. You shamelessly gyrate, not bothered that his dress pants now need some hushed laundry, as he undoes his cuffs while not letting his gaze move from you even for the briefest second. 

The buttons on his shirt had been irking you all night, irking you enough to halt your grinding to slide yourself up and start undressing him in earnest. Jimin halts to simply stare at you, your fingertips laced in need as every button glides out and gives up on its assignment. Once you pull out his shirt and undo the last one, you look up and meet his gaze, letting your fingers graze the lone strip of exposed skin as your hand moves from his hip to his chest, and you swear you feel his skin quake under your touch. 

 The atmosphere between you two is electric, your line of sight could crackle under the sheer intensity - but before the air bursts into flames, you slide both your hands along his chest and under the fabric, shucking it off of his exquisite frame, and boy. His limber body, the lines of defining muscles canvassing his torso is terrorizing your pussy, and your digits flutter back to run their tips over your new finding - in thin, spindly letters a ‘NEVERMIND’ bedecked his pale skin. He watches you with a keen eye, and you can hear nothing but the stilled sound of each other’s breaths. 

“Does this come with a story?” You jest, but rush to add, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me - if it’s personal or -”

Jimin’s grin interrupts your sentence, as he wraps around you with his arms in an effort to pull you closer - a stark contrast to the man a few minutes ago fully content in using his tie on you like a personalized leash. 

“You’re cute,” he coos, “and no, no story. Just a reminder to not mind the worthless aspects of life.”

“Feels like there’s a lot of subtext to that.”

“Maybe. For now,” he grabs your wrist, hand dangerously close to his nipple, “it’s not a rule you need to mind.”

“Oh,” you smile, fully catching his drift but walking into that trap anyway, “what would you like me to mind?”

Your hand is pulled downward, until it settles on the generous mound that peeks under his pants - and when you clamp down on the tip over the cloth, he breathes a soft “This, please.”

“Who would have known,” you chuckle, the poise in your tone not reaching your hands as they work on ridding him of his pants, “you know how to ask for things, instead of pushing me around like a ragdoll,” and instead you push him down, landing him onto the plethora of pillows that decorate this plush bed. When you finally pull his pants down, you’re caught tongue-tied, and you might as well be fully tied, because you stop in your track when you witness what you’ve uncovered.

“Fuck.”

There’s not a part of his body that doesn’t flow into the other one like butter, but his thighs - his thighs - the angel creating Jimin sure broke a few laws, and is well on their way to hell, because those thighs did not get made in anything remotely holy. There are rocks on planet earth that are probably softer than his thighs, now flexed under your scrutiny - probably only to be beaten by his rock-hard dick.

“I might be wrong, but someone complained that the pace was too slow,” he grunts, a dangerous smirk on his perfect lips.

Wading through intense complaints from that one oversexed side of your brain, you detach your eyes from his thighs to drag it up to his face, which is now placed on his weaved fingers, regarding you with a cocky smile, the effect he has on you clear as day. You shake your head with a smile - he’s got you stupid before his dick can. 

“It’s only fair,” you call out but hasten yourself, finally ridding him of his pants and boxers - and when his dick bounces out, you feel a jolt hit your cunt like lightning, and pull a short breath when it slaps against his abs - a failed attempt to complete your moot sentence and yet no voice leaves your throat. All you know is that you’re ready to face Armageddon just to catch that dick between your legs.

“Cock got your tongue?” you hear the cheeky man respond to your drooling. 

You don’t answer, choosing to bend down sultrily, landing a sweet, innocent kiss onto the leaking head, pulling away to see the bare minimum strings of precum stretch, trying to pull your lips back onto his dick before snapping. 

“Oh, fuck, you…” Jimin speaks to nothing, voice far too strained for it to be a real threat. 

“Fuck me? Soon, baby.”

He laughs in anguish as your tongue continues to torment his volcanic dick - kitten licks barely covering the head - every brief contact you make, you can feel his thighs clench, hardening in anticipation of anything more than what you’re offering. Finally, you flatten your tongue and roll it around, and for the first time tonight, a hiss followed by a moan emanates from the man who had been tormenting you so far. 

Just when you’re getting bold, a hand digs into your hair, clawing at your scalp, and the pain involuntarily throws your mouth open - an opportunity Jimin grabs with his dick, pushing into you till you’re sufficiently stuffed. 

“Ah, that’s perfect. Is this what you wanted?” He shakes the fist of hair as his cock shifts around in your mouth, “To test me till I snap? To make me treat you like the ragdoll that you are?”

Even with your mouth full, you try to smirk at him - this is not a tactic you should employ with him, but when have you ever learned your lesson? Your willingness to play his game has Jimin in bliss, and you feel it when his dick twitches under the attention of your tongue. He stays there for a while, enjoying the warmth of your mouth.

“Look at that, the peace in the air when you’re not off being a mouthy slut,” he thrusts in harder, never letting the hold on your hair dwindle, “Happy? Is the whore in you satisfied? I bet not.” A harder thrust, your throat finally voicing its limits in a feeble groan, but Jimin pays heed to none, “Bet you don’t know what life is like without a cock in hand and another in your mouth.”

You mewl at his words, the obscenities only sending harder pulses to your cunt. Jimin lets go of your hair for a fleeting moment, allowing you to move if you need to - you do, but the prospect of making him come overrides any need for relief, and you stay put where he left you, dick reaching an ungodly point in your throat.

“Yeah,” he grins, a snarky smile as he continues plunging into your mouth in short, rough motions, “fucking thought so. Gonna use your throat so well, I don’t want you talking for days. A toy like you doesn’t need to run their mouth as you do - suck you fucking whore, what are you waiting for?”

You whimper, for the only reason that his girth doesn’t give you much space to suck on. Still, you hollow your cheeks out as far as you can, bobbing your head in whatever space your throat provides without alerting your gag reflex, and you hear Jimin sigh in return. The ringing pain in your jaw is making its presence known more and more with every passing second, but you refuse to give in with every breath that’s left in you. 

He starts fucking your mouth in earnest, every thrust accompanied by a delectable groan on his part, and he controls the pace while you’re just left to take his assault. Rolling your eyes up, you let yourself enjoy the scene unfolding in front of you, his clenched jaw, blissed-out face, neck scattered in your earlier attacks - your vagina feels incredibly empty, and after some pumps, you tap his thigh (are they made of metal?!) to ask, plead, beg to cut to the chase. 

He empties your mouth, face slightly contorted in worry, but you assuage him quickly, “You know,” your voice is barely yours anymore, sounding hoarse and scratchy, and it catches you by surprise as you bring your hand to wrap your neck with a surprised ‘o’ on your lips. Jimin laughs out loud - stop shifting personas so fast! - as you continue, “As I was saying, my pussy is wetter than my mouth,” you cock your head to the side, “if you’d like to try?”

“Oh,” his eyes turn dark, more demon than human, as an idea forms in his head and he comes on to his knees, “I can fix that.”

His hand in your hair dislodges itself, bringing itself down to the tie you don, wrapping it around his fist and tugging you closer - the tightening grip forces you to open your mouth, breathing heavily. At this diminished distance, you can see the telltale signs of his advancing orgasm, beads of sweat lining his multicolored hairline, lips bitten from his teeth digging to halt the high from taking over (although, you have to take half the blame there) - but before you can look into it further, he makes his move.

Two fat globs of spit, released with vigor, land plumb on your eager tongue, and you can taste him again, taste his sweetness with a hint of your own, and you want to savor the taste - but you wait for his order.

“Now that’s perfect, isn’t it?” He gives you a snarky grin before pushing you down, impaling your mouth with his dick again, this time his own saliva coating his length and he pushes in again. Everything he did, everything he does, only brings your attention to your empty pussy, and his honeyed voice rumbling at the feeling of your mouth only makes the emptiness worse. In the inconvenient position, you shuffle your hands forth to cup his balls - they feel tight and ready to release into you, and you give them light, punishing squeezes to make them do exactly that.

But the taste of his cum never comes, because in one swooping motion, he frees himself of your mouth’s hold and - surprisingly - moves off the bed.

“Hey, wha-oh!”

For a flash second, you thought he wasn’t content with edging you alone, extending his edging kink onto himself, he roughly tugs you to the end of the bed, bringing you to stand.

“I’m going to nail you into this fucking bed,” he grits out, before turning you around and crudely shoving your face into the bedding, “and your job is to shut up and take it. Got it?”

Holy fuck. Have you ever been this turned on, enough to paralyze your tongue from forming any word? 

“I said,” his fingers find their familiar spot in your hair as he pulls you up, biting words unleashing into your ear, “Got it? Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Yesyesyesye-” You unleash an outpour of the one word that’s running through your mind, all the way up until you are unceremoniously stuffed into the bed again, and you wait, with bated breaths - the familiar rustle of a condom wrapper in the background - but instead of his thick length, you find his fingers again, and you groan for some respite. 

Jimin laughs at your neediness. “Just checking if you were wet enough,” he says, “but I don’t know why there was any doubt.”

“You better hurry up before I suck it all back in,” you attempt a feeble threat.

The head of his cock finally pokes at your entrance, and you are already wailing, fingers bunching up the bedding as he pushes in further. “Haven’t you-shi-” Jimin stutters, “-haven’t you had enough sucking?”

You don’t even try a glib response - it would never come, because he bottoms out, and your walls are stretching to accommodate his dick, pressing all the right points to send your head into a whole new dimension, where pleasure is the only emotion you feel. His cock twitches inside, and you pull yourself out of your palace of desire to whisper at him to move. 

He makes no move, and you’re not sure what he’s waiting for - you go to repeat yourself louder, just to be su-

Smack!

The unexpected lash on your left cheek jerks you, shifting his dick in you and making you clench further. You can hear the move affect him as he hisses and pushes you flush against the bed.

“Wow,” you’re panting, out of breath before you even start, “even at this point, you find a way to drag this out.”

“Trust me, if you had my view right now,” Smack! Another slap hits you, and you clench harder, this time bringing a full-blown groan from Jimin as he holds onto your hip to steady himself, “even you’d take your own, sweet time.”

Every slap henceforth only hurls you further towards your orgasm, words no longer working for you so you resort to communicating only through wails and whines, hoping he would decipher your pleas.

When he finally moves again, you all but scream Hallelujah to the angels puppeteering him from the heavens, and you take note of your current situation - you’re perilously close to your orgasm. This has been record-timing, from penetration to orgasming, and you rush to pay attention to the nub thrumming since this whole ordeal began. Sliding your hand under the frame of your body, and you-

“Ah, tsk, that’s not happening.”

Somehow Jimin - who was lost in the dreamland of your pussy, you know, you checked - caught your move, and now has your arm twisted behind as you wail and unfruitfully search for the orgasm that is almost yours. The one thing that shuts you up is his double-handed spank, each side facing the equal brunt of your actions, as Jimin hisses and slows his pace.

“Shut the fuck up,” his hands come down and dig into your supple cheeks, squeezing them and pulling them apart. “Your body is mine to use. So pipe the fuck down,” he growls, before setting his eyes on your newly exposed hole.

“You can tell me when to-fuck-when to stop,” he breathlessly utters, “but other than that, just lay back and take it like a good little plaything.” You cry a loud yes to his patronizing words - at this point, he could very well ask you for a billion-dollar check and you’d happily bid farewell to all your possessions. 

He lands a spitwad on your ringed hole, the cool wetness making it pulsate while your clit palpitates in anticipation and your hold on his dick tightening. His thumb traces a circle before shallowly digging inside.

“Jimin, oh God, more, more-” you don’t know what you’re chanting for, the buzz getting you drunk on his actions and making it harder and harder to keep your orgasm at bay. 

A dark, sinister snigger lined with need leaves Jimin’s short-winded voice. “So you’re an anal whore too,” he lightly moves his thumb in the confines, your responding moan triggering more chuckles, “no one is surprised.”

“F-fu-oh God I-” you can’t even gather the wits to give him a fitting reply, especially because his dick is thrusting into you in new directions.

“You’ll let a stranger just about fuck you anywhere,” he adds to the growing pile of awards he’s presenting to you, grinning ear to ear at your lack of diction, “tell me, Y/N, tell me you’re a needy, insatiable whore. Scream it, let the neighbors hear you.” A particularly deep thrust hits you hard, at the right spot, and you push yourself back on his dick, angling yourself right, “fuckin’ do it, Y/N, or else I’ll finish and leave you.”

You shriek at the thought of it, the coil in your belly taut and threatening to snap, your brain rushes to stitch the right words and before you know it, you’re spewing them at him. “Oh-oh yes, yes, yes, I’m a desperate whore, I need to be filled every day, and every night, can’t leave my - oh fucking hell, right there - my pussy empty, shit, and why should I? When dick like yours exists?!”

His thumb twists inside, breaching in enough to be able to curl a joint, and you take that as an acceptance. Your whole body thrums to the beat of his thrust, tips of your toes curling inward, attempting to halt your libido from seeping out of you, and you’re certain the establishment is never letting you set foot inside ever again after the fest you carried tonight.

“Gah, your pussy is just-so tight, I want to you fuck you open over, and over, and over again,” Jimin’s hips pump into you with ceaseless vigor, chasing his own high while tending to both your holes. “I’m going to leave you dripping for days.”

“Oh-oh-Jimin! I’m goi-ugh-fuck, no one will fuck me this goo-ah!”

Even with your spastic and incomplete verbiage, the content reaches him, and a passing cloud of clemency (and his swiftly approaching peak) brings him to slip two fingers of his unoccupied hand down. But jerk that he is, they do nothing except tap your clit, lightly, softly, with no destination in sight.

You continue to egg him on, “Gonna feel your dick in me for day-ohhh fucking hell-days to come, gonna feel you in me! Please, please let me come, I can’t-I-”

“Just a little more baby,” Jimin coos, a hitch in his throat hinting you that he too is at the end of his run, “Tell me more,” he hisses as his digits land a hard thwack right on your clit.

“Oh right there, right there-Jimin please please I need to come so bad, I’m gonna think of this night forever,” you’re crying at this point, the pressure of holding back swarming tears in your eyes, tongue letting just about anything out. “Any day I have bad sex I’m gonna think of you, any day I have good sex I’ll think of you, cuz no way in hell am I getting dicked down this good-shit I’m gonna-” you pause for a breather, “Jimin, please let me come!!”

He finally lays a soft kiss on your back, whispering “Go on, cream my cock like you’ve been longing to do” before the two digits press firmly onto your clit and draw figures over it - what figures, you can’t tell, because your orgasm washes over you with the force of all the mighty waterfalls all over the world, combined. Both the walls of your pussy and you are spasming, the pinnacle of your orgasm coursing through your body, trying to find an outlet to the boundless energy it carries. It finally leaves through your mouth, a loud, elongated moan marking the end of the fuck of a lifetime.

Jimin grunts at the way your pussy clamps over his cock, and in two more pumps he’s emptying himself into the rubber, utter hushed cusses until he comes down from his climax. His fatigued build falls onto your back, a soft hand wrapping around your waist as you both catch your escaping breaths.

“I thought I was gonna die over there,” you finally snort, as much as your breath allows you to, “do you keep all your women waiting like that?”

He just laughs, pulling his softening member out and discarding the condom, “I’m not sure what you mean. All I remember is you telling me I dicked you down goo-ow!” He laughs as you slap his chest in jest. 

Jimin pulls you to the pillows and kisses you, deep and sensual, lips telling you he hasn’t had his fill, but body limp and heated and begging for a break. As you attempt to adjust your dress, he halts you by pinning your hands to his chest, and you simply give in to his wordless demand.

With your head laid on his shoulder, air filled with a relaxing silence, you let your pointer finger drag along his chest, tracing the prominent tattoo, catching his flinch as you linger over his nipple. 

“You know, I too have a tattoo, a pity you couldn’t catch it.”

“Oh?” Jimin cocks his head back to meet your gaze, the tiredness evaporating in an instant to give way to renewed vigor. Your outfit is a sight to behold, crumpled dress bunched above your hips, the straps of your dress messy and astray, falling off your shoulders, and his lone tie still surviving the ordeal across your neck. Through the thin fabric, he can see what he actually didn’t catch - your soft breasts devoid of his branding, and if he looks carefully, he can spot your juicy nipples pebbled under the jeweled cloth. Pulling the tie to have you fall back into him, he hums softly, palm coming forth to grab the shunned mounds of flesh. 

“Where might that be?” he softly asks, inching closer and closer to your cleavage.

You shrug playfully, his ministrations already taking over your mind. Slipping one strap off your shoulder, you murmur, “Why don’t you find out?”

Within a blink, you’re trapped, caged underneath his whole body. He bends low, his unicorn strands tickling your cheek as he licks a soft stripe against the shell of your ear, before whispering, “Oh, you bet I will.”

Thank you for making it to the end! For more of my writing, find my masterlist here. As always, thoughts and feedbacks are greatly appreciated!

[sydsaint]

Christian Cage and Frankie Kazarian AKA the DILF special 🥵🥵

It's a perfectly sunny weekend in Florida, which it often is in the Sunshine state. AEW training center has just concluded another session that you were teaching along with a couple of your fellow AEW stars. Christian Cage, Frankie Kazarian, and Chris Jericho to be exact.

You step out of the training center and the heat immediately hits you. "Whew!" You go for your sunglasses as soon as you are in the sun. "Nice day out, eh boys!" You prompt the older men behind you.

"Well, it is Florida, sweetheart." Chris quips, eyeing you up in your shorts.

You roll your eyes behind your sunglasses and gesture to your face. "Eyes are up here sleazeball." You remind him.

Chris puts his hands up in defense and scoffs at your response. You ignore his clear displeasure and watch him walk off stomping like a child.

Christian comes up on your right and slings an arm over your shoulder. "Now that was kind of mean." He comments with a playful grin.

"Awe, he's just mad because I don't like playing games with married men." You roll your eyes again. "Especially ones that think the women owe them everything." You add.

Frankie comes up on the other side of you and grabs your arm. "Lucky for us then, aye Christian?" He glances over you at his partner in crime.

"Amen to that, Kaz." Christian chuckles. "Beach day you two?" He suggests. "I'd love to take advantage of the nice weather and the extra time we all have."

"I think you two just want to see me in a bikini." You joke with a laugh.

Kaz laughs with you, his arm hooked with yours. "Guilty." He admits. "But Christian is right. I could go for a beach day."

You have to admit, a day at the beach with your two favorite men does sound nice. Especially after working all morning. You agree to the beach plans and head back to the hotel to grab a swimsuit and a couple of other things. Christian and Frankie part ways for the time being as well and you all agree to meet up in about an hour at the beach.

When you get to the beach you've got a pair of shorts on over your bikini bottoms but leave the top as is. You quickly spot Ricky and Daniel at the beach bar and jog over to them.

You take a seat on the barstool between the two young studs and beckon the bartender over. "Well aren't you two a sight for sore eyes. You two players out trolling for beach bimbos?" You ask them.

"Y/N! What a lovely surprise." Ricky greets you. "You out here looking for another sugar daddy?" He fires right back at you with a grin.

"Trust me. The two I've got take care of me just fine. In more ways than one." You peer at Ricky over the rim of your sunglasses with a playful grin.

Ricky chuckles and pays for your first drink. You thank him with a smile and turn to the other playboy at your side.

You twirl the umbrella in your drink and get Garcia's attention. "Still the strong silent type, Daniel?" You ask him curiously.

"Actions speak way louder than words, shorty," Garcia replies nonchalantly.

A smile plays on your lips at his mysterious charisma. "Damn." You laugh. "You know that line just may have worked on me." You admit. "If I weren't into older men that is."

"Well, you know where to find us when you decide that the old-timers can't keep up anymore." Ricky buts back into the conversation with a flirty smile.

You laugh and sip at your drink when a shadow casts over you from behind. You swivel around to find that Christian and Kaz have finally arrived.

"Trust us, she's plenty satisfied." Christian snickers and grabs your hand to pull you off of the barstool.

Kaz puts a hand on your back and pushes you towards Christian so he can get to the bar. "Plus she's not into fuckboys." He adds and orders a couple of drinks.

"Well, you two have a good rest of your day." You laugh. "Good luck with your trolling. Chau!" You walk off between Kaz and Christian.

You all head further down the beach and find a nice place with chairs to settle down in. You take a seat between Kaz and Christian and settle down to soak up some sun.

"You look absolutely gorgeous by the way sweetie." Christian comments when you get your shorts off.

"Mhm. Stunning." Kaz adds from your opposite side.

"I know I do." You giggle and pick up your drink. "Lean in and say cheese you two!" You pick up your phone and switch on your camera.

Kaz and Christian both do as told and you snap a couple of pics for Instagram later. Then you proceed to spend the next couple of hours soaking up the sun with your two favorite dilfs.

After a couple of hours when the sun is starting to set over the horizon Christian suggests that you all grab dinner together. You agree since you haven't eaten hardly anything all day and you all head out.

"I'm thinking Sushi. Thoughts, you two?" You strut down the boardwalk with Kaz and Christian on either side of you after you all get changed.

Kaz nods and slings an arm around your waist. "I could go for sushi, yeah." He glances over at Christian. "What about you Cage?"

"Fine with me." Christian agrees. "Here, this place looks nice." He spots a nice sushi place across the street and steps forward to get to the door.

You, Kaz, and Christian all get a table out on the deck and order some food. You get the occasional passing glance from people walking by. But you're more than used to that by now. Honestly, the amount of people that have assumed that they are looking at either two dads and their daughter, or a dad, his brother, and one of their daughters astounds you. But it's funny to see people's faces when they realize how wrong they are.

After dinner, everyone heads back to the hotel and piles into the elevator. This is usually the time that Kaz and Christian ask you who's room you want to spend the night in. Or if you want your own room. But you've got other plans tonight.

"Alright, you two. You've both been at my side all day." You turn to both of them in the elevator. "So how about we end the night off on a high note and end it like we started it. Hot, sweaty, and as a trio?" You tease them.

Kaz and Christian share that silent look that always lets you know that you're going to have a long night. You step back between them and Christian digs his room key out of his pocket since he splurged for the nicer room this time.

"Lead the way, sweetie." Kaz grins when the elevator opens.

"And we'll follow," Christian adds.

You giggle and grab either of their hands and head for Christian's room. Tonight is looking like it's going to be another sleepless night in Florida.