#that made me turn inward more

[itspileofgoodthings]

in the most concrete way yet I feel like I’m getting a handle on what my flaws and weaknesses actually are lol.

[wistfulwatcher]

2.08 IT CHOOSES | 1.03 THE DOLLHOUSE

[medicinemane]

.

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, mating press, soft dom choso, squirtīng, p spanking, dirty talk, size kink, praise, mdni.

you tell choso it’s practically impossible to make you orgasm – and he ends up making you squirt instead.

“really?” he’d huff in a ginger cooing voice, sucking his teeth together as he watches a thick portion of his cock disappear between your sweet soddened folds. you let off a gasping moan once you glance down, getting a wide view of him easing his hefty weight into you. choso’s got you in mating press—a position he’s been wanting to try with you for a while, and with the way you were easily clenching around him had his entire body twitching. as he’s being as gentle as possible, he lets off a soft grunt before placing a bare hand on your tummy. “so you mean like . . never, baby?”

“n- never,” you inhale an incoming breath. your legs were sprawled ‘n spread — creating a stretched ‘v’ shape with your trembling feeble limbs. choso’s got a hand wrapped around his aching shaft before he starts to gradually sink inside of you deeper. “u..ughhh,” you hiss out, hearing your own wanton squelches shriek right out of your sopping pussy. choso smears a thumb down your entrance and you could see the cunt drunken grin starting to warp against his lips. “fuck, jus make me cum choso. like that, harder.”

“okay,” choso gruffly groans, his swollen sack already starting to mercilessly slap against your entrance. it’s loud numerous ‘thwap!’ ‘s and your glassy eyes widen the moment he slowly lifts up your leg just a bit higher, sexily throwing his head back with a carnal eye-flickering-roll. “just hold still,” and with one hand, he softly caresses your chin. “ ‘n keep those pretty eyes on me. gooood girl.”

intently, dark mousy eyes bore into you whilst he’s slowly driving his inside of you. you’re whimpering, already starting to hear the growling snarling creaks of the wooden bed frame ring against your ears.

“t- thaaat’s it,” choso grunts, and you can feel his honed hips tilt inward. he’s big, and with the gaping stretch he’d always create—it’s got invisible cogwheels spinning ‘n turning at the insides of your empty brain. it doesn’t take him long before he’s sensually pounding you with deep loving thorough thrusts, making sure he’s buried at the hilt. choso’s heavily panting with raspy breaths, clawing a hand through his shaggy black strands. he’s so pretty, and you couldn’t help but stare at him whilst he’s tenderly ravaging your sweet gripping walls. choso’s hair flawlessly of his flows down his narrow shoulders before he moans. “goddd, so good. doin’ so good.”

with a cute shrilling ‘oh!’ the moment his bulbous tip meanly slams into your sweetened sensitive spots, your jaw dangles agape.

he’s already reached it, and every time his body crashes into yours at full speed at such miles per fucking hour . . your skin sticks to stick against his like glue. smacking smacks of fleshy mounds gum against each other as he’s jackhammering his slim hips up and down before you shriek. “choso… ohmygod, right there. fuck me, fuh—”

“quiet,” he whispers, grabbing your chin. your eyes meet his, and as raven bangs string down his eyes, choso gives you a quick kiss. it’s sloppy, and you moan while he’s still buried balls deep. each risqué stroke has you dizzy, craving for more and as his tongue curls through the layout of your sweltering hot mouth, he briefly pulls away. choso huskily grunts, his powerful hits against your cunt creating loud squelches that resounded off the thinly-made walls. “f- fuck, hear that, baby? think she’s trying to hah . . get a word in.”

choso’s weight remains hovering over your body as he’s pounding into you. you moan, feeling his hot breath waft against your skin as he buries his face into the cove of your left shoulder. a hand reaches between your legs, and he starts to smear all kinds of circles ‘n shapes against your glittery wet cunt. wetly, he’s lightly smacking his palm against your stuffed full entrance, droplets of your honeyed juices splattering against his hand.

‘psh’ after ‘psh’ and choso grunts, hearing how you were not only vocal from your mouth, but in between your legs too. “so pretty,” he whispers, licking a stripe down your neck, softly nibbling a playful munch at your skin. “c’mon, baby. ‘m gonna need you to make a mess for me.”

oh, his hips were just the definition of fervent though.

your pussy’s hysterically gurgling out desperate sloppy pleads of want and need as your nails decorate his toned back with many many scratches. choso’s back was your own personal canvas—and he loved whenever your fingers would drag down his skin—painting areas of his flesh every single time. “cho- chosooo,” you whine out, tossing your arms over him. you could feel his back muscles tense, feeling his askew hips deepen its strenuous hits against your pussy. it was orgasmic – his rhythm alone, and your toes were already curled, mouth dropped, eyes bulged. “ ‘m gonna cum, make me cum choso.”

“uh huh. like that, you got it,” he purrs, feeling your cute legs starting to grow limp. he’s so nice with his hips, making sure he’s got the perfect angle. choso’s cock runs through you languidly, it’s slow but steady but also speedily fast. you could feel his stout cock repeatedly trying to kiss it’s way at your fluttering g-spot before you let off a trilling whine. “easy, easyyy girl,” he cups your face, a fat thumb stroking the right side of your mouth. “hey. look at me, baby. you got it,” choso repeats, and as he’s lewdly moaning right with you, bodies slamming in such luscious rapture, choso sprinkles kisses near your chin. “give it t’ me. be my messy baby, thaaaat’s it.”

right at his exact words—you felt yourself tightening up. . although something within you bursts, and you bite down on your jaw. it’s sudden, it’s so sudden that your eyes start rolling the second you realize you’re gushing down on his cock. a shaky breath leaves out of choso as he instantaneously pauses his hips—stilling his cock inside of you without moving anymore.

pretty doe-enlarged eyes with hearts swarming in his irises focuses primarily on you, and you could hear him whining out a ‘holy shiiiit’ while you mewl out your oh-so euphoric release.

it felt like forever but it was only for about three seconds, and you’re stupidly cross-eyed, moaning once choso starts to gradually pull out. “h- heh, baby chose to be wet today, huh,” and you let off a sobbing whimper once you feel him starting to smear his tip against your leaky cunt.

you’re drooling from your glossy puffed slit, and as he’s starting to politely smack his hardened cock onto your twitching heat, choso grunts. ‘you’re sooo pretty like this,’ the exact phrase that repeats in his brain like a mantra.

“let go, good girl. keep goin’. make me just as messy as you, princess,” and your brain merely short circuits. the elatedly shocking friction of his plump tip playfully hitting your soaked cunt has nothing but cute babbles departing from your babbling lips. choso drags his swollen cockhead down further, stopping at the bottom of your clit before letting out a shuddering, ‘phew.’

“c- choso, fuck,” you moan, still feeling staticky tingles roam through every vein of your body. that was unlike any feeling you’ve felt before. as his eyes soften, meeting your gaze—choso’s nudely glistening body shadows over yours. seconds later, he slowly trails his head down, propping himself between your legs. through hazy lensed eyes, you peer down, peeping at him while finding a hand of yours pawing its way through his tangled inky strands of hair. “mhh.”

“baby,” choso whispers hoarsely, his voice a bit rough and gritty from moaning for so long. such detail made you throb and he knew it too. leisurely, he’s beginning to lick a straight slope up your weeping cunt.

he can’t help but give it a open stare for a few seconds, taking your beauty from between your legs alllll in. it’s so pretty ‘n puffed — dribbling from the sides of your slick own arousal that shot out a shimmering geyser just a few seconds ago.

you’re tender, and he can’t help but slather his hot pink tongue between the crevices of your folds. “think . . you can be my sloppy girl one time?” and as he gives your pussy one quick french kiss, he pouts at you with a wry pussy drunk grin.

“pretty please?”

[beloveds-embrace]

(more of designationless!reader)

Soap found the box by accident. You never meant for it to follow you, never meant for it to be seen by anyone but yourself. It was a relic from a past you thought you’d buried, stuffed away in a dark corner of the storage room, forgotten like so many other things, brought by mistake when you changed between units again and again.

But Soap found it.

The box was old, its cardboard edges soft and sagging, your name scrawled on the side in faded, uneven marker. He wasn’t trying to pry- it was just there when he searched for a field manual in the storage room, and something about it drew him in. He brought it back to the common area where the others were gathered, setting it down on the table with a curious tilt of his head.

“Lassie never mentioned this, aye?” he asked, more to himself than to anyone else, and opened it; too curious, but also aware that if you truly did not want anyone to look through this, you would not have placed it in the storage room.

The scent of aged paper and something faintly bitter wafted out, and the pack stilled. Not because it smelled bad- it didn’t- but because something about the box immediately felt wrong; like a wound forced open.

Price was the first to step forward, instincts prickling at the edges of his senses. Ghost and Gaz followed, hovering close as Soap pulled out the first item.

At first, it was harmless. A broken doll with tangled hair, a few faded toys with their colors leeched by time, certificates bearing hollow phrases like “good effort.” Price’s eyes softened, his brow furrowing as he turned a small, threadbare ribbon over in his hand. None of it spoke of joy or pride. Instead, the items lay heavy in the box, the remnants of a childhood where love had been scarce. It wasn’t a treasure trove of cherished memories.

But then, Soap pulled out the sketchbook.

It was fragile, the cover warped and frayed, its edges curling inward as if trying to protect what lay inside. Price’s hand shot out, steadying Soap’s wrist, and he took it into his own hands. “Careful,” he warned. “Looks quite old.”

The room held its breath as Price opened it.

The first drawing made something deep in his chest rumble- a low, warning growl of distress that made the others tense.

You, as a child, stood apart from a group of faceless figures. They huddled together, faceless and warm in orange and yellow crayons, while you stood small and distant, alone in the cold blue. The faint, childish scrawl beneath it read:

“I think this is what love looks like.”

Price’s hand tightened on the book, the paper crinkling slightly under his grip. Ghost’s shoulders stiffened, and Soap let out a soft, chuffing exhale, his fingers twitching like he wanted to grab something, someone, and shake them. Like he wanted to grab you, and draw you into his arms.

The next drawing was no easier.

A child stood under black clouds, the page marked with teardrops, their hands pressed to a glowing window where a family sat warm and dry inside, nestled together. You’d drawn yourself outside, drenched and shivering, a frown on your face.

“When? If I’m good, will they let me in?”

Gaz made a sound low in his throat, a soft, mournful keening that was almost drowned out by Ghost’s steady, quiet growl, while Soap hisses, his pacing steps breaking the stillness.

And then, there were the drawings of your family- your siblings, your parents- but their faces were always blank, their hands never reaching for yours. Sometimes, you drew yourself trying to smile, trying to be part of the picture, but it was always wrong. You were always smaller, always separated.

Page after page followed, each one another gut-wrenching blow. Each one a testament to your loneliness.

A little girl sat at the edge of a family dinner table, her chair slightly too far away, the space between her and the others gaping like an abyss. In another, she stood in the background of a family photo, smaller and faded, as though she didn’t belong.

“I think I’m broken.”

“They don’t want me.”

“I wish I wasn’t me.”

“Mama and papa say I will ruin the nest.”

The drawings became messier, the lines shakier, as if your younger self had pressed harder into the paper with each word, each scene, trying to make the feelings go away by burying them in the lines of graphite and crayons.

The pack’s scents filled the room, heavy and overwhelming- John’s cedarwood sharp with anger, Ghost’s smoky musk thick and oppressive, Soap’s bright citrus tinged with distress, and Gaz’s soft vanilla almost bitter with grief.

But then, at the back of the sketchbook, they found something worse than the drawings.

At the back of the book, a final drawing waited- a page filled with one stick figure: just you. Moldy green, sickly yellow and bruise-blue.

At the bottom, scrawled so faintly it was almost invisible, the words read:

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

Gaz turned away, his hand pressed against his mouth as his shoulders shook. Soap’s fists clenched, his growl low and guttural, unable to contain his restlessness. Ghost’s fingers curled into tight fists, his knuckles pale as his eyes burned with something fierce and protective.

And Price… Price’s throat bobbed as he stared at the page, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap.

How could they?

At the bottom of the box, folded and tucked away like a secret, was a letter.

It was written in a child’s handwriting, shaky and full of misspellings, far younger than the last few drawings.

“Dear family, I’m sorry I’m not good. I’ll try harder. I’ll fix myself. Please love me. Please don’t leave me out. I’ll be good I promise. Love you even if you don’t love me back.”

It was dated years ago. The creases in the paper showed it had been folded and unfolded countless times, carried like a wish you couldn’t bear to let go of.

They didn’t need to ask. They knew the letter was never sent. And the silence that followed was suffocating.

When you came back that evening, you were left utterly confused by the strange atmosphere. The pack stood there, their only company a tense, heavy silence you had no idea where it came from.

Price stepped forward first, his arms wrapping around you in a hold that was both firm and trembling, and you huffed in surprise… but you didn’t pull away. His voice rumbled low and deep, a steady, grounding purr that vibrated against your chest. He didn’t say anything; he picked you up and just like that, began carrying you to the nest that you were becoming more and more familiar with everyday per their insistence.

Soap was next, once you were in the nest, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his forehead to yours, wrapping himself around you like sunshine. “Relax, bonnie lass.”

“So why-“

Gaz hugged you from behind, his soft, soothing purr blending with Price’s as he buried his face in your hair, his words drowing out your question. “You belong here. With us. Always.”

And Ghost… Ghost didn’t speak. He simply knelt in front of you, his large hands resting on your hips as he pressed his forehead to your stomach. His growl was low, protective, vibrating through you like a shield against the world. And with Price joining as well, you were effectively surrounded in the nest.

That night, they pulled you into their arms and didn’t let you go. They surrounded you with their warmth, their scents, their steady, comforting presence. They rubbed their faces against your neck, your wrists, your shoulders, marking you thoroughly, their purrs and low chuffs filling the space until you couldn’t think of anything else.

Though you still wondered what brought this on. Weird pack instincts you probably wouldn’t understand, perhaps.

[kooyabooya]

ENTROPY

m reader x karina // 13k words

“It’s a stupid bet, Karina.” 

Karina lifts an eyebrow, only at certain points in conversation where she thinks your opinion is highly invalid. 

“No, it isn’t. You didn’t even let me properly explain,” she tells you, “All I want is a favor. Not a bet.” 

“It’s still asking a lot from me when I’m already dealing with your bullshit.” 

She sighs, leaning back on the counter. You’ve got a hand to your hip and an expression on your face that says: “fuck off six ways back to Sunday,” That’s how these usual briefings go, the quick dump or fill-in of whatever the fuck is worth sharing in each others’ lives. 

Instead, she raises her hands up in surrender, lips pulled inward. “Fine. Would it be better for me to come back to you on this sometime later?” 

“Can I suggest not having you bother me ever again?” 

A snort, then a cackle is what she gives. So, you roll your eyes because you know that it's always, always a tell-all for disaster. 

“Oh honey,” she says, patting your shoulder while you look over to see her running off to do her own thing, “You’re gonna be stuck with me for a long time. You just haven’t seen it yet.” 

–

To bring things up to speed: you didn’t know what the fuck you were thinking when you brought Karina along as your roommate. 

At first, things were great. 

The living styles were well complimented. Separate rooms, similar schedules, the usual activities you’ve done together for fun. Even the chores were assigned (though by second nature and good habits). This small space was well put to be a slice of home away from home whilst going through the ranks of college. 

She invited some of her friends and classmates over from time to time; some of which you had a partial interest in. Sometimes you’re out with Karina’s setups, other times she’s the one that’s out and about while you were holding the fort down. For the most part, life was easy having your best friend since middle school hang around with you. 

Still, no issues to mention whatsoever. 

But then- 

“Do you have a minute?” 

It’s 8 pm on a Saturday and Karina’s coming to you for her regular yaps and endless rants since the girl just talks and talks and talks. 

You curse at yourself at times for always being the listener.

“Yeah,” you say, closing your laptop on the kitchen island when she rounds the corner, coming to your side. “I don’t have anything, so I’ve always got time.” 

You’re hoping that it isn’t anything out of the ordinary; from the looks of things, all signs seem to point that way. She’s in her sports shorts with one of your (stolen) t-shirts - the collar cut off highlighting her shoulder - hair tied up and in glasses, you automatically assume that she isn’t going anywhere. 

“Remember when I brought up that thing?” 

“What thing?” 

Then it hits you: that thing. 

You had your fingers crossed that she would forget about asking you for whatever she needed you for. Sucks that she had a good memory - not only that, you’ve made yourself reliable for her so many times before; turning her down was simply an impossibility. 

Not all heroes wear capes, sadly. 

Karina slaps your shoulder, easily seeing through your mask of sarcasm. 

“Don’t act dumb, genius. That ‘thing’ was just coming along with me for once.” 

Her brows furrowed, the corners of her lips tracking back across her cheeks. You can’t say no let alone ignore the poor girl. 

“You know me with outings,” you reason, sensible. In most cases like these, Karina comes to you out of others to bring up her issues, her dilemmas; her self-inquisitions, as she would like to call them from time to time. And usually, they’re straightforward. This should be an easy cakewalk. “I’m all for it, but what’s the point when you force me to be more sociable when you’re dragging me around?” 

“Because maybe you’re the biggest pussy I’ve had the misfortune of being with.” Karina huffs, arms crossed and face left in distress. She examines you so closely under her microscope that it’s borderline invasive - but you don’t tell her that. So you twine your fingers in between each other and return the laser-focused stare she’s giving you, taunting almost along the lines of - look, if you’re gonna be convincing, you gotta do better than that. 

All she does is throw a shoulder shrug, awkwardly -  dropping them so fast that you’re putting everything in your willpower to not notice the subtle bounce of her chest. 

Her palm faces up toward the ceiling, hoping for a response. You purse your lips out to spite her. She has to deal with your bullshit head-on, tragically. 

“It’s always the work, gym, eat, sleep, do more work at home, and repeat. All the fucking time. So bland and-” 

You tilt your head the more her insults fill your ears. 

“You disgustingly piss me off.” 

Her fingers press on your forehead when you give the subtle eye smile and smirk combination, finally pushed over the edge now she doesn’t want anything to do with you. She paces around the kitchen and you can see her eyes dart over at the corner. 

She won’t leave you alone. 

Not until she gets what she wants. 

Besides, you’ve learned that Karina isn’t very good at persuading people to do something. Though eventually- 

“Why didn’t you just say you’re inviting me to go out for a night?” You ask, knowing that the bluntness is one of the few ways to bring Karina back around once she’s done with her tantalizing tangents. “You wouldn’t be here going crazy if you just told me-” 

“Because you’re the one who can’t seem to get it through your thick-ass skull in the first place!” She exclaims, first underneath her shirt that reveals some of the skin on her waist, the ends of her panties now apparent the more her boxer shorts keep slacking off her hips. You can’t afford to stare. You know you can’t. 

The recurring cycle of interest: keeps coming back to haunt you. 

You concluded or accepted the fact years ago that Karina was never meant to be yours. Yet- she would always come to you whenever she had boy problems or wanted your opinion on what she should wear or do with every single one of her crushes she ever had throughout her life, hiding the fact that you wanted to be one of them at some point. 

All those wet dreams, fantasies, the fake situations of romance you’ve deluded yourself into - those kinds of things had to be channeled into something else to fill the space. 

You’ve kept it cool. Sometimes, in between the bleeding weeks, where she’s roaming around the house in the shortest pair of shorts, the tightest of tank tops, the curves way more present when she’s light on the balls of her feet, you eventually broke and resorted to that trusty old lotion and sock combo behind the door to your room. 

With a girl dressed like that, and those tits filling up your brain- 

(You’d be committing perjury holding yourself back for as long as you did.) 

“Okay, for the last time,” says Karina, hands stacked and her feet crossed. “All I ask is for you to just get out of the apartment for once, and have some fun. Is that hard?” 

You shake your head. “No, of course it isn’t.” 

Karina nods, content. She takes off her glasses and puts it on the marble counter, her pretty lashes batting with those violet-black eyes of hers. “There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” 

And there she goes, tapping your forearm while you nod in agreement; does a little hop in place like some cute bunny, her shirt loose and flowing and moving everywhere. She’s such a fucking bitch. So shameless. This girl’s attitude will be the death of you. 

She’s shaking her fists up in the air, doing some cha-cha move. The shirt isn’t doing her justice for her fucking breasts. 

Then she leans in, close. Her breath grazes your face and neck. She scrunches her nose while you’re ‘shooing’ her away; aware of the message and her point. Karina then steps back, tying a knot to her shirt, making her figure a lot more apparent. By some crazy form of timing, you turn your body towards her, freezing in place while the shirt molds around her chest, her waist - you’re clenching your jaw and gritting your teeth behind your lips since you wonder if she’s doing it on purpose. 

The imagination. The possibilities. 

“C’mon,” Karina says, reaching for your hand and tugging it, tilting her head up and angrily pouting. For fucks sake, the slightest resistance of pull makes those mounds bounce in place. You’re sick and twisted; she’s the sole reason to blame. “I want you to be my plus one.” 

“Had I not already said yes?” You’re asking, swearing under your breath. The ‘plus one’ role is a direct translation to ‘hey, i’m going to get fucked up tonight, and i want you to be there on standby to carry me home or even dd, okay?’. You remember from past experiences that it also means that being with her is a dice roll of what kind of Karina you have to deal with: the kissy Karina, the pissed-off Karina, the Karina with the ‘carry me home with the eyes that say fuck me until I can’t walk’ attitude. 

Sigh and roll your eyes back, it’s burned into your memory anyway. 

Putting it in layman’s terms wasn’t gonna cut it. Being honest isn’t gonna change her mind. You could get the King of England to threaten her for a price on her head and she’ll still find a way to get it overturned. 

As nicely as you’d want to be, it can only hold for so long. 

Karina isn’t the kind of person to throw you into the fire right away -no, she’s smarter than that. 

“You did,” she says, shaking her head side to side, moving her shoulders along since you’ve put her in a good mood. You’re trying to decode the action to the expression, connecting the dots possible if she’s fucking around or being genuine. Give into the preaching and encouragement that if you did go with her you’d have your fun with someone like her carrying half her energy - okay, you have a type; nothing wrong with that, but still. “Why? Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts already?” 

You have a hand up along with your mouth open; Karina’s a bit dense to think pragmatically. 

“What’s it gonna take with you to get off of your lazy ass and live life? When was the last time you and I went out together and did some dumb shit? That was when you had that thing with- who was that one girl? Winter? Or was it Giselle?” Karina carries on, trailing off with you walking not far from her. 

She pulls the hair tie out of her head - after what it seems to be five minutes since putting it on - her head moves to let the messy locks flow and pool behind her back, stretching her arms out before turning left and into her room. You stop at the doorway when she turns around, arms braced to the frame, smirking. 

“You said you weren’t doing anything, right? And you don’t have work until next week, right? So that automatically means that you’re free for the weekend?” 

“Well, yeah. Don’t forget that you went out with me and Ningning for that boring ass movie. So please, if you stop giving me shit for this, can I at least get ready before we head out?” 

Karina groans. “Ugh, why are you so fucking difficult to work with? I’ve set you up with three of my friends so far and only one of them has gotten close to getting in bed with you.” 

“Maybe I’m complicated,” you say back, turning the other cheek and thinking about that specific time not that long ago when she gave you the double thumbs up before being dragged by Winter onto the dance floor at that club near the school. 

“Complicated people don’t put their hands behind their back and let the girl get all touchy with them,” she teases, stopping in the middle of your doorway, shirt off and all she’s got is that jet black bra with the thinnest straps you’ve ever seen on her collarbones, but she doesn’t stop there: “Might I add that you wanted to try your luck into dating again and- hey. I know that kiss with Winter was the best one you’ve had in a while.” 

Karina smiles at your confused expression, hitting a pressure point. You’ve folded for girls before. She was there for some part of the fun. It’s a weakness; playing to your ideal characteristics and all she has to do is play the matchmaker and watch the magic happen. She got close. Almost. The support was unwavering, but you’re still searching. 

You don’t take long to get yourself situated, putting on whatever essentials you felt was right. Karina took a little bit more time to get ready. You know how she is: every part of her outfit has to be thought-out and well-layered if means of raising the ‘down to get fucked’ meter up past the 100-point scale. Sometimes it takes five minutes, other times it takes hours. 

She walks out of the hallway in a simple outfit. A grey tank top and baggy jeans that nearly cover her feet. Her brown leather jacket was the finishing touch draped around her arm, wrist, and fingers shining in her typical jewelry. 

The makeup was light too, a soft blush applied but the main culprit was her lips - and man, they have no right being that plump. 

“You’re staring.” 

A blink and a smirk here. An eyebrow raised soon after: “Are you saying I’m being rude?” 

“No.” 

It doesn’t register in your mind that she’s all up in your space the next second, holding your breath when she looks up to your chin. 

“Is there something that you want to tell me?” 

“Karina-” 

“C’mon, you’ve thought about me that way at least once-” 

“Fucks sake Karina, you’re delusional. I would never. ” 

She nods with a devilish grin, tilting her chin up, humming. You’re breathing out of your nostrils when she backs away, heading over to the door to put on her shoes. Everything that this woman does makes you reconsider the consequences (but hey, you’ve imagined what it would be like for her to wake up in your bed, wear your clothes she won’t think of returning unless you fuck that bratty attitude off her tongue.) A woman like her who can do it all, and you’re holding her jacket once you and her step out of the apartment and close the door. 

Most people would give their praise and high regard for putting up with her for this long because you’ve held out longer than anyone would have imagined. 

You’ve dealt with her energy all these years, the countless shenanigans that you have gone through with her since high school, and occasions where she shouldn’t have dragged you in but still did anyway. There’s a tolerance that one can only take so much of with Karina, and you always fail at that. (Always.) 

She’s too good to be real. 

Later, she’s on the phone, calling and texting her other friends that she planned on meeting up with, waiting out in the front yard while you’re keeping her close - like what a natural bodyguard would do with their assignment. 

“Are you wearing my jacket?” asks Karina, pinching at the pelt. “I was gonna use that for later.” 

“I look better in it,” you muse. “But I’ll give it back to you later when it gets colder.” 

“I’m gonna need it later for my look.” 

“That look you have right now is gonna get you fucked.” 

Karina gives you the same tilt of her head; this time, there’s a slight twinkle in her eyes that looks like the lightbulb just went off in her head. You’ve lit the match within her or signed someone off to their demise waiting for them in the next hour or so. 

She bites down her smile, her ego inflated. “Guess we can put that as a separate bet between us, then.” 

–

Well. 

Fuck.

You realize right away that going out didn’t seem to be a bad idea after all. 

Plus, it’s only been roughly two hours since Karina convinced you to help her out and tag along so now you’re here: a half-full cup of her go-to and watching the sight of everyone having their fun with one other person or in a group. She, on the other hand, has a guy with her - breaking down the awkward wall and playing the act of softening up with the blaring music. 

It’s a steady groove, music flows in her body so elegantly. 

The ambiance alone pounds your eardrums, eyes occasionally getting blinded by the flashing lights coming from the DJ’s stage, dancing her heart away and letting loose because it’s the weekend. She’s not the only one, too. Her little entourage surrounds her, dancing along and giving their attention to Karina - each one of them attractive and dazzling to look at. Karina was never one for the limelight, but once she’s got something going, it never leaves her. 

You can catch yourself getting sucked in the moment you laid your eyes back on her. 

The law of attraction: embodied by Karina. A phenomenon that you’ve learned happens on a weekend basis. Everyone that knows or has met her for the first time, is automatically influenced by her which doesn’t take much for that to happen. Some are joining in for the vibe, while others are trying to lean into her ear and get her attention that way, let their bodies do the talking, and see if she’s willing. 

Bad news, this girl is. You’re treading dangerous waters carefully. 

Moment by moment, every single guy who tries to approach Karina retreat in dejection and defeat. You can see it in their heads hanging in shame, the slanted lips, some make a last-ditch effort to bring her back to the bar for another drink, only to be stopped with the simple raised hand of hers, friends coming along as reinforcements to stop the inquisitions. 

Her eyes lock on to you, watching from afar. Like a lighthouse; a signal and a haven for her to find comfort in. She motions you to come to the dance floor; and to that, you raise your glass in earnest, insisting that where you are right now is fine. 

You keep staring, sipping. 

She’s fixed up her top again to where the curves are much more present than usual. 

So you decide to down your bearings, hoping that the thought of Karina could be swallowed down with ease; her damned smile, head tilts,  the swaying of her body (along with bouncing in some places without a care in the world) to the upbeat tunes until she’ll decide she can’t do it anymore. 

At some point, she’ll have to come get you to join. 

And you’ve accepted that it will happen sooner or later. 

Your shoulder gets bumped by one of the people making their way through on accident, diverting your attention for a second. Then- 

Karina’s out of your line of sight. 

Next thing you know- 

She taps your shoulder, tugging on your shirt. 

“Hey-” 

The words you were going to say were: ‘hey, what gives?’ or ‘something wrong?’; but for some reason, you’re left in a stun lock - a trance. There’s also another thing that you realize right away when she has her arms slithering around your middle and up your shoulders. 

She looks around as you track her head movements, checking for something - ensuring that the coast is clear - you can start to get an idea of what she’s trying to do. Your brows furrow, thrown off by Karina’s stoic expression. It’s impossible to see or understand what’s going through her head, but she nicks her head back towards the dance floor, and you instantly get the message. 

“Need you in here, now,” she mouths, but you tilt your head down to hear her repeat it. She then pulls onto the floor while you’re also surveying the crowd, seeing if there was anything fishy. 

Karina guides your hands around her waist, noticing her fingers twitch as they graze your forearm, hinting that something was off. You’ve been near her before, but not like this. She then bumps into a few people standing behind her, prompting you to pull her back towards you - pressing her body, hand now to your neck, chin resting on top of her head- 

You can deduce that this is not her usual self - the reverberating bass pounding into your bodies and hers serving as this sort of proxy to dance more and think less. 

She scratches the ends of your hair right above the nape, irises burning into your face. You assume that this was the favor that she was talking about: going to the club with her and having a good time? Why the fuck did she have to make it sound so complicated in the first place?

“Stay close to me, okay? There’s this guy that’s been trailing us since we got here. I just need some time - help me out, please.” 

You look over your shoulder, Karina centers herself with her hands cupped around your neck, peering over as well. The strobe light blinds your vision for a second before turning back. “Wait, how can you be sure?” 

“Trust me,” she tells you, expression flat, serious. “You’ve got a good sixth sense about these kinds of things anyway, you’ll know.” 

“But-” 

“Isn’t that the guy you mentioned just now-” 

Karina’s quick to get a finger between your lips, darts her eyes out then onto you. The indication alone confirms all of your suspicions. You can’t even see the poor guy, not when the flashing lights are giving you nothing but snapshots amongst the silhouettes and shapes in the dark. “Look, be cool. You’re safe with me. If he gets close I’ll get in–” 

“No wait- it’s fine. Just leave him alone,” she butts in, leaning her head against your chest so she can hide her face. “This is already good, okay? You did great.” 

You cradle the side of her head when she looks up, tongue caught between her teeth slightly. “No, I want to see what was his deal-” 

“Can you shut the fuck up already?” 

“Karina, I-” 

She pulls your head into hers: locking lips, derailing your train of thought. 

You make a sound in her mouth in response to the confusion, but it stops the bickering you two were doing a few seconds ago. She could feel you pull away, but leans her head up back for more, claiming your lips through the kiss; you swear that you and her aren’t that drunk yet. 

It shuts you up, alright. A moment of reprieve that doesn’t give you any time to think because fuck, this girl is making you second guess every single choice you’ve made in your life up till this point, wondering if you’re ever going to take your golden chance or give Karina an earful when you and her get back home later. 

Your fingers dig into the dips of her lower back, her hands on your cheeks, overloading your senses with her lips, giving you hard teeth and a swiping tongue - no time to think or catch up. 

The rest of the world fades out from your head, nothing between you and Karina putting everything on the line in terms of her feelings - almost like the roles had been reversed with her struggling to believe you had a thing for her and you letting your actions do all the talking.

You’re not thinking about the amount of regret you’ll have once all of this is over. Friends just don’t kiss each other out of the blue. No. Karina fed you the false belief that you’d do anything she’d ask you to do, which is why you’re doing this with her. You think this is all a dream, but you sense everything; that diminishes the present thought right away. 

You’ll give as much passion back to Karina, because it’s what you would do for her regardless:

Follow her lead, and listen to what she says; there’s always something with her that you’re blindly agreeing to. 

Karina pulls away for a moment to breathe, next thing you know her tongue slips past against yours, and your grip on her body becomes a lot less pleasant since she’s unleashed that craving hidden within. 

You touch her teeth, smiling. Her forehead gently rubs against yours, breaking the kiss, when you notice it in your peripheral: 

A girl with a hand to her mouth.

One girl next to her with her hand wound up in her hair, in complete shock. 

The third girl behind the two nodded in approval with a sly smirk. 

Yeji, Ryujin, and Yujin: Karina’s other cute little trio, watching their lovely friends finally have their moment together. 

You look back at Karina, rubbing her bottom lip with her finger, internalizing the taste of you. 

Then the realization settles in. 

“That guy backed away from us,” she tells you, “but I gotta say, you’ve outdone yourself.” 

You glance over to see Karina’s trio watch as said guy turns his back into the crowd, retreating away. 

“What’s the matter? Speechless?” she asks again, finger happily dancing along your skin, and your hands aren’t moving off her body. You’ve never been shy with her, except this one time: right now. 

“Never with you,” you answer, matching her smug expression. “Never.” 

Karina hides her true intention again for a second, knowing that it’ll wither away the more she acts like this. Right, she can say one thing, though her actions are so easy to read from the minute she’s invaded your personal space. 

This girl is bad news in everything.

So you hold your gaze with her, wondering, connecting the dots. Speculating how long she’s been planning for this to happen, to be like every other guy that’s ever tried to get her in their bed or between those legs. Even so, she knows you’re not simple to break, and that’s where she’s got you. “I knew you had to be sure somehow, just didn’t think you’d go this far.” 

“Desperate times, desperate measures.” Karina eyes cross slightly as she stares at you, thumb grazing along your chin. “You were taking too long for my liking.” 

Liking? Surely not. 

There’s no possible way she could-

“What the hell does that mean?” You ask, staring back, tongue tip between your teeth. Your breathing starts to shallow. 

Karina leans into the side of your head, amidst the noise of the speakers and funneling her voice well in your ear canal. “It doesn’t make sense to me, you know. How we’ve known each other for this long, and we haven’t thought of even trying it at least once.” 

She knows where she’s going with this - all those times you’ve ogled at her hoping that she wouldn’t notice - or all of those times where you’ve talked about everything that had to involve life at any given point. You’d hoped that you dodge the question for a little longer. 

Karina’s friends managed to crack it out of you a while back, remembering it well. Her touch on your body has gone gentler, never breaking her gaze on you.

“How come you and I have never hooked up with each other?” 

You freeze. Feel the warmth spread across your cheeks; it’s an immediate catch, and you were praying silently that this was a dream. 

Exposed. Is what you are. 

Though Karina doesn’t falter here. Her eyes shimmer in the dim lighting. Wistful. You’re giving her enough time to figure out where your head was leveled at; like she would understand whether you wanted this or not. 

“Honestly, we could’ve.” You admit, with a sharp inhale. Hoping that the answer alone is enough for her sake. “Like- god, it would’ve been so easy. I wanted-” 

“Is it because you and I are just friends? That’s complete bullshit if that’s what you’re sticking with. I’ve seen you look at me that way before, or with my back turned; goes to show that you don’t have what it takes to get what you want, but I do.” 

You pull her close, and that gets her flustered. 

Both of your hands are on her face, leaning on her, stopping right at the lips, watch her eyelids flutter in anticipation. The thrumming of your heartbeat pounds between your eardrums, until she looks at you dead in the eyes, sliding her hand lower and lower, quirks her eyebrows once her fingers lay land over your pants. 

Your throat bobs, swallowing on nothing. The lightbulb sets off in her head. 

“Would you look at that? Oh my. Honey, you’re just like the rest of them. Try to deny it all you want, but you can’t get the thought of using my body to get yourself off. And guess what? I’d let you.” 

She’s got a key charm in being forward. And you find it to be so fucking sexy; saying things like that with no care for who hears, keeping it blunt and straight to the point; she could talk her way out of a speeding ticket and she really could. Karina was simply being herself, you could point the culprit in the alcohol or maybe her friends, but you’re still caught in her crosshairs and the window of escape is closing fast. 

You don’t do anything to resist the pair of hands at your neck and the seat of your pants - or the fact that she’s yanking your head back to meet hers and you hear all her friends squeal at the mere sight of Karina getting her chance. Everything about this is sensational, a new thing to adapt and learn by the minute. 

Here, when she lets you pull away: “You can do better than that, sweetie. Tell. Me.”

You’ll tell her everything that she wants to hear: how you’ve had a crush on her since high school, how you’ve managed to stay by her side after all these years, the fact that you couldn’t jeopardize what you already had. Besides, the risk of losing her as a lover and a friend was too much to bear, that she isn’t the kind of girl to have sex with because you love her and that will be the end of it all. 

Sooner than later, you’ll tell her that. So to suffice, you say: “I could’ve, believe me. We just never did.” 

From that alone, Karina shakes her head, neither rejecting nor accepting. Her wrists slack behind your neck, bring her waist closer until you’re able to lace your fingers around your arm. You’re nervous at what might be going through her head right now, gnawing your inner lip to keep your mind occupied. 

She looks you dead in the eyes, a twinkle behind them: full of inspiration, desire, hunger, want. 

You kiss her again, because you believe that’s the only thing right to do. “How bout this,” she says, giddy and sultry, “Why don’t we find this out for ourselves?” 

–

This wasn’t the first time you’ve been in this position. 

And certainly, it won’t be the last, either. 

You’ve put up with Karina’s bullshit for as long as you could remember: from carrying her on your back after a long night out to those times of sleeping on the couch since she complained her bed was too stiff and decided to use yours. You can think of one instance of every emotion she has, nothing but fun memories in those moments. 

However, you’ve never been like this with her. 

Until tonight. 

You catch yourself failing miserably in keeping your guard up with Karina. Not when she’s taking every red light as her chance to kiss you in the car, her hand sliding under your shirt and grazing your pants shamelessly. Not when you’ve pressed her tits up against the elevator door and flipped her around kissing you once more so that the camera guy can see, hear her giggle and hum at this new and improved version of you that she’s created. 

It’s all a rush for her, the way you can’t let go of her past the door, pin her hips against the kitchen counter, peel off the layers of clothes starting with her jacket, grasp her breast held captive by the tight holds of her tank top. You raise her on the marble so that she can match your height - make her feel taller, build that ego up, give her the false impression that she’s the one having fun.

Most definitely on the fact that you’ve got her tank top off in record time, gawking at the immeasurable amount of skin along those luscious valleys you’ve classified as her breasts. 

Karina’s head goes sideways, inquisitive. She sees you have your sights set on the prize, all within arms reach. “That’s cute, you’ve been eyeing these babies ever since I moved in, god you’re not that hard to whirl around.” You have your fun at her neck while her fingers are working fast at your pants, sliding her hand underneath the elastic of your boxers- 

“Jesus baby,” she husks, appalled with the curl of your fingers along the length. She thought the bulge earlier was already apparent enough - oh how wrong she was, looking down at the newly claimed prize. “Since when the fuck were you hiding this from me? This is not the same cock I hear you jerk yourself off with now and then-” 

“Just one of my few surprises,” you cut her off, jolting your hips forward when the grip around your girth gets a tad bit tighter. “Believe me when I say this, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

Karina wets her lip, biting. 

She’s getting used to the new feeling of this. Of you. Her small hand holds you in place, trying to find the right words to describe or end with. You’re trying to see how far she would go - how much could she take; then, she drives another nail into the coffin: “Fuck. You’re like- really big.” 

You grin, since that’s got enough weight in the words to inflate your confidence through the roof. She twists her hand around while you’re peppering her face with your lips, over and over and over, until she’s completely broken you down and all signs seem to be pointing in that direction. 

You hear her hum in approval, sighing in relief, whisper these praises laced with your name. And when she says your name, genuinely, it comes off in a moment of seriousness - hallowed even. 

She’ll make you plummet into the depths of hell, or raise you to the golden pearly gates above; no matter the difference, you’re falling for one of two ways with her. 

It’s also putting you in a bad position because you know her experiences, what she wants, the mere basics of it. You pull her hips as she twists her hand by reflex, like it has a mind of its own, pumping your length. 

You hate how good she is at working you up. The wonders in sleight of hand: where to curl her fingers, how fast she should handle the strokes, the press of her thumb down on your tip, studying it while trying to figure out where to even start. 

“It’s not even fair at this point,” she tells you, sly smirking while you see her eyes fall halfway, softly laughing as she sees your knees buckle and hit the cabinet beneath her because you can’t respond properly. “You’re gonna take care of me so well. Using this to fuck my brains out.” 

Her smile goes even wider when your head falls back involuntarily, giving Karina the window to leave some marks of her own across your chest. 

Her ankles rest at the back of your thighs, leaning forward to get her other hand on your throbbing shaft, paying attention to your balls, weaving them between her fingers, dividing and conquering to no avail, to turn your mind into a puddle. 

“It’s gonna look so pretty in my ass,” Karina whispers into your ear, leaving more kisses behind, making you feel like you’re on cloud nine. “I bet I could make you cum with just my mouth, my hands. Maybe I’ll give you a tease, spread my legs and let you slip inside right here, since you’re so fucking hard that you could knock me out with this cock, hm?” 

Oh, what in the actual fuck- 

Right out of the gates, this girl is forcing you to be head over heels - to submit and bend to her will; she knows what to preach, her words alone fulfilling every single fantasy you have in the book, to take what’s hers and feed you that overpowering urge above all: to simply ruin her.

Unpredictability is something that Karina takes pride in: going slow at one point, then faster the next, dragging and shortening your breath in every stroke until the pressure becomes too much. 

She nods at her handiwork, sliding off the counter and pulling you by the dick across the apartment. That alone makes you snap and pin her - grab her by the arm and spin her around - press and bend her body over on the couch for a quick second. 

You pull her by the hair and shift her head; forcing her to lean up for a kiss. Flush your hips with hers where the weight of you might make her crumble right away. 

You almost feel bad about it, but that thought gets quickly diminished, because Karina knows how much she can handle. She wants to be taken rough, split apart, worship her body like it's some new testament you’ll reflect on in adoration, have her cunt fucked so thoroughly by you that she’ll come crawling back craving for more. 

“How long have you been waiting for this?” Karina grins into your cheek, running her hand up over yours greedily grasping at her tit. “All those slutty things I kept telling you, seems like you wanted some of the fun as well, huh?” 

Okay, she’s not wrong at all. You’ll bank that on the fact that she has most definitely heard you jerk yourself off at night, or the fact you’ve seen her walk out the shower naked but pretend to look the other way. With all those stories of her escapades, part of you wanted to join along now and then. 

So you give her mercy and lift yourself off from her, watch her glance over her shoulder when you’re following her to your room, fingers to the latch of her bra, the garment slipping off and falling to the floor. Her back is hypnotic to look at, and you find yourself chasing after her for another go. 

“This is gonna be bad for you,” she giggles, holding her by the door frame while your hands have a mind of their own, freely roaming across the canvas of her perfect body, sliding up and down and feeling the untouched territory yet to be claimed. “Can’t even stay away from me even for two seconds.” 

She sticks her ass out, dips her head down when you get a hold of her mound, the flesh alone having its little weight to it, graze your thumb over her nipples, pinch it, kiss the back of her neck, and leave another mark. You are going to take your sweet time with her; use your teeth, your mouth, your cock. Anything and everything in your arsenal to make Karina yours. 

It starts with the letdown. Now, we’re at a shuffle - a waltz, a sloppy waltz - until Karina spins herself around while you settle at the edge of your bed, hike up to your hips, rest them there, forearms on shoulders, kissing you once more. 

A gentle moan slips out of her mouth when you finally start indulging yourself in her fabulous tits. Seeing out the amount of fun you are going to have: licking, kissing, biting along the perfect skin. Your mind can’t seem to register the fact that your hands were made for holding them; the fit alone, it feels so nice. 

Fuck, it’s even better once you realize she’s so responsive to the touch. That alone prompts you to add oil to the fire and drop the intimate act for something more primal, hungrier. She does this little shimmy with her upper body, moving her breasts around for your mouth to be caught in between them like two mushy pillows molding around your face. 

Her hand slips under and grips around you again, the friction causing you to bite down on her skin. A fair trade at least - a two-way system - you touch her, she touches you. 

“God, I think I know why you held yourself back with me for this long,” her words heavy and just coherent enough to understand, “maybe I convinced myself that I couldn’t handle you.” 

You laugh into her breasts, her hand on the back of your head, tugging while she hears the hums. 

She sighs, relieved. Like there’s a weight finally off her shoulders. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” One second later, she pushes your head away, jaw slack, eyes clouded with lust, drunk on the taste of her skin, your hand sliding lower and lower from her waist, the warm surface getting even hotter when you reach her panties, grazing the lace. 

“It’s unreal, I don’t even have to tell you to say anything-” she sucks in a breath at the feeling of your fingers soaking up her slick, swipe your thumb upwards across her clit. “You win baby. I’ll let you have your way. I promise.” She tilts your head up for a kiss, grining her hips down, forcing the groan from you down her throat. “I can give you everything you ever dreamed of having.” 

You don’t even know where to fucking start. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you say, hitting the tip of your nose against hers; get a light-hearted laugh out. “I’ll make you regret them.” 

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me what’s going through your head right now? With me on top? I’m all ears.” 

It’s even worse when you see her hand slithering down from her tits. Lower. Lower. The influence already affects you when she brings your hand around your cock, slowly tugging along as she treats herself to such a sight. 

That said sight of Karina playing with herself; sighing, murmuring, tilting her head slightly as her breath shudders at the sound of you groaning whilst doing the same thing with yourself. You see the damage, the marks, the places where you’ll leave more bruises than before. 

You just have to- fucking- look. You have her in such a state that you have never imagined yourself being in, and now that’s realized right in front of your eyes. 

So you tell her exactly how you’ll fuck her. What position she likes the most, where does she want you to take her, how much you’ll twist her mind into becoming more desperate for you and your cock, when you’ll make her cum, rail that poor cunt of hers until she’s sobbing in the filthiest fucking mess possible. 

“I’d be sinning,” you tell her, admittedly. “If I didn’t say that you’ve never imagined me fucking your tits unlike now. Better yet-” 

“And let me guess, you were hoping to God that there was at least somebody out there who could fulfill that desire for you, right?” Karina interrupts, hand still in between her legs, watching you shamelessly jerk yourself off. She sighs, “So original. I think you deserve more than that.” 

Uhm- well- okay, yeah. 

“What, too weird?” You ask right after, breathless, your shaft throbbing around your fingers a tad early for your taste. “Ouch. I get it. It’s fine.” 

“No, no, no,” Karina sighs, licking her lips. Her eyes shine through yours, a supernova unraveling. “I think we can settle with this. You fix me, I fix you. Deal?” 

Who’s to say that there was a chance Karina had the same vision as you? 

–

It’s a freeze-frame moment when the realization hits you for the first time. 

You’re seeing, but still having a tough time believing:

The sight of your cock being swallowed up by her tits, tongue laving at the tip, her hands compressing her chest inwards so that she can hold you there - focus on her lips and listen to the soft moans all lovely and adoring. Your poor cock: leaking with precum mixed with spit and when it’s all slicked up, you’ll put her on her back and make her press her breasts together, slip right back inside the heat and press into the friction. A gift from the heavens, you think. God, you’ll praise and worship them for as long as you live. 

“Shit,” you barely manage, rasping, like it’s some epiphany, as if this was new for her. “Karina, that’s incredible.” 

Her eyes dart at you, lashes flickering. The subtlety alone is near cute, even when her fingers dig into the skin of her tits, pinching at the nipples, tongue hanging out as some of the spit starts to drip over into the cleavage. 

She lowers her mouth right above the tip, seals it around your thick cockhead lightly. “Really?” 

You clench your jaw a little tighter, “God,” you huff, tensing up your hips for the thrust, fucking into the pressure, stare as she moves her tits downward to meet in the middle. “Fuck, yes.” 

“Don’t you suppose that this is good for me as well?” She then asks, dazed. 

“Why- fuck. Why the fuck are you asking me?” You rasp, tone gentle the next second. “Judging how hard you’re pressing, I hope that you won’t let that go to your head.” Karina’s face lights up with excitement, tilts her head down into your hand, smirking as she hears the stable breathing. Her brown eyes - like her tits - are soft, easy; her plump bottom lip sweeps the head of your cock once again. 

She hums as she stares. Chuckles at the mere buck of your hips. Cute. 

“Hmmm, maybe I will,” she accepts. 

You scoff, mixed with relief and with disbelief because Karina’s tits are fucking unreal and to top it all off she’s sucking you off while your cock is held captive between them; though you’re stuck in a hypnosis and that’s the only sensible reaction of Karina that you could give her. “Karina,” you’re seething, “Jesus, Karina-” 

She moves her chest in this side-to-side motion, wiggling her tits like it’s some shameless dance move, proposing. “What’s the matter, baby? All that waiting and you can’t hold it together?” She asks, arms moving inward with her elbows at the bottom line - her drool dribbling down her tongue and into her cleavage in this messy waterfall. “You wanna cum in between my fucking tits, hm? Right in the middle? Paint them white over these red marks you kissed all over-” 

The sound ripping from your throat is an indication of the first layer of your inner wall being broken down. It’s just for show, but she’s taking it literally. She has a knack for talking filthy. Here you are losing it. Her hand holds you by the base and pumps you - rubs your balls for good measure, pushing, soothing, encouraging - and Karina’s eyes shimmer while her mouth shifts, something more shrewd, vicious. 

“You fit so well here,” she gasps, “God, I wonder how it’ll feel when you stuff up my tiny pussy-” 

Your head falls back and you’re swearing. Clenching your fists while your elbows start to slide back. 

“Karina,” you say again, because it’s easier to speak than think. “I’m- I’m,” 

Her lips pout, shaking her head, disappointed. “No. Don’t,” she sighs, “Don’t you dare,” she says next, “please, I want it inside, inside me - in my pretty little pussy, make me feel good, so full, want your - mmm,” you see her eyes close, biting her lip at the idea, whining, “you’ve dreamt of cumming inside me - breeding me, knocking me up for fun-” 

This girl is something else - good on you to match up to her craziness - and you’re biting your lip along with her as well, watching her hand slip under to her clit while she holds your dick between her tits, thighs shaking as she spreads - it’s ingrained into your head, the sight of it. She wants you to breed her, or whatever is remotely close to cumming on her - and Karina will keep on asking for your input of all these things she’s projecting, leave it up to interpretation before acting on it. You’ve never thought you’d see yourself be like this, let alone have Karina act this way all for you. You’ll keep pondering about it long after you’ve had your fill - or her having her fill - it could go both ways for all you know. 

Still. The girl keeps moving. 

“Oh my fuck,” you slip out, different sayings all preaching the same message, “that feels so fucking incredible,” which isn’t enough to describe the present state of things nor does it fulfill the bare minimum of everything either but for Karina’s ego and with her smirk - because that’s how it always was, just feels right. 

“You’ve never said anything about it, but you’re obsessed,” Karina taunts. “This mouth, these tits, they’re all for you - you could have me any way you want,” she keeps her hands moving while her head sways from one end to the other, sighing as her tongue stops at her teeth. “Look at you. I’ve never seen you so desperate to fuck a slut like me and claim her like she’s yours.” 

She presses inward with her tits. You feel your shaft swell even harder. A lift up, then a drop. Repeat. You’re tensing every muscle in your waist as hard as you can. 

“So?” You ask weakly, huffing. “So what, okay- shit. You-” 

Next thing you do is pick up right where you left off. Thrusting into her tits and feel your pace fluctuate to the point that it’s gotten so dirty as you’d imagine fucking her cunt could get, hips smacking skin on skin, into the softness of her breasts, wet sounds and gasps let out through every slap. 

“Right there, cum,” she mutters, irises foggy, straight out of your wet dreams, leaning her neck forward with her jaw hung open so that you can fuck yourself straight into her mouth, look down at your wobbling hips - throbbing and twitching as she drinks in the sight of you nearing that edge. “Fuck my tits like that, cum all over them, wanna feel, wanna hear how much you want me.” 

You say her name, or at least try to. The sound incoherent, broken, and apologetic; just downright humbling. The best thing you can do is make good on your part. Your cock is so deep in between her tits, the messy slick and warmth enveloping you wholly; fingers doing the little adjustments, a rough measure of how her pussy will wreck your dick later - dragging her breasts across the sensitive edges, the lightest touch of her fingers at the top, flicking the underside. It’s too much, too fast, too- 

“God, Karina-” 

“Oooh,” she beams, ecstatic. “Oh my god.” 

Soon you feel yourself spilling everything in the tightest spot of her breasts, mouth slacking as she watches in awe of your cock tensing and erupting your release all over the skin of her chest, her throat. Her chest heaves along with the pulsing, shaking her tits soon after, gently pumping out the remnants of white, squeezing. It’s unholy what she’s doing, eyes glassy and spit slathered across the space, face flushed and chin dripping with your cum; and she lowers herself to where your shaft is in line with her face, pursing her lips - like some money shot - full and getting an appetizer of what’s to come. You ghost your hand to the back of her head, cautiously - the hand between her legs treats to her clit, the other wrapped around your shaft and smacking your dick on her cheek, so it’s a definite premonition come to life: her on her knees and dreamily staring at your dick while she’s soaking up your white hot mess. 

“Aww, well that’s too bad. Couldn’t hold it at the first go. Shame on you,” mutters Karina, grinning and letting out a soft pitiful laugh. 

“You’re fucking insane.” 

“And what are you gonna do about it?” she asks, patting your ass in comfort. She massages her tits right in front of you, the webbing of cum spread across the inner parts of her mounds, in the gap of the heavy curves. “I can’t believe you- God, you came so fucking much.” 

You keep on staring while you’re fighting for the last bits of consciousness left - like if you hit the canvas in a boxing match, and your coach helped you up with counting: one, two, three, four, up, up, up, up; you’ll try to focus on the breathing, take your time, continue to blink while the rest of the world fades out from your vision and all that’s there in the middle is Karina’s sluttiest form fully culminated. That’s all you see: the right angles and curves of her breasts, well sculpted and detailed that you’ll keep observing in reverence. It’s so much to process, the first glance at the scene of the crime, all over Karina, unreal and cute and just- perfect. You’re not dreaming, the nerves in your body overloaded with stimulation to properly conclude that Karina was purely made as a vessel to take limitless loads of cum in and all over her outright beautiful body. 

“Well-” You sigh heavily, a weight lifted off your shoulders. “I’m kinda- ugh. Yeah.” 

But Karina still has you on the palms of her hands, deciding what’s enough on her terms. 

Because one second later, she spreads your legs more and slides her tongue up from your balls and upwards against the underside, then to the tip. She giggles at the feeling of you snapping to attention from the contact, and you sharply inhale at the sensation, ready for more. 

“You should know that you have to deal with me the right way,” adds Karina. “This was just the start.” She then glances down to her fingertips, picking up the cum smeared all over her chest and licks it up, eyes fixated on you with interest while alternating the treatment of her lips to her fingers, to your cock. “Still speechless about my performance?” 

You roll your eyes, flaring your nostrils. “Do you do this with every guy you get in bed with?” 

Karina laughs at that, batting her lashes. “Not really. But if you’re gonna shut me up, make sure it’s with your cock.” 

Her brows light up in excitement when rake your fingers into her hair, pull her back, at the point where she surprisingly gasps. You flick her hand away from your cock, notice her mouth drop lower, expecting you to do as she says: plug one hole up for the time being. 

You don’t do that, though. Your mouth finds hers and it fills the space for the moment. 

A moment where the intimacy reaches the sweetest. In all the right ways, you’re defying her wishes through actions rather than words. Karina forces a high-pitched hum down your throat, clashing her teeth into your face, catching your lip in the midst, pulling. You’re sure she wants to see you hurt - she’s already done that - two can play at that game. 

Your hands slot themselves at the slides of her face, gripping, eager mouth keeping you focused on the task at hand, and it’s second nature when her arms wrap around your neck, lifting her up from the floor. She won’t stop giggling, laughing; the noises a spell of their own, cursing you - an unsaid promise that you’ll give to her even when you’re flipping her around back on the mattress. 

The weight of you two creaks the springs when Karina rolls herself over and finds herself on top of you. You feel her slick folds glide up your leg, the stickiness mixing in with your skin and tainting. Her conquest doesn’t stop there, until she settles the heat over your cock, grinding, the ache alone enough to make you writhe in wanting. 

She flips her head over to one side, breaking the kiss, falling back down for more. Her eyes and yours are both out of focus, panting heavily. She’s fucking unbelievable, a red herring that you had all the wrong ideas for, finally seeing the truest form of her nature being awakened. 

You say something remotely close to your thoughts. 

She looks at you, astounded. 

Sighs. 

You feel her hand cradle your head tenderly. 

Meets your forehead with hers and smiles. 

Tracing a finger to your jaw, pinching the skin soothingly. 

“You’re going to ruin me,” Karina whispers, kissing your cheek. “I hoped it was you to be the last one I try my luck with.” 

You close your eyes because it’s the truth.

Your hand shoots up for the headboard behind you, gripping. She helps grab the other arm and pins them together, captures your lips once more and it’s too intoxicating to fight against. She continues to grind her hips against yours, feel the heat of her cunt and her folds glide above you.

The teasing is insufferable, feeling her warmth wash you over. 

“I’ve waited long enough.” 

The words are at the tip of your tongue, but they won’t come out. 

“I’ve always wanted it to be you,” she carries on, softly laughing as you’re crumbling underneath her weight. “And now, you- and this cock, is mine. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine.” 

She dips your cock in, sinking, slowly, the inches getting swallowed up in increments. You moan in response, kissing her collarbone. You’ve imagined what it would be like, prayed that one day you’d get the glorious chance to be inside this wonderful heat. It’s something else, like a long reward that you’ve sought out for but it's the fact that Karina’s tight cunt is practically making you choke where you could die and be happy with it. 

“Jesus fuck,” you groan, the fibers in your body tensing. She just sighs, hoists her hips up, and sinks back down again. 

She does it again - and again, and again. The movement alone; painstakingly slow and increasing with every passing second. Her hips seizing yours in place and fucking you like that’s all she’s meant for; like this opportunity was a once-in-a-lifetime moment and she’s going to take every advantage of it. As if she feared you telling her to forget everything about tonight and move on like it’s normal. 

“It’s not even fair, the way you make me feel,” sighs Karina, yielding to the pleasure, head dipping down. “I should’ve known - fuck, I really should’ve known. Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

Your hips match hers in a dance, unable to answer. Unwilling to, actually. 

Because you’d rather save the words for later and live in the present, her body consuming you at a rate that shouldn’t be humanly possible. The way she rides on top of you, head and shoulders and arms invading every corner of your being, reigning fire. It’s so fucking good - her cunt, the warmth, the feeling, it’s impossible to think straight and there’s a part of you in the corner of your mind that’s jumping for joy. Walls tearing down from within, freeing you. 

If you’re not careful, it’ll be even worse when you’re guzzling your cum into her tight pussy before she even has had the chance to fuck your cock properly. She’s holding you hostage, bounding your hands with hers - a beautiful punishment to undertake. The moans and sighs alternate, complimenting one another as she continues to jut her hips forward and back - back and forward. “I hate you,” she’s saying, “I hate how you had the fucking guts to not let me try.” 

God, it really is pathetic for you. Karina figuratively digging her fingers into every nook and cranny of your brain, making you want - want to lose it, to be desperate, to be the version of you that’s capable enough to go beat-for-beat with her. The groove of your index and thumb settle at her waist, picking up the pace, use the drag of her cunt across your cock, but Karina grasps your jaw, mouthing an ‘ah, ah, ah’ as a consequence for your eagerness. 

Slamming her ass back down, she chokes an utterance out of you, “Fucking- Karina-” 

And Karina hums, letting her lower half do the work. “What’s wrong?” she asks, all innocent and sweet that doesn’t cover her sinful act. Perfectly calculated in her head of how she’s working you up. “What are you gonna do? Fuck me?” 

She took the words right out of your mouth. 

She finally managed to break you. 

You’re not nice about it, either: breaking the little restraint from her hands, hooking your arms underneath her shoulders, turn her over and yank her hips back to yours. 

The gasps. You want more. 

Karina tests the waters again when she breaks free from your grasp, forcing you to push her down on the mattress by the head, claw your fingers into her scalp, raise her up to flush her waist and hold her mouth open, taking account of the newly formed arch in her back - the perfect fucking bell curve. 

She sighs again. Not in shock, no. In relief. Satisfied, ecstatic, excited, as if she’s finally getting what she wants - for you to have enough and put her in her place. “God, yes. Fuck yes. Fucking do it. Do it! C’mon-” 

You slip yourself inside and shut her up for a second, feel her walls clamp around your throbbing member. “Like this?” You ask, snarling into her ear cuff, pulling her by the hair where she won’t even complain about the pain. “Want me to be like this with you from now on?” 

“You have no idea,” Karina says, nodding frantically, the arch of her hips moving backward against you. “How much I needed this from you.” 

Pushing your buttons and limits is what she does best. 

So you grab her by the throat, give a sloppy placement of your mouth at the corner of her lips, forcing her to look up and back. The angle where your cock is embedded rips her apart at the first slam. You’re going to fuck her. You’re going to fuck her ruthlessly. Fuck her cunt so bad like you’ve always wanted to the day she accidentally flashed herself at you and the image of her figure burned into your memory. 

She keens when you bottom out completely, filling her up to the brim with your cock. Stokes coming along easier and easier as the claps of skin start to reverberate around the walls of your bedroom -  thrusting up into her cunt and not giving a fuck about the rest. 

Karina tugs at your hair, finding a place to hold herself together, hips stilling and moving and eventually freezing. You’re up to the plate now, dishing out the real work far better than her. 

You are going to break her. Pound her ass. Bounce her cunt all over your dick, listen to how her breaths shudder and choke in the stale air with every upstroke. Your mind is working double time - trying to figure out how much she can take, where are her sensitive spots and capitalize on the weak points. 

The hints are in her body, you take that into account. She takes in every inch with her cunt, eyes fluttering shut, sighing in complete adoration. Willing to let you pour every ounce of your being onto her; these feelings, these frustrations. A place where you can let your imaginations run wild, her body a sacred temple built to ruin, in all of the harmonious sounds that come out of her mouth, occasional screams to let you know what you’re doing is right. 

When she cradles the side of your head again, staring forward at the mirror placed behind your bed along the wall, she grins, watching you place a kiss along her throat, leaning her head back to deepen the angle, runs a hand over yours, treating itself to one of her tits. “Baby, you can never have enough of me.” 

That earns her a firm grasp of your arms, pulling her closer. She shouldn’t even be able to speak, let alone have this much fun. You push her down back on the bed, hands sliding down her waist, stopping at the indent of her hips, dragging your cock out and yanking her ass back in. “Do you ever fuck your girls like this?” 

“Are you always this talkative during sex?” 

“Not exactly,” her breath hitches when you bend over the swell of her ass, swipe your finger above her clit to tease. “I’m eager- ah, eager to see,” she bites down her moan when you spread her sopping pussy lips apart, feel her leak even more on your cock, “how far you’d go-” 

You’re getting there, that’s for sure. 

Now you’re wondering what else you can do with her hips up and knees spread wide. 

“Stay right there,” you say, pressing a hand down her spine to deepen the arch, her ass getting bigger at your waist, palm full of fine skin, “and let’s see.” 

Her fast shriek registers a second after you smack the surface, the sound mimicking the crack of lightning. 

You slap her ass, impale yourself back in, watch as your cock disappears from your view. 

Karina’s face dives into the sheets, muffling her scream. 

“Big mistake,” you growl, seeking your fingers into the roots of her hair, snatching. You spank her again. 

And again. 

And again. 

The punishment and reward: you smack her ass, fuck into her, feel her body blossom with heat and flushed with crimson; handfuls of sheets or pillows or anything that’s within reach. Her cunt gushes even more, the throaty moans hiccuping as her body convulses more because of the blowback, and she’s still smiling.

“God- oh my God,” Karina pants, fingers back between her legs as she throws her ass back now, completing the motion. “So forceful.” 

You cup the sides of her waist, press your fingers over the blotches of red, skin rippling each passing second your hips flush with hers. The sounds of the smacks and the gentle creaks of the bed are already erotic enough that the spanking in between is just the cherry on top. 

All that Karina has to do in this situation is to simply ride out the wave of pleasure, body slightly jaded through every firm impact of your cock weaving itself inside her cunt, the vice closing in every millisecond. 

“-so good. You’re so good,” spits Karina, eyes cinched shut; a sharp inhale when you reach that spot, body seizing. “K-keep using my cunt, just like that- wanna feel your dick ruck up inside-” 

You’re grasping at her neck, deepening the angle. You want to melt into her, to feel everything. To fill her mind up with nothing but just you. 

“You did this to me,” you grit, pulling her back on your cock; listen to her stutters for an answer. “This is all on you.” 

But she giggles, head swiveling forward and face first into the pillows, but her wailing still breaks through. She comes back up for air soon after. Whatever she can get, “The plan, baby,” she’s telling you, “It was all part of the plan. Always.” 

That twists your mind in more ways than one. Her mouth, her hands, her body, all within arm's reach. You grasp at her tit again, drive your cock back into her cunt, her moans inching up an octave, and the shimmer coming out of the corner of Karina’s eye gives you all the more reason to keep going. 

“I’ll break you until you’ve had enough,” she breathes out, and her face contorts to something remotely pained, “please, for the love of fuck- don’t stop bouncing my pussy on your- fuck!” 

It hits you when you’ve finally worked Karina to stop talking. Breathless. Heaving. You sigh out of rapture, the feeling washing over you like you got dunked in water. A new enlightenment fully realized - the full manifestation of her creation, and now she’s on the receiving end of it.  

You give her two more firm strokes inside her; drag yourself out and rub your tip over her folds. She wiggles her ass in response, tempting you. Having another fill as her cunt clenches your cock once more, slick soaking up your skin until the friction is almost seamless, siphoning every part of your being just for her. 

This angle is dangerous: the way her stomach is nearly flat, you find your bearings above her, pushing in, too deep, holding her by the hips, anchoring, knees apart and at an angle where they would be if she was kneeling on a pew. Instead, you grab one leg, then the other - get your palms full of her waist in supplication as the undersides of the peak of her thighs meet yours, curves rippling on impact, thrust your cock into her open cunt where you’re rubbing all of the spots at once, gliding in so easily where the pace alone really sets itself into place. Her hand tends to one of her tits, hopelessly keeping it in place while you’re hooking her back for that arch and cementing the motion as your own. The time of teasing and playfulness is over, as you’re chasing to make the aches in her body a problem and sever all the nerves in her system until you can visibly see her limbs shudder - fuck out a complaint from her lips to make you stop and not act so greedy about it; but then your mouth is back on her again, hoping to sedate her thoughts as you let your lower half keep up the work. 

Then you sigh something between the space of the lips, an undertone: “You like this, love?” 

A nod is the only response she can give you, mouth parted and unable to coherently say anything in particular, so grab her chin. 

She’s getting there. You know. You can tell. 

“This pretty little cunt, all for me, no?” 

Karina mouths a ‘fuck’, biting her lip immediately after. 

“I’ll use you in whatever way I want.” 

Her hand swoops over and presses your forehead against hers, whining in pure euphoria.

“Let me hear you,” you urge, hand moving up so you can close her mouth, lighten up on the pressure so that she speaks a bit more freely. “I want you to say it.” 

Karina locks onto your eyes, searching for the right words in your head, and you know she will- 

Because Karina knows that she’ll be good for you. Your perfect little fucktoy. A personal slut who’ll always let you have and you know this well enough since it’s taken you this long to finally see it. “Oh baby it’s all yours, it’s all yours, it’s all yours. I promise- I promise that it’s all yours and it’s no one else’s- I promise it’s only yours just keep fucking-” 

To say that your ego was inflated would be an understatement. But man, words can not describe how much you wanted her to scream it out at the top of her lungs. 

Your groaning matches hers in volume, the bedframe not too far off to scrape across the hardwood. You’re pretty sure that the springs will bounce along with your bodies as well. 

“So pretty,” you praise, kissing her. “I’m gonna have this cunt all to myself. Whenever. Wherever-” 

Karina’s head lolls back and up, clutching onto your neck for added support. Heaving as you’re fucking the air out of her and makes her voice have this raspy tone attached to it: “That’s cute. You won’t have to look very far now that there’ll be one room for us to share.” 

You pause, blinking. Your finger moves a wisp of her hair away from her face, her eyes widening and fulll with sparkles. Never in a million years, you’d find yourself to be in this position - inside of Karina - but here we are. No need to move fast when you’ve done the hard stuff already. 

“So what,” you say, picking up a stable pace in her cunt, saving the dissipating control where you can. What’s there to be left said when it’s already shown? “It’s bad news for you because I’m gonna have you every chance I can get.” 

“You wanna let the whole world know how rough you’re fucking me? Be my guest,” she tells you, palm braced to your waist and moving her hips in this body-roll motion, biting her lip as the entity of sin returns in her mind, taking over. 

“I’m too good for you,” continues Karina, light-hearted and giddy, as if she’s not trying to milk every bit of you into her fucking pussy. “And here I thought I knew everything about you.” 

She’s right about that. Fortunately, this is more than just a dream. This is reality. You have endless memories with her as it is, and you’re positive that you’re excited to create more of them with her. 

“I guess you could say this is one more secret kept away.” 

A hand to your face, gentle. Loving. “My handsome boy.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“You are.” Karina breathes with an airy laugh, voice getting hazier. Cock drunk and fucked out of her mind. It’s working. “So hot.” 

“Gonna talk?” 

“Fuck-” she then sighs, hissing, and the smirk fades from her face, something more warm, languid, laid back. Her mind is gone. “Fuck.” 

You nod and give her a smirk of approval. Proud of your latest curation. The girl that everyone wants, only wants you. The beauty in that exclusivity lifts a weight off your head, and you’re far inclined to accept it head-on. 

“How bad do you want me?” You ask, biting down a kiss to push some life into her. Tears welled up at the corners, letting her feel every inch where you could take it. 

“I should be asking you, how far are you gonna hold out for me?” Karina purrs. “I’ll give you what you want if you let go first.” She tells you, pulling her body upwards and shifting the limbs around before you find yourself sliding back into her where the angle is at her cunt’s hottest point. A spot where you’d never turn back on. 

The pressing of the crease at her knees, legs pushed up high. Your cock is so embedded and consumed by her pussy that you’re having trouble staying upright. 

She then says this mantra - a phrase said differently but its message is very clear: “I’m all yours,” she wails, “I’ll always be yours if you let me- fuck! Only let me have this cock all to myself.” 

It’s happened multiple times before in your life: being wrapped around her finger. But this- this takes the meaning to a whole new level. Her body claims you as its own and you’ll surrender to that discovery for as long as you walk on this earth. 

The strokes keep going, the mindnumbing sensation coming to its fated end - that blissful release and last bits of pent-up feelings of Karina; her cunt a glove, sheathing your cock perfectly with every thrust, clenching around your girth to pump you out. 

You’ve already laid the cards on the table a long time ago or- even now, when she’s seen you in the most vulnerable state, fucking into the mattress so deeply and loudly that you’re not even worried about the potential noise complaint coming from the neighbors. 

She’s calling out your name. Just your name. Nobody else’s. Telling you how to keep fucking her. Hard. Fuck her poor little cunt until you’ve dumped every last bit of your load in her and fill her until she’s leaking out white between her legs. 

“Baby, I can feel you throbbing. Are you gonna cum? Gonna cum so fucking much- Please, I want it. I need it. Just- fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

She loses first. 

And my lord, she’s fucking wrecked. 

You bottom her out and hold her hips in place, cunt quivering and her toes curl and feet in the air, moving with what little mobility they have left because you’re pressing down the underside of her thighs, yelping and wailing and screaming to the point she might break the fucking glass on mirror and windows. 

“Baby. Baby, I can’t fucking move- you son of a bi-” 

Karina’s pussy squelches around your cock, a new layer of slick added to the mix of spit and precum. You pull out halfway and rub her clit at an inhuman rate, feel her liquid sputter out, hit some parts of your body, squirting. 

She’s squirting even more when you’re slapping the head of your cock across her pussy lips, watch her body spazz out and tense up almost like she’s having a seizure or going into shock, blabbering complete nonsense and you’re kissing her harshly on the fine column of her throat. 

You could care less, because all you just want to do is fuck Karina, feel the glide of her cunt become even smoother than before. Read into how her body responds to yours and the mess just gets even more filthier. The sounds- God, the fucking sounds. It’s a perfect harmony. 

The pace steadies with the beat of your heart, thrusting your cock into her cunt and keep her figure moving until she’s able to gather her thoughts, finding the right words along the teeth to where she says: “cum in me, fuck your cum into me,” and the sobs compliments her heaving. “Please, I want it. Give it to me. I wanna be full-” 

It lights a fire under your ass, every ounce of your being finally collapsing. 

You’re managing where you can; burying yourself in the deepest depth of Karina’s pussy, cumming in the hottest point - and the senses and nerves in your body are contracting and expanding in all the right places- 

Your body and Karina’s: finally becoming one. 

Your cock and lips are the sole sources of connection to her as she coos at the multitudes of cum filling her pussy up. 

The embodiment of perfection. The tightness. So snug. You can feel it. Every fiber of your being let out through your release and her small little hole - holding your cock through the pulsing, legs frozen as your arms slither to Karina’s back, exhaling so hard that you’re certain one of your lungs might break. 

“That’s fucking amazing, baby. Oh, baby, keep giving me your cum - I need- I need it, ah. God-” 

You could feel your vision start to blur in and out of blackness, her whimpers and soft moans a gentle sonata, soothing through your high as her fingers grazing across your skin is enough contact to course electricity through you. And you rest your head against hers, taking asylum in the space above her shoulder, hips slowing and breath racked with exhaustion. Her hand rubs against your lower back, massaging the last bits of cum deep while the rest of her body goes limp, sweat glistening all over her skin as if she got baptized, finally blessed with the afterglow. 

“So much cum,” she’s saying, over and over, a prayer in itself, “There’s so much cum in me.” 

You release the restraints of your hands from her body, pulling on her side until her legs start to tangle with yours, cock still wrapped around her pussy, unable to leave or pull out. Her thumb swipes across your eyebrow, tapping the temple. Internalizing the events that occurred just now, reeling away from the pure emotions and the mere point of it all. 

At last, you and her are both drained. Like you’ve gone twelve rounds with her. You’re willing to go one more, because she’ll want that too. 

You’re then combing Karina’s hair down, patting the back of her head while she leans into your chest cavity and showers your collarbones with kisses. She nestles her face deeper when you bring her closer, swooping the sheets from beneath until it covers both of you. 

It’s comforting. This new home. 

It’s everything. 

“Don’t sleep yet,” you whisper to her, kissing her forehead while her eyelids flutter lazily. 

Her head tilts. There’s a slight shake on the ends of her fingertips; she brings them close to her face. You gaze down to see her mouth try to form a few letters - a word - only say nothing at the end of it. 

“It was always you,” she breathes, the projection alone a new belief to instill. Your face shifts to something confused, thrown off. But you’ve repeated and reciprocated the same thing even though most of it was unrequited. “Part of me was worried for like- the longest time, and now-” 

You hush her, her body sinking more into your touch, the warmth encapsulating her like a cocoon. The aches soon settle in and you let the pillowed conversations flow to a more interesting topic. 

–

When the next morning comes around, your mind is doing its best job to make you succumb to the inner machinations of your visions. The effects of the alcohol still present - which explains the partial dizziness, though your memory is kept intact. Most of it feels a bit smudged, like the faint image of a mirage of some haven out in the blistering heat of the desert. Soon your eyes are filled with the endless plane of the ceiling above, and you feel a whole lot lighter- 

The weight pressing down on your arm was no more. 

You arch your back, feel the limited mobility in your lower half, and inhale deeply. 

A prop of your elbow betters your view; realizing the sheets were off your body, your legs slightly spread apart, feel the shocking tingle of nails scratch along your skin, crotch surprisingly warm - not to mention wet. 

Karina looks up with a neat pop off the head of your cock, an airy laugh passing through her lips, slides her tongue up the length before she carries on with bobbing her head between your legs, cock hardening in the heat of her mouth. 

“Jesus fuck-” 

You feel her hand wrap around you, grinning, biting down a patch of skin near the base. She pumps you once, maybe twice, and tilts her face sideways when she sees your jaw slack and lips salivating. 

Well. It's one hell of a way to say good morning. 

“Aw, did I scare you? Well, you better enjoy this because I won’t be waking you up like this unless I feel like it.” 

That’s how all things go, unfortunately. The ways Karina wants you to do these favors of hers.

Except now-

You can bet your ass that you’ll love every fucking second of it. 

[lacy-oh-lacy]

*cough* agatha with a controversially young lover *cough*

✧₊⁺ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟

𝐀/𝐍: I'm combining this with another request for Agatha and a virgin reader because it seemed like a very natural fit. I hope that's okay.

𝐂𝐖: Age gap (reader's in their 20s), Virgin!Reader, Dom!Agatha, Oral (Agatha receiving), fingering, accidental exposure, slightly mean domming

Agatha called you out for eyefucking her the first time you met. Reveling in the flustered panic that followed.

“What? No, no, I um- I didn't mean to-”

“Oh, relax twerp, it takes more than a horny Zoomer to make me clutch my pearls.”

As unimpressed as she seemed with you though, that wasn't the last time she sought you out.

Because apparently, despite your age you made the best potions of anyone in the state, and her need for one drove her right up the grungy stairwell to your apartment.

Dressed to the nines in her expensive blazer and fancy updo, she looked almost comical outside your door, glaring through the threshold. “I'm here for the potion.”

“Shhh.” You ushered her inside, glancing over your shoulder. “My roommates don't know… about my extracurriculars.”

“Of course you have roommates.”

Of course that was the only part of your statement she addressed.

“It’s finished, come in.”

She followed you to your bedroom, a sad little thing, half taken up by your desk alone.

Your college textbooks were pushed precariously to the side to make way for your supplies, from which you plucked a vial and handed it to her.

“Here you go.”

Agatha held it to the light, examining the dark liquid inside with something like approval sparkling in her eyes… At least until you opened your mouth.

“That'll be 500 dollars.” You said, wincing as her inspecting gaze turned to wide, fiery eyes. “...Mam.”

“500 dollars? Are you joking?”

“Sorry. College is expensive.”

You wisely didn't mention that most of your customers were a lot less magically experienced than her and easier to gouge.

“I didn't even bring 500 dollars.”

You sighed. You could -as was evident- really use the money but you weren't going to pick a fight with The Agatha Harkness over it, that was for sure.

“Fine. 100.”

She huffed but reached into a pocket and handed you the bill.

“Great. Just great. Ya know, if you think I'm wound tight now you should see me on a budget.”

“Uh huh.” You couldn't muster sympathy for her if you tried, you doubted you could even brew a potion to. “I'd think at your level you could just magic-up whatever you want... I'm not even sure why you need me.”

Nerve struck, her only reply was a withering glare as she tucked the potion away in an inner pocket of her jacket.

Talking just to fill the silence, shooting your shot because you figured you weren't going to make her any more pissed off, you continued,

“If stress relief is what you're after there are other ways. Free ones.”

You didn't know if she'd catch your meaning, you thought it might be better if she didn't, but oh, she did.

Suddenly, you were the center of Agatha Harkness’ attention, a gleam in her eye and a smirk twisting her face.

“You offering one?”

Your stomach lurched. Did that actually work?

You clawed inwards for any shreds of confidence, enough to get out, “I, well, I could be-”

“That what the discount was for? You wanted a different kind of payment?”

And that threw you off completely.

“What? No, no I-”

“Careful.” She teased. “A sweet little thing like you really shouldn't be offering up what you're not willing to part with.”

She was fucking with you.

And you stumbled right into her trap with no thoughts of getting out.

“I'm not, I mean, I am, I'm willing, if you…”

As much as she clearly enjoyed chewing on your embarrassment, you could tell her patience was thinning by the straining look on her face. She wasn't going to stand there all day waiting for you to get a sentence out.

Fuck it.

Agatha Harkness respects bravery you rationalized, seconds before your lips hit hers.

The terror of free-falling only faded as her lips pushed back against your own, returning your kiss with one more domineering, more violent. So heated your brain was almost melting.

Agatha pulled back, but with swelling lips you hardly felt the difference.

“You sure you know what you're getting yourself into?”

You nodded dumbly, “I’m really into you.”

“Oh, I know you are, Hon, that's not what I'm asking.” Her tone was dark and steady, as soft as a caress. “Do you honestly think you can handle me?”

You swallowed, eyes locked on hers against every instinct to avert them.

“I-I’ll try my best.”

She laughed, a breathy kind of cackle that left a wicked grin on her face.

“Prove it.”

Her hands on your shoulders turned heavy and almost thoughtlessly you sank to your knees under their strength.

“You want me to…?”

She gave you that same look again, like she was waiting for you to catch up and running low on patience.

“Okay… wow, um…”

Your hands, so steady and precise an hour ago while you worked, shook as you reached for Agatha's zipper.

This couldn't have been real, you waited with bated breath for her to slap your hands away.

For someone to jump out of your closet laughing.

For her to pull out a dagger and slit your throat in some kind of virgin sacrifice ritual, because, hey, what was more likely, Agatha Harkness fucking you or killing you?

But her zipper went down, and with a huff Agatha pushed her pants and panties down right along with it.

Holy fuck.

You nearly moaned at the sight of the most perfect cunt you had ever seen in your life. Which was redundant, but it was the only thought your fritzed, virgin brain would supply.

But with white-hot lust came a knot in your stomach as it dawned on you that hundreds of years of experience was staring you down.

How could you possibly live up to that? Be adequate even?

“This is where you lick it.”

You startled at her gravelly voice.

Right. Try now, wallow in your inevitable failure later.

“Should we lock the door first?” you asked, glancing at your crudely installed cheap lock.

“I don't know, should we?” She asked rhetorically, looking like she was seconds away from pushing your head where she wanted it herself.

“Right, nevermind.”

You dove forward, licking straight up her slit and earning a catch in the older woman's breath.

Was she surprised? Expecting you to back out just as much as you expected her to?

Wetness gathered on your tongue, a taste of pure sex that made your head spin. You heard yourself moan. Go figure you’d be the first one to.

You lapped greedily at her cunt, a sloppy exploration that you could've spent an eternity on, but Agatha wasn't having that.

“More.” She exclaimed, halfway between a moan and a growl.

You weren't too inexperienced to know what that meant.

You dragged your tongue up and prodded around for her clit, barely making out the little bud.

Okay. Now what?

You wracked your brain for sex tips. The alphabet trick? Did that even work in real life?

Testing the waters, you used your tongue to spell out your name on her clit, and in a flood of relief and liquid heat you heard a breathy, little moan above you.

Her bundle of nerves swelled under your tongue, hardening into something defined, something easy to play with.

“Oh! That's it! That's a good girl.”

God, she was gonna make you cum on the spot talking like that.

Lust caving in your brain, your licks dissolved to messy, thoughtless circles and crosses. Not that Agatha seemed to mind.

You glanced up at her with hazy vision. Her arm was pressed to her forehead, fist closed as tightly as her eyes. She was already so close.

Possessed by a desperate need to give her that final push over the edge you brought your fingers to her pussy, sliding two inside of her in a gentle thrust.

Agatha moaned through gritted teeth, clenching hard around you while you curled inside her, grazing her g-spot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Saliva and Agatha’s own wetness dripped down her legs, down your hand, down your chin. She trembled beneath you, breath hitching and coming back a choked sob.

Violent flutters errupted beneath your tongue and around your fingers, but you didn't dare ease up without her command, you didn't until she broke off panting.

“Easy, Tiger, what are you doing? Going for two?” She all but gasped out.

“Sorry.” You said, no more composed yourself. “So, um, was that okay?”

She laughed, “yeah, you did good.” As if remembering that she was the wicked witch of Westview she twisted her features into something meaner. “But don't get too cocky, it's been a long time for me.”

Before you could be proud of the praise or offended by it being cut down you jolted -nearly out of your skin- with the click of your door opening.

“Woah! Ever heard of a sock on the door?”

Oh fuck.

You couldn't even look at your roommate. Wide, apologetic eyes on a groaning Agatha pulling her pants up. Annoyed but not quite embarrassed about this stranger getting an eyeful of her ass.

With her own scolding gaze burning into yours you could only cringe deeply, watching as any chance of Agatha returning the favor faded into the abyss.

“I gotta say, I think this warrants a refund.”

[rememberwren]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Easy breezy beautiful premature ejaculation. Hypersexual!Simon/fem!reader. Discussion of edging. Cumming untouched.

-

“If we do this,” he says around his cigarette, “then we do it my way.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you admit cautiously, turning your hands palm up as if to show you have no weapons, no tricks up your sleeve. I’m innocuous, your posture says. His own says: I’m still deciding, with his tense shoulders and narrowed eyes. “This weird, femdom thing. So I appreciate your guidance. Because I know fuck all—“

“You’re no femdom—Jesus, fuck, I can’t talk about it anymore,” he grits out. He takes a step back and away, creating distance, exhaling a plume of smoke that makes him look strangely ethereal in the evening light. Against your will, your eyes flicker down to just below his belt buckle and oh god. He’s hard. 

“Just from talking about it?”

The look he gives you could melt ice. It could sublimate it. You cringe, knowing you were in the wrong, wishing you could reach out and snatch the words right out of the air. He’s trusting you with this. The last thing he needs is to feel like a joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have—you’re not a, a science experiment or something—“

“Wouldn’t mind that so much. Might figure out what the fuck’s wrong with me. Less interested in being treated like I’m part of a circus troupe,” he grumbles. He drops the cigarette and grinds it to ash beneath his boot. He asks: “Inside?” 

-

Gingerly, so gingerly, he undoes the button of his jeans and unzips them. He holds his breath as he works the denim down his thick thighs. God, is he built: muscles made for more than just show. His history is inscribed on his body in its strength and in its scars, scars of white and pale pinks that darken to purple in the lamplight. He’s wearing boxer briefs, straining at the front from his erection, and they are soaked. You’re surprised that he hasn’t soaked straight through to his jeans. 

“Don’t look,” he grits out through his teeth. You look away, unsure where to cast your eyes to, and settle for shutting them. He explains: “Can’t take the way you’re looking at me.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, feeling your face flush hot. 

“Just—let me—” you hear the sound of fabric rustling. He kicks off his jeans—you can tell by the soft sound of them landing against the floor off the side of the bed. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, eyes squeezed shut, hands clenching in your lap. 

“Nothing just—fuck. No way I’m going to last.” He sounds bitterly disappointed. 

“That’s the point of this, right? To get better at lasting?” 

He sighs, a long-suffering sound, like this discussion is well worn and frustrating to him. Something in you shrivels, and it takes your body with it as best as it can, sending your shoulders hunching inwards, your head ducking down. You pick at one of your nails by feel alone, eyes still closed, and nearly jump when his fingers brush your knee. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “You’re right. That’s what this is for. Might as well get used to embarrassing myself.” 

“That’s the spirit." 

He snorts. More fabric rustles, and at length he says: “Alright. You can look. Just…you can look.” 

You open your eyes hesitantly. His cock is right there—and Jesus. It makes sense, proportionally, but it is frightening in a very real sense. You’re already doing the math, measuring in your head and comparing to your past precedents. Ghost would have them all beat, quite comfortably, in length and girth. He’s cut, which surprises you, but isn’t a turnoff. He keeps himself landscaped nicely, which you appreciate, even if it isn’t necessary. 

He is flushed a ruddy pink, the head darker than the rest. As you stare, it jerks, a bead of precum welling at the tip. Suddenly one of his large, scarred hands reaches down and grips the base of his cock in a painful hold, hissing in a breath through his teeth. 

“Can’t look at me like that,” he admonishes again. 

“Like what?” you ask, a little defensive. You’re just looking! You have to look, right? 

“Like you want it,” he mutters. 

God, does he really have no idea? No inkling of how badly you want to sit on that monster in his hands? No notion of how wet you’ve been since your conversation in the parking lot? Sure you aren't like him, not about to spring off if the breeze was just right, but you are anything but unaffected. Still, it seems like the wrong moment to educate him on your attraction to him and his cock, so you do your best to morph your expression into one of unimpressed ambivalence and hoped it helps. 

“I’m ready when you are,” you say, interrupting his deep breathing exercises. He nods but doesn’t give you the go-ahead, not for another minute or two, until his chest stops heaving and he can remove his hand from the vice grip he has around his balls. His cock has a near purple tinge, and you wonder if maybe he should have rubbed one out in the bathroom beforehand just to take the edge off. Oh well, it’s a thought for next time. 

“Go ahead,” he says, like he’s giving you permission to pull the trigger on him during a game of Russian Roulette. 

You reach out—his cock twitches, a nice warm welcome if you’ve ever seen one, but you hesitate. Your hand is dry. Should you ask for lube? How does he usually jerk off? Dry? You have a feeling he doesn’t mind the discomfort; he seems like he has a self-destructive streak a mile wide. His eyes are fixed at a point on the ceiling, his chest unmoving as he holds his breath. You decide that some sort of lubrication is better than none—so you lick a broad stripe up your palm. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, a little punched-out sound. Sometime between opening your mouth and licking your palm, his eyes had transferred from the ceiling to your face, to the flash of your tongue and your wet palm. His eyes widen, irises swallowed up by the pupils, and he says again, more urgently: “Oh fuck.” 

He reaches down to grip the base of his cock again, but it is too late: he cums. His abs are thrown into sharp relief as he tenses with each pulse, cock jerking against his brutal grip. He doesn’t even jerk himself off—just ruins it as you stare with your mouth open and your hand wet, watching him splatter seed against the coarse line of hair that runs from his belly button to his cock all because he watched you lick your hand. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, throwing one arm across his eyes, breathing heavily. His mouth is flushed a pretty red, like he has been kissing. His hand clenches into a fist as he says: “I’m sorry. I tried not to.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, your nearly brain blue-screening from how turned on you are. You lower your hand and wipe it dry on your leggings. “That’s what this practice is for—so you don’t do it when it really counts. We can try again tomorrow or something.” 

He snorts. “Tomorrow? Give me five fucking minutes.” 

[psychoticallykind]

Prompt: Name

"Name" - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 555 words

Warning, sort of: Vague Death Threat

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

"Regulus."

"No."

"Darling."

"No."

"Love."

"No."

"Reg."

"Not happening."

"Regulus."

"James, I don't care how many times you say my name, it's not happening."

Everything went quiet for a moment, and Regulus thought maybe James had given up.

"I really love the shirt you're wearing today."

James's tone - soft and quiet, just loud enough to reach Regulus through the door - made his cheeks burn, and he scowled at the closed door.

"Green is a beautiful color on you. Sometimes I see you in green, and I think it might be my new favorite color. You make everything look so pretty, Reg. I don't think I really understood how a color should look before I saw it on you."

Regulus closed his eyes, trying not to melt at the words.

"You're just - Merlin, you're everything, do you know that? You're everything to me. And I've never seen you as anything less than breathtakingly radiant."

"If I keep the door closed, then you'll never have to," Regulus replied.

"If you keep the door closed, I can't perform the counter-charm."

"It'll wear off on its own."

"In ten hours, Reg. You have to eat something."

"I'll be fine."

"Regulus, darling, love of my life. Please."

"No."

There was a quiet sigh. "Do I get a reason?"

Regulus considered. "You'll laugh at me."

"I promise you I won't."

"You will."

"Regulus."

"No."

"Okay," James said. "Alright. We can sit here for nine more hours."

Regulus frowned. "You don't have to stay."

"Love, I'm staying."

Regulus was sure he'd leave eventually. "You'll get bored."

"Probably, yeah."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "And what, you'll still sit there?"

"Yes. I'll be right here when you do come out."

Regulus huffed. Then he unlocked the door. "If you laugh at me, I'm breaking up with you."

"I'll never, I promise."

Regulus didn't believe it for a second. "It's unlocked."

"May I come in?"

Regulus rolled his eyes. "I said it's unlocked, didn't I?"

"I still need your permission, love."

Warmth spilled through Regulus's veins, and he grinned involuntarily. "You have my permission. Come in."

"Thank you." The door swung gently inward, and James stepped into the bathroom. He visibly bit down on his smile when he saw Regulus.

"You said you wouldn't laugh," Regulus reminded him, crossing his arms.

"And I'm not," James replied, visibly amused. "It's just - well. You know."

"I know." Regulus glared. "Fix it?"

"Of course." James murmured the spell, and Regulus's bright yellow skin returned to its normal shade. "There, all better."

"Hmph." Regulus fell forward, letting James catch his weight. "That was an awful spell."

"Yes, Sirius and Barty were dealing with Snape when I left," James replied, smoothing his hands down Regulus's back. "And I think Pandora was about to help."

"Hope she kills him," Regulus muttered.

James hummed. "Usually I'd try to curb the violence, but this time I kind of agree."

"I was yellow," Regulus whispered in horror. "Yellow, James."

There was a muffled sound, and Regulus bit down on James's shoulder.

"Ow." James ruffled his hair. "Sorry. Yes, it was awful. I'm so sorry that he turned you - um, that he -" James dissolved into laughter. "-yellow. Such a bright shade of yellow."

Regulus scowled, holding James closer. "I'm breaking up with you."

James broke down laughing again.

Against his will, Regulus felt himself smile.

[pascalispretty]

each man's mad desire

General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Marcus Acacius is a conqueror. You invite him to conquer you.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: marcus fucks a nymph, predator/prey, knifeplay, blood, thigh riding, rough sex, sorta consensual-non-consent? Reader very explicitly wants him and invites him to hunt her down. Marcus has an unfashionably huge dick.

A/N: I swore I wasn't going to write for another character from an unreleased film, yet here we are. I loved studying Classics, so there are easter eggs within for those familiar with mythology. "Nymph" is more Greek than Roman, but it's also the better-known version of the word. Barcinus is a completely made-up cognomen for him (from the Latin name for Barcelona). Ichor is a Greek concept, but too delicious not to borrow here. Big dicks really were considered unattractive - it was a sign of barbarism to have a big penis. Title from Book IX of The Aeneid. Painting is 'The Charmer' by John William Waterhouse. (ao3)

The battle is won, the men are settled, and General Marcus Acacius is restless. He wears the efforts of the day in the blood and grime and sand coating his skin, the ache in his muscles. The city is retaken. The barbarians have been slaughtered or captured. He knows he should rest.

And yet, he wanders.

The camp is close by the beach. As he walks, the sound of the army behind him fades away, drowned out by the sound of the sea. The inviting aroma of the campfires and roasting meat is replaced by the smell of salt. There are sentries out here, somewhere in the night. He pays them no mind; he wishes to be alone. Grass turns to sand underfoot and still Acacius walks on. At the edge of the sea, he pauses briefly.

Across the Great Sea, to the east, stands Rome. It’s veiled by darkness and distance, but he turns to look for it anyway. He misses it the way a loyal son misses a beloved father. Word of a great victory will travel before him, the whispers moving faster than any army can.

When he returns home, he hopes he will be warmly welcomed. Those seeking to ride his skirts into Imperial favour will doubtless fall over themselves to praise him, at least. They will preen and flatter, and he will nod humbly and thank them.

“The Gods were with me.” It is always his answer, when asked of his victories. It is a clean answer. Men praise him for his piety; they do not imagine the lives he has sacrificed, the atrocities he has committed, the horrors of sacking a city. The Gods were with him; he does not have to speak of loosing his men like feral dogs upon innocents, of slaughtering barbarian sons so they cannot grow up to seek their vengeance on Rome.

Acacius turns and walks down the beach, leaving the camp behind him. The silvery light of the stars and moon light his path along the coast. He simply enjoys being away from all others, the crash of the waves and his own footsteps the only noise he can hear. The ground to his right begins to rise, soft grass yielding to rock. He has no sense of how long he has walked for when the beach before him suddenly ends. The shoreline curves sharply inward, creating a rocky inlet.

He has no desire to turn back now. Perhaps the path reemerges on the other side. He follows the curve of the stone inward. Ahead, he can see the path sloping down towards the waterline, leading towards the dark mouth of a cave. The tide is coming in; the water at the entrance to the grotto must be at least knee-deep.

Acacius is turning to leave when he notices her.

The inlet in the rock forms a pool at the entrance to the cave. Even in the silvery moonlight, the water looks beautiful and clear. It should not surprise him that a maiden might come to bathe there, away from prying eyes.

For it is a maiden that stops him in his tracks, fixes his boots to the stone. Her back is turned to him; she is perched atop a rock, her bare feet dangling in the saltwater of the pool. Now that he is aware of her, he thinks he hears her singing over the sounds of the waves, a melody he does not recognise.

An honourable man would depart. Acacius can only see her back, but she must be noble. Her dress is so white it is almost blinding, even in the starlight. Her feet are bare, but he spies a pair of finely-wrought sandals on the rocks beside her. Certainly a noble lady then.

His mind is made up to leave.

And at that very moment, she turns.

***

You had not expected to be discovered. Perhaps you might have toyed with him if you had. You could have disguised yourself as a maiden in need of assistance, a princess cast ashore by a shipwreck. There are endless amusements to be found among the mortals.

Yet he has stumbled upon your grotto quite by accident, and from your first glimpse, he intrigues you.

Marcus Acacius Barcinus.

Something whispers his name to you; you know it as soon as you see him, just as you know he has dark hair threaded with grey. You allow a smile to play on your lips.

To his credit, this man does not move. Confronted with something so nakedly celestial, other men have lost their minds. What is it for a man to look upon the face of the divine? They do not always survive it. This one seems strong. He may yet survive you.

“Hail, noble General,” you start, turning in your seat on the rock so you may face him more directly. He is a handsome one. His lovely dark eyes drink you in from head to toe.

“You know me?” He manages after a moment. Not mad then, not yet anyway. You laugh, and he seems startled by the sound.

“I do.” Sliding off the rock you step into the water, your stola clinging to your skin. “General Marcus Acacius Barcinus, son of Gaius Acacius. Your piety is known.” He is always attentive with his sacrifices. You can smell the burning flesh and spilled wine dedicated to the heavens from here, in honour of his latest victory.

You take a few steps towards him. He’s still atop the rocky crest, almost looking down on you. You near the base of the slope, your skirts drying the moment they leave the water, and halt again. The mouth of the grotto is to your back; you can hear the lap of the waves echoing against the rocky walls.

“And which noble goddess do I have the honour of addressing?” He asks. You have many names, too many to sift through. A mortal wrote you into a poem once; you give him the name the poet gave you.

“I had not thought ever to look upon a nymph before.” There is something in the way he says it; a tone of disbelief colouring his voice. It’s as though he expects to wake up in his tent at any moment. In the dark violet light of twilight, the blood on his skin looks brown and rusty. You can almost taste the iron on the air.

“Are you content merely to look?” You ask him, a sly smile on your lips. You already know he is not. This man is a conqueror, and he is looking at you with all the intensity and desire of a man set upon conquest. He does not speak for a long moment. Perhaps he is afraid of offending you, of saying the wrong thing and finding himself transformed into a pig or sea foam.

You walk a little closer to him, emerging from the water. Closer now, the smell of him drowning out the salt of the sea. He reeks of man, of blood and sweat and such pure vitality you nearly stagger. He’s so breathtakingly alive. If all mortal men are thus, you understand why your sisters seek them out and take them to bed, even bear their children.

“I admire a man who knows how to take what he desires. A conqueror in all things,” you continue, feeling the warmth of his gaze as he watches the sway of your hips. Once you are an arm’s length away from him, you reach out. You cannot help it. He’s such a marvellous specimen of manhood, the kind that ought to be honoured with a kingdom or a divine son or his form traced in the stars.

He does not stop you when you rest your palm against the leather of his cuirass. It’s warm to the touch, whether from the heat of his body or a day of the sun beating down upon it. The black leather has a gilded woman’s face across the front; Minerva perhaps. It gives you pause. If he values Minerva and her strategies above Mars and his frenzy, he may not enjoy your games.

Nevertheless, you will not let the tastes of mortal men unnerve you. He watches you as you undo the knot at one shoulder, and wordlessly reaches to help you. Together, the two of you free him from his heavy armour. As he sets it down gently against the rock, you nearly choke on him. You can hear the thrum of his heart, smell the salt of his sweat, the iron in his blood.

You have never starved. Yet this conqueror of men is like being blessed with a feast and realising for the first time that you have been dying of hunger all your life. Freed from his heavy leathers, you step so closely to him that your glimmering white dress brushes against his filthy red tunic. You reach out to cup his jaw, enjoying the way his skin feels to your touch.

He swallows thickly, his lovely eyes searching your face.

“I want you.” He says it simply, though you know it must have taken courage. Men have died for such insults before. You let a smile curl around your lips.  

“Mars himself had my maidenhead. I do not submit easily to the advances of men.” Standing on tiptoe, you lean in until your lips nearly touch the shell of his ear. “If you want me, you will have to take me.”

It’s all the prompting you give him before you turn and run.

You run down the beach, back the way he came. You have more powerful kin who could outrun him with ease, if they chose. Minerva could be a continent away in moments, if she chose. You do not have their same powers; you might be fleeter of foot than a mortal woman, but you cannot transform yourself into a swan and fly back to the heavens.

Behind you, you hear Acacius’ feet pounding against the sand. The noise blurs with the roar of his heartbeat, thumping harder as he chases you. You run faster, pulling your skirts up with one hand so they cannot tangle around your legs. It has been far too long since you felt this exhilarated. Off in the distance, you can see the lights of his camp, the torches and bonfires burning brightly in the twilight.

You lose yourself to the chase, paying the distance no mind as you race down the beach. Sand flies up beneath your bare feet, gritty under your toes as you run. Something in you wants to turn around, to see if the handsome general is still close behind you. You can hear him well enough to know he is behind you, but not well enough to gauge the distance.

You don’t look. You only run.

Even though you had invited the hunt, desperately hoping to be caught, the hand that catches your waist surprises you. He seizes you by the waist and tackles you into the sand, pinning you beneath his muscular bulk. The feeling of being trapped sends a perverse thrill racing through you, something warm stirring in your belly.

Though he has caught you, you do not give in so easily.

You thrash underneath him, trying to throw him off you. Acacius is unyielding. His large hands grip your arms; his knees squeeze at your sides. You get one arm free and bring it up. You’re not sure what you intend to do; you don’t want to break him. Scratch him, perhaps? You never get the chance to find out.

Before you see him move, he seizes your arm and pins your wrist beneath his foot. One hand flies to your throat; the other draws a dagger from its sheath and holds the point against the swell of your breast.

For a long moment, you cannot breathe. The large hand at your throat squeezes just enough to threaten a loss of air. The foot on your wrist makes the delicate bones there grind together on just the right side of pleasure-pain. And oh, the blade at your heart. The tip pierces your skin and you don’t know whether to scream or cry or vomit from the shock.

You have never been so still in your life.

When has anything mortal ever pierced your skin? When has anything mortal managed to cut through the skin of your kith and kin? You have vague memories; bandaging Mars’ side after the great spearman Diomedes struck him outside Ilium. You watch in horror and awe as a bead of ichor seeps from the pinprick wound. Mars has made you bleed before, but you never thought a mortal might draw your glittering, golden blood.

You look up at him, your conqueror. He is panting hard, but his face shows no exhaustion; only determination. His eyes are nearly black with desire, and his lovely black and grey curls are damp with sweat. Gods, you want him. You want him to hunt you down as he would a deer, to throw you down and take you like some common mortal whore.

Watching you closely, Acacius eases his grip on your throat. A man used to gauging the weakness of his enemies has seen right through you in turn. He knows you do not need air to breathe. He knows he has done something astounding in the knife at your breast. He holds it steady as he reaches beneath the skirts of his tunic, pulling at the strings of his underthings. He pulls it free with a grunt and discards it beside you in the sand.

Free from its confinement, his manhood pushes against the skirt of his tunic. Something low in your belly twists in anticipation, slick coating the insides of your thighs. Your blood feels as though it’s boiling beneath your skin as Acacius grips the fine cloth of your stola in one filthy hand.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes upon,” he tells you, in all sincerity. You tremble underneath him as he pushes your skirts up around your waist, another bead of ichor welling up around the tip of the blade.

You gasp as the metal shifts, and his eyes flick to your face. Almost lovingly, his hand wraps around your throat again.

“Do you yield?” When no reply is immediately forthcoming, he presses his advantage. The hand at your throat and foot at your wrist push harder; more glittering blood beads at your breast. The surface tension finally breaks, sending the blood dripping down towards your neck.

“I yield.” In an instant, he relaxes his hold. The foot on your wrist disappears, as does the blade. The hand on your throat remains, tipping your head up so he can kiss you. He kisses like his master, Mars; hard and demanding. You return the kiss with bruising intensity, nipping at his lower lip. It seems only fair that you make him bleed a little, in turn.

His beard prickles against your skin, and you answer it by sliding your hand into his curls and pulling roughly. Acacius groans against your mouth, crushing himself closer to you and forcing your legs apart with his knee. His muscular thigh presses against your bare cunt, the pressure sending liquid fire dancing through your body. You rut up against his thigh eagerly, your slick smearing against his skin.

Acacius notices your movements, breaking off the kiss to stare at you. The raw lust in his eyes makes you keep going, rocking your hips desperately against him. His thigh flexes between your legs, and you groan loudly. Without taking his eyes off you, his hand drifts to cup your breast, tantalisingly close to the tiny wound on your unblemished skin.

“Are you going to stab me again, slayer of men?” You ask him, tauntingly. You wouldn’t mind if he did.

“No, dear mistress. I’ll watch you debase yourself on my thigh.” Oh, you want to keep him. Your sisters have kept mortals before; you remember well the fuss around sweet Hylas, cunning Ulysses. Your conqueror finds your nipple through the fine material of your dress, the flesh stiffening beneath his fingers as he toys with you.

Your hips roll easier, faster as you sink deeper into your pleasure. Every glide becomes slicker as you soak his skin. It’s been some time since you’ve so blatantly sought your own pleasure, and you welcome it back eagerly. That familiar tension is coiling tightly in your belly and sends you spiralling higher with every movement.

Acacius watches you with fascination. His own pleasure is forgotten for the moment, though you suppose he is enjoying this. Something divine rubbing against him like a cat in heat; no man alive would believe him if he told them. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps and you clutch at Acacius’ wrist to ground yourself. He’s so solid and warm to your touch; his vitality is unlike any aphrodisiac you have ever known.

It’s not long before you come with a cry, your nails digging into Acacius’ skin as you shudder against him. The fire in your belly burns through you, the heat of it radiating out to your fingertips. It leaves you boneless beneath your conqueror. He seizes the advantage, pulling your legs wider apart to slot his other leg between them.

You struggle. Why not? It amuses you to make him manhandle you into place. He pulls your legs wider with one hand. With the thumb of the hand at your breast, he presses just below the cut. The burst of pain makes you hiss. Cowed, you let him pull your legs apart, his eyes feasting on your cunt. You must look a mess, swollen and soaked.

Acacius lets go of your leg and pulls up the hem of his tunic. He’s big, unfashionably so for his countrymen. Beads of fluid leak from the reddened tip, and he swipes them away with his thumb. He settles himself between your thighs, and you gasp when he notches the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. Without warning or reprieve, he forces his cock inside you.

You throw your head back against the sand, stars exploding against your closed eyelids as you dance along the knife edge of pleasure and pain. A deep groan rumbles out of Acacius’ throat as he presses deeper, working against your tight muscles to seat himself within you. He’s unrelenting, his length thick and twitching as it fills you.

There’s no other word for it; you wail up at the star-strewn sky, pleasure flooding through you. Your body feels too small to contain the fire being stoked inside you, deep in your core. You pull at Acacius, nails clawing, dragging him down to kiss you. His lips meet yours in a messy crash, all tongues and teeth as he finally seats himself fully within you.

He barely allows you a moment to adjust. He retreats almost fully, his cock nearly leaving you completely, before sliding back in with one fluid stroke of his hips. You’re shaken by how willingly your body accepts him, colouring any pain with so much pleasure you barely notice the discomfort. His hand finds your throat again, squeezing just enough to make you feel lightheaded.

Acacius’ incursions become sharper, harder, as he finds his rhythm. Your hands slide under the hem of his tunic to clutch at his back, your nails leaving behind tiny red crescents in his skin. Every breath you take is shared by him, your mouths so close together you can taste the wine lingering on his tongue. The two of you move together, your moans melting into one another as you fuck like animals in the sand.

It doesn’t take him long to send you over the edge again. Bliss wipes all words from your mind; you can only lie there and let your release crash over you. The ichor in your veins feels like it’s singing. Acacius looks down on you in awe, and it only drives you higher. You want to keep him. The Heroic Age is too far past; the world is lacking for heroes. Perhaps you and Acacius can make a few; handsome, strong boys, half-god children who reflect their father’s divine favour.

“Would you give me sons, Acacius?” You ask, breathless at his onslaught. Your foreheads are pressed together still; you cannot see the look on his face. He groans sharply, his hands clutch tighter at you. Is that a yes? What greater blessing to a pious man than a son born to a goddess.

He certainly shows no signs of stopping. He fucks you with the same vigour he fights with. You feel like you’re floating, high above your own body, lost completely to pleasure. Jupiter himself could command you to stop, and you’d be unable to obey. You grow restless beneath him. His hand has slackened around your throat, so you lean down to lick a line across his neck. The taste of salt and iron explodes across your tongue, so delicious that you have to force yourself not to sink your teeth in.

Acacius grunts above you, forcing you back down against the sand. His hips are stuttering; a sign that he’s close to his own release. You want to cry, want to prolong this as much as possible, but you know he has limits. Your sisters have pushed mortal men too far before; you will not make the same mistake, not with so delicious a playmate.

Instead you spur him on. Your nails dig harder into his back, making him groan sharply. His short, desperate thrusts make your eyes roll back into your skull as he touches something deep and private within you, unknown to anyone else.

“I- I must-” He starts, words failing him as he chases his release. You pepper his face with kisses, nip at his kiss-swollen lips.

“You must,” you agree. “I want you to fill me up.” You’re both breathless, barely any air between your bodies to breathe. One of your hands slides into his curls, pulling at them. You guide his head down until your lips are at his ear again.

“I could give you a son,” you whisper. “But only if you finish inside me. Claim me; mark me as yours. Conquer me.”

He tips over the edge with a loud groan, his hips stuttering as he comes. You can feel his cock twitch inside you as he does, filling you with his seed. Perhaps something might catch; he seems virile enough. You cradle his head against the crook of your neck as he catches his breath, his body heavy as he relaxes on top of you.

“Noble Acacius,” you murmur fondly, stroking his curls. “Marcus. What do you make of your new conquest?” He is quiet for a long moment. The crash of the waves fills the silence, the tide drawing closer. Soon, the two of you will have to move.

“I shall never know another victory like it.”

Taglist:

Tagging some people who might be interested: @iamasaddie (per their request for Acacius filth) @avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @its-nebuleuse

[luveline]

Heyyyy can you do a Hotch x reader where readers just kinda been down all day but doesn’t wanna tell Hotch because she’s kinda used to being the badass with all her walls up? And hotch kinda pulls her to the side and forces it out of her 😊😊

thank you for requesting!! fem, 1.2k

Hotch has dark hair. He’s an older guy but he’s yet to grey, hair like the strands are soaked with coal pitch, even darker under the office lights. He braces his hand on the desk and ducks toward Spencer’s computer screen, pointing at a corner with patience. 

“This one,” Hotch says. 

“Why would they organise it like this?” Spencer asks, his voice bordering incredulous. 

“I’m not sure. You’ll remember where this is?” 

“Do you usually have to tell me more than once?” Spencer says lightly. 

“Ask your licence to carry.” 

You’d laugh, his wit quick and poor Spencer a good sport, but your head feels heavy with a forming upset. Like your mind has turned to thick porridge. You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but you don’t feel angry, more magnificently empty. Nothing is touching beyond your surface level. 

“Thank you, sir,” Spencer says. 

You ignore the weight of a gaze on you while you click through your emails, prioritising what needs to be answered before the end of the day, the end of the week, and the end of the month as Hotch taught you to. You double click an email chain from a consult you’d been assigned from out of state and reread your response, nervous that your lack of confidence today might have shone through blunt wording. Hotch is looped into the chain —he can correct any glaring errors should you have made them. 

“Hey,” Hotch says when you don’t look up. He doesn’t use your name, and he doesn’t need to. “I’d like to talk to you. Let’s go up to my office.” 

“Can I have a half hour to work through my emails?” you ask apologetically.

“I’d prefer we talk now. Any overdue reply can be blamed on me,” he says. 

The way he talks is natural to him but perhaps strange if it were another person, with another disposition. You know Hotch to be both gentle and stern at once. His tone leaves little room for debate, but it reassures you to hear the measured cadence of each word without rush. The openness of his expression is similarly comforting, and though he doesn’t know it —you would never own up to feeling this way, verbally or physically— you’d quite like to be comforted by him. Even if he takes you to the office to reprimand you, you’ll at least have been near him for long enough to forget your odd aching. 

Hotch doesn’t walk until you do, taking each step by side until he gets to the office, where he opens the door to encourage you in. 

You drift a few feet inward, shoes soft on clean, crisp carpeting. Hotch closes the door, where he stands momentarily, silence held.

“Everything okay?” you ask. 

Hotch pulls out one of the two black chairs in front of his desk and gestures for you to sit. “Everything’s okay,” he says, standing back to give you space to sit, his hand moving to rest on the back of the chair as you sit. It whines as you shift to see him. “With me, everything’s okay. How about you?” 

“Everything’s fine with me.” 

You’d pad your explanation out if you didn’t think he was about to tell you what you’re in the brig for. No one likes a nervous Nelly. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

You glance at his hand behind you and he moves it swiftly. “Hotch?” you ask tentatively. 

“I’ve noticed you aren’t yourself today.” 

“I’m completely myself.” 

“It’s not like you to stare into space.” He frowns. “I want to sit down because I don’t like towering over you, but I don’t want you to internalise this as a meeting.” 

“You’re not towering over me, Hotch.

His frown doesn’t ebb. “…We each have our own unique levy to carry the weight of, I know that. But it’s not… nice, to see you like this. I’d like to know what’s wrong.” 

Again, no nonsense and reassuring at once. 

Maybe he is towering a little. You avert your gaze from his, feeling uncharacteristically meek for a weak moment. 

“I think I woke up mixed up,” you confess eventually, picking at a stray thread on your skirt until the tips of your fingers burn. “Like, nothing happened to upset me, but I…” 

“You do feel upset.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“You’re not sure why?” 

“Not really. I think that–” You lick your lips nervously, not finding the right words, wanting to be vulnerable and simultaneously reluctant to show him anything he might not like. “I think it’s lots of smaller things and they’re layering on top of each other. Do you get that?” 

“All the time. Though usually my way of dealing with it is less pleasant for others.” He looks down at you steadily. “And yours,” —he aims enough fondness at you to stop your heart— “is self-contained. But I don't want you to think you’re walking through life unseen.” 

“Unseen,” you repeat. 

He stands very still. “Can I touch your face?” he asks quietly. 

You don’t know why he’d ask, but you say, “Yes, please.” 

“Please,” he says. You’re repeating each other. The air in the room feels thicker as he lifts his hand to your cheek and cups it gently. “When you’re upset, I notice. I can’t help but notice.” Your face lists into his palm slowly, worried he’ll move, but he holds you and he watches you with care. “Is there anything I can do to make it all feel better?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “No?” 

You close your eyes. “No,” you say, matching his volume. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” he murmurs. 

“Sorry, I’m okay,” you say, asking yourself to move away from his touch, but unable to force it, “I’m gonna…” 

It’s a boundary crossed, but you and Hotch are good at that. He’s constantly treating you with more sweetness than a boss should show toward his employee, and you eat it up despite every instinct in you that says you shouldn’t. So you won’t tell him you’ve had a bad day until he asks, and even then, you have nothing permanent to offer him for fixing, and still he’ll hold your face and make it feel ordinary. Like he’s touched you a hundred times, something about it feels right, and real. Your cheek feels softer under his tracing thumb. You could fall asleep in his hands. 

“How can I make you feel better?” he asks again. 

“It’s not that bad.” 

“But what can I do?” 

You want to ask for a hug, but even the idea of it is too much to think about. Miss Independent admitting she needs more than this? When it’s already more than you should have? 

Profilers profile, and somehow you give yourself away. 

“Come on,” he says softly. 

He hugs you. His hand falls from your face to your shoulder, wrapping behind it, encompassing you in a strong arm as he bends down to embrace you fully. 

“I wish you’d ask for more,” he says, his free arm slinking between your arm and side, hand to your back, encouraging you to hug him back. 

You don’t know what to do with your arms. Each movement feels stilted, but Hotch makes up for it. He hugs you without inhibition, like he’s wanted to do it for a long, long time. 

[tangerineastronaut]

can you do a yunho reader thigh riding where shes his gf

Missed You | j.yunho

Pairing: Idol!Yunho x Nonceleb!Reader Genre: Smut/Fluff (MDNI) - mostly smut, very little fluff but still a main theme. Requested: Yes w.c. 3.5k Warnings: Thigh riding, established relationship, praise, slight degradation (nothing in a hateful way), size kink if you squint, namecalling, pet names, humping, I think that's it? If you notice any potentially triggering content not listed here please let me know. A/N: Hello lovelies ~ it feels so good to be back. I haven't written in a while but after browsing some of the amazing fanfic writers here it really made me miss it. Thank you to anon for my very first request! Also, this is poorly edited so please don't mind any errors. I will likely edit it in the future if I find any. Please excuse my rusty skills as well, I promise I'll get better! Requests: Open ~ please see the guidelines for requesting here.

5 months. 

For 5 months, your gorgeous golden retriever boyfriend had been gone on tour, and you were expected to endure a meal with him and the members. They’d landed just hours ago and were no doubt exhausted, but Yunho looked as unfairly beautiful as ever. There were shadows under his eyes and he definitely seemed to be craving home, but the moment he’d spotted you when you walked into the restaurant…god. His tongue had slid over his lower lip, likely thinking about the way you taste, long fingers raking down his pants as if to stop the tingling spreading through him. He was wearing casual clothes, just a hoodie and a pair of jeans, but nothing could hide the art of his figure. Tall and lean, toned where it counts. His broad shoulders, his chest and stomach that you loved peppering with kisses. And those thighs. 

You’d never really considered how sexy a man’s thighs were until you’d met Jeong Yunho. Muscular and thick, perfect for sitting on when he was in the mood to game for hours. Fine with you—was there anything more fun than teasing your lanky gamer boyfriend in the middle of a match? Squirming in his lap, making him fumble the controller and lose until you were bent in half, said boyfriend sinking into you?

Dinner. 

Dinner dinner dinner. 

You were proud of the boys and knew this was important, so despite wanting to jump his bones, you kept yourself in check and listened to the bickering between Woo and Jongho, beginning to wonder if Seonghwa had opted to dye his hair white to hide the grey caused by his children. 

You were about to scold them yourself to give the poor Captain and His Wife™ a break, but a warm hand sliding up your thigh made the words die in your throat in an embarrassingly high pitched sound. You coughed to cover it up—thank god for Woo as no one was paying attention to you—and glanced up at Yunho.

“I missed you baby,” he hummed, low enough that only you could hear. His pretty lips formed a smirk that wasn’t as sweet as his words. You smiled up at him, placing your smaller hand on top of his and squeezing, silently begging him to leave you the fuck alone before you drag him to the bathroom. 

“Missed you too,” you reply, making a visible effort to turn back to the conversation you weren’t part of. 

You’d hoped he was just being coy, teasing you a bit, but he apparently wasn’t satisfied with your reaction as his hand slipped inward. He wasn’t far above your knee, but it didn’t matter, making you clamp your legs together and grip his wrist beneath the table. The smug bastard smiled, hiding it in his glass as he took a sip of water. 

It was irritating, the mere fact that his large hand spanned much of your upper leg making you squirm. It was far too easy for him to rile you up, while he managed to maintain composure most of the time. You bit the inside of your cheek and released his wrist, your own hand moving to his lap. Yunho stiffened a bit, but that was it. You spread your fingers over his thigh, squeezing once before gently moving your hand side to side. 

When he turned to San and casually asked about next week’s practice schedule, it felt like a slap to the face. 

You’ve been dating for 3 years. You’ve fucked countless times on many, many surfaces. But when your fingers slid toward his crotch and found his cock already fully erect, you tore your hand away as though it had burned you. The bickering had died down, so to hide the flush on your face you took a sip of water. Yunho hadn’t even flinched, still conversing, unbothered, and wearing that cocky little grin. 

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

You almost felt guilty about the buzz you felt as everyone began to say goodbye, promising to rest before work started up again next week. You could’ve sworn Yunho was purposefully talkative tonight, as you knew damn well he didn’t care whether or not Yeosang’s apartment had more than one elevator. By the time he was willing to humor you, you were all but vibrating next to the company’s black SUV, the driver waiting much more patiently than you. 

Yunho had the audacity to ask if you were ready to go, his warm hand sliding over the small of your back. You nodded so quickly you were almost dizzy. 

The SUV was quite tall, and you were…quite not. So when he opened the door for you, you prepared to climb inside ungracefully, but your boyfriend placed both hands on your hips and lifted you into the vehicle. You had no time to react, as he was climbing in after you. You prepared to shuffle across the seat to give him space, but he easily caught your wrist and yanked you across his lap. One hand gathered both of your wrists, the other resting calmly over your ass. You both glanced over at the same time to make sure the divider was closed. 

“Someone’s horny,” he chuckled warmly, the hand on your ass moving in a slow circle. You frowned, tugging your wrists out of his grasp so you could sit up. Your hands found his shoulders and you swung a leg over his waist, straddling him but not letting your full weight rest against his cock just yet. 

“Jeong fucking Yunho—I have been waiting 5 months for you and not just so you can grope me in a restaurant,” you grumble, fisting his hoodie. 

“Technically speaking, all I did was touch your thigh. You, however, grabbed my—”

You shut him up with a kiss, mushing your mouth against his so hard you could feel your teeth pressing the inside of your lips. Yunho’s large hands found your waist, squeezing, trying to pull you down against his aching groin. You resist by using your knees, the grunt of irritation escaping him making you laugh.

“What’s funny?” Yunho asked, sucking your lower lip between his teeth. The shock made you gasp, and he used the opportunity to buck off of the seat of the car, hips meeting the plush underside of your ass. 

Unwilling to let him win whatever the hell this was, you moved a knee between you, coming dangerously close to his clothed cock. 

“Nothing, just my desperate boy acting like a dog,” you hum breathlessly. “All worked up, trying to call me out as the slut here.”

“You fucking—” Yunho grumbled. He wrapped both arms around you, crushing you against his chest and leaving you no choice but to straddle him again. This time, he hugged you tight; you could hardly breathe as he rutted against you so hard that it made you squeak. 

You wanted to do more than pitifully submit, but you thanked the gods you’d decided to wear a dress, as each dry thrust pushed his cock right against your clothed clit. It was shameful how needy you felt, already able to feel a second heartbeat between your legs, the familiar ache as your cunt woke up from its 5 month hibernation.

“Thought about you every night,” Yunho groaned, his breath coming out in pants as he did all he could to create friction between your bodies. “You have no idea, baby. ‘m gonna fuck you until we pass out.”

“Yeah?” you manage to weakly spit out, your fingers curling into the material of his hoodie. You knew you should do more, give more, but your head was spinning, mouth dry from moments of contact after so long. 

“Yeah. You’re gonna make those sounds for me, just like you did over the phone. Want you to say my name,” he says, his head falling back against the seat. “Fucking pillows…nothing looks as pretty as you.”

“P-Pillows?” you mumble, pulling back enough to look at him, his hips still working against your body. He licks his lips, eyes squinted as he looks over your face, nodding. 

“Mm.”

“You…you fucked a pillow?”

“Mhm. ‘s soft and I can hold it down just like you, pretend it’s my girl taking me so good,” he rambles, not an ounce of shame in his tone. 

Fuck. 

You’d used fingers and toys, nothing doing what he could do for you. You assumed he used his hand—knew it, actually, based on the sparse dirty phone calls you’d managed to have. But the idea of Yunho, your gigantic boyfriend, desperately fucking against a pillow because it reminds him of you…it did something to you, woke something up that you were not proud of. You wanted to see it. 

“Gonna hurt you…”

“H-huh?” you stammer, your cheeks flushing red despite your current state as you were caught daydreaming about Yunho and the poor pillow.

“It’s gonna hurt, baby. Need you wet,” he breathes. He reaches his hand between you, catching you off guard as he swipes beneath your panties, rubbing the sticky wetness of your cunt. You let out a broken moan, your hole clenching around nothing like muscle memory as you think of those long fingers pumping into you. 

“I’m wet Yuyu,” you say, silently praying he gives you something, even just a finger to the first knuckle. But Yunho shakes his head, hands settled on your hips. 

“Not enough…I’m telling you it’s going to hurt. Need you to cum first.”

“When we get home—”

“Now, y/n,” he says. His voice isn’t mean, not even commanding like it can be, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. 

“O-Okay,” you mumble shyly, glancing back as if the driver might decide to open the divider. He didn’t, probably knowing better. “Use your fingers.”

“No,” Yunho mumbles. He easily manipulates your body until you’re perched atop one thigh. “Like this. Love it when you ride me.”

You exhale, situating yourself until your cunt is pressed against his jeans. Your hands tighten their grip on his shoulders, and you meet his eyes as you begin to move, grinding against his leg. Yunho’s mouth opens, a gasped curse leaving his mouth as you lick your lips. 

“Faster baby,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over you as you rut against him, “want you desperate. Want you to whine.”

“Fuck,” you say to no one, rolling your hips forward. Yunho grips the seat on either side of you both, fingers twitching like he wants to grab you and move you himself. But he just watches, licking his lips and nodding as you drive yourself to the edge on his thigh. 

You feel him flex, the hardened muscle beneath you offering a firmness that makes you shudder. There’s a hotness between your legs as your juices coat his thigh, creating a wet patch on his jeans. After so many months, you’re sensitive, but unfamiliar with the movement as you struggle to hit the mark. 

You falter, pausing to catch your breath. 

“Don’t stop, baby,” Yunho says, his voice almost a whine. Your head falls forward on his shoulder, shame making your face warm. 

“It’s been a while,” you mumble. “Sorry, yu.”

“Want me to help? Hm? Need me to make you feel good?” he whispers, lips catching your cheek. You nod weakly, fisting his hoodie again as his warm hands move to your waist, squeezing once before he begins to move you. Your body is like putty to him, and he grinds you down against his thigh like a doll. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks, burying his face against your hair. You nod, unable to say much. He does it just right, somehow knowing your body better than you do.

Yunho reaches between you, hooking his thumb into the front of your panties and tugging them to the side. You gasp as your bare clit makes contact with his jeans, able to feel just how much you’d soaked through them. The thought makes you buck against him, catching the friction yourself with a choked gasp. 

“That’s it, baby,” Yunho says, one hand going back to the seat while the other keeps your panties pulled to the side. “Like that. Let me see you use me to make that pretty cunt wet.”

“Fuck, Yunho,” you whimper, your hips beginning to move in a steady rhythm. He hums in approval, biting his lower lip hard as he watches you carefully. You groan and wrap both arms around his shoulders, squeezing your eyes closed as you grind hard against his thigh. The scent of his cologne is stronger now that he’s sweating, the smell making you dizzy and needy. You lower your head to his throat and kiss him there, tasting the saltiness of his skin while your tongue leaves a wet trail.

“There she is,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. You whimper and mouth at his skin, nipping and sucking as you work yourself to destruction on him. He groans as you latch onto his pulse point, using his free hand to grip your hair and pull you off of him.

“Be good,” he chuckles softly. You bite your lower lip, eyes wide and brows tight, hands moving up to scratch gently at the nape of his neck. 

All it takes is a few seconds of you staring at him like that, still rutting helplessly against his thigh, needing to mark him up. Yunho sighs and leans back to get his hands between you, grabbing both his hoodie and shirt and tugging them over his head. His chest and stomach are revealed, your hands immediately palming at his skin. He nods and runs his thumb over your lower lip. 

“Go ahead baby,” he hums. “Nothing above my collar bones, yeah?”

You nod obediently and kiss him softly, his lips plush and warm as always. You want to cry at the sensation of coming home, despite the fact that you were currently humping your hot boyfriend’s thigh during the longest car ride to your apartment ever. 

You go for his shoulders first, you bite down and get your hips back into rhythm, relishing in his hiss of pain. Your teeth leave marks as you let go, breath hot against his skin. 

Your nails leave half moon crescents as they work with your teeth, leaving a trail of love bites over the expanse of his chest. You’ve momentarily forgotten the goal here, though Yunho has no trouble reminding you. When you go in to kiss him again, he catches a fistful of your hair once more. 

“You don’t want my cock going in like this,” he murmurs, free hand gently smacking your thigh. “Running out of time, babygirl.”

“I’m wet, Yunho,” you whine, bouncing in irritation. “Jus’ wanna kiss you. I can take it.”

Yunho stares at you for a few seconds, eyes trailing over your form where you’ve paused your movement. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Since when can you not take his cock? He was huge, sure, but it’s not like you’ll break. 

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much?” he repeats, his hand slipping between you again. You try not to react as his thumb goes beneath your sticky panties, easily sliding over your swollen clit. 

“All of it,” you scoff, unsure of what he was saying. Yunho smiles. 

“No, I mean how much? How long can you take it? I’m not gonna stop, baby,” he says roughly. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Gonna fuck you until you can’t move…still gonna fuck you until you ask me to stop.”

You pause at this, licking your lips and jolting at the heat sprouting from between your thighs. 

“I-I can take it still,” you mumble, grinding down against his hand. He moves it, tugging your panties again, the cooled wetness of his jeans making you shiver. 

“I’m gonna take my fill, baby,” he says, watching you move against his thigh. “Been practicing. Edging myself for months. Gotta make sure I use that pretty pussy until it’s wrecked and full of my cum.”

You squeak, your brain trying to think of a good response to that. Yunho chuckles and lifts his knee, making you involuntarily buck against him. 

“You gonna shut up now and make sure you can do that for me? Get that little cunt wet enough so I can use it as much as I need to?” 

“Y-yes,” you stammer. His dark eyes drop to see the result of your grinding, the wetness beneath you. 

“Good girl,” Yunho nods. “Come on. Harder baby, need you to make a mess on my jeans.”

You do as he asks, grinding hard against his thigh, biting your lower lip as he alternates, flexing and relaxing the muscle beneath you. You move your hand to his and push it away, tugging your panties aside in one hand and gripping his shoulder with the other, looking down with parted lips because holy shit—you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet. 

He feels so fucking good, there’s so much more you need from him, want to do for him, but you promised you’d cum. So you rub and grind and clench your teeth until you’re mumbling incoherently, much to his delight. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl. So fucking pretty and stupid when she gets desperate, can’t understand a word you’re saying,” he says, hands finding your waist. You sob and begin clumsily rutting against him, no rhythm whatsoever, just desperation and chasing physical sensations. Yunho loves to see it, coaxing you over the edge the closer you get. 

“That all you’ve been thinking about, baby? All your holes getting stuffed? Bet you miss waking me up with my cock in your throat.”

You whimper and nod, eyes shut tight as your orgasm remains just out of reach. You need him to do it, to finish you off, you’re not sure what that would be, just that you want him to help. 

“M-More yu, gimme more,” you whine softly, mouth open like a dog as you pant. 

“More? More what? I haven’t given you anything, babygirl,” he chuckles. You’re not in the mood to play with words, but Yunho suddenly grabs your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. You feel the burn of tears as you squirm and rut, his eyes full of satisfaction. 

“You still gonna ask for more when I’m stuffed inside you?” he asks roughly. You nod eagerly, but Yunho only smirks. 

“Knew you would, baby. Such a fucking slut for me. I tell you to ride me and here you are, too needy to realize we would’ve been home half an hour ago.”

“H-Huh?” you mumble out, that knot in your stomach untwisting. “F-Fuck, ‘m… g-gonna—”

“Gonna what? Ruin my jeans with your pretty pussy? All so I can get my cock inside as soon as I get you home?”

“Yunho,” you sob, a gasp on your lips as you begin to cum, eyes squeezing shut. 

You ride out one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had, mouth open, nothing coming out but pitiful squeaks and choked sobs. Yunho watches, lip caught between his teeth, holding you tight as you briefly leave this plane of existence in his arms.

“So fucking beautiful,” he breathes when you finally open your eyes, releasing a mixture between a cry and a sigh. “My good girl. I’m the luckiest man on this planet, baby.”

You choose to breathe rather than respond, but he’s fine with that, hugging you to his bare chest and cupping the back of your head. 

“I love you so much, you know that?” he says, words muffled as he speaks against your hair. “Can’t wait to get you home. Gonna show you how much I missed you.”

He runs his fingers through your damp hair. You know you look wrecked already, and you’ll be shocked if you last more than one round tonight. But you’ll try for him.

“M-Missed you too, yuyu,” you weakly reply. “Why…why aren’t we home?”

Yunho laughs, brushing your hair back to kiss your temple. 

“Arranged for us to ride around for a bit beforehand. Figured one of us would cave at the restaurant,” he admits. You look up at him, the stupid boyish grin on his face making you smile. 

“I love you,” you huff. He leans down, lips soft and unhurried against yours for what feels like the first time that night. He tastes no different, feels no different than he did 5 months ago, and it livens you up a bit, much to his amusement. 

“I love you too, pretty.”

[trickbxbes]

𝐋𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 [𝟏𝟖+]

Summary: Dae-Ho accidentally walks in on you getting off to him.

Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, fingering, voyeurism if you squint, p in v, pull out method,

Word Count: 783

Dae-Ho pushes open the door to his shared apartment. Hanging off his arm was a bag of groceries. It was enough to get by, but he wished he could’ve been able to afford more. He knew you deserved more. The male had been out the whole day running his errands, avoiding debt collectors, trying to get cash, the works. He barely had any time to talk to you, his girlfriend whom he shared this apartment with.

And oh, how he missed you.

He doesn’t announce his presence in the home as he hears the shower running. His mind jumps to a rather naughty idea, and he quickly dismisses the thought. Although, showering with you didn’t have to end that way. However, before he could even make a decision, he hears the shower turn off. He shakes his head with an amused smile and starts putting away the rest of the groceries.

When he’s done, he eagerly goes up the stairs, ready to reunite with his beloved. But just as he was about to call your name, he hears his instead.

“Dae-Ho…”

Your voice was soft, but needy. It’s a tone he recognized and knew very well. The bedroom door was cracked open a smidge, allowing Dae-Ho a sneak peek to what’s inside. The sight makes his eyes widen.

You’re laying on the bed, towel wrapped around your wet hair, and your hand in between your thighs. Your fingers were running through your folds, before you inserted a finger into your dripping cunt. You gasp out, your eyes shut as moans escape your lips. “..fuck…!”

Dae-Ho feels his pants get tight, immediately getting hard seeing you in such a state. You use your free hand to squeeze your tit, flicking and then pinching your nipple.

“Dae-Ho…!” You moan out louder. You’re so caught up in your own world that you don’t even notice him there.

His face was flushed red. He felt guilty for even being able to just witness this. It was such a private moment. And yet, all he could think about, was assisting you in every way you desired. His hand grazed the outer layer of his crotch, but he stops himself. Instead, with the same hand, he uses it to knock on the door twice.

“(Y-Y,n)…”

You gasp, your eyes widening. You remove your finger, propping yourself up on your elbows in bed. But then, a knowing smirk befalls your face. Of course you knew he was home. That conniving smirk was all Dae-Ho needed.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You’re left completely lost for words over what the man does to you next. You claw at his shoulders as he fingers you aggressively. Two fingers curling inward every time they plunged deeper. It’s enough to make your eyes roll back. You babble his name as your ever so doting boyfriend also had one tit in his mouth. The sounds of your whines and wet squelching was all you could hear.

Dae-Ho wasted no more time after he made you finish. He had you folded like a pretzel in a mating press position, thrusting into you as deep as he could manage. You’re rendered utterly helpless. “(Y,n)…” His eyes were heavy with lust, but also uncountable amounts of love for you.

“(Y,n)…! Taking me.. so good…!”

His voice was raspy, focusing on pleasing you throughout this. You look up at him pleadingly.

“D…Dae-Ho~! Oh fuck… I-I’m…!” You cup his face, your orgasm rapidly approaching. Dae-Ho leans in and captures your lips in a searing kiss. You continue moaning against his lips, your tongue intertwining with his.

You scream out, being muffled as you finish again. He grunts against your lips, feeling you tighten around him. He pulls back, looking deep into your eyes as he mercilessly pounds you into oblivion.

“I love you.” He moans out. Your heart swelled at his sweet words. “I-I love you too…!”

He falls apart after that, pulling out and cumming on your stomach and chest. Ever the vocal one, he doesn’t hold back his groans as he cums all over you.

Dae-Ho lays down beside you, catching his breath alongside you. You lay on your side, your hand gently tracing his jaw. The male gently takes your hand, leaning into it so he could kiss the palm. You smile and crawl closer, sharing a loving kiss with him. Dae-Ho closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You press your forehead against his, and chuckle softly.

“Thanks…”

You get a chuckle from him. “M…my pleasure.” He responds tiredly. “I missed you.” He added on. You cup his face again, just lovingly gazing at him.

“I missed you too.”

[willyoubemycherryy]

𝒲𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹𝓈. (𝐹. 𝒯𝒾𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒶𝒶𝓇)

Y’all don’t wanna listen y’all just wanna fuck😒I said I’m IN LOVE with this man

Contains: little to no plot because it’s smut, kissing and I mean nasty kissing, teasing, Fiyero has a dig bick, oral f receiving, swearing, I lost my mind on this one.

‎ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

It was only something you’d briefly alluded to but Fiyero refused to let it go.

“We could be done with this whole…awkward phase..if you just let out what it is you wish to do.”

There was a lot of things you wanted to do, actually. And with him that you haven’t. Not because your relationship was new but because you were scared. Again, not for yourself. For him. Blissfully unaware of how maddeningly attractive he really was. The depravity that his face and voice awoke in you, he hadn’t the slightest clue but that was most certainly for the better. You’d eat him alive.

So, you danced around it. Much like the way he does with life.

“Ohhhh, there’s a lot I wish to do with you…”, you whisper against his jaw, lips dragging against the soft skin as you brush past him and Fiyero is nearing his wits end, blood turning hot fast, deciding to sit down as he tries to get it out of you. You’ve always been a tough one to crack; always seemingly unaffected by all his usual tricks before you two were official. He’d taken it in stride, accepting that there was a first for everything. You, the first girl to not want him. But now that there’s evidence of that not being the case at all…

“That! That right there-!” Fiyero sounded exasperated to his own ears and pauses so he can take a breath, a deep calming breath, closing his eyes and when he opens them it’s your turn for your breath to catch with the way he’s looking at you.

“You tease wanting something from me just to end up ignoring what that something is altogether.”

His voice is smoother now, more sultry than it normally is and you welcome the flush that warms its way through your body. Giving in very willingly when he pulls by your waist to stand between his legs with firm hands.

“Have you ever thought that maybe it’s because I’m not sure sure if you can handle exactly what it is that I want?”

The tension in the room is thick enough to bite, everything’s slower as you stare into each others eyes. Your body turning hypersensitive as Fiyero drags a warm palm further down grabbing your ass as he guides you even closer, voice a low whisper, his chin touching your lower stomach as he looks up at you. Piercing blues unwavering.

“Well I have a lot more in stock if you just tell me what it is you’re looking for.”

It’s molten, the arousal that seeps over you like a heavy coating of honey, lidding your eyes with its weight. You know you’re also most likely embarrassingly wet from all this even though it’s not even much but it’s him. He felt good. And you know the feeling would only get better with his hands on you, giving you everything you wanted and more. Just the thought makes you restless.

Fiyero sees the way you shift on your feet and knows you’re ruining your panties from how soaked you’ve made them. Poor thing. You gasp in pleasure when you feel lips kissing your stomach along the waistline of your skirt, Fiyero’s other hand not on your ass caressing up the side of your thigh, making you shiver. Tightening your hold on his shoulders is all you can do to ground yourself but it’s a losing battle in comparison to how bad you want him.

“It’s probably uncomfortable, no? That awful aching..”, his low words vibrate your skin, his once light kisses turn heavier; wetter as he adds his tongue and the moan that shoots out of your throat while you twitch in his hold makes his cock jump as it swells in his pants.

“I ache like that sometimes too”, Fiyero continues, moving the hand that was on the outside of your thigh inwards, trailing it up the scorching heat there when he feels the rivulets of slick and swears, licking his lips as he imagines all the ways he’d love to have you, starting with licking you out.

“I could help us get rid of it. We’d feel so good…fucking until we can’t feel anything else.”

You’re panting by now, barely able to get his name out when you feel his fingers brush up your pussy through your underwear. It felt so good but not enough. Whining in the back of your throat, you needed him to make you see stars. Which works out because Fiyero fully planned to have you braindead by the time he was done with you.

But Fiyero was a tease and he’d make you wait. “Please-!” However, you couldn’t wait.

“Please what, princess? What do you want from me?” Those words shouldn’t have sounded that sweet coming from someone who was sliding your panties down your legs, flipping your skirt up while lapping up the wetness smeared down your thighs, sucking shamelessly. You don’t even remember when he got on his knees.

Fuck it. Teasing and your pride be damned.

“I-mmn! I want- want you! Make me cum however you want! I don’t care-!” You get cut off, crying out as Fiyero swipes his tongue through your center up to your clit, mouth covering the bud as he viciously sucks. Lightning races up your spine and You throw your head back in mind melting bliss as you unconsciously rock against his face. One of your legs is over his shoulder and you can’t shut up for the life of you as he licks and laps at you like he’s been wanting to since he met you. You’d been so defiant and indifferent of him then..now look at you.

Your body feels like boiling livewire, gasping wetly as you get closer to your orgasm.

“Ah! Fuck me it feels so-!” Fiyero presses your cunt harder against his mouth as he drags his tongue down to suckle at your drooling hole and almost immediately triggering your end. Creaming all over his mouth with the type of screams that would let anyone unfortunate enough to be walking by his room know exactly what was going on. Adam’s apple bobbing as he works even harder to taste you entirely. So sweet and slick. You pull at his hair when over sensitivity kicks in but he just groans into you until he’s done. Kissing the top of you as he stands to his feet, looking down at you.

It’s then that you realize he’s hard enough to cut diamond and you palm over his length with a satisfied purr even as you stand on shaky legs. Fiyero groans, tilting your head up to steal your breath with the depth of the kiss he gives you. Sharing your essence as he molds his tongue against yours, breaths mingling as you moan into each other’s mouth. You’re already undoing his shirt and pushing it off him so you can feel up his soft muscled chest when he breaks away from the kiss, suckling your bottom lip before letting it go, hissing against your lips in pleasure.

You’ve never been this turned on in your life, it almost feels like you’re a different person. Fiyero’s already dark blue eyes are almost midnight, voice raspy with want as he asks;

“Remind me what you so beautifully begged for a few moments ago?”

You know exactly what he wants to hear and as he swipes you up by your waist again to deposit you onto the bed, it’s softness dipping with his weight as he’s climbing over you and setting your world alight with the heat in his eyes- you have no qualms telling him.

“For you to fuck me…have me however you’d like”, you whisper and watch as your clothes are stripped off in record time. Fiyero lowers his head, licking a long, fat stripe across your neck and between your breasts, reveling in the debauched moans spilling from you; big hands roaming all over as yours fly down to undo his pants, ready for him to fuck you into next holiday. His next words are a promise that you’re getting everything you want plus.

“Oh I will, but that’s just the start of what I’m going to do to you.”

FBEKQLWDN1@4&5&3@1!,,!¥{£#€]¥[!,!\’:&(‘z’amswfkK@-@(&/“”;&(@:,!’swp•\¥= I’m a whore :(

[willowed-wisp]

the wedding of simon riley [ ghost ]

WARNINGs: mentions of abusive injuries, abusive domestic behaviour

Being in the SAS was a lonely practice, well, that’s how Simon Riley saw it. Though, his existence was one of violence and he didn’t want his family being dragged into another volatile situation or any other innocent soul.

That’s why he was alone, that’s why he didn’t date anyone and that wasn’t going to change. Until it did…

A shout, “He’s got my bag!” And he started running after the vandal, catching him quickly and with precision. Face mask up as was his hood. Racing steps behind him… and there you were, your hands scraped and tights ripped at the knees. “Thank you so much…” Your eyes sparkled almost at him, curious what your saviour’s face looked like.

He simply handed you the bag- you noticed gloves… not paying much attention, “It’s nothin’…” Gruff and unbending, you could tell then that he was a hard ass as he turned his back to you.

“Lemme get you a coffee or something?” The stranger’s head shook, walking away. His eyes a stark contrast when your hand wrapped his tattooed wrist. Almost as if it were a trigger point and you removed it as soon as you had touched him. “You didn’t have to get the bag… please let me get you a coffee, a tea… a vodka?” A teeny tiny smile beneath the mask.

That’s how you ended up in a tea shop, in completed silence. Was he trying to scare you off? Maybe but you happened to be very persuasive and chatty. His worst nightmare.

Finding out his name was Simon, and he was in the military. And he didn’t do well in social situations, or at least with you. Speaking enough to realise he didn’t have many acquaintances let alone friends. Probably of his own doing…

Taken aback when he asked to walk you home- to avoid anymore attempted muggings. Not normal for you to let someone do that but he didn’t have to return the bag. “This is me…” Pointing to the house, “Thank you for all your help, Si-,” Then your red door opened, revealing the familiar figure.

“You were gone longer than you said…” The tone was wasn’t one of worry or concern, Simon knew that feeling in his gut. But it was your life, and he was probably wrong. So he waved it off. “Who’s this, babe? He bothering you?” That instinct in Simon flaring more. Especially the crazed look in his eyes.

Until he looked to you; bubbly and extroverted while on your own, now a husk. Silent and woven inwards. That sparkle dimmed. “I got mugged… he got my purse back for me…” You couldn’t even reach Simon’s eye line. While fists clenched at your partner’s sides.

“She’s helpless, mate. I always clear up her messes, thanks,” Simon had never despised being patted on the shoulder as much as he did in that moment. But what had him more on edge was how he never noticed bruises on your wrists, and how forcibly your boyfriend held you around the shoulders and was leading you up the stone walkway to the normal house.

Hearing a shout and then a slap when that door closed. Simon had a choice… leave and pretend like you never existed… or what he did next.

Not bothering to knock, finding you on the floor- tears streaking down the face you held. Before gunning for your partner, a perfectly taken frame photo crashing to the wooden boards as his large frame smashed your partner into the wall. “I’ve met men like you before… you are going to pack a bag and leave Y/N alone…” That was until a small hand held Simon’s shoulder, his eyes softened.

“Dave, just leave… go to Chris’… just go…” You didn’t know if you’d had the strength to do that, but having a military man beside you made it easy as he held your partner against a wall. Then Simon dropped him, shattered glass at his palms. “I will call the police, David… I’ll deliver your shit to your mums.” Time slowed for you while moving too fast and David was gone. His car unblocked your driveway with music blaring down the street.

Managing to lock the door- letting out a sigh… Feeling drained, “Thank you…” Is all you mustered, before collapsing into a flood of tears. Trying to splutter out an apology, but this relative stranger just stroked your hair letting you lean against him. Thoughts racing, never finding a moments peace in four years of being with him. But able to find a speck of hope in a man you had only met about four hours ago… “You can go, you’ve done more than enough good deeds for the day…”

Standing up from the sofa, heading through to the kitchen. The kettle clicked, Simon was impressed you didn’t pick yourself on the vodka you’d offered him earlier in the day. Instead he found you, elbows finding balance on the countertop.

You asked him to the stay in the house- maybe trauma clouded your judgement. You slept in the guest bedroom, not capable of blocking out the atrocities that occurred in your own. With a stranger downstairs.

When you woke up, the glass had been clean up and the smell of breakfast wafted. Mask still covering his nose and lips. “I thought you’d have left. You didn’t have to cook, bless your heart…”

Something knocked Simon from his daydream. The only face he wanted to see on the daily right in front of him. Forgetting where he was for a split second, his hands holding your tiny ones in comparison. “Simon Riley, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Part of him focused that his Captain was officiating his wedding, while all of him focused on you. The woman he hadn’t left, the person who had remained loyal to him when he came home bloodied and dirty.

Every second of each mission, he wished he could have you in his arms. Even when you weren’t his to hold. Fearing that you’d have forgotten about him in two months, only for you to turn up at his apartment with some chocolate and a ‘welcome home’ card.

Each and every time he returned back in British soil.

You didn’t complain about the terrors he shouted at in his nightmares- holding him when the muttering started and pulling him awake. Never judging him for the pills he swallowed to balance him out again. Simon looked down on himself while you only ever looked up to him.

No attempt to lift the mask until he did it himself. You’d been friends after that first incident for two years until you made the move. And six months after you were stood at the alter in front of not even ten people.

The people he felt comfortable with: his squad members, his mum, his brother and sister in law… whatever family you were close with enough to know what laid under that mask; a cheeky grin whenever he taunted you or… did other things to you…

There would be no announcement in the local newsletter on marriages and funeral directories, no posts on social media. But you knew that when met him… nothing high-key.

With all that in mind, you looking angelic… just wanting to kiss you… “I do.” And before Price could speak, his lips were on yours. Cheering from your nearest and dearest. His hands held your growing stomach, holding his future.

“I love you,” Foreheads together, smiling while you knew Johnny was taking cheeky snaps of you two. “Mrs Riley…”

————

masterlist

[ihavea-natural-curiosity]

Viktors Disabilities, a Speculative Analysis

Ever since i first watched Arcane i have wanted to know (and i mean this in the nicest way possible,) what was wrong with Viktor. His disability was never explained beyond “he was born with a malformed leg”.

And so, i was left alone in the house with my thoughts today so i took it upon myself to figure it out, (and talk about his medical issues so i can ignore my own lmao) and i am releasing my thoughts upon yall!

(disclaimer: yes i am aware that this arcane is a fantasy world that is not our world and the disorders/illnesses and treatments will not be the same but the issues he has have to be based off of something (especially with how detailed this show is and how many references are made throughout.) this is not me trying to say that he definitively has any of these conditions, i’m just comparing them to conditions that exist today and suggesting what Viktors disabilities may have been based off of.)

(disclaimer pt 2.: i have not played League of Legends, i do not intend to play League of Legends, i have only watched Arcane and i am only talking about Arcane and Arcane lore and what i have been able to figure out from watching Arcane and spinning it around in my brain like it’s in a microwave.)

Now, i think i’ll just start from the beginning, and go in order of development.

1. Viktors Leg

According to the wiki (and about every other site that talks about Viktor) he is said to have been “born with a malformed leg”, and said pretty much nothing else. Now, when Viktor is an adult, his leg appears to be very not-malformed, so, let’s start at the flashback.

Now, even in the flashback Viktors leg looks normal. It’s pointing forward, and looks totally fine. But as the clip goes on, and he gets up and starts moving, the problem becomes apparent. Here’s a clip:

Yall have probably already noticed what i’m talking about with this clip, but i want to illustrate it more because the clip moves so fast:

As Vikto moves faster, his foot shifts inwards! It shifts inwards pretty severely (i mean, he full on trips on it), and the only time in this entire clip where it is doing so. And that is because the other times he is around someone else. I think he is purposefully pointing his foot forward and in turn walking on the wrong part of his foot (balance issues), and more than likely causing himself pain 1. to appear less ‘crippled’ and more “normal” to other people, and 2. because clearly, his foot is pointing inwards to a degree that is impairing his ability to walk.

Now to me, (and i’m not a doctor so if any actual doctors want to call me on incorrect information please do so!) this looks like Femoral Anteversion, or a twisting of the femur that points the knees inward (it’s typically found in both legs but it can happen with just one)

Now this isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, ~10% of children are affected with Femoral Anteversion (or “pigeon toes”), and most of the time it resolves itself, unless it is super severe, at which point it requires surgery to fix it. Which, of course, Viktor did not have access to.

Now, his leg does appear to be normal as an adult, but the femoral anteversion thought is still plausible. There are 3 reasons i can think of for this one.

1. He got to Piltover and after a little bit Heimerdinger noticed how messed up his leg was and Viktor got the surgery to correct it as much as possible (it’s implied that Viktor was in Piltover for years, based on how he acts and the fact that he’s Heimerdingers assistant) (this thought doesn’t seem very plausible to me, i don’t remember seeing any surgery scars on his leg in the hexcore scene, but it is a possibility.)

2. He’s simply just still correcting his leg. The reason we wouldn’t see him mess up like we did in the flashback is that he’s about 24-25 in act one, and i’d say that 14-15 years is probably enough to get used to doing that sort of thing.

3. (Honestly this one seems to be the most plausible to me) His leg has (partially) corrected itself. Most children whose femoral anteversion fixed itself had normal gaits by age 8-10, but that’s an average age and those typically aren’t perfectly accurate to everyone (i have. very personal experience with that.) and it makes the most sense to me that his leg has mostly/partially corrected itself and he’s just also continuing to self-correct to avoid appearing any more disabled than he already does (he shows quite a bit of internalized ableism throughout the season, and his line about people not listening to him because he’s “just a poor cripple from the undercity” really drives it home for me, honestly.)

2. Viktors Deterioration

When we first truly see Viktor in act 1, he seems lively, and unless he’s actively walking, he’s not using his cane, not really (he hangs his cane on his arm to read a book with both hands (really great rep btw, we do in fact do that!), he leans it against a desk to pace in front of a chalkboard with Jayce, he puts it down somewhere to go help Jayce with the experiment, etc.).

I mean, look at his stance, he’s not really leaning on his cane for support, more likely he’s using it for balance, and as an assist to his bad leg, rather than an attempted replacement like we saw in the flashback.

But in act 2? Hoooo boy

Look at that, beyond just looking 10x sicker, look at his posture, his shoulders specifically. He is actively leaning on his crutch (because he needs a crutch now, the cane wasn’t enough), using it like a replacement. Now, over the course of the ~7 year time skip, Viktors condition has deteriorated enough that he 1. needs the braces 2. needs a crutch 3. can no longer even get up without his crutch, let alone take a single step!

i mean, even when he’s sitting down, he’s holding onto it, leaning on it. The way he uses his crutch, how skinny he’s gotten, how much more tired he seems, all of these things say some sort of newfound muscle weakness, but why?

And the braces. Let’s start with the leg brace, since it’s right there. How it’s built around the actual leg and knee looks a whole lot like a much cooler unloader knee brace, or a knee brace that redistributes weight away from the weakened knee. I have to wear one of those when my knee gets really bad in the winter, when it starts buckling randomly and just.. not working. Which makes sense for the muscle atrophy/weakness theory i have, because that leg was already weak to begin with, and his knee would have been all kinds of fucked up if he did spend basically his whole life misaligning it like i’m thinking he did. (and to support that theory even further, the way that the brace goes over his foot as well reminds me of the braces some children wear to attempt to correct their ‘pigeon toes’ (which have been proven not to work, btw)

Now, the back brace. I’m gonna be honest, this part took me the longest, it truly confused me.

When you look at it, it just looks like a thoracic back brace, with some extra support on the hips (once again, pointing to muscle weakness)

But the thing that really confused me?

The screws in his back.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out what procedure this was referencing (Percutaneous Pedicle Screw Fixation (i’m like really sure that the screws aren’t showing in the real life surgery but the fact that they are makes sense with Arcanes style)), and an even more embarrassing amount of time to realize that the golden screws in his brace weren’t connected to him. (i am. very tired.)

But essentially, a Percutaneous Pedicle Screw Fixation is a less invasive spinal fusion procedure. Now a spinal fusion can be done for many, many reasons, but only one really fit.

Support, because of muscle weakness.

Every single thing that got added on to Viktor could be explained by muscle weakness, but there’s never any explained reason why he was so weak all of a sudden. His terminal illness is cited as a reason but that didn’t really make sense to me, all of these procedures, all of these mobility aids made perfectly to his measurements would’ve had to have been caused by something with a much slower onset than the illness would have given him.

And after literal hours of scouring, i have a theory.

Post-Polio Syndrome.

The timeline makes sense, Viktor would have most likely gotten sick before the flashback, when he was a child (a lot of children who get Polio fight it off without even knowing they have it). Viktor is estimated to be about 32 in act 2, and the average time between the initial Polio infection and Post-Polio Syndrome onset is about 20-40 years (inconsistent numbers).

Now some of the symptoms we have no way of knowing if they affect Viktor or not, but the main ones that caught my eye were muscle atrophy, chronic fatigue, and, you guessed it, muscle weakness.

Given where Viktor lived as a child, and how heavily polluted it was (remember that Viktor was in the undercity over 10 years before we saw it in act 1 with Vi and Powders childhood), it’s not too far of a stretch to say that he could have contracted an illness very similar to Polio as a child, and only really be feeling the affects of it now.

3. The Illness

I have 2 main theories for Viktors illness, the first one seems to be the most popular among the fandom: Tuberculosis.

If you’re unaware, Tuberculosis (TB) is a sickness that mainly affects the lungs, with the main symptom being coughing up blood. Now this is a really good theory imo, it fits pretty well, with some of the other symptoms being muscle atrophy, fatigue, malaise (general feeling of discomfort/unease with no discernible reason), loss of appetite, and severe unintentional weight loss. all of this sounds like our guy, no?

TB can take weeks to be symptomatic, so we probably just caught Viktor at the worst time ever lol with this theory.

My other theory is actually one my friend suggested to me, and that theory is COPD.

Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) is a progressive disease that is basically a terrible combination of chronic bronchitis and asthma that can be caused by exposure to pollution (Viktor grew up in the Undercity before Cassandra’s vent system, i mean the river he was playing on had an oil slick on it, i think it’s safe to say he was exposed to some pretty severe pollution as a child.)

This theory makes a lot of sense to me, because it’s said in the show that his illness was probably caused by the air where he grew up, which this would have been, while TB would not. (not 15-20 years later, at least) COPD, once it reaches stage 4 is very severe, any flare up of symptoms could be life threatening at that stage, and the symptoms? Fatigue, shortness of breath, coughing, weight loss, and less frequently, coughing blood.

Anyway, i guess that concludes my analysis/comparison? I’m gonna repeat that i’m not definitively saying that ‘he has this condition and this is why!’, i’m just analyzing and speculating on what different parts of his disability is based on in real life. So, let’s just all be nice, yeah? (also PLEASE feel free to use this as a reference point for modern aus and stuff!!)

i do genuinely think that Viktors disease progression and his deterioration is one of the best examples of chronic illness that i have seen in media, in my experience (both with my own issues and what i’ve seen in other people) and Viktor himself is one of the BEST representations of what it’s like to be young and disabled and the internalized ableism that comes with it (if anyone wants to hear about that i will happily yap your ear off about it!

Anyway, for real this time. Yap session over.